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f1byjessie · 3 months

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A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part two.

Friday evenings are typically spent in the comfort of your flat. Normally, you’re half paying attention to reruns of whatever shitty reality TV happens to be on and half scrolling through social media to keep up with the ever-fluctuating trends of content as per your job requirements, all the while eating your body’s weight in takeaway. It’s not the dream, but it’s certainly a dream.

Tonight, you plan on amending things to include going through the pictures of Bali’s stunning beaches that Lando’s been spamming you with throughout the day, but beyond that, you have no intentions of deviating further from your norm.

You’re actually really looking forward to it. Though you’d rather cut off your own hand than admit it to his face and give him new ammunitions to tease you with, you miss Lando during the winter breaks. So much of your year is spent having him nearby━ a near-constant presence buzzing with the inability to slow down let alone stop━ and when he isn’t around, the silence seems louder. There’s no one else who manages to annoy you the way he does, and it’s just not the same without him.

To make matters worse, between your new job, Lando’s travels, and the scheduling conflicts that have arisen in turn, you haven’t had a chance to catch up with him beyond a few back-and-forth messages about his current escapades. So you really, genuinely, truly are looking forward to it.

Garrett Ward throws a wrench into things.

You have mixed opinions of Garrett. He can be very sweet, and he’s gone out of his way to make you feel incredibly welcome in your first week with the Manchester City team. He makes good conversation and seems genuinely interested in what it is you’re doing, often asking questions about your equipment and process, which is a nice change of pace from most other clients you’ve worked with in the past who rarely give two shits about anything beyond the final product. But his reputation is… concerning.

Garrett Ward is infamous in English tabloids for being a notorious womanizer.

There are several articles that come to mind, but the most damning of which is from 2019, before his trade to Manchester City, detailing with very incriminating photos how he’d been seen entering a club with two women and then leaving just a few hours later with a completely different pair. You don’t want to assume he’s the same man now as he was back then, nearly a full five years ago, but you’ve been working in the sports industry long enough to know that athletes can have anyone and if they want then they will have anyone━ there is no shortage of temptation.

And you are not arrogant enough to assume you would be the outlier.

Which makes his interest in you feel less like friendly curiosity and more like something you need to be wary of.

It’s also why━ as you make the trek through the Etihad Campus car park━ you feel dread begin to pool in your stomach as you answer your ringing phone. “Hi, Garrett.”

“Y/N!” He exclaims excitedly, sounding like he hadn’t just seen you barely ten minutes ago in the weight room. “I meant to catch you before you left, but you were outta there so fast I wasn’t able to.”

And there’s probably a reason for that, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “Yeah, I usually try to be pretty quick about it.”

There’s an awkward pause left open as if he expects you to say more, and when you don’t he clears his throat. “Erm, well, I was actually just calling to see if, perhaps, you would like to grab dinner with me this evening.”

You don’t. At all. It’s one of the last things you would like to do. There are plenty of other hellish things you would willingly rather subject yourself to before sitting down and sharing a private meal with this man━ jumping into the Thames is one of them, and letting Lando drive you around on the autobahn in his Spider is another. Both could very easily result in death, permanent disfigurement, or any other number of horrible outcomes, but neither includes Garrett.

Your hesitating silence must be an answer enough for him, because he chuckles again and adds on quickly, “No strings attached, I promise. It’ll just be two friends getting dinner.”

All you want to do is get cozy on your couch in your pajamas with a kebab from the place down the street and watch pretty people deal with their pretty people problems on TV. You don’t think that’s too much to ask for, but apparently, some higher power does.

“I suppose that’d be alright then,” you agree tentatively, speeding through the stages of grief as you mourn the initial plans of your Friday evening━ the easy, simple, comfortable plans. “Shoot me a message with the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome!” Garrett cheers. “See you later then.”

The peaceful silence that awaits you after you hang up feels like it’s mocking you. Too bad you can’t flip off silence.

“Look, the truth is, City is looking at trading me at the end of the season if I can’t clean my act up.” Garrett’s voice is quiet as he admits the reality of his future to you, but it breaks the silence of the world around you like a gunshot. “And not just loaning me out━” he adds, a twinge of something akin to anger noting his tone, “━but fully trading me. They’re saying that my image makes things too hard for them and the only way they’ll consider re-signing me is if I can either keep my name out of the tabloids or try to clean myself up.”

In Garrett’s defense, he technically did hold true to his promise of just two friends getting dinner. Things were actually going quite well, too. The restaurant was a little more high profile than you would’ve expected for a casual meal, but that can easily be passed off as the luxurious lifestyle and expensive tastes of a pro athlete who can certainly afford it. Expenses of your meal aside, he’d been good company, asking after the ways of working in Formula One and then finding similarities in his football career that made it easy to chat about the struggles and stressors of professional sports.

But you can recognize that this is where it’s all beginning to go downhill.

He’s announced it completely out of the blue as you’re walking back to the garage where you’ve both parked your cars. On top of that, his pace slows and you’re forced to slow down as well to match it until you both eventually come to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

You feel for him, in all honesty. You understand the difficulties of contract negotiations and how easily they can fall apart. The fragility of Formula One contracts is its own special brand of tricky and you’ve seen many friends move on to other teams in the blink of an eye just as they’ve begun to settle down and make their mark where they are. You can’t say for certainty that you understand the mechanics of football contracts to the same degree, but you can imagine they have their own fragile fine print.

But the chill of a January night in Manchester is brutal, and you’ll be the first to admit that your outfit does not protect against it. You don’t really want to be having this conversation in general, because you’ve known Garrett for all of a week which makes you acquaintances at best, but you especially don’t want to be having it now, out here in the cold when all you want to do━ all you’ve wanted to do since this afternoon━ is curl up in something warm and comfortable and pretend the world outside your flat doesn’t exist for a few days.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me if I’m being honest, Garrett.”

He shrugs. “I just thought you might be able to help.”

You shove your hands in your pockets in a desperate attempt to keep your fingers from going more numb than they already are and shake your head at him. “I don’t know how exactly you think I can help you with that. I’m a photographer, not a PR officer.”

“My agent thinks it would be a good idea if I showed the media that I could hold down a steady relationship. Prove to them that I’ve changed my ways, and have matured.” He shrugs again, nonchalant despite being the one to bring this up in the first place.

“Have you?”

He makes a face, something between a flirty smirk and a suggestive wink, “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Garrett.”

“Look,” he crosses his arms and levels you with a look that fills you simultaneously with more rage and annoyance than a single person has ever made you feel before. “It would just be for a couple of months, and then we could stage an amicable breakup and that would be that! It just has to be long enough to show everyone that I’m not the same as I used to be.”

You give him a look right back, hoping it conveys how appalled you are by his audacity. “Okay, but why me of all people? Christ knows you probably have a list of women in your contacts who would jump at the chance to pretend to date you for a few months.”

His face pinches up in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re all former hookups, and I mean, they’re kinda psycho about me to be fair. If I tried to end things, they’d probably go to the tabloids themselves and smear my name with the worst things they could come up with.” He shrugs again, and you’re starting to find that you hate it when he does so. “I need someone willing to just play along for the time being and who will be discreet when things are over.”

“And you think I’m that person?” You scoff. “You’ve known me for a week!”

Your voice echoes and it reminds you once again that you’re having this conversation in the middle of a random street in Manchester. It’s cold and dark, and you’ve been attempting to bite back your frustration since the moment Garrett called you. You’ve been as nice as you possibly can be for this man, shy of bending over backward to worship the very ground he walks on, and you’re so close to your limit that you think if he shrugs one more fucking time━

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you know how this industry works. So I know you can be trusted.”

You take a deep breath to try and retain what’s left of your quickly slipping composure, before you say, “Garrett, this goes beyond unprofessional. I could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this. You’re technically my co-worker, if not my client by proxy. It’s not a good look for me to be getting with the athletes I work with, considering my entire career is based on working with athletes.”

He makes a befuddled face as if asking what that has to do with anything. It occurs to you that he’s probably never had to worry about the ethics of hooking up with someone when most of the women who are interested in him would do everything in their power to spend a night by his side whether it’s morally just━ or legal, for that matter━ or not.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from being all cozy with that Nor-whatever guy,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“That driver,” he repeats. “You post him all over your socials, like, all the time.”

You tear your hands from your pockets and throw them up in the air, “Because that’s my job?!” The stupidity of the man before you is genuinely baffling. He’s been asking about your job all week long but the way he’s talking now makes it seem like he didn’t catch onto the fact that your entire career is centered around media and the creation of content made with the explicit intention of being shared.

“I am quite literally paid to take and post pictures of him per my contract with McLaren,” you continue. “And even if I wasn’t, he’s my best friend?! I’ve been working and traveling and spending the majority of my time with Lando since 2019 so of course I’m going to be close with him. Do you not post your mates every once in a while?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. All my mates are guys, so nobody thinks I’m dating any of them when I do it.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I cannot believe this right now. You know, for a moment, I briefly considered helping you. But you’re actually exactly the type of prick the tabloids say you are.”

He takes an intimidating step closer, and his voice drops an octave lower. “I would reconsider if I was you.” You’re not short, but Garrett isn’t either. He’s one of the tallest players on the Manchester City team, and the way you feel now with him staring you down makes you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his opponent on the pitch.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But you’re fucking livid, too.

Your jaw clenches and you bite out sharply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” he starts, “is that if you don’t help me, maybe I slip a word about something or other to my boss who slips a word to his boss who is, also, your boss, and suddenly, whoops!” He gives you a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that it makes you feel like your blood is literally boiling. “He’s not your boss anymore. In fact, nobody is your boss anymore, because your ‘slip in conduct’ was very inappropriate and made several players uncomfortable, which doesn’t look very good when trying to get jobs elsewhere in the industry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Well,” he fucking shrugs. “When you say it like that, yeah. I guess I am.”

You cross your arms, your hands clenched into fists so tightly that you can feel your nails digging painfully into the flesh of your palms. “You’re a real bastard, you know.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, love.”

If only it were legal to kill a man━ Garrett Ward would be six feet under and picking worms from between his teeth.

You weigh your options, though. You’re not sure how much weight his word actually carries. For all you know, he could tell his boss, they could bring you in to discuss things, and then you could explain it all from your point of view. Garrett is a notorious flirt and you doubt it’s the first time he’s tried to pursue someone who isn’t interested in him. You doubt it happens very often, but it has to have happened at some point. Not to mention, his reputation regarding women is bad enough that Manchester City is already giving him an ultimatum, so you probably have a chance, and the worst-case scenario is that you amicably part ways with the team and that’s that.

But realistically there is a worse worst-case scenario, and it’s pretty damn close to what Garrett is threatening. Losing this side gig wouldn’t really be too much trouble. It would put a dent in your savings, and you’d have to be a bit better about how you ration out your groceries and other necessities around the flat, but losing your job at McLaren? Being blacklisted from the industry entirely? That’s life-destroying. You would lose everything━ all the blood, sweat, and tears you shed to get where you are would be for nothing.

All because of a prick in sky blue.

“Fine,” you utter from between gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. But I won’t post you on my account. I won’t bring you home to my parents. I won’t go round to your flat and I certainly will not have you round to mind. You get one kiss to make it official to the paps, and then nothing more.” You take your own threatening step toward him, and a vindictive part inside you shines with malicious glee when he shifts ever so slightly backward. “If you try anything else, I will run to the papers and drag you through the mud worse than any of your little psycho groupies ever could.”

He scoffs, “You’d ruin your career.”

“But I’d tear you down with me,” you reply.

He takes a moment to think, staring into your eyes and weighing how serious you are. Whatever he sees staring back at him must be convincing enough because he sniffs, nods, and smirks.

“Deal.” He leans down, “I think I’ll be taking that kiss now. Make sure to really sell it, yeah?”

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre

━━ a/n: i feel like i say this every time, but i am seriously blown away by how well the first part of this was received! like, seriously, thank you so much for the kind words everyone said about it! hopefully this second part lives up to the hype of the first, it's a little denser, but the events are important to establish for the rest of the story so it needed to happen!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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astroboots · 10 months

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #9

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You get a new mysterious co-worker.

Word count: 8,100

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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August 1st

Nearly pancaked by grand piano falling from the 8th floor outside of favorite cafe. No casualties (except the piano).

August 5th

Freak blizzard out of nowhere during lunch. Nearly crushed by large icicle dropping directly outside the exit of the Chrysler building. No other known casualty.

August 6th

An escaped hippopotamus from the Bronx zoo ran 11.3 miles, nearly got stampeded when exiting hotel for work. No casualties.

August 12th

Tornado appeared inside the Guggenheim museum, nearly squashed by large falling statue. Nobody nearby was seriously injured.

It's already mid-August now. You've used up more than a month of your allotted three. It means you don't have much more time to waste, but that knowledge does nothing to help you in figuring things out.

You’ve compiled a comprehensive list of the Universe's ongoing murder attempts, determined to keep track of them all. All in all, there are 37 incidents and counting that you’re aware of… and they’re all different.

They differ in severity. They differ in scale and they differ in frequency. Sometimes it can take weeks, sometimes days, sometimes within hours of each other. If there’s any sort of pattern to them—anything that might help you predict what will happen next or how to stop it—you can’t see it. There’s nothing that gives you any hint or clue as to where you can start to make progress with solving this mystery.

The one thing you have been able to observe from cataloging these incidents is that Miguel was right about what he told you that day at Starbucks: the universe is ramping up. Each attempt is becoming more and more bizarre, defying the very laws of physics and nature in its attempts to snuff you out. Before this, in all of your years in New York, you’ve never heard of a blizzard in July or a tornado indoors.

With the escalating dangers, Miguel is more on guard than ever. Sticking close to you at all times like a particularly insistent herding dog that’s always a few inches from nipping at your heels. Even when he’s seemingly preoccupied by something else—reading a book, folding clothes, eating a crate of kit kats in one sitting—you can always tell that he’s keenly aware of and attuned to your every minute move.

Practically, the only time he lets you out of his sight is for bathroom visits.

Work is still a point of contention between you two. He hates that he can't enter the building to monitor you at work and make sure you're safe, and after that incident when you caught a co-worker trying to take a surreptitious selfie with Spiderman while Miguel was loitering around in the windows, you’d banned him from climbing and scuttering around the exterior of the building like some deranged squirrel.

It’s made him even less pleased about your whole work situation, something he’s not shy about sharing with you. Every morning when you are about to leave for work, Miguel will stand by the door with that ever present frown and ask you:

“Why are you still going into a job you hate when there’s only two months left?”

This morning, you sigh as you reach for your jacket and messenger bag.

Part of you completely understands and even agrees with his logic. If the end of the world is only two months away, why go back to that shithole everyday? You could go to Disneyland. Eat fancy croissants in Paris for breakfast. Have Lyla fake a reservation at an all-inclusive yoga retreat in Bali. You could be living your life like every moment is your last.

The thing is though, as delusional as it may be, you’re not ready to bet on the world ending just yet.

“Miguel, I fully intend for the universe to still be around in two months. And I don’t want to be unemployed when that day comes. I’m not some trust fund baby. Once we figure this thing out, you’re gonna be free to go, and if you take Lyla with you, then what am I supposed to do? Live on the streets? Rent in the city is ridiculous, and my rent-controlled apartment got blown into a million pieces.”

For once Miguel doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say back. He tilts his head, quietly studying your face. Then after a long pause, he gives you a curt nod, as if something clicked into place.

"Fine."

You stop mid-way through zipping up one of your boots to eye him suspiciously.

Okay, that’s… different.

In all the mornings you’ve repeated this argument, this is the first time he’s simply accepted your explanation without sassing you back. He just gazes right back, apparently unperturbed, and holds the door of your hotel room open for you, ready to walk you to work.

There is definitely something going on inside his head, because this stubborn dummy never lets anything go without a fight. You just don’t know what it is yet.

By mid-morning, you've forgotten all about your suspicions, too busy dealing with the aftermath of your coworker's incompetence. You're not entirely sure how they managed to corrupt the Excel formula you’d painstakingly inserted to make sure all the numbers add up correctly, but two hours later, you're still trying to get the data to compute properly.

It’s the kind of mind numbing task that lets your mind wander, and you spend most of that morning wondering what Miguel is up to. He’s probably lingering near the building, eating mini donuts by the dozens from that food truck that is always parked around the corner.

There’s a pointed series of knocks on your cubicle wall. The noise is grating, and it makes the whole of your back seize up because you recognize that signature knock from sound alone. It’s your boss, probably here to ask if you have capacity to take on more case evaluations.

And sure enough, as you reluctantly turn to look, you see her, toothy smile and all, looking down at you in that hammy and strained way of hers.

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I just wanted to introduce you to the newest member of the team.”

She gestures to the person standing beside her. Your gaze goes up over their insanely long legs, up and over the narrow and tapered waist and torso, up over the wide chest and broad, broad shoulders, and even before you get to the familiar face, you already know who you are looking at, because no one else is that tall.

Your mouth gapes open wide in shock.

This stupid motherf-

“This is Mickey O’Hara,” your boss introduces, simpering up at him. (You didn’t even know she knew how to simper.)

Has Miguel gone insane?

What is he playing at?!

He didn’t even bother to change his name properly!

And the man looks unfairly good in office casual! He’s dressed in a white, well-fitted button down shirt and dress pants. Wearing ridiculous thick-rimmed glasses that would belong on Gregory Peck. Riotous curls are as messy and wild as ever, not having even bothered to comb it back. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling, the subdued get-up only makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

“Mickey is our newest hire,” your boss continues, batting her eyes at him. “He's interning with our team as a junior insurance claims adjuster and will be shadowing you for the next two months.”

After that, Miguel truly is with you everywhere you go.

He spends most of each workday sitting on a spare chair in your small cubicle, the two of you squeezed into 6'x6', shoulder touching shoulder in that tiny, cramped space.

A superhero he may be, but Miguel is a terrible office worker. He seems completely bamboozled by the copier, and you quickly learn not to ask him to do any copying or scanning or even pick your printouts from the printer, because he always manages to mangle the process, coming back with crumpled up prints or half-shredded paper that looks like budget confetti.

Before the week is over, he’s gained a reputation with the rest of the team as the handsome-but-useless junior that can’t even make coffee for shit.

Most of the time, he doesn't even make an effort to look like he’s doing any actual work, just sits right next to you, and reads books all day long. When you scold him and ask him to at least pretend like he's doing busy work, or he'll get fired, Miguel will just shrug and quietly hum back at you, engrossed in whatever latest sci-fi book his nose is buried in.

"If they fire me, I'll just have Lyla hack into their HR system and rehire me."

Then there’s the way his sleeves are always rolled up halfway up his arm, hugging tight around the firm muscles of his forearm. The peep show of gorgeously tanned skin that is always on display for all to see. It's obscene.

He’s maddening and distracting.

Still, you can’t be too mad about his presence. The office is a much more treacherous place than you’d initially thought. It’s a danger zone of death traps.

One morning when you’re in the supply room, getting a new pad of post-its from one of the massive industrial shelves—the ones that are supposed to be bolted to the wall for safety—suddenly crumpled, taking half the wall with it and nearly flattening you. That was almost game over for you. Squashed like a bug and entombed under a pile of archived TPS reports.

Then there’s that time with the runaway elevator when the supposedly secure and unbreakable industrial cables snaps, with you in it, falling through 40 floors. And you still shudder everytime you walk past the copy machine because of that time it tried to electrocute you. If Miguel hadn’t been there for all of these incidents, you’d be a goner.

Another upside is that it’s also nice to have a cubicle buddy. On slow days, the two of you kill time watching YouTube origami tutorials and practicing with post-its stolen from the temporarily-relocated office supplies.

Despite having hands the size of a giant, Miguel is surprisingly good at it. Delicately folding paper cranes, butterflies and flowers that sit in the place of pride atop of your computer screen, compared to your questionable attempts that usually wind up in a crumpled ball in the trash.

With Miguel there, your days at the office are never boring or predictable in the way they used to be. It no longer feels like you are just going through motions. It's almost… fun.

If there wasn’t a cosmic executioner’s ax looming over your neck, you don’t think you would mind spending every day with him like this.

You take it back. You do mind spending days with him like this. Miguel is the worst.

You've been doing data entry all morning, and the man will not shut up about how primitive Excel is.

“Malo! I don’t understand how your company relies on this software. There are so many data consistency issues! It completely lacks data validation and integrity checks, and it’s too prone to human error when entering crucial data, which results in–”

You take deep calming breaths as you continue to type, trying to pretend his rant is white noise.

The previous day's near death experience—an electrical surge from the printer, trying to finish what the copy machine started—also wiped out one of the file servers, and now you and half your department are stuck manually re-entering three years worth of data.

Two hours in, your fingers are aching, and you're about ready to start banging your head on the keyboard out of frustration. (Or banging the keyboard on Miguel’s head if he doesn’t shut up.)

Like he can hear your thoughts, the man in question obligingly stops talking, and there’s a moment of blessed silence before your chair glides smoothly and suddenly to the left as Miguel rolls you out from in front of your computer. Your first instinct is to wonder what new danger he’s saving you from, but no… He’s just moving you out of the way to make space for him to drag his own chair in front of the screen. “Enough,” he says firmly, already typing out some unintelligibly complex code at a speed that far outstrips your own personal best of 67 words per minute, “I can’t watch you keep doing this when it’s so simple to automate.”

You sometimes forget just how smart Miguel is.

True, he can’t seem to work the office printer, but he’s a genius scientist who single-handedly built an A.I. sophisticated enough to hack into financial institutions and topple governments. He successfully invented a machine that travels between dimensions. Every other sentence coming out of his mouth sounds like something that would confound Stephen Hawking. You don’t know why you’re surprised he’s able to automate Excel spreadsheets.

It doesn’t take him very long at all.

Within minutes, he’s finished, hitting enter one final time, and then you can see all of the cells rectify themselves one by one. Errors disappear and new corrected information appears, data populating blank cells and aligning itself in tidy rows.

You lean in closer to get a better look. Your elbow snags the edge of your coffee cup and the cup topples over, splashing runaway hot coffee across your hand.

Before you have a chance to react, there’s a strong pull backwards. Miguel is already grabbing you and pulling you sideways into his lap and out of the firing range.

The cup clatters off the edge of the desk and onto the floor. The rest of the burning liquid never had the time to land on you.

Then you’re sitting on top of him, confined in the much too small seat of the office chair that can barely fit him and his broad backside, and much less the both of you. But if it’s uncomfortable, Miguel doesn’t show it. He takes your hand in his to inspect it carefully.

The patch of skin burns and stings, but you can’t tell if it’s from the coffee or his burning touch that makes you feel like there’s liquid fire simmering in your veins.

“You okay?” he says, his voice right in your ear.

He is so close. Surrounding you. Broad arms locked around your waist and the firm muscles of his thick thighs under yours.

“Yeah,” you manage, nodding slowly. Your tongue feels heavy and dry in your mouth.

He quietly drags your hand closer to his face, then blows on the back of your burnt knuckles to soothe the sting.

“Better?”

Those stunning eyes are staring into yours from inches away, cut cheeks right there, nose barely brushing against yours, and – god, is he close. Too close.

Miguel is always in close proximity to you these days. Never more than a couple yards away, but save for life or death situations, the two of you do not find yourself like this. He only ever holds you when you’re crashing through the skies or about to collide with a runaway vehicle. This is different somehow.

Your heart feels like a trapped bird in your chest, fluttering so fast and panicky it might burst from inside out at the proximity.

“I– um– ah…” You’re not saying any words, just making strange noises in your throat like a squawking bird.

Your eyes flicker away from his face avoidantly and from the corner of your eye, you spot Matt from accounting spying on you from the cubicle across.

Oh god. This probably doesn’t look great, does it?

You’re sitting on a co-worker’s lap in the middle of an open plan office. Compromising does not even begin to describe the position you two are in.

Jumping off his lap, you quickly stand up and turn away, trying to ignore the flustered heat in your cheeks.

You walk back over to your chair, about to sit yourself back down, but there’s spilled coffee everywhere. The dark brown liquid quickly sinking into the already stained fabric of the seat. You need to clean this up or else your chair is going to smell like expired coffee for the rest of time. Grabbing for your bag, you start digging for some tissues so you don't have to walk up to the supply closet.

You pull out item after item. Tampons. Sunglasses. A half-eaten chocolate bar. More tampons. New wallet with new ID, (expedited, all courtesy of Lyla). A handful of pennies. A random pamphlet. Still no tissues though, so you upend your bag onto your desk, wincing at the clatter.

How on Earth have you accumulated this much stuff in the few short weeks since your apartment was destroyed? And how on Earth do you not have any kleenex or napkins or anything in your handbag??

You paw through the mess, hoping for something useful, then swear as some of it spills over onto the floor. Ducking down, you crawl half under your desk, collecting wayward tampons and receipts, until your eyes pause on the pamphlet.

Not just any pamphlet. It’s yellow and bright with Whoopie Goldberg's face in the corner. It's the map you received from the fortune teller lady. One of your many misfires.

Now that you look closely at it, there are faint lines that seem to glow faintly in the dimness under your desk that weren't there when you were looking at it in plain daylight.

You pick it up and unfold it, laying it out on the floor. It looks like it’s been written on with some kind of a glow-in-the-dark marker, but it’s not dark enough for you to see clearly. You need to get somewhere darker to test your theory.

Backing out from under your desk, you get to your feet and head briskly off down the hall. You barely make it three steps before Miguel’s on your tail, his towering height blocking out the bright LED lamps above as he follows after you like the world’s biggest duckling.

“Cielo, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you murmur curtly under your breath. The heat from before is still riding persistently on your face, and you quicken your steps, hoping it doesn’t show.

You half run to the end of the hall until you reach the small supply closet. When you open the door to step inside, Miguel is right behind you, apparently trying to squeeze himself in after you.

"We won't both fit in here!" you scold as you close the door after you. His unhappy expression is the last thing you see as darkness envelops you in the pitch black.

There’s a niggling feeling of guilt that wiggles down into your skin. But you remind yourself that you can always steal cupcakes meant for clients from the conference room to make it up to him. All will be forgiven if you appease his sweet tooth.

Ducking your head to stare down at the map clutched in your hands, you squint your eyes in the dark to study it closely. There's a small star glowing bright in the middle of the map.

It's a literal star map.

She gave you a location.

You're standing in front of an old stone building at 177A Bleecker Street, smack in the middle of Greenwich village with its picturesque ivy covered old brownstone houses.

Then there's this monstrosity: Sanctum Sanctorum. The infamous residence of Dr. Strange.

The mansion is built in a mix of a Victorian and Gothic style as if the architect couldn't make up their mind and just decided 'why not both?' Throughout the rooftop, there are ornate carvings and intricate stonework that you suspect was meant to lend it a mysterious air, but instead the place reminds you of Disney’s Haunted Mansion ride attraction.

You bring up your hand to the old knocker, gripping it firmly. Your lungs tighten, breath constricting in your chest as you hesitate, unable to bring yourself to pull the brass down to make contact with the wooden front door. Instead you’re holding it still in the air.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all. How are you going to explain this?

‘The universe is out to get me, please send Avengers to help.’

Isn’t he just going to think you’re nuts? One of those delusional Supes-fan with munchausen syndrome?

"We can still leave," Miguel says.

The man's been protesting every step of the way here, buzzing in your head about how much of a bad idea this is.

You frown, turning around to him. "I want to do this,” you answer.

His continued opposition is the final push you need. You bring down the knocker against the front door and tap it repeatedly.

There's no answer.

Part of you has to fight the urge to turn your feet and flee, saving yourself the embarrassment. But before you do, there’s a loud creak and a heavy scraping noise against the entrance as the double door swings inwards and slowly opens.

No one greets you by the door. The entryway before you is empty, revealing a grand imperial staircase leading to the second floor, curving upward into a majestic spiral on each side of the room.

It looks deserted. It’d be impolite to just step inside without someone to greet you and explicitly invite you in. But the doors did open to let you in.

You look at Miguel, unsure of what to do, but the man does not have the same compunction for politeness that you do, he’s already walked in, shoes and all, straight into the main hall.

“Can we just get this over with without you making your usual stupid grand dramatic entrance?” Miguel says into the empty room seemingly to no one in particular and you don’t know who he thinks he’s talking to.

A ring of ember and fire sparks into existence out of nothingness in the center of the room. The ring grows wider, and you can see hints of another room inside of the circle: one decorated in a different decoration style than the current room you’re in: moroccan seats and plush cushions with oriental wooden carved furniture.

A man steps out from within that room to stand in front of you both. The ring of light closes behind him once he’s made it through. Clad in a rich purple tunic and dark robes that is monk-like in appearance. Miguel steps in front of you, tucking you safely behind him.

"You're not Strange," Miguel sneers, and you want to smack him. Why does he always have to be this rude?

"Oh, I'm quite strange. But I am not the Doctor. I am Wong. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme and guardian of this place." The man’s voice is calm and formal, and he holds himself with a stately manner as he speaks.

You pop out your head from behind Miguel’s side. "We’re here to see Doctor Strange."

At the repeated mention of Strange, the man’s formality seems to fall away, an expression of irritation bleeding into his features.

"Let me know when you find him. Because he is not here."

"Where is he?" Miguel asks, and there’s that contempt rumbling in his voice again.

"I do not know. Probably playing hooky again. The man comes and goes as he likes." Wong makes a muttering noise under his breath as he continues. "Treats this sacred place like a summer gig at McDonalds."

Your chest deflates. How are you supposed to get Dr. Strange to help you if he’s not even here?

"I need help,” you plead with Mr. Wong. Maybe he can help you if Dr Strange can’t, he is the Sorcerer Supreme after all, supreme is the highest level, right? This might even be an upgrade from Strange. “I know this sounds crazy, but I think the universe is out to get me."

Wong just looks at you, expression unchanging, and okay, yeah, that was maybe not the best place to start. You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to make yourself sound less paranoid.

"I've almost died 40 times since the beginning of the summer. I just want to know why this keeps happening and how to make it stop."

You dig into your bag, pulling out the folded map.

"We talked to a fortune teller in Chinatown, and she gave me this map. It led us here, and I'm really, really hoping you can help me."

Wong dips his head down to the map, "This is a celebrity home star map," he says, with a straight face and a neutral voice that only slightly betrays that he thinks you're batshit crazy.

“I know it sounds crazy, but-”

“Sanctum Sanctorum opened its doors for you, which means it wanted me to meet with you. I believe what you’re telling me.”

Oh thank god.

You tell him everything, rambling on as you try to explain what’s been happening and what little you know about it as best you can. The near death experiences, Miguel being a Spiderman from another dimension, the destruction of your apartment, the unnatural phenomena and the universe’s escalating attempts on your life.

Wong is quiet throughout, studying your face with grave concentration as you speak.

When you’re finally done, he sighs with deep weariness that emanates from the core of his soul. He looks down on his feet, tapping them in deep consideration.

"I have an idea,” Wong says cautiously, “I could perform a Multiversal Divination on you, that might give us a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with,”

“What does that mean?” Miguel asks, anger vibrating off his skin and boiling in his tone.

This man needs to calm down. You clearly need to take him to anger management, because since the moment he’s stepped into this place he’s been on the edge (even more so than usual).

“What does a ‘Multiversal Divination’ entail?” he continues, “Is that some magical mumbo jumbo that’s going to hurt her? Because if so we’re not–”

“I’ll do it,” you say, interrupting his objections, and you sidestep Miguel who is scowling, mouth already parted in yet another protest, to stand in front of Wong.

Wong looks to you and then Miguel, then back at you again, caught in the awkward stalemate, before you interrupt.

“Please, I need answers. Whatever it is, if it might help, I want to do it.”

Wong nods, stepping closer to you. "This will feel a little bit strange," he warns with the bedside manner of a patient doctor.

His hand comes to your collarbone and he places his palm there with a gentle push. There is barely any effort put into it, but you feel the force of it as if you had been slammed with the full force of a six ton truck. Your body wants to leap out of its skin. It is the sensation of being dumped in cold water from head to toe. A shock runs through your entire nervous system.

Images flash before your eyes, flickering by too fast for you to process. They’re vivid and bright. Glimpses of a scene: your apartment, your work, your commute home. Each of them expiring in a fraction of a moment before you have a chance to latch on and make sense of any of them individually.

You see yourself in picture after picture. Except slightly different in each. Short hair. Long locks. Curly.

In some you're wearing glasses instead of the contact lenses that you usually use. In others, you’re sporting the piercing you wanted to get at 16 but never did. Sometimes you have tattoos, sometimes not; occasionally you’re covered in them. Dyed hair, in every color of the spectrum: pink, blue, purple. A myriad of versions of you, of every variation of the decisions you could have possibly taken in your life.

There are pictures of memories you have had and not had. They rush in and flee before you're able to grab hold of one.

Captured moments of lifetimes you have never lived.

It's overwhelming. You don't understand what you're seeing. There’s pandemonium inside your head.

Then everything slows to a crawl.

The scene unfolding before you is one that you immediately recognize. An image that you'll never forget.

Window after window after window flashing you by. You know this view. Have seen it twice before. The same view of the Chrysler building as you were falling. But it's different this time.

The sky isn’t blue, nor is it gray. It’s a pink and an abnormal purple, a color you’ve never seen on it before and it looks both beautiful and completely wrong. There’s an angry tear in the sky, cracking at the edges with static. The whole of the sky looks like it is going to cleave in two and bring the whole world with it. Is this the future? Is it the past?

There's no pain, but somehow tears run down your cheeks uncontrollably.

In the distance you hear Miguel's voice, muted even though you know from that tone that he's furious and must be bellowing loud enough that it echoes through the walls. It sounds like you are underwater, and you have to strain to make out what he is saying.

"Why is she crying?" He's definitely shouting, voice raw and growling. Is this part of your memory or is it happening in the now? "You're hurting her."

The ground approaches.

"Stop! Stop!" Miguel's voice is shouting, but there's no way to stop this. Everything is going too fast this time around.

Miguel is here, tearing through the sky towards you. But you know it's too late. He's too far away. He can't save you this time.

Then everything does stop.

No images in your head. No noise in your ears.

Everything goes black, like the ending of a movie.

Then you hear a thud.

It's loud and close and real.

You snap yourself out of your fugue state, to see Miguel towering over Wong's body where the Sorcerer Supreme lies, limp and lifeless on the ground.

“What did you do!? Are you out of your mind?" you shout, running up to them.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Wong isn’t moving, not even blinking!

"He was hurting you!" Miguel roars.

"He wasn't hurting me, you big doofus!" you shout back, and it’s only then that the fury in Miguel’s eyes seem to abate.

"What's wrong with him?” you ask, bending down Wong’s limp body on the ground. “Is he dead!? Did you kill him?” There's a rising panic pushing inside your throat.

"He's just paralyzed."

"He’s para– What do you mean paralyzed? What did you do to him?"

"I just... I bit him," he uses a finger to part his lips slightly, pushing the upper one up just enough to reveal the sharp edges of his fangs. "There's toxins in them that can have a paralyzing effect."

You glance back at Wong. He’s still worryingly still.

“Is there some kind of way to un-paralyze him!?"

"It was just a small bite," Miguel says, ducking his head down sheepishly to stare at the floor, like a scolded boy. "I didn’t use that much venom... It’ll wear off. He shouldn't be out long. Maybe half an hour or so."

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” you tell Wong fervently, hovering over him. You can see his eyes tracking yours and the rise and fall of his chest, and you breathe a sigh of relief at the proof that he’s still alive. “Do you, um… Do you want me to help you up?”

“He’s not gonna want to move for a few more minutes,” Miguel interjects from behind you. “Moving will be incredibly painful until the venom wears off the rest of the way”.

What the actual fuck!?

You throw a glare at Miguel, as you loop an arm under Wong’s waist, “Well help me move him so he can be more comfortable.”

At your command, Miguel helps you prop the man up against the wall in what is (hopefully) a more comfortable position, and then you sit next to each other and wait.

"I can't believe you bit the Sorcerer Supreme," you mutter under your breath. “Miguel, you can’t just–” you cut yourself off, too frustrated to find the proper words.

"I'm sorry,” he says, grimacing at your scolding, looking regretful for once as he ducks down his gaze. “You looked like you were in pain".

Your anger subsides, if only slightly at his repentance.

“It still doesn’t make it okay. You can’t just attack someone like that! He was trying to help us.”

He doesn’t say anything more to that, just stares down at his feet in contrition.

The two of you sit in the silence.

Your mind goes back to the surreal experience you just had. The myriad of thousands if not millions of images that were flashing through your mind at the speed of light.

The warped shape of your world, the jarring images of it distorted and wrong, as it started to collapse.

Miguel had said that didn’t he? That the universe was going to ramp up its game and if it didn’t succeed, it would eventually self-destruct in its mission to get you.

It takes 26 minutes. The first sign that the toxins are wearing off is that Wong is able to wiggle his toes. His recovery accelerates after that, he's able to move his fingers, then the muscles in his face until he's able to form a grimace. He doesn't look happy, and you don't blame him.

After another five minutes or so, he's able to speak again.

"Strange way of expressing gratitude, literally biting the hand that helps you."

You get up on your feet to help Wong, and Miguel moves next to you.

“No, you stay there! Don’t move,” you order, and even though he scowls, Miguel complies.

You hunch over next to Wong, and help him sit fully upright. He stays seated, but dusts his robe off from the caked soot and fine layers of dirt.

“This has happened in other dimensions,” Wong tells you. “And if we don’t stop it, our universe will be destroyed.”

“How do we stop it?” you ask.

“The universe wants you dead. It won’t stop until it achieves its goal.”

Your stomach drops.

“So in order for this to stop… I need to die?”

There’s a look of barely contained fury burning in Miguel’s red eyes that seems to vibrate out of his skin and pounce. But he doesn't, this time he remains in place, visibly restraining himself, still following your orders.

“There is that option, or you will need to find the reason for why it wants to kill you. And you need to find it soon, because you don’t have a lot of time left. You will have even less time once the people of this world realize the threat you present to the continued integrity of this universe.”

“Are you threatening her!?” Miguel demands, and somehow even though you didn’t hear him move, he’s right behind you, red eyes glowing, shoulders rising, looming over Wong, ready to cut him down at any further hints that the man might be a threat to your safety.

Wong doesn't seem deterred in the slightest.

You have to give it to the Sorcerer Supreme. He's a brave one. It took you weeks before you stopped being intimidated by the man, and Miguel’s never bitten you.

“I am only telling you what the universe tells me. And it tells me that you do not belong here at all. The universe thinks neither of you belong here.”

You think back on fortune teller's drawing of the poorly drawn circle and stickfigure of you that’s speared with arrows.

"What if we went… somewhere else?" Miguel asks.

For the first time since he entered this house, his tone is no longer dripping with anger. “What if we left this universe and dimension?”

The image of white blankness enters your mind at his words. You shudder at the reminder. The cold numbness of the void and the sensation of nothingness. Dread fills your veins. A cold clammy sweat flashes hot and cold against your skin at the memory.

Wong tilts his head up in deep consideration. “That might work. This universe would slowly return to equilibrium with her gone. But… This will just start again in any new Universe. Most likely she wouldn’t be able to stay. She might have to leave every dimension she's in for the rest of her natural lifespan. A life spent always on the run.”

Wong pauses as he glances over to you with sympathy and concern in his gaze. “Is that something you would want?”

What is the alternative here? To lie down and die?

“Yes.”

“One month’s time, you need to find a way to leave this dimension before then.”

Back at your hotel that evening, you wake up to the sound of distress. Muffled whimpers and quiet moans.

By habit, your eyes roam the room, seeking out Miguel in the dark. He’s lying on the sofa from across the room and even in this distance you can make out that his body is writhing beneath the covers. But you’re groggy and too sleep-drunk to make sense of what you’re hearing or seeing.

There’s murmured noises from him, and it takes you far too long to understand what’s going on.

He’s having a nightmare.

Tugging off the blanket on top of you, you get up and scoot over to the end of the bed over to him. Miguel looks like he’s in pain. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tosses and turns, face pinched in pain and distress. Now that you’re closer, you can make out words in the sounds he’s making.

“Quiero quedarme contigo. No te vayas, no te vayas,” he keeps murmuring.

He looks exhausted. Which, of course he is. He's been on constant alert trying to protect you. Fighting off supernatural weather phenomena, blocking hazardous furniture and fighting off charging hippos out of nowhere. Of course he's worn out.

“Shhhh, It’s alright.” you whisper to him, reaching out to gently stroke his arm, attempting to soothe him. “It’s okay.”

He groans unhappily in his sleep, burying his head into the cushion.

“Quiero quedarme conti–”

"Hey, hey, Miguel,” you tap insistently at his shoulder now. If you can’t soothe the nightmare away, then maybe you can at least wake him up out of it, “It's okay. Wake up."

This time his eyes slam open, wide with adrenaline and shock, and he shoots upright, head whipping from side to side as he scans the room. Every inch of him prepared to leap into a fight.

“What’s wrong? What’s–”

“You were having a nightmare,” you explain to him.

He stiffens at that, dropping his eyes to stare down at his lap unhappily.

“Shit, did I wake you?” he runs a hand over his face, then lays back down, “Sorry.”

Silence blankets the two of you, and you don’t know what else to say to him. Except just that you want him to be able to rest–truly rest–after the day, week and month you’ve both had. You don’t want him to have to go back to snatching moments of troubled, uncomfortable sleep on that stupid, too-small couch.

“You could come sleep on the bed with me,” you offer, “That couch is nowhere near big enough for you.”

"It's fine," he mutters, "It's been fine the last month, and it's fine now."

"It's not though. You're clearly not sleeping well. I should have asked you before. I'm surprised your back isn't already killing you—that sleeping position looked painful."

His head darts down, eyeing his own spread legs that are sticking out into the empty air from the bottom of the couch. But he doesn't concede the point.

"Please?" you try again, "It will make me feel better."

Apparently all you needed to do was ask, because Miguel immediately complies like your request was a decree. He gets up, pulling the quilt with him, his mop of curls in adorable disarray as he drags his feet over to the other side of the bed and flops down with a loud thump that makes the whole mattress bounce underneath you.

You can feel the pull of the sheets where his legs threaten to brush up against your bent knees, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think this through. Even in the big bed, there's only so much space, and he seems to be taking up most of it.

He's close, and you can't seem to peel your eyes away from the strong line of his throat. Can't help the way your body reacts. Your pulse starts to race, heart kicking up hard and fast against your ribs.

Miguel turns around to observe you with narrowed eyes. “You okay?”

Shit! Did he hear you? That timing was too on the nose. You nod at him a little bit too frantically and you sound high-pitched and skittish even to your own ears.

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your heart is beating really fast.”

Fuck. He could hear you. Of course he can, he has super hearing powers doesn’t he?

“I’m just tired,” you stammer out, wrapping the blanket close to your chest for layers as a shield from his super hearing.

Miguel doesn’t push it. He turns back around, letting his head drop down the pillow.

The distance between you has been growing smaller and smaller with each passing day together and you think you have been crossing an invisible line that you shouldn’t be crossing as of late.

You think of the closeness of him in the office, the weight of his arms on your waist as he held you in his lap. His eyes on you. The bare skin of his broad back casually revealed to you when he was changing. The same back that you find yourself staring up at in this moment.

“Go to sleep,” Miguel rasps from your side, and you nearly jump out of your skin in surprise.

You close your eyes, but somehow in the dark you become even more keenly aware of his presence in the bed with you. Your heart seems to skip a little bit faster as the seconds pass, each beat a little bit harder.

There's a quiet sigh, then a much louder exhale, as he turns back towards you in bed.

"What's wrong?" His voice is still gruff with sleep.

"I can’t fall asleep,” you say, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. “Can you talk? It might help me sleep."

He snorts with a laugh. The sound of it makes something pleasant skitter up the length of your spine. He's got a nice laugh. It's a shame he doesn't laugh often.

"What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. Just... some things never change." Even in the dim of the unlit room, you can see the smile on his lips.

"What do you want me to talk to you about?" he asks.

You tilt your head, considering it. Miguel rarely gives you a carte blanche to ask him for information. Logically, you should use this moment to seize a tactical advantage and ask him for all the salacious details that you know he’s been keeping from you. But as you wrack your brain for questions, the only ones that come to mind are disappointingly ordinary. You just want to know more about him. Small, silly, personal details, the way he seems to know everything about you.

"Tell me about where you're from," you request, "Your dimension. Your hometown."

He shifts on the bed, lying flat on his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with you as he reminisces.

"It's called Nueva York. It's significantly more technologically advanced than this dimension. Definitely cleaner. People aren't as big of assholes as they are here. Public hygiene is way better, everything doesn’t reek of piss. Oh, and there’s not a rat epidemic in the public transportation system there."

His head turns to his side to look at your face, and he gives you a small mischievous grin as he continues. "Food is healthier. You don't get junk food there."

The words should be complimentary, but from his tone of voice and what you know of his eating habits, you think it’s probably a win for your dirty, rat-infested dimension.

"Lots of skyscrapers and neon-lights everywhere. It's colorful."

He pauses, as if he's struggling to find anything more to say about the place. Then his head tips to the side, meeting your eyes, and his gaze is soft.

“I'll take you there," he promises, voice quiet and warm and it makes something sweet and honeyed trickle inside your veins pleasantly.

“How?” you wonder.

His smile drops, replaced by an unhappy frown. “Not sure yet, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Can’t we just open up a portal like last time?”

He shakes his head.

"The last time I took you through the portal, it was meant to take us back to my dimension. But I built the parallel universe traversal device to transport me—and only me—through the multiverse."

He reaches out to you, fingers wrapping gently around your wrist. The contact makes your skin tingle, but you don’t pull away.

"I wasn't thinking last time. We can’t take the risk of winding up back in the void.”

He’s mumbling now, nearly asleep. His eyes half-shut as he blinks slowly, struggling to keep them open as he slowly blinks.

"Someone that disappears in the void, they'll be erased from existence and out of every timeline. No one will ever remember you or know you existed. It's as if you've never existed at all."

You eye the watch on your wrist. The slight sheen of the bed light reflecting against the shiny glass.

"Can we modify the watch?"

"Firstly, not a watch", he reminds you by rote as he fluffs up his pillow with his arm.

"And second..." he pauses, eyes drifting up to study the ceiling before he shakes his head, "I've tried. It doesn’t work. The power source isn’t powerful and your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed. It’s how we ended up in the void.”

Worry burrows into your chest, and your gaze drops down from his face. It always feels like you’re taking one step forward and ending up two steps back. Futile and hopeless but that’s what you get for trying to fight against the will of the universe.

"Go to sleep," he says again, his hand coming to rest gently on top of your head, "I'll figure it out, don't worry.”

You smile, warmed by the comforting gesture and his reassurance.

“I won't let you get hurt this time."

…‘this time.’

The promise cuts through you like glass. Sharp and jagged and clawing its way into your chest until it hurts you to breathe.

Miguel is talking to you, but you don’t think it’s you he’s thinking of when he says the words.

He attacked Wong without a second of hesitation when he thought you were hurt. He's exhausting himself half to death to protect you. But you know that he’s not really doing any of this for you.

It’s not your comfort he was thinking of when he cradled your burnt hand and gently blew on your fingers. It’s not your love of egg tarts that makes him save the flaky pastries for you when the two of you go out for dinner. It’s not you—has never been you—that he’s seeing whenever his eyes linger on your face when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You're riding on the emotional coattails of the other you. The unwavering loyalty that he had for her has transferred to you now that she's gone.

He must have really loved her.

There’s a sharp fissure in your chest, and you try to swallow down the thistle of needles that’s found its way into your throat, only to discover that your saliva tastes sour and bitter.

Closing your eyes, you can see an image of yourself smiling with him, laughing with him, holding his hand. Except it’s not you.

It’s her.

Other-you, with the wedding band and the happy life and– And somehow better hair too, the lucky bitch!

Except… she wasn't lucky, was she? She's dead.

She’s dead, and you still resent her for what she had with Miguel. It's such an ugly feeling.

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, but the image doesn’t go away. Nor does that acrid taste in your mouth. You can't help it. This irrational and childish madness is eating into the edges of your mind. You're envious of your other self.

God that’s fucked up.

Does someone like you even deserve to be saved at all?

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedications: To @thirstworldproblemss for all the rubberducking we do together on this silly little story. Thank you so much for sitting with me and making this fun! I love you 234238472938492374923 x infinity and back again.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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gyuwoncheol · 3 months

Text

Man On A Mission

Pair: Joshua x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, very slight angst

Summary: Plans are made and the surprise is all set, but what happens when you’re suddenly refusing to be Joshua’s Valentine’s date? Will your boyfriend get your sweet yes in time for the big day or will he have to force it out of you? Good thing this sexy gentleman has a few tricks up his sleeve.

Warning: slight angst if you squint, lots of playful teasing, Shua and oc being menaces to each other, making out, suggestive content.

WC: 2.8k

Author’s Note: Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day! This is my piece for @svthub Cupid For You Collab - Valentine’s Gift Exchange. This is very much dedicated for my Valentine @shuadotcom 🩷 I’m so sorry this is late 😭 I would’ve really wanted to publish this on the 13th but your valentine has been very sickly these past few days. I hope you enjoy this as much I enjoyed writing the antics I wrote for you and your beloved Joshua. I love you so much!!! To the moon and back 😉 The biggest thanks as well to my dearest @wongyuseokie for being so patient with me and helping me out with all my questions AND for organizing this event! Ily 😘

Svthub’s Cupid For You Collab Masterlist

“You can’t be serious right now,” you frown in shock.

“SURPRISE!” Your boyfriend exclaims.

You turn around fully to face him, “babe… I thought we agreed on no surprises? And no extravagant gifts?”

A cheesy grin flashes on Joshua’s face but when he notices how serious you actually are, his once excited expression starts to fall.

You really should’ve known that when you both agreed on a simple staycation for Valentine’s, your CEO boyfriend would do anything but. However, when he mentioned to you about how busy he would be this week trying to close a merger deal, you thought perhaps simple would be possible. So when he asked you to join him for a lunch with business partners in a fancy hotel the day before Valentine’s, you didn’t actually think it was all a trap to just get you both checked in in the presidential suite for an overnight stay.

Joshua observes you a bit more before answering, suddenly feeling embarrassed and scared, “do you not… like it? I mean, I can still cancel the booking and then we can go do—“

“Baby, no,” you interrupt, “it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just… not what we agreed on.”

“Well you said you wanted a staycation, right?” Isn’t this what that is? A nice place just less than an hour away from the city, perfect view, nice amenities, a good looking boyfriend. But I mean, if you’re not into it, I might still be able to get us those Bali tickets I canceled last week.”

“You what?!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Hong?” The small voice of the hotel receptionist calls you both and Joshua is thanking the heavens you were given no time to further interrogate him.

“It’s Miss y/l/n,” you immediately correct her and Joshua frowns at how quick you were to dissociate from him, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he ponders how his extravagant surprise might have really upset you.

“Oh, my apologies miss y/l/n. Anyway, I just wanted to inform you that your suite is ready. Here are your room keys and you will be assisted to your room.” You kindly thank the receptionist and make your way through the hotel lobby.

The elevator ride up to the top was silent and awkward. Joshua consistently bounced on the balls of his feet from nerves. However, when the doors to your suite open, your jaw drops and your feet automatically lead you towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that boast a 180 degree view of the city. You didn’t even notice the bell man wishing you both a pleasant stay or hear your boyfriend carefully approach you. You could see the concrete jungle of the business district yet so beautifully backdropped by the sprawling mountains in the distance. You never thought much of your city, it wasn’t exactly a tourist destination in itself, but now that you’re looking at it from hundreds of feet above, you realise it has a charm of its own.

“I take it you want to stay?” Joshua asks as he observes the glimmer in your eyes.

You finally peel your gaze from the view and turn to your boyfriend who’s carrying an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he grabs your hands and sandwiches them between his, “I just thought this would be nice and I know you didn’t want to do anything big but I also know you like surprises and I just really wanted to give you the perfect Valentine’s I could pla–“

“Who said I’d be your Valentine’s?”

At that very moment, all color drains from your boyfriend’s face. His mouth is agape, eyebrows raised and eyes are round as ever. Complete and utter shock wash over him and then you see pain, his eyes show early signs of wetness and he starts to blink hard and that’s when you burst out in laughter.

“I’M KIDDING!” You laugh loudly, hands cupping his face and you just hear him take a deep breath.

“Babyyyy,” he whines and you’re completely melting at the pout etched on his face.

“Aww, babe,” you peck his lips before embracing him tightly. He takes a few more seconds wrapped in your arms, trying to let his heartbeat stabilize from the prank you just pulled. “I was just kidding. I think.”

“You think?” He pulls back and catches the mischievous smile on your face. “What does that mean?”

“Hmm… well for starters, you just assumed, you didn’t even ask me, and then–“

“Okay so will you be my Valentine?” Your boyfriend rushes out and if you just weren’t feeling playful, it would be a definite yes right then and there.

“I’ll think about it,” you shrug. “This wasn’t exactly how I thought we’d spend the holiday, you know. I thought we’d only meet with Mr. Min today.”

“Well, I had to find a way to get you to come here with me.”

“Yeah, but what happened to no surprises, Josh? Didn’t we agree on a simple Valentine’s, just a staycation? No fancy gifts and just our favorite food?”

“If you think about it, we’re still in the city, so it’s still a staycation. And we can still have our favorite food!”

“And yet… what was that I heard awhile ago? You had plans to take me to Bali? Hmm??”

“Okay, fine…” your boyfriend slumps in defeat, “but that was honestly booked before we even agreed on anything. And then I canceled when you said you didn’t want anything too extravagant. C’mon baby,” Joshua prods, his arms wrapping around your waist, “I’m still somewhat following the agreement. I just… I really want to make this special for us. Please let me?”

“Okay, I’ll let you,” you smile at the sincerity of your most loving boyfriend. You truly appreciate the effort he’s putting into this, but just like the dynamic of your relationship, what’s a romantic holiday without a little fun? “But I’m still not saying yes to being your Valentine… not yet.”

He sees the wink you just gave him as you walk away and he rolls his eyes. “So that’s how you wanna play it, huh?”

You dramatically turn around before letting yourself fall on the large couch by the living room, “oh whatever could you mean, my love?”

Sometimes, Joshua just hates how you may just be as mischievous as he is, if not more. But he also adores your playful side, especially when it makes him think outside of the box. When he sits beside you on the couch, he’s immediately pulling you onto his lap, hands roaming up and down from your waist to your thighs. “I’ll get you to say yes,” he answers confidently.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm… before midnight.”

“A deadline, I like that,” you nod in approval, “let the games begin, babe.”

Joshua scoffs, “they already have.” A searing kiss is delivered to you that you almost fall over if your boyfriend hadn’t had his muscular arms supporting your back. When you’re finally responding back, Joshua is surprisingly the first to groan, but could you blame him? Your lips were full and soft and it didn’t help at all that your hips have decided to grind against his crotch. He’s sucking on your bottom lip and when they part to grant him entrance, the CEO wastes no time in exploring with his tongue. He hears you moan once, twice, and then he’s pulling your pelvis down as he bucks his hips to meet yours.

“Will you be my Valentine?” He asks in a muffled rush while trailing down your neck, hoping you’d be caught off guard. But Joshua should’ve known, you took your games just as seriously as he did.

“Not so fast, baby.” You giggle, pushing him back against the couch. “You’re not gonna get me in one try.”

There’s a genuine laughter shared between the both of you but when you feel Joshua’s hand begin to pull down the strap of your blouse, you gasp in shock, scaring the man beneath you, “what is it?”

“Babe! I don’t have clothes!”

“Even better,” he smirks.

“No!” You swat his hand away when he attempts another kiss. “I mean, we’re staying the night, right? I didn’t pack anything. Oh my god! I don’t even have my skincare!”

“Okay, calm down,” he rubs your arms, “I have it under control. I’ve packed for you, yeah? Clothes, skincare, even some accessories. Just… except maybe underwear.”

“Babe!”

“What? You won’t really need it anyway.”

“Joshua!” You scold louder this time.

“I’M KIDDING!” He laughs like a maniac, “I brought you… a few.”

To be very fair with your boyfriend, he stayed true to his promise of a staycation. While the hotel you were at had a luxury shopping center directly below it, he knew you just wanted to laze around in the comfort of your suite. Room service was ordered for your lunch, you both watched your favorite movie on the large built-in flat screen on the wall and now, you’re sighing happily sprawled out on the bed wrapped in the hotel’s fluffy bathrobe.

“Someone’s happy,” Joshua notes, settling beside you.

“Are you kidding me? That was the best massage I’ve ever had in my life!” If you were being honest, your whole body felt like jelly, in a good way, it’s as if you could still feel the masseuse’s skillful hands kneading away the knots on your lower back. “I think I might just marry her.”

“Wow, okay???” Your boyfriend takes offense.

“If she asked me to be her Valentine, it’s a yes,” you stick your tongue out at him and before you know it, you’re smothered in tickles from your boyfriend.

“What did you just say?!” He challenges and you want to trigger him more but you’re simply reduced to a fit of squirming giggles underneath his muscular body.

“S-s-sttooooppp!”

Your wrists are conveniently pinned down above your head as you try to squirm away, your body encased between his legs, and a pair of scrunched up brows and pursed lips are staring you down, “Not until you say yes to being my Valentine!”

“No!” You deny him, “the more you tickle me, the more I’ll say no.”

This actually catches his attention and he lets go of you. “Wow, I didn’t think that would work.”

“I’m just nice,” he proudly grins, “and that’s why I’d make the perfect Valentine’s date.”

“Mhmm, probably. You are a gentleman, after all.”

Joshua wiggles his finger at you disapprovingly, “I believe the exact term you’re looking for is a sexy gentleman.”

You both share a laugh at the inside joke that began a few years back in his workplace and has simply stuck until now. “Speaking of,” his tone turns a bit more serious, “I know you just wanna be lazy in bed all day but if it’s okay with you, will you let this sexy gentleman take you to dinner tonight? It’s just going to be in the restaurant downstairs and I made sure to ask the staff to place us where it’s more quiet and secluded.” Big doe eyes stared at you and while you did want to tease Joshua a little more, the sincere look on his face proved too difficult to even playfully deny.

“Okay, I’ll go, but I’m still not your Valentine date. There’s still a few more hours to woo me, Joshua Hong.”

He scoffs and then smiles, leaving a kiss on your cheek before hopping out of bed, “I’ll get that yes before midnight.” It’s cool and confident, and somehow, you’re beginning to lose your resolve.

“What is this?!” you gasp as you open the small hand carry luggage that your boyfriend had packed for you. It was the first time you had gone through it, completely trusting him when he said he had brought all your essentials. You also didn’t feel the need to go through the bag earlier as you had no plans but to live in the fluffy robe the hotel provided.

“What?” Joshua snickers.

You squint your eyes at him, knowing his agenda a little too well. “This,” you mutter coldly, raising up the lingerie with your hands. It was skimpy and it was lacey, and most of all, it was your boyfriend’s favorite. He tries to act innocent but a cheesy grin breaks out on his face anyway and you just roll your eyes at his antics. However, rummaging through the rest of the bag for underwear that had more coverage proved to be unsuccessful. “Just three pairs of lingerie? Nothing else. Really?”

“Hey, no! I packed four. Four pairs of lingerie. All of which are my favorite,” a boyish grin on his face.

“You couldn’t even bring me at least one comfy pair of panties for sleeping?” You pout.

“Not when we’ll be sleeping naked, no. But your nightgown is there,” your boyfriend earns another roll of your eyes and now he’s really giggling with mischief. “C’mon babe, don’t pout. Any of those four will fit perfectly with…” he runs to the closet and then quickly comes back with a huge white box in his hands that had a big black ribbon tied around it.

“Babe,” you gasp silently when you manage to open the box and pick up the beautiful dress that was folded neatly inside. It came in your favorite color and in a style that complimented your curves well. “This is too much,” you say just above a whisper, “I thought no more gifts?”

“Well, this isn’t really a gift. It’s more like… hmmmm…” your boyfriend purses his lips, “giving you something to wear for dinner. I can’t have you walking in the restaurant in just your lingerie! That’s only for my eyes to see!”

You should’ve been annoyed really, he was coming up with the most mischievous excuses to break the agreement you both made, but the way Joshua was pouting and huffing towards the end of his sentence had you smiling like a love struck teenager.

“I love you so much,” you smile and wrap your arms around your boyfriend, planting a kiss on his lips.

“I love you too, baby.”

And you both did, you really loved each other so much. Mischief and jokes were common between you and Joshua; he was equally playful as you are, but no matter how much you teased each other, every single ‘I love you’ that came out of your mouths was always said meaningfully.

“Baby?” your boyfriend asks in the middle of your scrumptious dinner, “do you think Valentine’s is overrated?”

You’re slightly taken aback by the question, especially since the topic before this was how Joshua managed to win the chubby bunny contest during your friend group’s Christmas dinner.

“Uhmm.. “

When you realize he looked dead serious about his query, you give it some thought before answering him, “I see why it could be. It is quite a capitalistic holiday and well, Saint Valentine did die a gruesome death on this day, but I do think that if your Valentine is the right person, it doesn’t really matter if it’s overrated or not.”

Josh is listening intently to your words, his thumb slowly rubbing the back of your hand, “So… you don’t think all my surprises today are overrated, right?” There’s a curious look behind his eyes and your heart physically squeezes at the sight of it.

“Oh, love…” you sigh and scoot your chair right by his side, cupping his cheek and giving him a kiss that you hoped would wipe his worries once and for all, “You could’ve surprised me with a trip to the moon and I would still hop on that spaceship with you volunta–”

Joshua gasps loudly, “Now, how did you know that’s where we’re going tomo–”

“Babe!” you laugh and shove him lightly, “Even if you weren’t kidding, I’d go with you. I told you, even the most possibly overrated thing you could think of will not be overrated as long as it’s with you.”

“Ohhh, so I am your Valentine tomorrow, huh?” The proudest, most obnoxious smirk breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, his chin is held up high and one brow raised approvingly. It takes a few seconds for you but when you realize what he’s done— falling perfectly into his trap— your jaw simply hangs low.

Your boyfriend is quick to tuck his hand below your chin, “close your mouth babe, else a bug might fly in.”

You scoff at the remark but honestly, Joshua isn’t able to hear you amidst his cackling, and you absolutely abhor how he’s gotten you to slip so easily.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” the laugh is evil and confident, and you want to punch his stupid annoying grin away, “you loooooove me, quite literally to the moon AND back.”

Damn him, you thought, because he’s right, you love him, to the moon and back.

As if he wasn’t proud enough, your boyfriend seals your defeat by grabbing your neck to kiss you fervently only to then raise his fist in victory, “one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind, AND a Valentine’s date for Joshua Hong!”

#svthub #svthub.collab #Cupid For You #Valentine’s Exchange #svt #seventeen #joshua fic #joshua fluff #joshua x reader #svt fic #svt fluff #svt x reader #paula writes ✨#shuadotcom #Man On A Mission

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randombush3 · 2 months

Text

THE SECOND PART

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carry on reading!!!

[...]

Bali is hot. Or at least, by your English standards, it is.

The children enjoy the villa at the Ritz, less so the yoga you partake in when your best friends find out that it can mend broken hearts, and there are big TVs in the living rooms that the World Cup matches are broadcasted on.

Your fingers remain bare, but no one knows about the ring in your suitcase anyway, so no one questions the absence of jewellery that used to adorn your hands. Or, at least, no one whose opinion you actually care about.

Nico and Elena are happy to play and play and play, barely granting you their attention when you disrupt their endless hours in the pool or exploring the beautiful grounds of the hotel with the 24-hour childcare service. You had been reluctant to accept the help, but Gio was fine with her own daughter being stolen away, and they both called you ‘uptight and preoccupied, a sad, faded picture of how fun you used to be’ until you gave in.

You let Alexia wonder about how her children are, attributing her lack of phone calls to her focus on chasing World Cup glory, blissfully ignorant to the fact that your friends have been micro-managing your interactions ever since they agreed they aren’t sure about letting you forgive the blonde just yet. That is not to say she doesn’t ever speak to them – Nico was gifted an iPad for Easter (a shoddy, shoddy excuse of an occasion to be given it, but you barely batted an eye as he tore open the packaging and thanked Auntie Anya profusely). He sort of understands how to FaceTime Alexia. They often happen when he is with what Alexia calls ‘the can’t-mother-too-busy-doing-drugs nanny’.

You are lounging on the sunbeds, sweat pooling on your navel, music playing softly through the speaker Elena had begged you to bring. Though Moana pales in comparison to the days you’d attend concerts that weren’t your own, you are quite content to relax and zone out the lively songs and stare up at the brilliant, blue sky.

Today is a bit different. You are two weeks into your holiday, with one remaining, and, today is the day you are finally going to open Alexia’s gift.

You worked out what it was the moment she had given it, but, since you know that curiosity kills the cat, you have stopped yourself from opening it, not sure if you will cope with seeing a ring. What would this ring even be? A ‘sorry I fucked my best friend’?

Elena hasn’t been included in the children’s entertainment plans for the morning; they have gone for a visit to a coral reef, accompanied by their babysitter and Anya (who you are beginning to think is enjoying their activities more than they are). Despite being relatively advanced for her age, some things fall short, such as her attention span. It doesn’t help that the sleeping issues Alexia had noticed are leaking into her time spent with you, too.

“Mama,” comes a small whine, followed by a sniffle. Elena has been trying her best to copy you, lying underneath a towel for shade. You had hoped she’d finally fallen asleep, seeing as that didn’t happen last night. With her evidently still awake, you sit up, reaching out to run your hand through her damp hair, not quite dry from when she had enough energy to splash around in the pool.

“Mama, tired.”

“I’m not surprised. That’s what happens if you don’t sleep.”

“Mama.” The petulance is a little glimpse into her teenage years, but then she begins to cry and your imagination falters at the sound.

Elena, as far as toddlers go, is not the most emotional. She is generally well-behaved, if a little unresponsive at times, but she is quiet and introverted and happy to follow the leader, whoever that may be. She is a complete contrast to her brother, who basks in the attention he demands from those around him, loud about what he loves and hates, yearning to make friends with everything he sees. Elena, Elisabet Segura has told you, is just like Alexia, when she was that age. Controlled, reserved. (And your parents were quick to draw the similarities between you and your son.)

Just like her mother, Elena is drawn to you. Just like his mother, Nico is drawn to Alexia. Opposites attract.

It’s hard to ignore if you notice it.

So, when Elena begins to cry, you are alarmed to see, in her eyes, the same fear that clouds hazel irises you know far too well. The tears glide down her cheeks in inherited patterns, and you try not to panic at how much she looks like Alexia – even if they do not share the same DNA.

Part of you, the same part that suffered from postpartum depression and dulled your motherly instincts, wants nothing more than to run away from the crying toddler, horrified at the sight as you spiral and begin to imagine Alexia in her place, just as distraught as your daughter seems to be. And it’s weird and unsettling and you are so confused because Elena hasn’t cried like this since you told Alexia to leave. She continues, and even that night starts to seem minor in comparison to her meltdown right now.

Elena does not sob, she does not scream, she does not shout and go bright red in the face earnestly. A developmental tantrum, sure, but never, ever like this.

You have never seen this before, and you are at a loss for how to respond. Naturally, you draw her into your arms, holding her close and rocking her gently as she continues to wail.

“Oh, my darling,” you stagger out, trying to forget your desire to join her, to break down with her. “Mama’s here, Lela. It’s okay.” The words feel inadequate and do nothing to soothe her, though your hands stroke her back as if to rub the comfort in, to absorb her anguish and bleed it out. You would do it, if you could. You’d take all of her pain away in an instant.

In your mind, a whirlwind of thoughts swells up and disgorges bubbling, burning ideas into the pit of your stomach, none of them quite fitting as an explanation for her distress. Is she hurt? Is she missing Alexia? Or is it something deeper, something you’d overlooked?

You can be selfish, you know that. Perhaps you have been too focused on getting over the destruction of your family that you have forgotten said family in the process?

Perhaps this has happened before! You were touring for a while.

As you hold her, helplessness washes over you, as though the pool you are right next to has grown thrice the size and is trying to drown you both. You wish Alexia were here all of a sudden. Alexia, gifted at soothing crying children and being a mother and managing a career and parenthood in a way that you have never quite managed.

Alexia, who gave into your request for children and ended up besting you at it.

Alexia, whom you still love and miss and hope, sometimes, will wake up beside you even if you know that it is wrong and pathetic and… God, do you really lack such self-respect that you’d take her back? Are you this useless that the crying child in your arms should be passed off to someone else because you can’t cope and you never will and you still smoke because you’re stressed and the last time you took drugs was far too recent to be called a good mother and Elena cries and cries and cries and…

You take a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, hating that you are lying to her. It’s not okay! None of it is okay. “Mama’s here, Lela, Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Your voice trembles, and she hears the weakness of your tone, unconvinced and uncomforted, failed by the woman who is supposed to guide her through all of her storms as steady as the sun’s movement each passing hour. Elena’s cries continue unabated, her small frame wracked with sobs as she clings to you, squeezing your skin tightly in a way that tells you that you are not enough.

You, alone, are not enough for her.

You can’t do this.

With your arms holding her securely in place, you dip down slightly, grasping your phone from the tote bag it’s shaded in. It has been warmed by the sun anyway, but the heat of the screen as you press it to your ear is nothing in comparison to the burning in your chest, the fire her cries have ignited in a way that destroys everything in you.

She continues to scream into your body as the dial tone buzzes and beeps three times, picked up on the fourth as if she has been counting the rings.

“Dime,” Alexia’s gruff voice huffs out, unimpressed that you have called her after refusing for the past month, seemingly always busy. Anya and Gio had given her excuses; you were busy talking to Leah, you were in a meeting, you didn’t want to speak to her. “Now is not a good time.”

You only manage to breath out her name before she understands that something is seriously wrong.

“Alexia, it’s Elena… she’s… she’s crying, she hasn’t stopped. Alexia, I-I don’t know what to do,” you admit, voice breaking. You know she will be able to hear the sobs coming from the toddler, her voice mighty and fierce despite how small she seems. “She hasn’t slept at all, and it just… happened. I can’t calm her down.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No, no,” you stutter, words tumbling out in a rush, “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘hasn’t slept’? Not even a nap?”

You shake your head, panicked. At Alexia’s lack of response, you remember that she is not here with you. You swallow your own sobs. “She’s been sharing a room with Nico and everything’s been fine, except, last night, she wouldn’t sleep. It was like she was terrified of it. She begged me to let her sleep with me, so I brought her into my bed and, I don’t know, it didn’t help. I tried to tire her out, read to her, sang to her, told her off, comforted her, but she wouldn’t and so I drifted off and she didn’t and we were relaxing today – it’s just us, today – and she started crying half an hour ago and hasn’t stopped.”

As if on cue, Elena’s sobs grow louder, piercing through the phone line in a way that makes both you and Alexia feel sick. But Alexia has heard these before, and has kept them from you for a very good reason.

“She’s exhausted,” Alexia decides calmly. “She’ll cry herself to sleep.”

“She doesn’t want to sleep!” you snap, frustrated.

“She’s scared you are going to leave her. She usually… she usually cries for you, when she’s with me. I guess not seeing me has flipped it.”

“Usually?”

You pale.

“Usually, Alexia?”

You hear a sigh. “Do you want me to talk to her?” she asks, ignoring your horrified question. “Rub her back and keep touching her, so that she knows you’re there. I’ll… I’ll see if I can get her to calm down a bit so that you can – you need a breather, don’t you?”

“My daughter is crying as though the world is about to end.”

“Well, for her, it feels like it is. Put me on speaker.”

You obey her instruction, reclining on the lounger so that Elena is now curled on top of you, wetting your chest with her tears. You place the phone near her head, both hands trying desperately to remind her that she is not alone.

“Lela, petita, no estàs sola. Estoy aquí, y Mama también. Mai et deixarem.”

Elena sniffles, surprised by the sound of Alexia’s voice.

“That’s it, darling,” you encourage as the sobs are quickly replaced by resigned whimpering. Alexia continues to talk, hardly understandable as you let yourself succumb to your own emotions, your tears running down the sides of your face, hands still drawing circles on your daughter’s back. “That’s it,” you whisper.

Alexia hangs up when she hears both of you breathing deeply, slowly, softly; fast asleep.

…

She wipes the sweat from her brow, more exhausted from this than the gym session she had stepped out of.

“What was that about?” Codi asks her curiously, taken in the blush in her captain’s cheeks, the slight dent in her lips from where she has bitten them. “Rather inappropriate to pick up a booty call when we’re this close,” she pinches her fingers together, “to the semis, no?”

“Elena won’t sleep with her either,” Alexia says, if not because she needs to tell someone then because she relishes in the embarrassment that clouds Laia’s face as she hurries to take her comment back.

“I thought you’d overcome it,” Laia replies sadly. “She was sleeping the whole night in her own bed, wasn’t she? That was only two months ago.”

“She can’t deal with it, Codi.” Her sigh is a little more heartbroken than what is fitting for such a communal area, but Alexia does not care that her hunched shoulders have caught Irene’s attention, the defender well-acquainted with the signs of family issues. “She can’t deal with the back-and-forth. She is only three.”

“It has been a year,” comforts her friend. “Maybe she needs more time to adjust.”

“Laia, you did not hear her. She cried like she was going to die, and I felt like I was going to die with her. You know how Y/n is with… You remember what it was like when Nico was a baby, when he wouldn’t stop crying. We were lucky that Elena didn’t have that, or that the doctors were more vigilant or whatever, but… I was keeping this from her for a reason.”

Alexia doesn’t want to guilt you back to her. There is the slightest possibility that, if you were to know just how much Elena has been struggling while away from you, you would suffer through your heartbreak and pretend everything was fine, just to make her happy. Just to make their lives easier.

But Alexia knows. Alexia knows you wake up every day and relive it again and again. She sees the repulsion in your eyes when you look at her – she saw it through the wine and the pleasure.

She knows you smoke, she knows the rumours about the parties you go to are mostly true. She knows that the album is about her, and that the success didn’t taste sweet because it exploited your heartbreak.

She knows that you don’t feel anything towards Leah Williamson, that you’re only trying to get her attention or fill her place.

Alexia knows all of this, because you are a part of her. She knows how you feel like she knows where her right hand is, and, the worst part about that, is that she knows it is all entirely her fault.

“Irene, where is Mateo?! Alexia needs her little person hugs!” shouts Laia, sympathy hidden by her teasing tone, which Alexia is very grateful for. “Get the nen, and get him now!”

…

The unopened ring box travels with you to Australia.

Spain’s failure to lose has led them to the World Cup Final, and while you are going to support your own country, Elena and Nico are dressed in ALEXIA jerseys, yellow and red stripes painted onto their chubby cheeks.

You had found out, after the Elena incident, that your friends had been lying to Alexia for your peace of mind, or so they claimed.

You don’t know how to tell Alexia that you called Leah before you left for Bali and told her that you couldn’t be with her. Or that Gio and Anya had been meddling, going as far as to calculatedly gift Nico an iPad in preparation for a summer of trying to save you from a broken heart.

So… you send her a heads-up that you’ll be attending the final, wish her luck (but not too much, for the sake of the Lionesses), and ensure the children are down for naps so that they have energy to party late into the night regardless of the outcome.

As a desperate, short-term solution while separate from Alexia, you had your manager seek out the best paediatrician in Bali and get a reasonable prescription for melatonin, just so that Elena can sleep. You plan to let Alexia focus on her tournament and bring up the issue when preseason starts, aware that drugging the child to sleep is definitely not the best option.

With another hour of sleep in their systems, you have time to re-pack your suitcases, ready to leave the next day.

And you are reminded of your unopened gift.

Alexia had said to open it when you were home, but you reason that home is with your children, and home, due to your career, is often also in the hotel suites in foreign countries.

You root through the piles of neatly-folded clothes, searching for the box you had buried at the bottom. Its velvet edges are soft under the wrapping paper and the box is sitting in the palm of your hand, naked now, before you realise what you are doing.

The lid flicks open, and you prepare yourself to see something shiny, some insanely expensive diamond that certainly won’t fix all that she has done.

But you brace for nothing, for inside the box lies only a slip of paper.

A boarding pass from London Stansted to Barcelona-El Prat Airport, decorated in aged, black ink.

Scrawled on top of the flight details is something much more valuable than the entrance into First Class the paper allows.

Eleven digits.

Your old phone number.

You remember this.

It was the night you first kissed Alexia, or, rather, she kissed you. You’d been at some FC Barcelona event, and you’d gone outside because you had realised it might not have been acceptable for Alexia to hit on you in front of all those people, no matter how much she had wanted to.

You’d smoked to get her attention, to get her to tell you off. To start a conversation. And you had loved her from the minute she kissed you, so tentative, so unsure.

The boarding pass is sentimental, and you are amazed at the condition it is in, or even the fact that she still has it.

You drop the box, plucking the paper from the slit it had been situated in, unfolding it, examining it with tears in your eyes.

You turn it over in your palm, re-acquainting yourself with your memories from that evening.

And you notice fresh, blue ink written on the back of the boarding pass.

It’s Alexia’s handwriting, this time, though neater than usual, having clearly taken care to form her letters correctly.

Can we start again? it says.

There is a drawing of three stick women, short dresses, high ponytails, too. One is circled, an arrow leaping out of the wobbly shape. That one is labelled with your name, and, underneath, ‘esta es mi favorita y me casaré con ella algún día’.

Marta once told you, at the expense of her club captain, that that had been Alexia’s only comment about you back when they were all obsessed with your break-out girl group and could never talk about anything else.

Twenty-nine-year-old Alexia Putellas knows that her mistakes have lost her many battles, but twenty-nine-year-old Alexia Putellas also knows that her love will win her the war. Because there you are, and nothing is worth fighting for more than you.

(to get back to the main post)

#fc barcelona #woso imagines #barca femeni #leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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thepersonnamedsam · 10 months

Text

thighs don’t lie - mv1

pairing: max verstappen x goddess!reader

summary: thirsting over each others thighs on main is your hobby

face claim: no one particular

warnings: max thirsting

note: i saw this tiktok about max‘ thighs and i couldn’t get this idea out of my head… i love thighs, psst

masterlist / taglist

yninsta

Bali, Indonesia

Liked by maxverstappen1, username1 and 368‘728 others

yninsta day 1 of 🌊🏝️🐚

View all 37‘289 comments

maxverstappen1 oh my, oh my, i-, idk what to say

username2 god, i wish to look this good

username3 thank u, y/n for posting ur body without shame, bc it is NOT and making people feel okay with their body type, ly

username4 yes, ty indeed <3

maxverstappen1 where’s your room? number? anything?

username5 not max thirsting on main

yninsta no. 33, you know where to find me, lion

username6 girl, no way they got room 33

username7 no, that’s probs just for main

mvfanacc

Liked by yninsta, username8 and 6‘389 others

mvfanacc just an appreciation post for max‘ thighs

View all 928 comments

username9 currently thirsting

username10 did u see, y/n liked the post

username11 how can she not? i mean, look at him

yninsta thank you

username12 girl, not y/n thirsting on main

username13 ugh, i love this man

maxverstappen1

Bali, Indonesia

Liked by yninsta, pierregasly and 926‘638 others

maxverstappen1 day 2, saw someone posting my thighs, thought i had to appreciate my love’s thighs too

View all 472‘728 comments

username14 I TELL U I SCREAMED

username15 ME TOO

username14 let’s be in this mess together

username15 u n me forever

yninsta aww maxi taxi, ty my love, i LOVE your thighs

maxverstappen1 if you call me maxi taxi again, i won’t thirst anymore

username16 gurl, NO, don’t let that happen!!!!

username17 pls, y/n, we need our man to publicly thirst

username18 it’s the only way people will like him

maxverstappen1 i love her thighs. here, it’s done, i said it

yninsta and i love you

maxverstappen1 does any one need a pt. 2, bc i’ve got a whole folder

comment deleted

yninsta

Bali, Indonesia

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 638‘297 others

yinsta day 3 of BALI with my one and only

View all 36‘728 comments

username19 what a dream relationship

username20 istg, i want what they have

username21 if mines not like that i do t want it

maxverstappen1 I LOVE YOU

danielricciardo we get it mate…

maxverstappen1 sorry that i love my gf

maxverstappen1 how am i so lucky

yninsta i am the lucky one

username22 MORE THIGHS

username23 YES MORE THIGHS

username24 WE NEED MORE PICS IF YOUR THIGHS

username25 THIGHS DONT LIE

yninsta and maxverstappen1

Bali, Indonesia

Liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 482‘297 others

yninsta day 4, to the best thighs on the grid 🥂

View all 62‘628 comments

username26 LIKED BY PIERRE GASLY

username27 how has max‘ pr manager not said anything about those two posting soft porn on main?!?

username28 bc wE ALL APPRECIATE IT

username29 YES

username27 okAY

danielricciardo max, you know i have better thighs than you

yninsta that is NOT true, mr. ricciardo

danielricciardo you are NOT TRUE

maxverstappen1 but we can all agree that y/n has the best thighs, right? 🔪

danielricciardo yes max

username30 sigh, when will i ever get that?

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen f1 #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen #insta au #f1 instagram au #formula one instagram au

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dangermousie · 8 months

Text

A pusher post: What Happened in Bali (2004)

This monster hit of a drama (also known as Something Happened in Bali) starred three about to become huge stars - Ha Ji Won, Jo In Sung and So Ji Sub. It's one of my favorite kdramas of all times and was HUGE when it aired, but because it's almost 20 years old, is nowadays less known than it should be.

youtube

My elevator pitch for it would be: "What it's like to be the object of (adult) Domyouji's obsession in real life." Answer - misery and self-destruction.

The plot seems fairly straightforward and revolves around four individuals, all of whom are damaged and none of whom are that likeable but some of whom (if you are me), you end up loving anyway.

Ha Ji Won is Soo Jung, a poor girl working as a tour guide who ends up being torn between attentions of two very different and very damaged men - the icy, ambitious, poor one played by So Ji Sub and a volatile, abused car crash about to happen wealthy one played by Jo In Sung. (In possibly my favorite performance of his ever.) The fourth main character is a wealthy young woman played by Park Ye Jin who was in love with So Ji Sub but threw him over for the status and money of arranged engagement with JIS.

Bali is a very dark drama, in a way dramas really aren't today. Yes, of course there are dramas with damaged or even negative protagonists, tragedy, and darkness. But what old kdramas sometimes had is a certain grinding every day aspect of misery, if it makes sense. It is not larger than life, there is no message, it's not healing. It's broken people trying to get through soul-crushing darkness and being ugly about it and often failing.

Ha Ji Won, the pivot of the story, is not happy or noble. She is desperate and grasping; she wants money and she wants love and she wants everything, anything to feel the gaping hole in her soul. I knew the story wasn't going to be your usual one when I saw the scene where Jo In Sung's character Jae Min offers her $$$ for a one-night stand and she calls him a jerk (and you see by his reaction he doesn't even understand that what he said was insulting - he is puzzled. In his world, everything can be bought and sold, and there is no such thing as affection) and then asks whether he is going to pay before or after. In her world, there is no room for the grand gesture, for throwing money in his face. She leaves only because he kicks her out (giving her money but not doing anything - which is so telling) telling her to buy her new shoes (hers are broken) and saying "it's not fun any more" (the first of many instances she really throws him off any usual ways he deals with things). And then she trips on her broken heels walking out, sprawling in the lobby, inelegantly grabbing and picking up money.

When we first see her, she seems mostly well-adjusted but the more the story progresses, the more we see she is just as broken as Jae Min, who just be the most broken kdrama ML that I have come across. (So Ji Sub's character In Wook has frozen himself and somehow avoided some damage that way; it doesn't hurt that his damage unlike SJ and JM's isn't reinflicted over and over; and Yeong Joo, our secondary girl, is largely content - she mostly accepts the devil's bargain she made for money.)

One of the biggest pleasures of this drama for me is contrasting in the way Jae Min is going to be with Soo Jung eventually - utterly desperate and brought down and willing to beg and beg and beg, and the way he is at the start - emotionally detached, with all the 'power' on his side - I mean, contrast his propositioning her for that one-night stand and the scene where they finally make love, a dozen eps from then.

BUT! And I think this is one of the reasons I love this drama so much - it is not a story of love as salvation, it is the story of love as damnation. As far as Jae Min is concerned, this is the story of devolution. His soul wakes up and he falls in love and he commits himself utterly and that breaks him down more and more and eventually makes him a broken destroyer of himself and the woman he loves. Because, the drama seems to say, in his environment, only a true cold monster can thrive or at least survive; the moment he loves someone, he's done. The whole this drama shows abuse is so telling. His monster father beats him regularly even if Jae Min is a grown man (there is a scene in his office in ep 2 where daddy is practicing golf in his office and Jae Min flinches any time the golf club is in his vicinity, and almost stutters and it's a small preview of what we are going to get.) But his mother who spoils her "baby" even though that "baby" is a grown man, but only if he does what she wants; he's supposed to have as much self-determination as a poodle, is as bad.

And there is Ha Ji Won - she is so desperate, so alone, so grasping, so greedy, so alive. She is a rare kdrama FL who sleeps with both her leading men (not at once, it WAS 2004 :P) and takes so long to decide that she loves Jae Min because she doesn't want to let go of even a crumb of what she can have because she's been so starved in every way.

And then there is the infamous ending

SPOILER

SPOLER

SPOILER

Where Jae Min (who has been through total hell by then; god the scene where he's on his knees begging his father to spare Soo Jung, trying to convince the man he never loved her) believes wrongly but reasonably that Soo Jung never loved him and played him to take all the family's stuff in cahoots with In Wook and goes into their room (where they just finished banging) and shoots them both right after she just finished telling In Wook that she is going to go back to Jae Min despite the risk because that's who she loves is !!!!! And as she dies, she tells Jae Min, for the first time, she loves him. And he goes out and the last shot (no pun intended) is him on his knees putting a gun to his temple and a shot ringing out. And that's the ending; our main three dead (and Jae Min never knew she never betrayed him and only finding out she loved him when it was too late), the sole survivor is the ice cold secondary girl. All people who had some humanity dead and destroyed by the monsters heaping constant wrong and abuse on them until they broke and said monsters continuing with their nice lives.

And the thing is - the drama does not condone anyone - not the family abusers who break Jae Min down bit by bit in the drama, not Jae Min who does the most monstrous thing at the end, going from a man willing to die body and soul so Soo Jung could live to the man who himself kills her, not In Wook who steals everything who wasn't nailed down, nor secondary girl who will never be touched by anything, not even Soo Jung who got into all of this because of her greed - it just lays it all out and presents their humanity and goes "watch. watch. watch."

Nobody would make this nowadays. They'd need a message or a cynical tint or w/e. Not just - sometimes there is no moral, no message, sometimes you watch people self destruct and love them as character even if not as people anyway.

There has been a rumored remake (shudder) for years but it has never taken off the ground and thank god. Without cast and with modern way of doing dramas, it would be terrible.

PS Speaking of terrible, the clothes in this drama oh my GOD.

#kdrama #so ji sub #jo in sung #ha ji won #something happened in bali #what happened in bali #Youtube

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valentiyne · 8 months

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𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 & 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗌 ☆ 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗎𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽

Calum Hood x Famous!Reader Summary: Requested! After 4 years of agreed no contact, one phone call and song takes back all that you've worked for. Warnings: Mild Cursing, Slight of Explicit Content. Word Count: 1k (not rlly proofread lol) Copyright © 2023 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻

"So, Y/n tell us more about Calum Hood"

A name I hadn't heard in exactly 4 years to the very date.

48 months, 1461 days, and 35040 excruciating long fucking hours.

My face immediately lights up at the name nevertheless, brushing my hair behind my ear nervously,

"Hood? I'm not quite sure what this has to do with my upcoming EP coming out at midnight", I breathlessly laugh out, my eyes locking with the interviewer in front of me. My new work titled, "Bittersweet" was launching at midnight, only containing 4 songs to go along with the 4 bittersweet years I've spent away from him. It was hopeless of me to write about him, but he was the only source of inspiration I could find.

"Well you two had a bit of chemistry as far as we know, is that right?"

Sure we did. We spent over 6 years together on and off, but always came back to each other. He was my rock, my everything, but ultimately we knew it wasn't going to work out.

"Sure we did, I mean it was nothing but a mere innocent crush", I cross my legs now, my shaky hands clasped on top of my knees. The crowd was silent as excited fans packed into the small room to hear the soft launch before midnight.

"Well it was surely more than innocent", she motions to the screen next to us. "This picture was taken four years ago in Bali during the second leg of their tour", I mentally roll my eyes but smile anyway. A few people from the crowd squealed as the iconic picture of us in cuddled up on the beach was displayed, the same one he posted himself as an excuse to have me on his page.

"Like I said- It was a small crush" I was trying to convince myself more than everyone else.

I watch as the slideshow continues on, the screen filled with every single moment in time that Calum and I were spotted together across the world. A few innocent ones of us walking next to each other, to one taken on the balcony of a hotel. We were just kids who didn't know what they were doing- lost in the moment together. He will always have a place in my heart. When things ultimately ended, we both agreed to never speak again- it was only weighing each other down.

"Well I thank you for your time, I hope everyone enjoys the album and finds some comfort in the chaos", I stand up abruptly, extending my hand to shake the interviewer's hand. The crowd cheered quietly as I walked off the stage with a slight wave. I needed to get out of here, I felt like a complete idiot working myself up over someone that I no longer talked to.

I slipped past the stage crew as I shuffled out past the backdoors and towards the parking lot, my fingers fumbling with my keys as I tore my driver's door open and plopped down dramatically. The door shut behind me and I sighed to myself loudly,

That was fucking ridiculous, they didn't even ask anything about me. Just about someone I never wanted to mention. Of course, I could talk about him until the end of time, but it wasn't my place to do so anymore. He was playing sold-out shows every other day and had no worry about a girl back home who happened to have matching tattoos with him, right? The tattoo we shared was of a small flower underneath our ribs, the same flower he gave me on our one-year "situationshipversary" as he called it. It was a silly gesture that I treasured, the California wildflower that he pulled over on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway to pick during peak traffic on the way to my house. It now lay inside a small glass bottle hung around my neck, all wilted like our history.

I pull my phone from my purse, scrolling down to the bottom of my contact list, and clicking on the "DO NOT CALL!!!!" number. I hesitantly dial his number and bring it up to my ear,

"Hey! You reached Calum, I'm away from my phone right now but leave a message!", He declined it immediately, either that or his phone was dead. Not quite sure which one makes me feel better. I roll my eyes at the stupid prepubescent voice and turn my phone off.

I tossed my phone down onto my lap and leaned my head against the wheel. I subconsciously wanted to log back into my Instagram and scroll down an update page to find out anything about him. I had no idea what he was up to or who he was with, it's been years since I've last heard his voice.

"You know this isn't good for either of us, Y/n", he rang through my head as I remember standing on his porch in late July.

"Calum, we've been through this so many times- why can't we just try?"

He runs his hand through his freshly cut hair and shakes his head, "It never ends well, I feel like a fucking lost dog who always limps its way back to you.. I just- Fuck- I can't do thi-"

The last thing I remember was the door closing in my face, leaving me all alone with no closure. I could hear him on the other side, a thump on the door indicating he was leaning against it. I tried for the handle, jiggling it a few times before banging on it, begging for him to talk to me. I couldn't stay mad at him forever, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him, slap him in his beautiful face, and kiss him all at once.

My phone vibrating snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked down,

DO NOT CALL!!!!

My heart skips a beat, staring at my phone on my lap buzzing away. I bit my lip softly, pulling it closer to my face as I accepted the FaceTime call.

The camera was pointing to the ceiling when I answered, his voice booming loudly as he spoke.

"Hello?"

I let let a breath I didn't know I was holding, trying to gather the right words to say. What was I supposed to say after all this time?

"Cal?", my voice is softer than I had hoped for, the word slipping past my lip like it's begging to finally be let out.

"Holy shit", the camera shifts and he props it up against the wall, waving at me with one hand. Calum sits in his studio chair with his old bass in his lap, headphones pushed back against his long curly hair. His eyes are wide as he raises an eyebrow, "Shit, long time no see."

I adjust the camera against my steering wheel and scoot my seat back, allowing for a better view of myself as I smile innocently with an awkward wave. "Hi Cal, how ya been?" I see his eyes travel down to the necklace around my neck, my fingers dancing around the bottle as I speak.

"Shit, Y/n if I'd known it was you calling I would've answered way faster, I just had deleted your number-", he stops himself, looking up with a sympathetic crooked smile before sighing. I raise a hand up to reassure him instead, "Calum", god saying his name tugs at my heartstrings, "It's okay, I get it... we don't have to dance around it.. now what are you up to?"

He was lying, Calum hood was bluffing to my face and I had no idea. After all this time, he still had my contact listed as "My wildflower", but he couldn't dare admit to me that he didn't answer sooner because he was scared.

Scared of what I was going to say

Scared id tell him I found someone new

Scared of seeing or hearing me again

"I'm actually working on a song right now", he laughs and holds the iconic bass up, a small spot right under the strings that once had a star sticker I placed on it- now scraped off.

I make a face, reminding myself that that was the past and I shouldn't dwell on it too much, but seeing him happier without me didn't make me feel like I thought it would. A part of me wished he was as miserable as I was, cooped up in my room writing stupid songs that were confessing my raw feelings.

"What's it about?", I chirp up as he bends down to play a few notes on the keyboard next to him, assuming it's the intro.

"It's about someone that was in my life, uh someone you don't know- she came around afterward", he says slowly, not meeting my eyes through the screen. I just nod in agreement, opening my mouth to speak.

"Would you like to come over for dinner sometime this week?", The words flow out before I had time to think about it. As I wait for his response, I pick at my nails- a habit he absolutely hated. He would smack my hand out of my mouth every chance we were together, telling me "I'd get worms in my belly" I did stop for a while, but my bitten nails were the only reminder he was actually gone.

"Yeah, I would love to!- Look I'll let you go but we'll keep in touch alright?", He speaks quickly, his hand flying down in one swift movement. With that, he ends the FaceTime call and I'm left looking at my reflection. I looked dumbfounded, smiling to myself as wide as I could.

I couldn't let myself fall for this again, for him- we both knew it wasn't going to end well for either of us. But hell it's been 4 years and I've changed as a person, and by the looks of it, he has too.

My phone buzzed once, twice, and then three before I looked back up at it to see three new messages from none other than Hood.

DO NOT CALL!!!!: I kinda lied, you do know the person I wrote it about

DO NOT CALL!!!!: mp3.wildflower.calumdemo.rec

DO NOT CALL!!!!: my wildflower ;)

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weoris · 4 months

Text

EVERY WHERE I GO

i. WHERE LEE HEESEUNG will go to the moon and back to show you off. you’d always promise each other to be there, wherever the other would go, even if it meant just in the heart.

GNRE fluff, angst, established relationship. PRNG clingy!lee heeseung x reader OTHR swearing, long distance. WRDS 1.5k ( 1573 words )

JAY VER. JAKE VER. HOON VER.

“HERE’S US IN BALI!” heeseung showed the photo to his group mate, who seemingly had no interest in you or your summer trip to Bali, or that you almost lost your swim suit or what hilarious thing that happened with some waiter.. or was it the air stewardess?

Either way, Yujin smiled tiredly and sighed. “Nice.” She let out, continuing to write while the boy continued to babble. “And it cost us every dollar we had, but it was so worth it! She even was going to buy me a watch! Of course I refused to.. but listen, she actually offered to get me one! Isn’t she such a generous girlfriend.”

Yujin, with her chin on her palm, gave a fake smile and kept her eyes big, “Yeah! Crazy!” She humoured the boy. All the poor girl wanted to do was complete her partner-project, but it seemed like her partner was more focused on his own personal partner..

Just in luck, you left him a text, saying you were around the cafe they were at. His eyes instantly lit up and Yujin scooted to view the dilemma. She almost fought a chuckle at his reaction.

The boy was giddy. Giggling and tapping his feet to the beat of imaginary music as he texted you back.

heebee❣️ ok baby, come quick! ilysm 🥰

Smiling at his cute response, you type out a quick ‘I love you too’ and put your phone back in your bag, using your hand to shade yourself from the sun.

Nearing the outdoor bench, you waved and smiled at Heeseung as he gave you one back as well. At your arrival, Yujin let out a sigh of relief and started packing her stuff. “Hi, baby!” He smiled wider and held your hand as you stood next to him.

“Hey, hee!” You giggled. “Hi, Yujin!”

“Hi!” She gave an exaggerated smile. “Please take control of your person.” Yujin whispered to you with gritted teeth, grabbing her iced coffee and leaving immediately, leaving you to snicker but redden up. It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned something similar about heeseung’s clingy affection.

He greeted you with a kiss on your cheek as you sat down, “I missed you so much, you have no idea.” You rolled your eyes and giggled, looking down at his hands wrapped around your arm.

“Me too, hee. C’mon.” You smiled and grabbed his hand, packing his stuff and leaving the bench.

HIS FRIENDS DIDN’T HAVE IT EASY EITHER, dealing with his needy complaints ever since Heeseung started dating you.

“I miss her.. you know yesterday she made me waffles for breakfast? She even made me dinner the same night! Oh god, why don’t you ever make me dinner.” Heeseung gave Beomgyu the stink-eye.

Beomgyu furrowed his eyebrows, “Hey. I make us dinner all the time!”

Heeseung rolled his eyes and threw his head back with a groan. “I don’t want to eat ‘Betty’s healthy late night easy-to-make recipes for the whole family’ every night. Her chicken is raw!”

Beomgyu gasped at his dorm mate, “You ungrateful shit, Betty is the best! You just don’t like gourmet meals or precious old ladies!” His words made heeseung roll his eyes again.

“It’s not Betty that I don’t like. And I’d love a gourmet meal, it’s your brain that gets every idea from the fake Facebook mom groups you join that I hate!” Heeseung spat out more angrily as Beomgyu gasped ever heavier, almost accidentally choking.

“You’re just bitter that you failed Highschool home economics! It’s not my fault you burnt every thing we made!” Heeseung glared at the long-haired boy. “You dipshi-”

He stopped almost choking Beomgyu when he heard the door open, seeing your confused figure outside.

He smiled immediately and practically floated to you. “Hi baby.” He grinned and wrapped his arms around your neck, pressing a kiss on your head, then ten more on your face. His gesture made you giggle as you looked away from him.

Beomgyu made a disgusted face but smiled when you waved at him. “Don’t mind him, he’s just bitter.” Heeseung smiled affectionately at you, but turned to scowl at his roommate.

The latter gasped at his words. “Yeah, and your boyfriend is an ungrateful brat!” Beomgyu yelled out as Heeseung brought you into his room, once again turning to scowl at the boy.

BUT AT TIMES, YOU COULDN’T BE THERE. “What is it?” You smile at your boyfriend, who had came over to your dorm a few minutes ago to break whatever ‘exciting, mind-blowing, life-changing’ news he had.

He jumped on the couch and held your hand with a giddy smile on his face. “Are you sure? It’s really big news!”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh with a smile. “Yes! C’mon!”

Heeseung pursed his lips before speaking again. “Ok, ok. So you know how I’ve been like.. dreaming of that super exclusive three-year internship, study programme thing right?”

You nod, remembering the nights of sleep he’d miss to upgrade his resume and get the chance to go. “Well.. I made it! I’m going!” You jumped up at his words, gasping and hugging him immediately. “Oh my god, that’s great! You’ve worked so hard, I’m so proud of you!”

“I know, I can’t believe it.” He pulled away to look at your eyes. “Thank you.. for supporting me all the time. I..” his smile turned a bit more sad, you could see it in his eyes. “I want to spend all the time I have left here with you..”

Confused rested in your expression. Your eyebrows furrowed, you tried to smile still. “What? The time you have left? What- what are you saying, hee?”

He sighed again, but quiet enough to not worry you. “I’m.. the programme is abroad. It’s in the states..” Your eyebrows raised and you took a deep breath in. “Wow.. that’s.. uh- far.” You looked down but smiled again when you saw his worried expression.

“But it’s good! You know.. the US has a ton of.. amazing opportunities.” You smiled, masking your sadness — you still were happy for him, no matter how hard it would be.

He frowned at your pitiful expression. “Baby.. I don’t want anything to happen to our relationship, ok? I know long distance is hard but we’ve been through so much together already! 3 years apart can’t do much harm, can it?” You look up at him, and his beautiful, hopeful doe eyes make you smile and nod. “Of course not.”

A wave of relief washes over him as he hugs you tight, not wanting to let go — as if you’d vanish if he did.

THE DAYS WITH HIM were everything you’d ever dreamed of and more. He took you to amusement parks, fancy dinners, bought you flowers and pretty rings — you felt like you had just won the prince you had always dreamt of as a little girl.

but it every fairytale, there is some sort of heartbreak, and this was that moment.

“I’m going to miss you so much..” you muttered into his shoulder, raising your head to avoid your tears coming out. Even though you wore waterproof mascara just for this occasion. He pulled away, putting the flowers he had received from his mom on top of his suit case and pulled you in for another tighter hug.

He left no words, as he embraced you as close as he could, lifting your feet off the airport floors for a second before putting you down. He couldn’t say anything to you, he was sure he’d choke up.

“Why are you crying?” You said, wiping a running tear off his cheek and chuckling, even though you felt your tears running down as well. He laughed too, at your words and hold your face in his hands. “I’ll miss you so much too.. you can’t even imagine.”

You smile in content, resting your foreheads against each other. “We’ll be alright. I’ll be there!” You put your hand against his chest, right on his heart, “Here. I’ll always be here.” He looked down at your hand and held it with his own.

Looking back at you, he pressed a kiss on your forehead. “I know you will.” He smiled and tilted his head to kiss your lips softly. When you pulled your lips away, his parents came rushing from the bathroom. “Did we miss anything?” They frantically said.

You both chuckle and shake your head. “No, I was just about to go.” He pulls away from you to hug and wish goodbye to his teary-eyed mother and proud dad. “I love you guys.”

“I love you. So much. Remember that alright?” He smiled teasingly, making you roll your glistening eyes. “Mhm, mhm, I love you too.” Pecking his lips one more time, he smiles and smoothes out your hair before going. “Bye!”

After waving, Mrs. Lee blows her nose quickly as heeseung’s father leads her down. You give one last wave to heeseung and motion a call sign with your hand, signalling him to call you on the plane. He giggles and waves back, sending a flying kiss and nodding. “Y/n, are you coming?”

You turn to heeseung’s father and immediately walk towards them. “Mhm. Let’s go.”

And when you reached home, you were pleased to find a text from him attached with a selfie of him and his hand on his chest while seated on the plane.

heebee❣️ right here with me ✈️💓

NOTE cutie little heebee is too much. yapped a lot here but this was so adorable I almost GAVE UP. I need someone like hee or else I’ll explode, srsly. and yes plans for the rest of hyung line r up.. if i have enough ideas I’ll do for the maknae line possibly??? I HAVE TOO MANY SERIES IDEAS I CANT EVEN FINISH ONE (..most including ones of my old works)

TAGLIST @w3bqrl @boowoowho @ahnneyong @kynrki @ixomiyu @yunki4evr @flwoie @bubblytaetae @ja4hyvn @dimplewonie @xiaoderrrr @trsrina @adajoemaya @stepout-09-15 @justwannachecksmth @ineedaherosavemeenow @lcv3lies @violetinferno @woncheecks @mijuuv @enhapocketz @star4rin @bubblytaetae @dimplewonie @flwrshee @whoschr @jiaant11 @yeomha @mosssi @j-wyoung @artstaeh @spilled-coffee-cup @cowsmicwu

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 5 months

Text

Something to see

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 13

Prompt: Road Trip/Vacation

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Modern AU, established relationship, honeymoon, Steve is Dustin’s dad

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares.

Two years back, if asked how he pictured his honeymoon, Steve would probably have laughed. He was an overworked single dad who barely managed to split his time between home life and his father’s company, and hadn’t had a proper date in forever. Marriage was so not on his agenda.

If pressed for an answer, he would have come up with some cliché. He’d meet a nice girl who also happened to not despise Dustin, get hitched, take her to a five star resort in Bali or Hawaii or Mexico or whatever.

And now?

Now he’s leaned against the side of his third-hand Winnebago, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise over the Californian sea, while his husband snores away inside.

Husband.

The thought still makes him giddy, even after almost a year. Between moving houses, carefully dismantling the life his father had forced him into, and Eddie’s first novel skyrocketing to the tops of the bestseller lists, it's been one hell of a time. But now they're here. On their cross-country road trip, just like they promised each other.

Sometimes he still wonders when he'll wake up, alone in that big, sterile penthouse, and discover that Eddie Munson was just a fantasy cooked up by his lonely brain.

His phone buzzes, just in time to jerk him out of his thoughts. Steve unpockets it and smiles when he sees it's a message from Robin.

Hi, Eddie’s husband! Your son's asking if we can have McDonald's for breakfast. Again. I said we'd have to ask you first.

Steve wrinkles his brow at the weird form of address, but shrugs it off and types his reply. He's just hit send when he hears footsteps.

"Nonono, stay like that, the picture is perfect!"

Steve snorts into his coffee but obediently turns back around and allows Eddie to take a photo. He's rewarded by arms wrapping around his waist and lips against his neck only seconds later.

"Morn'" Eddie mumbles.

"Morning," Steve smiles. Something in Eddie’s pocket vibrates. "That your phone or are you happy to see me?"

"How 'bout both?" Eddie takes the mug from his hands and carefully sets it on the ground, then presses Steve up against the side of the Winnebago and proceeds to kiss him breathless.

"Did you know," he mumbles against Steve's lips, voice sultry and low, "that they have the world's largest artichoke near here?"

Steve is just glad Eddie took away his coffee because he'd definitely have snorted some through his nose at that revelation.

"Oh no, absolutely not."

Eddie pouts. "Gotta see the local sights, Stevie. They even have a souvenir shop and a restaurant, famous for it's fried-"

"-artichokes?"

"See? You get it!" Eddie beams at him, leans in for another kiss. "Say we'll go? C'mon."

Steve hums in pretend-thought and Eddie nips at his bottom lip. "Alright, I guess."

"Yessss," Eddie cheers, already whipping out his phone to look up directions. "So, if we follow the interstate-"

"Woah, wait!" Steve says, because he has just spotted the huge number of alerts on Eddie’s screen. "What's going on there?"

"Huh?" The tips of Eddie’s ears turn pink. "Oh, that's just my Twitter. I got a bunch of new followers since the book and- it's nothing, really."

"Are you kidding?" Steve already has his own phone out and is pulling up the app. "This is fucking fantast- wait, is that me?"

"Um," Eddie says. "Maybe?"

"Maybe?" Steve wrinkles his brow, because that clearly is him, only a few minutes ago, leaning against the RV and cradling his mug of coffee, half-profile blacked out by the halo of the rising sun.

His eyes flick to the number of likes and for the second time, he's glad the coffee is gone, because it would definitely have sprayed all over his screen.

"What the fuck?"

Eddie groans and rubs at his neck.

"Okay, listen. I didn’t think anything of it, I just … really wanted to share these pictures because I love you, and I love being on this trip with you, seeing shit, visiting places…"

Steve hums absentmindedly as he scrolls through the feed, picture upon picture of himself from behind. Strolling through the world's largest corn maze, the one they visited two states back. Looking out over the Grand Canyon. Inside the hole of that giant artificial donut that Eddie insisted on seeing.

"... and someone may have asked who the hottie with the ass was and I may have said my husband, because sue me, who wouldn't brag about that, and things sort of spiraled from there. They may have given you a hashtag even."

"A hash-" Steve tears his eyes from his own back before the vast Nevada night sky. "What hashtag, Eddie?"

Eddie mumbles something into his own hair.

"What was that, I didn’t-"

"It's Eddieshusbandsass, okay?" Eddie snaps. "There, are you happy now?"

Steve gapes at him.

"I don't believe this," he finally mumbles. "You made a hashtag for my ass?"

Eddie is making a valiant attempt at looking bashful, but his mouth is tugging into a dimpled grin.

"To be fair, my followers did. The internet is rightly obsessed with your butt, babe."

"For fuck’s sake," Steve groans. "Get in the RV, we got a giant artichoke to see."

Behind him, Eddie perks up. "We … are still seeing the artichoke? You're not like, divorcing me?"

Steve turns and levels him with a stern look.

"If you don't kiss me in front of that monstrous vegetable and show them the face to go with that ass, I might."

"Oh my God," Eddie breathes, smile brighter than the sunrise. "Marry me."

Steve twirls the keys around his finger and winks over his shoulder.

"Already did, honey."

His husband may be a total menace sometimes - but he's his menace. And Steve's the luckiest guy in the world for it.

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #someone who cares

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corriganatheart · 1 year

Note

hiii could u write something about a baecation with jude? it can be a headcanon or a reg imagine whichever you prefer. and idk if you write smut but if you wanna add it in there i won’t complain 🫣

Synopsis: Jude takes you on a vacation for your anniversary.

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem! reader

Genre: romantic, short

Warning: Mention of sexual activity 🔞

"Maybe we should have gone to Thailand," Jude says while scrolling through his phone. You rolled your eyes and continued to read the book in your hand.

It had been one hour since you boarded the private plane, and Jude had been bringing up different destinations that he could've chosen only because he wanted to get laid in every country. During your first vacation as a couple, you guys went to Bali, and for your two-year anniversary, he chose Bali because it meant a lot to both of you. Jude has always wanted to visit different countries because it was his mission to have sex with you everywhere so that if you leave him, your mind will only be filled with him. It was his way of saying you can never escape him without sounding psychotic.

“Baby,” he whispers, sending shivers down your spine. You hate that he still has this effect on you even though you guys have been together for two years. “Let me eat you-“ You close your book and smack his head, causing him to wince. “What is wrong with you?” You hissed. Jude tilts his head back and laughs before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Do I need to answer that?” He asked and kissed you on the cheeks. You rolled your eyes and decided to lay your head on his shoulder. You felt him smirk through your hair. “Thank you so much for planning this,” you whispered. Jude lays his chin on your head while stroking your arm. “You know I would do anything for you,” he mumbles. You nod your head, knowing damn well he meant every word he said.

You guys still have a while until you reach your destination, and you are doing some work on your laptop while Jude is asleep next to you. His career had skyrocketed after the World Cup, and his schedule was hectic. He took on as much work as possible before taking this vacation, and it almost didn’t happen because he was getting so many business proposals. You had told Jude several times that you didn’t mind just spending it home and having a nice dinner, but he refused and wanted to take you somewhere special.

Staring at the beautiful man next to you, your heart filled with happiness and joy. When Jude first pursued you after you’d been part of a project he was in, you thought the relationship wouldn’t develop any more than a short fling. Football players were known to have brief relationships, and even though he was a perfect gentleman to you, you couldn’t help but be cautious. Jude proved you in many ways, and eventually, you had to give in and admit that he was the one for you; you couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering his smug face when you told him he won. “Huh, maybe Thailand wouldn’t have been a bad idea,” you mumbled after seeing Gio’s girlfriend post her vacation photos.

“You remember the first time we came here, baby?” Jude asked while your eyes scanned the beautiful resort and crystal blue water. “I remember the first time we made love here; gosh, it was amazing.” Your eyes widen at Jude while he smirks down at you. The translator awkwardly looked away while the employees smiled at Jude as if he had just said something angelic. If only they knew how devious he could be.

“Woah,” you said after arriving in your bedroom. It was huge, the size of an apartment. The bed was decorated with flowers and a gift basket with rich wine. The room has a large pool balcony with a perfect beach view, and it also has a dining area. “Jude, this is amazing,” you exclaimed while taking in the scenery. He has taken you on lavish vacations before, but this one has to be one of the best. “All for you, baby,” he whispered in your ear behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. You chuckle after feeling something hard touching your skin from the back; he doesn’t want to waste any time. “Jude, we have to shower and get ready for dinner,” you mumbled, although you were rethinking it. “Dinner isn’t till an hour, babe,” he says, and you feel him tug at your waistband. You close your eyes and feel his mouth touch your neck; it is a gentle kiss to remind you that you can say no. Jude was a gentleman; he always has been. “It won’t take long; I’ll be quick,” he promised. You bite your bottom lips because you know damn well his definition of fast isn’t the same as yours. Jude needs more than an hour to be satisfied; he was a giver, not a taker, and it pleases him more than anything else to see you lose your mind because of him. “I’m so thankful for you,” he whispers before kissing your shoulders. “Thankful that you have always been there for me.” Another kiss. “Thankful that you’re patient with me.” Another kiss. “Thankful that you never give up on me.” Another kiss. “Thankful that you give me your heart just as you have mine.” Gosh, you were a goner.

He gently places you on the bed; your clothing is scattered all over the floor with his. The wine and gift basket was somewhere on the floor now, and the only thing touching your back was the pedal of roses. He smiled down at you before going in for a kiss. Jude was perfect in every way, and his performance has always surprised you in every aspect. How he turns a slow emotional kiss into a hot kiss filled with his tongue fighting yours makes you feel so many ways. His mouth remains on yours while his right-hand travels down to your center. Jude promised he’d be quick, but you knew this would take at least an hour and a half. He wanted to take his time with you; he wanted to cherish the girl that he had been in love with since he laid eyes on her. The girl that makes him want to be a better person, the one girl that never seems to fail to make him smile. You were perfect for him, and he wouldn’t want you to forget that in any way. “I love you so much, baby,” he whispers while sliding a finger into you. You gasp when he wraps his lips around a nipple sucking and tucking as if his life depends on it. “Jude,” you whimper while fisting the sheets. “I could never let you go,” he said while sucking on your chest. “You’re forever, my girl.” It was pretty clear how in love you both were, and although you guys were still young, no one would understand how this felt. Jude stared down at you, his eyes darker than before as you fall apart in front of him, screaming his name. He closes his eyes and smiles, cherishing the way his name spills out of your mouth; he could listen to it all day.

After catching your breath, you sit and reach for him, but Jude grabs your hand midway. You frown, but he smiles and places your palm on his chest. “You feel that, Y/N?” He asked. You nod; your heartbeat matches his rapid one. “This is what you do to me,” he says. “It’s just you, baby; only you can do this.” The both of you smile at one another, and he lets you lean in and kiss him. He drops your hand and pushes you back down on the bed. “Jude, I want to,” you whined while grabbing his shaft. He shakes his head slightly and pins your hands above your head. “We have all the time in the world for that. Right now, I need to feel you,” he says with pleading eyes. You nod and look at his suitcase sitting near the bed. Jude’s eyes follow yours, and he bites his lower lips before looking back at you with hesitation, "I need to feel you…without a rubber,” he says. You panicked a little at that because you knew the risk. You guys had raw sex before but stopped after a pregnancy scare that almost caused a breakup. “Baby,” he pleads. Jude must have noticed the fear in your eyes because he sat up and pulled you up with him. “Look at me, love,” he said softly while one hand rubbed the side of your face. You look at him, and he smiles; gosh, it is a charming smile. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s me and you, Y/N. There is nothing to worry about. I want you with no barrier, and I know the consequences, but I wouldn’t want to do that with anyone else. I am always ready for anything with you. I love you, and it’s ok if you don’t want to but know that whatever happens, I am here.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck, looking up at his face. “I love you so much, Jude, and I want you with nothing between us.”

This time, everything was better. There was no fear, and there was no alcohol in either of your systems. He pushed in without hesitation and let out a relieved sigh like he had wanted this for so long, and you were the same. There was nothing between you guys, and this was how it was supposed to be. Jude smiled down at you and kissed you softly. “You’re my everything.”

“Huh, Trent said he’s going to block me until I come back from vacation,” Jude chuckles while he types on his phone. “Why?” You asked while taking another sip of the rich wine. As you expected, Jude took his time with you and refused to get out of bed because he wanted to go for another round, so an hour later, you guys are having late dinner while watching the sunset on the other balcony. “He’s jealous. That’s what he gets for dumping his girlfriend.” You laugh, knowing damn well Trent will get another one in a couple of days. “Gio seems to be having fun in Thailand,” you said after seeing a photo he posted of him and his girlfriend. “Yeah, next time we are going there,” Jude says and sends a wink your way. You chuckle and shake your head before checking your DMS. Your eyes nearly pop out when a familiar name appears in the inbox. “What?” Jude asked after noticing the surprised look on your face. “Look who texted me,” you laughed and showed Jude the message. Jude’s jaw tenses, and he glares at your screen like he can murder the other person through it. “Why the fuck is that asshole texting you?” He asked angrily, but you know he wasn’t accusing you of anything; he was questioning the person's intention. “Chill, he probably wants me in one of his projects,” you shrugged. Jude frowns and chugs his glass of wine down. “Only you’re allowed to work with me,” Jude says. You roll your eyes and stare at the message; it is a simple hi and how are you? But knowing the person, you don’t think he wants any trouble with Jude. You close your phone and kiss a frowning Jude on the cheeks. “Come on; you know Pedri isn’t like that.” Jude’s lip twitched, and you giggled, “and besides, I prefer brown boys.”

The next day was filled with activities, from swimming to sailing on the yacht, but you guys had to go back to the hotel early because people were starting to recognize Jude. “Sorry, babe, but I promise I have a surprise for dinner,” Jude says and kisses your pouting lips. “Sometimes people forget that you’re human,” you whined. They didn’t even let Jude get in the car without pushing him and screaming for an autograph. It took at least thirty minutess for security to escort Jude safely to the car. “That’s the price I gotta pay, I guess,” Jude casually shrugged. You sigh and slump down on the sofa. You love his fans, but sometimes, it does it overwhelming. “Don’t stress about it, babe. I’m fine,” Jude says and lays his head on your lap. You smile and trace your finger along his jawline. “How come you get to win the genetic lottery? It’s not fair.” Jude laughs and grabs your hand before kissing the front of it. “And I thought my best accomplishment was winning you.”

You hold on to Jude’s hands as you guys climb the stairs to the roof. When he said you guys were going out for dinner, you thought a fancy restaurant, but apparently, the hotel staff set up a table on top of the roof. Your eyes glimmers when he opens the door to the roof. Rose petals are scattered everywhere on the floor while roses were lined up to create a path to the table. “Oh, Jude,” you said as you took in the beautiful picture. “This is amazing.” He guides you to the table and pull the seat out for you. The food was already here, but it was still warm, meaning the staff had finished preparing everything. “This is beautiful,” you said, looking at him and the view behind him. The sun was setting, and the beach reflected the sunset. “I had to make everything perfect,” he says. “Because it’s you.” You smile and place your hand on top of his. “Thank you for everything, baby.”

You guys ate, talked about Jude’s soccer future, talked about your job, and the future that you guys want. By the time you guys were done, it was dark, but there were lights lined up around the edge of the roof, and you knew Jude had come up with all these ideas. “Wanna dance?” Jude asked while holding out a hand. You smiled and grabbed it. Jude guides you guys away from the table, and suddenly, your guy's the song comes on. “This means so much to me. Thank you, Jude,” you smiled. He kisses your forehead, and you slowly dance to the song that holds a special place for both of you. “You know when I first asked you out on a date, I thought you hated me because you didn’t even look like you wanted to say yes,” Jude chuckles. You cringed at the memory, remembering how you I thought he was a total player. “But then you said yes after my constant pestering, and I thought I can’t fuck this up,” he says, making you smile. “After the date, I realized I needed you in my life. You were still questioning my intentions, of course, but I didn’t care; I was willing to take whatever you were willing to give me. Gosh, the months that we were just friends were draining because I had to hold myself back from flirting with you, touching you, reaching for you…but then I realized I needed to make a move before you became comfortable with us just being friends. I risked everything by kissing you even though I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. When you kissed me back, I realized one thing, I wanted you for the rest of my life.”

The song ended, and Jude pulled away. “I have another surprise for you,” he says. Another one? Jude wrapped his arm around your shoulder and turned, and in a second, The fireworks went off. “Omg, Jude!” You exclaimed while clapping your hands. Jude chuckles beside you, and you guys watch the magical firework. You were so mesmerized by the fireworks that you didn’t realize Jude’s arm had dropped from your shoulders. The next firework was brighter than the others and stayed up there longer. Your eyes widened, and your breathing tightened when you saw the words written on it. “Jude,” you mumbled and turned to him only to look down and see him on his knees with a ring in his hand. “Will you marry me, Y/N?” He asked.

Epilogue

One week later

“Bruh, I can’t believe you did that,” Gavi slaps Pedri on the back while laughing.

Pedri groans and wants to take back a whole week of his life. Who let him drink with his asshole teammates that forced him to message his crush? It was humiliating because you left him on seen. “I hate all of you,” he said.

“Relax she has a boyfriend that’s why she left you on seen,” Gavi said. His effort of trying to cheer him up wasn’t doing much, especially with the teasing and laughing.

“Fiancé now,” Pedri corrected and shows Gavi the photo you took on a rooftop flaunting a diamond ring with Jude kissing your cheek.

You’re his crush, but he would never hit you up because he knows you’re dating Jude Bellingham, but his friends thought it would be funny. He was also drunk, and out of it, so he hit you up without thinking.

“That’s harsh, dude,” Gavi says while staring at his friend’s slightly heartbroken face. Pedri shrugged and grinned at Gavi, “yeah, coming from the guy that got a marriage proposal letter from Spain’s princess.” Gavi makes a disgusted face and shook his head. “Never happening.”

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #soccer #footballer imagine #england nt imagine #judebellingham #fifa world cup #bellingham

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vintagemulti · 2 years

Text

rainfall

pairings: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x pilot!reader

desc: you’ve always had a thing for your best friend. this mission didn’t help.

warnings: this is quite long😵‍💫, swearing, sex references and innuendos, alcohol and drunkness, death and family member loss, dissociation mentions, i know NOTHING about pilots/flying sorry, this WILL be a series !!!

a/n: someone tell me to stop making series. i beg. this is my little writer brain not being able to watch anything without making a character WHOOPS. anyways, i’ve not seen the first top gun. so. cannon? who? we don’t know her. also i hate called bradley rooster i can’t work out why but i’ll only refer to him as it when flying. soz.

series masterlist

masterlist

you had been in bali when you got the call. you and bradley, in bali, relaxing. but who ever said naval pilots get to relax?

it was something you had gotten far too used to, having to pack up your things and get the first flight back to the states. sure, you had been the one to chose this career and the disruptions you faced were consequences of your own actions, but you had really - really, really - hoped that you didn’t get called up when you did.

two weeks in bali with bradley bradshaw, the highlight of your year. it had been planned for almost a year, which was saying something. normally you and bradley would say you’d do something, and it would never actually end up happening. but no - this vacation had went ahead, and you’d had six days of utter bliss before the dreaded number showed up on your phone.

bradley had been phoned right after you, his reaction being about the same. annoyed, upset but somewhat excited. what the fuck was all this about? both you and him being on the same mission?

and so you had packed all your stuff and made your way back to california, dropped your bags off at your separate apartments and rushed to put together an emergency bag, with your uniforms and workout clothes inside.

that took you up to now, sat in the passenger side of bradley’s new range rover, forty minutes into the drive back to the naval base on lake tahoe. it wasn’t far away now - only ten or so minutes, but the sun was beginning to slowly dip it’s head, ever so slightly.

you were still dressed in your summer clothes, a tight, black dress with white lining and held up by a strap around your neck. it was low cut, a little lower than you’d like for the first time meeting your other teammates, but there wasn’t any time to get changed.

bradley was dressed in the same way, tight white tank top covered in a hawaiian shirt, nude-coloured cargos covering his thighs. and, of course, his aviator glasses. was it really bradley without them?

he turned into one of the roads leading to the hard deck - a bar frequented by everyone within a mile vicinity - and you turned to look at him, right as the sunlight hit him. golden rays washed over his skin, his collarbones shining and under his sunglasses you could see his brown eyes - turned like honey in the light.

you thought he looked beautiful, but you’d never tell him.

“this better be good,” he spoke, breaking the moment of silence. “that hotel cost a fuckin’ fortune.”

rolling your eyes, you nodded. “you’re lucky i remembered we get travel insurance. who was it that was determined we didn’t, again?”

“oh, shut up,” bradley said, but you could see the outline of a smirk on his mouth. “no one ever told me we get that.”

“lies!” you laughed. “they put it in the ads, that if you get called up while away, they pay you back whatever you lost.”

it was bradley’s turn to roll his eyes. “alright, miss ‘i always read the fine print’.”

“at least i can read,” you joked back.

electing to ignore the snide comment he made back, you reached into the passenger side compartment, searching for your own sunglasses - feeling nothing. you looked around the car, sighing in defeat as you realised you must have left your pair at home.

spotting another pair of aviators on the dashboard, you picked them up. “can i borrow these?”

bradley looked at what you were referring to, almost laughing when he saw his spare glasses in your hand.

“go ahead, sugar, i won’t need ‘em.”

putting the sunglasses on, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach that flew around with the pet name.

the hard deck came into view, looking busy already. it was so loud - you could practically hear the music playing from the jukebox all the way out here.

“takes you back, huh?” you asked.

“that it does,” bradley pulled into a parking spot. “feels like yesterday we were here last.”

“wrong,” you undid your seatbelt. “yesterday we were in a five star villa in bali.”

opening the car door, you stepped onto the concrete, your heels clicking against the ground. why did you wear these again? good god, it would be a long night. bradley joined you, walking towards the front door of the bar. it was so loud now - it was like you were already inside.

he pulled the door open, letting you in first. fireworks exploded all over your body as his hand moved around your waist, letting him manoeuvre himself to be standing next to you. you let him take the lead to where the rest of your team appeared to be, and you watched him walk - his swagger that was just so fucking hot almost making you forget you were stood completely still.

most of the faces you recognised - actually, you recognised all of them. pheonix, hangman, fanboy and payback we’re speaking to bradley, and someone you had recently been introduced to was the first person to notice you.

“rainfall! hey, how’s it going?” bob smiled at you, the other people snapping their heads to look at you as well.

“yeah, alright, how’re you?” you answered, him nodding a reply.

“wow,” hangman spoke first. “both rooster and rainfall arrive late, not in uniform? been busy, you two?”

“about as busy as your mum, hangman.” you retorted, those around you letting out a surprised laugh.

“that’s not the most important question,” pheonix tilted her head. “what the hell is this? what can they possibly be trying do here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, prompting her to go on; “well, we’re the best there is. who the hell can teach us?”

the question took you by surprise - but it wasn’t irrelevant. the only briefing you had was this was a training program for an intense mission, and only those who had came top of the top gun class would be accepted, so, pheonix was thinking right. who could possible teach the best pilots out there?

a bell rang throughout the bar, interrupting your thoughts. everyone cheered, knowing exactly what the bell meant.

“poor guy,” rooster mumbled. “i’m going to the restroom, get me a drink?”

you nodded, walking over to the bar.

he wasn’t recognisable at first - he looked so different. but it was the eyes that gave it away, he was still young behind the eyes.

“it’s you, then.” you mumbled, taking the empty spot next to him at the bar.

maverick looked at you, realisation hitting when he clocked who you were. “nice to meet you, rainfall. i’ve heard lost about you.”

“so have i.” looking at him, he wasn’t the man you had built up in your head. he looked nicer.

sighing, maverick nodded slowly. “i thought that’s who you came in with.”

“he won’t want you to teach him, you know that, right? you… you ruined his life, maverick. his mum’s, too.” you said, although you knew it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times already.

“yep,” maverick clicked his tongue. “i thought that would be an issue.”

“he hates you.”

“i know.”

bradley might have hated maverick, but you didn’t. sure, he was an arrogant ass from what you had heard and he destroyed your best friends family, but you personally had nothing against him.

penny walked over to you, interrupting your conversation with her greetings.

“wow, y/n, you’re here too? damn, what a mission.”

“hey, pen,” you smiled. “i know, i know.”

she raised her eyebrows. “must be serious, huh?”

you raised your hands in defence. “i have absolutely no idea what this mission’s about, swear.”

humming in response, she changed the subject; “what’re you for?”

“uhh, a blue WKD for me and the house beer for brad.”

she nodded, looking at the man next to you. “he’s paying, by the way.”

you almost laughed, turning to maverick. “unlucky son of a bitch. you better take a loan out, maverick.”

“how was i meant to know the rules, huh? i’ve not been here in god knows how long.” he grumbled.

both you and penny chuckled as she served your drinks, taking one in each hand and moving away from the bar, you turned to look at maverick again.

“mav,” you called, and he looked around. “good luck.”

he smiled, nodding. you would admit it would be hard work for him, and it must be difficult to teach the boy who’s father you watched die. but then again, he could have declined the job.

spotting bradley, you walked over to him and handed him the glass of beer. he thanked you, face contorting in disgust as you noticed what you were drinking.

“i don’t know how you stomach that stuff, sugar, it’s all sweetener.”

“says the man who threw up after three of them. they’re only like, three percent as well.”

bradley narrowed his eyes. “all sweetener.”

laughing, you walked with him to join the rest of the group. your feet already began to ache with every step you took, straps digging into your ankle. god - it would be a long night.

if you were counting how many drinks deep you were, you’d have used up all your fingers. you’d been here for a few hours, at least, the sun was almost setting now.

you could see it from the small window in the bathroom, the blur effect on the window turning the sunset into just colour. you didn’t need to pee or anything, just a minute. it was a fair assumption to say you were an extrovert, and loved to be around people, but the noise of the crowd in the bar had become slightly too loud, especially as maverick had just been thrown overboard.

the sound of a piano playing came muffled through the door, followed by a familiar singing voice. it made you smile; hearing bradley drunkenly scream out ‘great balls of fire’.

washing your hands and quickly drying them, you walked back out of the bathroom and into the crowd, thanking the girl who had been holding your drink for you. you walked towards the piano, seeing bradley completely in his element.

“kiss me baby, ooh! that feels good, good!” he sang, everyone joining in.

leaning against the piano, you joined in, the lyrics coming as a second language, this song was practically indented into your brain.

as you sang, you watched bradley’s hands hit every note perfectly, his fingers tracing the keys with a gentle-harshness, something that just about set you off. a man who was good with his fingers? lord have mercy.

he looked at you, as if on cue, smiling as you sang out the words. bradley took a spilt second to remove his hands from the keys, gesturing to his lap.

you tilted your head. he can’t be serious, can he?

“sit!” he called, hands going back to playing the instrumental section.

maybe it was the drinks you’d had, influencing your system. but it took you the whole of two seconds to decide to follow his order, slipping under his arm and placing yourself down on his lap. people around you whooped, especially the ones in your team. had this happened before? you couldn’t remember through the tipsy-horny-lovesick haze that had clouded your vision.

bradley’s leg bounced, making you laughing against his chest. when he started singing, you joined in with him, your voice coming out as more of a tuned shout compared to bradley’s angelic singing voice.

“kiss me baby,” you looked up at him. that second you made eye contact - that whole second - felt like an eternity. it felt like no one was watching, thay for once the love that remained behind your eyes finally appeared behind his, too.

or maybe that was the vodka shots talking.

“ooh! that feels good, good,” he sang.

you looked away, staring at his hands once again while you sang the words. if you had kept staring, you would have seen the way he looked at you while he sang; “i’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

if you had seen that, you probably would have melted on the spot.

the song came to an end, everyone cheering for bradley’s fantastic piano performance, yourself included. you fell against his chest, laughing like a schoolgirl. he laughed too, taking his hands off of the keys to embrace you.

was this normal for best friends, you wondered? did everyone do this when they were drunk? the answer: wait and find out.

“i’m gonna get a drink,” you smiled at him, finally standing up.

“alright, darlin’, get me a beer?”

“god,” you feigned annoyance. “one day you’ll pay for your own beers, bradley bradshaw.”

you walked away before you heard his mumbled comeback; “yeah, our wedding day.” but, even if you hadn’t walked away, what would you have done?

walking to the bar, you leaned against it, ordering with penny for the god-knows-how-many-th time that night.

“thanks,” you smiled.

“is that a tan line i see?” penny asked, pouring out a beer.

“yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “i was in bali with brad, was supposed to be there until next week.”

“oh,” she sat down one of the glasses. “but you got called up?”

nodded, you took a drink of bradley’s beer, instantly regretting it. “fuckin’ hate the navy sometimes.”

penny stopped in her tracks. “oh, y/n, did i just hear what i think i did?”

your eyes widened. “no, penny, please, i’m seriously broke right now, i’m begging-”

the bell ringing cut you off. hanging your head, you felt multiple people clap your back.

“oh, no, what do we have here?” bradley appeared at your side, laughing.

“this one,” penny giggled. “was insulting the navy.”

bradley exaggerated a gasp, putting his hands over his mouth. “no!”

“yep!”

“tut, tut, tut, lieutenant l/n!” he joked.

you raised your middle finger in response.

“honestly, rooster,” penny was half way away, walking to serve another customer. “get your girlfriend under control!”

the heat rose to your cheeks, head snapping up. luckily for you, you were ninety-nine percent sure that bradley didn’t hear her, but when you were sober, you’d have to tell her off about almost spilling your decade long secret.

“my god, brad,” you walked away from the bar. “i’m gonna be so broke tomorrow.”

he giggled, a sound your drunk mind would have registered as the trumpets of heaven, the best music in the world - every lovely sound put together. god, how in love were you?

“come on, rainfall,” bradley led you to the table the group were all sat at. “the night is young!”

there’s a saying, if you had a dollar for every time this happened, you’d be rich. well, if you had a dollar for every time you’d gotten blackout drunk the day before the first day of training and had to get up at the crack of dawn, you’d have slightly too many dollars. every time, every single time.

as you sat, shoulders straight and hair tied ever so slightly too tight, the commander speaking about something you weren’t properly listening to - the thought of about seventy aspirin was popping into your mind, almost soothing your headache with the sheer thought of it.

footsteps came from behind you, but you didn’t turn around. you knew who it was. instead, you looked at bradley, who was sat in the chair next to you.

as his eyes fell on maverick, you noticed the way his whole smug demeanour fell - for just a moment. you then noticed how he put those walls straight back up, clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. he cleared his throat, making eye contact with you and raising his eyebrows.

looking away, maverick started speaking.

you must have been truly hungover, because from the second maverick opened his mouth to right now felt like it went by in a blink - you couldn’t tell if you had dissociated the entire time or if you weren’t interested enough to actually pay attention.

zipping up your flight suit, you smiled to yourself. this was your first training exercise for what seemed to be an impossible mission. getting in and out of a thin passage within a minute and a half seemed unrealistic, but compared with the insanely low hard deck and the pull up? you’d be lucky if you made it out alive.

a few planes were already in the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, helmet in hand. looking to your right, you saw two planes, to your left; pheonix and bob doing push-ups.

the exercise was simple; don’t get caught. if you do, you have to do two hundred press ups.

you had almost laughed when maverick set the exercise, how insanely easy it sounded. unfortunately for maverick, he had never flown with you before - he hadn’t quite learnt the meaning of your call sign.

radio chatter sounded from your headset as you climbed into your plane, spotting bradley on the tarmac as well. everyone had insisted you two went last - the top two of the class. even hangman bit back his ego for two seconds to admit that you had finished top of the class, so you should go last.

that’s right, you came top of your class. one of the best pilots of the last decade, apparently. it had earned you quite a reputation, pilots almost always recognising you wherever you went. you were some kind of a legend.

buckling yourself in and triple checking your belts were secure, you pulled your helmet over your head, and your ears were filled with radio chatter. bradley got into the plane next to you, doing the same thing.

“when are we ready to take off, mav?” you asked, closing the top of your plane.

“any time now, rainfall.” he replied.

it was a feeling you always craved, taking off. as a little girl, you used to love going on holiday, just because when the plane would take off and your stomach would turn, it made you smile. from that moment, and from the moment you saw the pilots in all the different documentaries, you knew you wanted to fly planes.

just in a little more extreme way. a way, way more extreme way.

gaining speed, you clicked the needed buttons and flipped the right switches in order to take off, and the tarmac got smaller and smaller as you flew higher into the sky. hearing bradley take off a few moments later, you knew the game was about to begin.

you knew this would be personal for bradley - getting beaten by maverick. anything maverick did to him, it would be personal. you prayed he would be able to separate the pilot from the person, just for a minute.

“good morning aviators,” maverick spoke. “ready to play?”

“oh you are on,” you smiled, still gaining height. “old man.”

bradley laughed over the radio, making you smile even wider.

“for everyone listening over the radio,” you spoke. “get ready to listen to the best flight of your life.”

down on the ground, the rest of the team laughed.

“ready?” maverick asked. “three, two, one… the game has begun.”

you understood the purpose of this exercise - dogfighting. to watch out for yourself while attacking at the same time. playing both offence and defence.

seeing bradley slip into your peripheral, you looked around for the other plane. still gaining height, you hoped to god that your technique would stay reliable.

everything felt like a blur - you were flying so fast, so high, nothing felt real. keeping your eye out for maverick, you swerved through the clouds.

“all alright, rooster?” you hated calling him by his call sign. if felt so… impersonal, weird.

“all good here, rainfall. you?”

you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see it. “no sign of him.”

looking down, you could see bradley underneath you and to the right. he wouldn’t even notice you, if he hadn’t learnt to always look up.

“oh hello, you,” he said, the smugness seeping through the radio.

“hello, rooster.” you smiled.

as you stared down at him, a second plane came into view, far enough away that bradley wouldn’t notice him.

“rooster, on your left!” you called, swerving away as soon as you said it.

“shit,” he mumbled, and you could see him fly away.

“language, folks, come on.” maverick laughed.

“alright grandpa.” you joked back.

looking below you, you could barely see the two planes dogfighting, but from the small glimpse you got, it wasn’t looking great for bradley. maverick was too fast.

“hurry up, rooster,” you spoke your mind. “he’s faster than you.”

“yeah, thanks for that observation.” he grumbled back.

“cheeky.”

from your point of view, the dogfighting was getting even more intense, bradley constantly being tailed by maverick. you hoped once again, that bradley didn’t take this too seriously.

a dial tone broke your thought.

“and rooster, you are out.” maverick spoke over the radio, making you sigh.

“fuck you.”

and there it was; all of your proof that bradley had taken it personally. fuck, this would be a hard one to calm him down from.

“ready to fight, rainfall?” maverick said, and you could almost see his smirk.

pushing everything else in your mind to the side, you let the calm, slightly arrogant side of you take control.

“do you know why my call sign is rainfall?” you asked, already spotting maverick below you.

“i suppose you’re going to enlighten me?”

you let a beat of silence pass, making sure you were in the right position. it was obvious maverick was looking for you, but you were at least fifty feet above him, slightly in front of him. why did no one ever look up?

“or not?” maverick added.

“because,” you paused, gripping your gearstick a little tighter. “rain always comes from above, and you don’t see it until it’s on you.”

with those words, you descended with absolutely no warning. as you came closer to maverick, he seemed obviously surprised, fumbling for a moment to move out of the way so you didn’t fall straight into him.

“jesus, kid,” he mumbled.

“did you know that i came top of my class?” you pulled back up without hesitation, g-force pushing you back ever so slightly.

“yeah, i read it somewhere,” maverick was flying parallel to you. “i wasn’t too of my class.”

“oh, i know,” you somehow managed to keep your tone casual. “iceman, right?”

maverick hummed over the radio, obviously too focused on getting you out.

but your technique was working perfectly. descend on them, climb up, and when the least expect it….

pulling away, you circled around maverick, seeing the outline of a target appear in your helmet. he hadn’t even realised what you had done.

a dial tone sounded through the radio silence, everyone on land holding their breath - even bradley.

“you,” a voice cut through the radio. “are out. good game, maverick.”

the people on ground cheered almost loud enough for you to hear all the way up in the air.

“what the hell?” maverick was in disbelief. “what?”

“i’ll see you on ground, mav.”

the sun was already setting by the time maverick had finished his press ups. he must not have taken in personally, offering to buy you a drink for how well you had flown.

but you didn’t want a drink, you were too concerned with other things. it had been hours since the training had ended, and bradley was still outside, doing press ups.

you walked onto the tarmac, out of your flight suit and in casual clothes, the figure of bradley noticeable - everything still apart from him.

he was shaking, sweating, almost sunburnt. the most noticeable thing was his red eyes, they were so red you thought he must have burst a blood vessel.

“bradley?” you called, getting closer to him. he didn’t answer.

walking right next to where he was, you sat down. sat, right on the hot tarmac - it heated up your legs. “bradley, please,” you called again.

this wasn’t new - for him to do exercise until he just about burst. some people punch walls, some people drink - bradley worked out. maybe it was just as unhealthy as every other coping mechanism.

his arms were so shaky, he almost couldn’t even keep himself up right. you wanted right then and there to take him into your arms, let him cry his heart out and tell him that one day - one day in the future - it will get easier.

as if he could hear your thoughts, he stopped. collapsed onto the ground, arms finally giving in. you could hear him, choking out sobs between breaths - it just about broke your heart.

“come here,” your fingers brushed his arm, and it was like he just needed the instruction to do so, because he moved into your arms and clung onto your shirt, just like a baby.

you didn’t care where you were. no one was looking, anyway. everyone went home or went elsewhere hours ago, you and bradley were most likely the only two people left there.

“what is it?” you cooed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“he- my dad, he- maverick-” and that was all he had to stutter out for you to understand.

“i know, i know,” you bent over him, almost encasing him in your body. kissing his head, you repeated the phrase over and over again.

it was in that moment that for the second time in twenty four hours you thought to yourself - is this normal for best friends to do? it is, right? like, you would do it for any of your other friends?or maybe that’s what you liked to tell yoursef to deny the simple fact;

you were in love with bradley bradshaw, your best friend.

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