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beyondthesefourwalls · 7 months

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Twin Fire Signs

Summary: When the majority of your squad intentionally leaves you drunk and alone at a bar, you resign yourself to finding your own way home and dealing with your wounded pride in peace. But then your phone rings, the name of the last person you expected to be calling you on a Friday night flashing on your screen. You know you shouldn’t answer, but too much tequila has never led to great decisions.

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: language, drinking

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You were drunk.

There wasn’t really any denying it now, just like there was no denying that you were alone without any of the people you came here with. It took a complete lap of the bar and waiting outside of the bathrooms for an eyebrow raising amount of time for you to accept it, but it was an inevitable conclusion now: your team, your squad, had ditched you. By the looks they had exchanged in the ready room in the tower, you were sure the invitation had only been extended as a courtesy and that none of them had expected you to actually say yes. Which was fair, because up until this point, you hadn’t. But you decided to accept on a whim, high off the adrenaline from the phenomenal flying you had just done, mixed with a lapse in judgment and a previous night of feeling particularly lonely. You had been off-brand craving social interaction. Now, you were regretting it and remembering why you preferred being alone. They had bought you a few shots, and all it took was a quick trip to the bathroom for you to come back and all of them be just…gone.

You never should have let your guard down.

There was a reason you had declined nearly every invitation from them to go out for drinks, and it wasn’t because of your desperate need to keep work separate from your private life. You knew the people on your squad were assholes, and you knew they didn’t like you all that much. You were the lone Lieutenant Junior Grade amongst a squad of Lieutenants. On top of that, the first woman of said rank to not only make it there, but be handed the trophy at the end of Top Gun.

You were good. Very good. You knew it, and so did the rest of the squad you had been assigned to when, following your win, you were transferred from Corpus Christi and stationed at Top Gun permanently two months ago. You had come in and blown them all out of the water, and none of them particularly liked it.

You should have known that something like this would happen tonight.

You tried not to let it bother you as you plopped down on a barstool. The bartender, an older man tattooed from his bald head to the tips of his fingers, slid a glass of water in front of you with a roll of his eyes. You gave what you hoped was an appreciative thank you and hiccuped as you took your first sip. After downing half the glass and a handful of bar pretzels, you fumbled with your phone, looking through several rideshare apps to see which one would get you the cheapest and quickest ride home so you could sulk in private.

You were debating if the extra ten bucks for a ride that would show up five minutes quicker was worth it when your screen switched over to an incoming call. Your eyes widened in shock at the name staring up at you.

Lieutenant Seresin

Oh no. Oh no.

It was almost 10pm on a Friday night and Hangman was calling you. And you were drunk. He hadn’t come out with you all tonight, but that wasn’t uncommon. If you were an outcast in one regard, he was an outcast in another. Your squad wanted little to do with you, but they worshiped him. But instead of humoring them, he spent the majority of his time with the special squadron he was also assigned to, who were spread out amongst other teams on base.

You didn’t think that he'd said two words to you that weren’t criticism or a challenge since that day. So why the hell was he calling you now?

You considered not answering and letting the call go to voicemail. You stared at the name for so long weighing your options that the screen darkened as the vibrations stopped. You heaved out a sigh of relief, only to squeak in surprise when the phone started vibrating again.

You tried to take a deep breath when you answered, a slightly high pitched “Hello?” being offered. You winced when it was quickly followed by a hiccup, and then another.

“Are you drunk?”

Fuck.

“Um. Yes.”

You winced at your answer. Being blunt was one of your many character flaws, but you probably could have tried to have a little more tact, considering who you were talking to.

“Are you still at Lumpys?”

“Yes,” you answered automatically, but your brows furrowed as your alcohol soaked brain processed his words. “Wait. How did you know that?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, completely ignoring your question. The bar was so loud around you that you had a bit of trouble hearing him, but that last tequila shot must have done you in, because you could hear annoyance, certainly, but you thought maybe you heard concern, too. You took a gulp of your water to try and clear your mind, because there was no way.

You must have taken too long to respond because he snapped out your name, your first name, and you almost gasped at the sound of it. You don’t think he’s ever actually said your name before; the deep timber of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Oh no.

Now was not the time for your thoughts to run away from you into that territory.

“I’m drunk,” you said dumbly.

You could practically feel the pause on the other end before he let out a sigh of your call sign that sounded almost angry.

“Are you safe?” he asked, since you hadn’t directly answered his question on being okay. You took in your surroundings with a long glance, your normal ability to clock everything delayed.

Lumpys wasn’t the nicest place. You had never even heard of it before tonight. It was dark and loud and smokey despite the laws prohibiting it in California. It definitely wasn’t a military bar, that was for sure. You wondered for the first time why the rest of the squad had chosen this spot when the Hard Deck was so close to base, as well as two or three other bars that were frequented by uniforms not of the biker variety. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat when you realized that maybe they had done that on purpose, because you were coming with them and they knew they wouldn’t stick around. From the end of the bar, the bartender glanced at the water in front of you to see if a refill was needed before rolling his eyes again and looking away as he cleaned glasses.

“Well,” you drew out, pushing down the unwanted emotions suddenly hitting you. “I can’t decide if the bartender is a giant tattooed teddy bear or a gang enforcer. Could go either way, honestly.”

He cursed on the other end and you thought maybe you heard the sound of a vehicle starting. You weren’t really sure, thinking maybe the loudness of the bar was making you hear things, but then his next words affirmed it.

“Don’t move. I’ll come get you.”

Your eyes widened and you sat up straighter in the barstool you had been slumped over in. “Wait, what?”

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. I was about to get an Uber or something-”

He said your first name again, and it set butterflies loose in your stomach that you tried desperately to catch and put back in the box they came from. His voice lowered into something gentle, a tone you hadn’t heard in weeks from the fellow aviator. “Just hang tight. I’ll be there in 20, maybe less.”

You thought about arguing with him and insisting that that wasn’t necessary and you could make your way home just fine by yourself. Even if you were sober, you’d have been in charge of finding your own way home tonight. Quarterback had given you a ride from base after work, and you had assumed you’d be able to catch a ride back, too. But he was long gone with the rest of your squad.

“I…okay,” you finally said, accepting your fate.

He hung up without a goodbye, and you were sure if this was a regular phone call, you’d roll your eyes at how rude the gesture was. But all you could focus on at this point was the sound of your name in his voice and the fact that he was apparently coming to get you.

You were fucked.

You chugged your water, some of it spilling down your chin in the process. When you set the glass down it was with a little too much force right as the bartender walked by. You winced at the annoyed look he shot you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. He refilled your water with a glare and without a word, moving onto other customers before you could say anything else. You took another gulp of it with a grimace and then set your head in your hand, taking in a deep breath.

Your team leader, Hangman, Jake, would be picking you up from the bar, because the rest of your squad had abandoned you after you had taken a few too many shots.

The same one who you had more respect for than anyone else, who you’ve also maybe harbored a crush on since you came to Top Gun, and who had barely looked at you since you almost kissed four weeks ago.

Great.

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin was a legend in the small population of aviators in the US Navy. He was truly the 1% of the 1%. You tried to model a lot of your own career and techniques after him. It helped that you seemed to be similar on an instinctual level, and you had the same indifferent attitudes. Standoffish, as some would say. You both knew you were good, too good to be true in a lot of ways. You had earned the right to have the attitude.

You had been thrilled to be assigned to the same squad as him. You were excited to learn as much as you could from him, to befriend him. And that’s what it had been, at first. The two of you flew together well, and it translated on the ground. He noticed the similarities too, and didn’t hesitate with sharing notes and advice with you. He was so passionate and intelligent about what he did, and that’s what drew you to him first. He knew what he was doing and wasn’t ashamed of it, and that had attracted you more than anything. His good looks certainly didn’t hurt, though.

You had taken to spending time together between hops, and eventually, started talking about more than just flying. It turned out you had a lot in common outside of the Navy, too. He was so easy to talk to. But then almost a month ago, you had been alone in the rec room, talking about the previous night's Cowboys game, of all things, when he had suddenly stepped into your personal space.

His eyes had been dark and intense, and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. The intoxicating combination of his cologne and the smell of jet fuel that you had started associating with him had been even more palpable that close together. You thought he was going to kiss you, to finally give into the tension you thought had been building, and you wanted him to. But then just as quickly as he stepped forward, he had pulled away, leaving you hanging and confused.

And you’ve been that way ever since.

After that moment, things had been different between you. He barely spared you a second glance when you were on the ground and criticized everything you did when you were in the cockpit. You had tried to speak with him, to understand what the fuck had happened, but Jake Seresin was just as good at evading on the ground as he was in the air. So you buried your feelings as deep as you could inside of yourself and tried to mark him off as just another asshole who wasn’t worth your time.

But damn if the alcohol and the way he said your name and sounded something like concerned didn’t have your heart racing and you questioning everything.

A little over fifteen minutes and another glass of water later, a shiver ran through your body. You turned your head right as the door to the bar swung open, eyes meeting the unmistakable figure of the aviator occupying your mind. He wasn’t donning his usual khaki uniform or flight suit that you were used to seeing him in — snug jeans hugged his legs and a white shirt clung to his chest, and you realized it was the first time you’d seen him so casual. Your lips parted slightly as you watched him look around. He stood in the entrance, scanning the room with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. Your heart skipped a beat when his eyes finally locked onto you.

You raised your hand in a pitiful, unneeded wave, and in the dimly lit bar, you swore you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders. He started making his way through the crowd to you immediately. You watched him with wary, cautious eyes.

“You alright?” he asked. His demeanor remained stoic, but those intense green eyes that you had admired for so long seemed to hold a blend of concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher. From this close up, you could see the way they flicked up and down your body as if assessing for himself your current state.

“Yeah,” you said softly, feeling flushed under his scrutiny. “I’m fine.”

He gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to the bar. Without a word, he pulled out his wallet and slipped his credit card from the leather. Your eyes widened.

“Wait, Hangman, no.”

You scrambled for your wallet in your tiny small crossbody bag, but before you could get the zipper opened, your self-appointed savior waved you off and handed his card to the approaching bartender. You watched in defeat as the card was swiped and handed back and his signature scrawled on the receipt all in what looked like one smooth motion. Why had you not thought to pay your tab before he had shown up? You were never going to live this down.

“Finish your water and we’ll go,” he told you as he slipped his wallet back into his back pocket.

“It’s my third glass since you called me. If I finish it I can’t be held responsible for your upholstery.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words left your mouth. You rubbed at your temples with a groan, your face twisted into a disbelieving grimace. “Please tell me I didn’t just say that.”

To your surprise, Hangman let out a chuckle. Your eyes popped open in shock. His laughter was a rare occurrence in your presence these days, and the butterflies in your stomach fluttered wildly at the sound. Damnit.

"You did," he replied with a faint smirk, his stoic demeanor cracking just a bit. You groaned, and the blonde laughed again before he glanced around the bar, his expression settling back into something more serious. “Are you ready?”

You slid off the barstool, feeling slightly unbalanced on your feet. When you stumbled, he reached out to steady you. You sucked in a breath. It was a simple touch, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, the two of you just…stared. It was almost reminiscent of that day. But then a bottle broke from a few feet away, shattering the moment — whatever it was — right along with it. Hangman cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to his side.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.” You thought maybe you saw the faintest hint of red creeping up on his neck before he turned away, and your mind struggled to rationalize it.

Once you were outside, the cool night air hit you, and it was a welcome relief. You breathed in deeply as you followed behind him to where his large black truck was parked. You knew from one of your conversations before that he had boughten it last year when he was stationed in California after only ever leasing vehicles before. It was a way for him to establish roots now that he was given the opportunity to settle in one place.

The lights flashed as he unlocked it, opening the passenger door and motioning for you to get in. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was really how your night was going. You chanced a glance at the man holding the door open and he raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what the hold up was. You could have laughed at the irony. It took you a second to realize that you had.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, and you felt the heat of embarrassment in your face.

“Nothing,” you muttered, and you turned away before you could say or do anything else to make a fool out of yourself.

The leather seats were comfortable when you clumsily climbed in, and the interior of the car was immaculate, crisp and clean just like you often thought he was. It didn’t surprise you a bit. Hangman settled into the driver's seat, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him as he started the engine. He handed you his phone to put your address in and as country music played quietly over the speakers, he put the truck in drive.

You didn’t know what to say, and Hangman seemed content with the quiet. You watched him from the corner of your eye as he drove, the muscles in his arms flexing with every turn of the wheel. You couldn’t help but wonder what those arms would feel like around you, holding you against him. It was a dangerous thought, and you shook it off before it could take root.

You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the seat as you let the wind from the open windows cool your skin. The effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing off, leaving your mind clearer, but no less confused. Being in his presence like this was still throwing you for a loop.

Why had he dropped everything and shown up for you tonight, after doing everything professionally possible to avoid you for the last month? Why had he ignored you to begin with?

Why did you even care?

Neither of you spoke the entire way, and all the questions in your head were like a stoking fire that was rapidly sparking by the time he turned into your apartment complex. Instead of dropping you off in front of your building, he pulled into one of the visitors spots and put the truck in park. He didn’t kill the engine, though, and you wondered if that meant something.

For a moment, you both just sat there, staring straight ahead. You could feel the tension between you, slowly but surely simmering. You knew the smart thing to do would be to get out of the truck. Thank him for coming to get you and go inside, and then come Monday morning, go back to the same routine. You knew you were capable of it — you had mastered the art of indifference years ago.

“Think you’ll make it upstairs?” he asked, disrupting the silence. You frowned at his choice of words, feeling just the tiniest bit offended. You knew how it looked, being drunk and alone. But he was the one who took it upon himself to show up. He had no right to judge you. You couldn’t help the scoff you let out.

“You didn’t have to come get me, you know. You didn’t have to call at all.”

His eyes widened before they squeezed shut, and it was almost like he realized the tone of what he said. You shook your head with a sigh, suddenly so unbelievably tired.

“Thanks for the ride,” you mumbled. You unbuckled your seatbelt and leant down to grab your purse from the floor. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Hangman’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could open the door. You turned to look at him and found him staring at you intently, his green eyes dark and brooding.

“Wait,” he said, his voice urgent and rough. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

He said your name in such a way that you knew nothing would follow it, the blonde at a loss for words for once in his life.

"How did you know where I was?" you blurted out, the words escaping before you could censor them. But the question had been plaguing you since he called, so you didn’t backtrack. You felt like you had a right to know.

You could see the tension in his jaw before he spoke. “Quarterback.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Quarterback told you where I was?”

“Yes.”

“Did he call you, or….?”

Hangman let out a long sigh, tilting his head back to rest against the seat. “The squad was at the Hard Deck like they normally are, being obnoxious —”

“Like they normally are?” you couldn’t help but interrupt. He cracked a half smile, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he dipped his chin in agreement. Your shared tolerance level for the other members of your squad was something you had discussed at length before.

“Like they usually are. I asked them where you were, since you were the only one not there and I had heard you tell them yes earlier. He told me they left you at Lumpy’s. They thought it was funny.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting, just a little bit, that they went as far as going somewhere out of the ordinary just so they could leave you there and make you the punchline of a joke. You let your eyes close and sulked in the feeling for a brief moment. You didn’t need these people. You didn’t even particularly like them, outside of being in the air. But damn. You swallowed thickly and shook your head, as if to completely dislodge the feeling. You supposed them ditching you wasn’t necessarily surprising. You knew how they felt about you, just as they knew your opinions, too. What you were surprised about was that Hangman had bothered to ask about your whereabouts in the first place. It was almost like he cared. Almost.

“So why’d you come?” you asked, still trying to understand. “I could have gotten an Uber.”

For a long moment, he just stared, and you looked right back. His expression was hard to decipher. The streetlights outside cast shifting patterns of light and shadow across his face, and you felt like he was seeing right through you. Still, he said nothing. The silence stretched on, tension growing thick in the air. You couldn’t stand it.

You were about to ask him again, to demand an answer, when he finally spoke. His voice was low and measured, a hint of anger looping through the words, and you shivered at the tone of it.

“They had no right to leave you there like that. I couldn’t — I had to know you were okay.”

You stared at him, feeling something deep and aching stir inside you. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react. Everything was suddenly so much more complicated than it had been before.

“Jake…” you whispered, and you don’t know if it was the way you used his first name over his callsign or if he was just finally ready to get it off of his chest, but it was like the single syllable finally cracked the floodgates open.

“I was seeing somebody,” he said. You sucked in a deep breath at the words, a soft “oh” falling from your lips. He continued on before you could think to say anything else. “For a while. Almost a year. She’s exactly what I always pictured I wanted, you know? She travels a lot, but we were figuring it out. But we were serious.”

A beat passed, and you cleared your throat in the silence of the truck. You almost felt awkward when you asked, “Were?”

He nodded, clenching his jaw, before laughing in a way that sounded more self-deprecating than you had ever heard from him. “I’m a lot of things, darlin. But I’m not a cheater, physical or otherwise. It wouldn’t have been so easy for me to catch feelings for someone else if she and I were meant to be together. And the way I had started to feel…”

He cut himself off with a shake of his head, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned ghostly white. You processed the words slowly, mulling over them over and over again as you tried to figure out the implications behind them.

“About me?” you dared yourself to ask, your heart beating hard in your chest and damn near holding your breath after you did.

He met your gaze head on, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “About you. I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while now, but it wasn’t until that day in the ready room that I realized I couldn’t keep denying it anymore. I care about you more than I should.”

The weight of his words was heavy, and you felt a flush start to creep up your neck. It was like all the air had been sucked out of the truck, leaving the two of you suspended in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. You didn't know what to say, didn't even know exactly what you were feeling right now. You never thought he would feel the same way that you did, to the point where he had apparently broken up with a girlfriend you had no idea about. But then he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t acted.

You had no idea what any of this meant.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him, but before you could get a word out, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You gasped against his mouth, but his lips were warm and firm and you couldn’t help the way you relaxed into it. It wasn’t more than a press of your lips together, neither of you moving to deepen it, but it left you dizzy like it was the most intense kiss of your life.

When you pulled back, you were both breathing heavier, your foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice thick with something that felt emotional. “I shouldn't have...not yet. But I had to know what it felt like.”

You swallowed, focusing on one word.“Yet?”

Hangman, Jake, nodded, and the silence stretched on for a long moment. You were still reeling from his kiss, the emotion, your own confusion over your feelings and what it all might mean. Then he sighed, loud and deep. From this close, you could smell the peppermint from the gum he always chewed on his breath. He pulled away so he could look into your eyes and cupped your cheek. The smile he gave you was tinged with sadness and longing, and the strangest mix of hope. You knew before he said anything that nothing would be happening tonight.

“I’m not…I’m not ready yet,” he said softly. Even though you knew something of the sort was coming, there was a flash of disappointment. He must have read it on your face, because he was quick to try and reassure you. “It’s not you. It’s just…I just ended it with her. And I’m still confused as hell over what I feel for you. I think you both deserve more than me rushing into something without figuring that out. Please understand.”

You nodded, even though you weren't entirely sure if you did. You wanted him, that much was clear. But you also didn't want to be someone's rebound. You wanted something real, something meaningful. And you were willing to wait for that. You just hoped he was too.

“Okay," you whispered, taking a deep breath. "I understand.”

He smiled at you again, a small, sad curve of his lips, before leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Thank you," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. "You're amazing, you know that?"

You wanted him to kiss you again. You ached for it, almost. But you knew if you closed the distance that you’d be going back on everything he had just asked for and the understanding you had promised him you had. So instead, you swallowed thickly and pulled away from him all together. He seemed to understand the distance you were creating and released another deep breath, clearing his throat.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "For coming to get me."

He nodded, and the two of you fell into silence again. There was something in his eyes that made you think he wasn't done yet. "Can I walk you up to your door?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of desperation.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was a good idea. But at the same time, you didn't want this moment to end, either, even if it was just a few more minutes. "Sure," you finally said.

The two of you got out of the truck and made your way up to your apartment, the silence between you heavy. He was walking so close that you could feel the body heat radiating from him, and you were starting to feel hot all over. When you reached your door, you turned to face him, unsure of what to say. You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared.

"Thank you again," you said softly.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he let out a deep breath. "Of course,” he said, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your skin tingled when he pulled away. “I'll see you Monday?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

He stepped away, staring for just a moment longer before he whispered out a goodnight and turned and walked back down the hallway. You watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside of you. You didn't know what was going to happen between the two of you, but you thought maybe you were ready to find out. You turned to your door and pulled out your keys, taking a deep breath before unlocking it and stepping inside.

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Main Masterlist

Notes: More of The Blonde One™️needed to be added to my masterlist. I hope you enjoyed whatever this was lol. Likes/comments/reblogs are the best encouragement!

Thanks to @roosterforme @mak-32 @thedroneranger for the help! And to Mak for the prettiest banner that finally gets to see the light of day😍

#alli writes #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman x you #jake seresin imagine #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #top gun fanfiction #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #jake hangman x reader #hangman x oc #hangman x y/n #jake seresin x female reader

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roosterforme · 6 months

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How You Play the Game Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was miserable without you, and the pain just wasn't lessening even though you left him weeks ago. He needed to find a way to move on, because you didn't want him, and you weren't coming back. But he should have known there was no substitute for the best thing he'd ever had.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, angst, consensual sex, sex with a condom while intoxicated (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Weeks later...

As you flew to Vancouver from Detroit, you thought about that six hour flight to Boston where you hadn't stopped crying for a single minute. You thought about leaving San Diego and how it broke your heart to move on to the next city and the next assignment. At least this time you had a window seat instead of the middle seat in the last row. And this time you weren't continually wiping your tears on Bradley's Padres jersey.

You had his jersey on again today, but this time you felt calm as you reached into your bag to take out your computer and read over the research you'd outlined about the Vancouver Canucks. Your eyes caught on the blue golf ball, and after a second of hesitation, you reached for that instead.

You'd taken it everywhere with you. It joined you in every hotel room, on every flight and in every rental car. You had it with you in your tote bag when you were in Boston about a month ago working on the exclusive with the Bruins' coaching staff. You were carrying it when you bumped into Abigail Archer for the first time in person.

With your article completely forgotten now, you dug your phone out of your pocket. It was in airplane mode, but you took a deep breath and unlocked it. You had to scroll a bit to get to the text thread with Bradley, and then you tapped his name and you almost let the tears rise to the surface. You held them back as you read the series of sporadic messages he'd sent you since early November.

I miss you.

Did you make it to Boston safely?

Ace, please call me back. I miss you so much.

I have this whole weekend off, and I can't help but think it would be easy for me to fly to wherever you are. If you would want that.

I still miss you.

I hope you're doing well.

You hadn't responded to a single one of them. And you never called him back either. But sometimes, when you were in a hotel room in a city that you couldn't even identify without looking at your calendar app, you'd get lonely enough to listen to his voicemail message. See ya, Ace.

It took until you met Bradley Bradshaw for you to really understand just how lonely you were. Going back to your apartment in New York City didn't feel like going home. There was nothing there that made you smile. There were no baseball cards or too small Angels tee shirts. There was no Bradley making sure you were taking a break when you needed one.

And he was part of the reason why you let yourself start to be convinced that you could have more out of your career. Maybe he was right. Somebody else might have something better to offer than Greg or the New York Times. When you talked to Abigail and started to test the waters, it wasn't as terrifying as you thought it would be. Making some calls to see what else was out there ended up validating one fact for you: Bradley was right, your writing was in high demand.

But you had to complete your contract with Greg before you could do much else. And that included Detroit and Vancouver. But you hoped after this, your work-life balance might improve. If you decided to take this information back to Bradley, you hoped he would listen to you. Maybe he would even see what you wrote about your career change in your Detroit Red Wings article. If he was even still reading your articles. There was a chance he might still miss you now, and maybe he'd understand that you needed to see the bigger picture for yourself first.

Before you left him alone in his bed, he told you that you knew where to find him. He made you feel like it was still okay to go there.

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Bradley walked past his coffee table dressed in his flight suit with his travel mug of coffee in his hand. He paused at the front door and looked back at the mess he still couldn't bring himself to clean up. You left him weeks ago, damn near a month ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to clean up all of the fucking baseball cards.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He was being ridiculous. He was never ridiculous before he met you, so you must have made him this way. Every time he tried to clean them up and put them back out in his garage, his hands faltered and he left the cards out on the table. It was like some sort of sick reminder that you'd really been here with him. It was a way to convince himself he didn't imagine up the perfect woman in his mind and then have to live through the aftermath of watching her leave.

He tightened his fingers around his mug and rubbed the heel of his other hand against his eyes. Then he took his phone out. He knew he shouldn't do it since you never answered his other messages before, but he texted you anyway.

I hope you're doing well.

When he re-read what he'd sent, he started to panic. It sort of sounded like he meant it with an air of finality. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he didn't want to hear from you, because it was quite the opposite. There were times when he felt so lonely, he'd have done anything for you to write to him or call him back.

He swore he could still smell you in his house, and right now it felt a little too much like you were there. He wrenched his front door open and slammed it closed behind him, breathing in the crisp December morning air. He had to start making some changes, and he needed to do it this week. You weren't going to respond to him. After four weeks he should accept that as a fact and stop bugging you.

He'd been skipping Hard Deck nights and leaving the locker room after work without really talking to anyone. Nat knew why he was miserable, but even she seemed surprised it had gone on for this long.

A few days ago, she said, "You've never behaved like this over a woman before. This has all just been very surprising, and I don't know how to help you."

Bradley had shrugged and laughed sarcastically. "Well, I fell in love with her. First time for everything, right? I'll know better for next time."

And that was the truly fucked up part. He had fallen in love with you over the course of ten days. As he drove to work, he thought about your face and your voice. He knew exactly how many miles he put on his Bronco driving back and forth to see you at the games in Anaheim. He knew exactly how much money he spent on all the tickets. He knew how badly it hurt right now to be without you. And he knew he'd repeat everything all over again if he could see you for five minutes.

Just like every other day, he had to collect himself before he could head inside to the locker room. There was no getting his time with you back. There was no second chance. There was no communication. He needed to stop. He took off his aviators that you'd liked so much and set them in his cup holder. When he checked the time on his phone, he had a notification that a new article from you had been posted eight minutes ago. It was like this every day. He'd wait to see each morning if you'd written anything, and then after it was posted, he'd read it at least three times.

Your final World Series article was the worst one. It was released two days after you left. He must have read it a hundred times. He'd even take a screenshot of the short passage he was certain was about him.

This World Series was exciting and dynamic for so many reasons. We witnessed some of the best major league pitching in the last decade, and there were more stolen bases than the past three finals combined. Professionally, I may never witness anything like this again. And I can even tell you that on a personal level, I was profoundly changed for the better by everything I allowed myself to experience and enjoy between San Diego and Anaheim over the course of the series.

Bradley looked at his phone screen now. It had to stop. He desperately wanted to read your article on the Detroit Red Wings, but he needed to make this feeling stop. It was like he was constantly in pain every time he thought about you or even simply read your name on his phone. Your written words were never going to help him move on, so he needed to do something about it right now while he felt like he could.

He deleted the New York Times app. He thought about deleting your number as well, but he needed to save some of his strength to get through his workday. So he just tucked his phone in his pocket and climbed out of the Bronco.

---------------------------

When Bradley walked into the Hard Deck on Friday night after work, he felt defeated and exhausted. He managed to delete the app you wrote for, but he still couldn't bring himself to delete your phone number. Moving on was a necessity right now. He didn't even know why he bothered to come to the bar, but staying home and looking at baseball cards on his coffee table didn't seem to be helping him.

"You're here!" Nat called out as soon as he walked inside. The bar was decorated for Christmas. Was it that close to the holidays? He'd completely lost track of the weeks, but at the same time, he knew exactly how many days it had been since he'd seen you. His mind was too aware of that number, and it tacked a new one on each day.

"Hey," Bradley managed to grunt when his friend came over to him and wrapped him up in a hug. The Christmas tree and the strings of lights blurred, and he had to close his eyes. He was missing the feel of your arms around him and the way you smelled. None of this was Nat's fault or anyone's fault really. Bradley didn't even blame you. He couldn't. You and he were nothing.

"Let me get you a drink," Nat whispered, and she took him by the hand. He recognized the upbeat Christmas song, and he saw the guys waving from the pool table. But when he turned to face the bar, Shannon was right there with her usual smile and a pint glass in her hand. He didn't know why he wasn't expecting her. The last time he saw her was when he brought you here, and he'd give anything to go back to that night.

Bradley just shook his head. "Something stronger. Please." Shannon raised one eyebrow at him and set the pint glass down in favor of a whiskey tumbler and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Yeah."

"Haven't seen you around in a few weeks," she said, watching the amber liquid slosh neatly up the side of the glass as she poured. "Kinda missed you." She met his eyes as she pushed the glass across the bar. "You look so sad."

He held eye contact with her, trying his best to push the intrusive thoughts away. "Maybe I'll be around more now," he muttered, downing the whole drink in one go and setting the glass down again.

Shannon was familiar to him. Comfortable. He'd been messing around with women for damn near two decades without any deep feelings. You were really his first foray into something... more. But you were gone. You didn't want to talk to him. You weren't coming back.

She refilled his glass and said, "Take this one a little slower, Bradley." He nodded before downing it just like the first one, and she kind of smirked and shook her head. "You'll pay for this in the morning."

He laughed sardonically. "That's the idea." He left the empty glass on the bar with a little nod indicating that he would be back. He desperately needed to clear his head, but he'd been trying everything for weeks. Taking a walk outside, having a cold shower, going for a drive. Nothing fucking helped.

He needed to forget the feel of your body and the sound of your voice. So he drank an extravagant amount of Johnnie Walker on Nat's tab, and he started to feel looser. He laughed at her when she asked how many he had so far.

"Don't worry. I'll pay you back," he rasped with a smile that he knew could charm every woman except for his best friend.

She just rubbed her hand up and down his arm and said, "I hope you know what you're doing. Let me know when you want me to get you home."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, Nat. Just fine." He finished his tumbler and tried to remember if that was his fifth or his sixth, but it didn't matter. He was warm now, and his lips were a little numb. This was exactly what he needed tonight. After he shot a round of pool and lost, he flipped through the jukebox, but it was all bullshit Christmas music. He wasn't in the mood. He thought about playing the piano, but there was an empty stool at the bar now, so he headed in that direction.

"One more?" Bradley asked Shannon as he sat, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"You sure you really need one?"

"Yep," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat as she swam out of focus for a split second. "Just one more. It'll make it easier."

She turned away from him to get one more clean glass. Then she filled it for him. "Thanks, Shannon," he muttered when she set it down in front of him. He was leaning on his propped up hand, and he knew she was kind of pretty. But he knew you were prettier and funnier and smarter.

"You can't have what you want," he mumbled to himself after Shannon walked away. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and just looked at the screen. Delete it. He had to. He opened his contacts, and there you were right at the fucking top.

Ace

You'd always be at the top, wouldn't you?

Instead of deleting your number, he sent you a text before he could reconsider.

Ace, I fell in love with you.

Fuck. Fuck! You didn't want him. And there was no way to take that message back now. He closed his eyes and shook his head, because he couldn't tell if he was about to cry or laugh. He was fucking miserable. Truly, he'd never experienced this before, and it hurt like hell. His thumb hovered over your name once again, but he couldn't delete it. He drank the whiskey and tried again. But still nothing.

He watched Shannon move around behind the bar. She wasn't you. She wasn't what he wanted, but when she announced that it was last call, she made her way over to him.

"But no more for you," she teased, reaching to take his glass away. But he had her wrist in his hand before he registered what he was doing. She looked a little surprised. The tears were in his eyes again, but maybe it wasn't so obvious to her. He couldn't say the words. He needed her to be the one. When he licked his lips, she leaned a little closer. "I'm done in fifteen. Are you interested? Or are you too drunk?"

He took a deep breath as his eyes closed. He needed to try to move on. The pain needed to stop, or else he didn't know what he would do. Right now he was numb enough. It was now or never. "I'm interested."

Bradley was very aware of what he was doing, it just vaguely seemed like someone else was doing it. He gave his keys to Shannon once they were outside. "Remember where I live?" he asked, walking toward the Bronco.

"Of course I do," she whispered.

He found himself with his back against the passenger side door with Shannon's lips on his. It felt fine. Would probably feel better the more he got used to it again. He could do this. He kissed her back and told her to drive, because he knew he shouldn't.

She drove and parked and took him by the hand, leading him inside his house. As soon as he saw the baseball cards, he wanted to upend his coffee table. He wanted to do this and get it over with and go to sleep for a week. And if he didn't feel better after that, then he didn't know what he was going to do.

When Shannon tried to turn on his bedroom light, he took her hand in his and guided it away from the switch. "Too bright," he mumbled, and she started to get undressed. He stumbled across the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door. When he looked in the mirror, he'd never seen anything quite so pitiful. He splashed a little water on his face, but it just made his flushed cheeks stand out more. He dug around under the sink for some condoms he thought he still had. When his hand closed around the box, he sat back against the wall and cried.

He had no idea how long he was in the bathroom. He took his shirt off and used it to wipe his face. You didn't want him. He went back to his bedroom where Shannon was naked on his bed, her skin glowing in the light filtering in from the bathroom where he forgot to flip the switch off.

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. But she must have taken that as a sign that he was ready to go. He wasn't, but he told himself he was. She touched him, and he let her. She kissed him some more, and he let her do that, too. He reciprocated. He knew to do that much. But it didn't feel like anything. He fucked her, but it just wasn't right. And then he fell asleep with a throbbing head and an aching heart and the wrong woman next to him.

-----------------------

It had been years since Bradley had a hangover. When he opened his eyes, his left arm was hanging off of his bed, and his face was halfway smashed in his pillow. His mouth was completely dry, and he tried to press his lips together and swallow. He had no idea how he got home or what time it was.

"Oh, shit," he groaned. He texted you last night. When he was sitting at the bar. He was pretty sure he told you he fell in love with you. He knew you wouldn't write back. You must have blocked his number by now. He was probably texting nobody by this point, but it still hurt like hell that you didn't want him the way he wanted you.

Then he remembered what he did after he texted you, and the bile rose in his throat so quickly. Shannon was right there next to him when he turned his head. He let her sleep over. He never let her sleep over before this. She was in your spot. He needed her gone immediately.

"Hey," he grunted, his throat like sandpaper. "Shannon. You need to leave."

She rolled over and glared at him. "Still tired," she whispered, completely naked in his bed.

"Please," he begged. He was so fucking stupid, it was incredible. Now he was miserable and hungover and angry with himself. "I need you to."

She sighed and stretched, and Bradley made a beeline for the bathroom, stepping on a condom wrapper on the way. At least there was that. Then he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sat back against the wall for a few minutes, afraid there might be more he had to throw up. He knew his head was throbbing due more to the fact that he regretted everything he did last night with Shannon than him drinking most of a bottle of whiskey.

There was tapping on the door. "If you want me to leave, I need to use the bathroom."

"Give me a minute," he groaned, standing up and looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale. When he brushed his teeth, he felt the tears burning behind his eyes once again. Was this ever going to stop? It had been more than a month.

Bradley rinsed his mouth and opened the door, barely looking at Shannon as she walked past him, still naked. He went back into his bedroom for a pair of clean underwear and some gym shorts and fought the urge to put all of his bedding in the washing machine. He couldn't even be in here right now, so he left for the kitchen. And he passed the fucking baseball cards again. He would have to throw them away or ask someone to come get them, because he needed them gone as much as he needed Shannon to leave.

As he turned on his coffee maker, he heard someone knocking on his front door. He already wanted this fucking day to end. He tried not to look at the baseball cards as he passed the table and wrenched his front door open, and then his jaw dropped in surprise.

"Bradley. Hi."

He braced his hand against the door frame as he looked at you standing there on his tiny porch. You were wearing his Padres jersey. He had to be hallucinating. This had to be a dream. You were here.

"Ace."

He watched your face light up at the nickname, and you laughed softly as you examined him like you'd been dying to see him. He gripped the doorframe a little harder as he reached his other hand out to cup your chin and feel your silky skin.

"Holy shit, Baby. What are you doing here?" His heart was pounding, but he felt somehow normal again. Just like he had five weeks ago before you left him in a state of panic.

"I came to see you." He stroked his thumb along your lip, but you didn't back away. In fact you took a tiny step closer as you added, "I have to be up in Anaheim tomorrow afternoon for some Ducks interviews, but I wanted to see you first. I thought we could talk."

Your eyes were open and earnest, and Bradley felt weak as he looked at his jersey on you. He let his hand drop away from your face, because he had no idea what to say to you right now. He had convinced himself he'd never see you again. "Did you get my texts? Or did you block my number?"

You pressed your lips together and then whispered, "I got your texts. And I've listened to your voicemail a lot. I've missed you." Bradley watched you smile tentatively and give him a little shrug.

"You missed me," he said in disbelief. "And you got my messages. And you missed me. And you're wearing my jersey."

You looked down at yourself and laughed. "I've been wearing pretty frequently, actually. Turns out I don't have a dress code at my new office, which ironically is in Houston now, but I hardly ever have to be there in person."

When you met his eyes again, he asked. "New office?" He was so confused as he reached out and stroked your cheek with his fingers again just to try to make sure you were still real.

"Yeah," you said softly, taking another step closer to him. "I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for a lot of things." You bit your lip before you said, "I left the New York Times. I just finished my last assignment for Greg yesterday. I'm working on a brand new piece now. I actually begged my new employer to let me come back to California for the Anaheim Ducks article even though it's a bit of a fluff piece, because it meant I could come here and tell you that I'm happier now."

"You are?" he asked, unsure what you meant by that. He was having a hard time listening to your voice and looking at your face at the same time, and he wondered how he'd managed ten days in your presence for the World Series. You were just so overwhelmingly perfect.

"Yes, Bradley. You made me think about my career, and I kind of took the time to change some of my priorities. Because if there's a man as incredible as you who is willing to take a chance on me, then I can take the same kind of chance on myself."

"Ace."

You smiled up at what he was sure was a look of longing on his face. "I'm working for Velocity Report now, and I'm going to have a lot more time off between assignments. Which is important, because you reminded me that I need to take breaks and eat and take care of myself. Even when you're not around."

"I loved doing that for you," he gasped, suddenly dying to kiss you.

"Yeah, well, you were really good at it," you said as your smile faded a little bit. "But that's why I'm here. To tell you all of this in person. You deserve to hear it in person instead of over the phone, especially since I never responded to you. I wanted to, but I just wasn't ready until now. And I don't know if you read what I said about you in my Detroit Red Wings article... but, I still miss you. And I love you."

His heart was pounding so hard, he thought he was going to pass out. "You love me?" he asked, absolutely needing you to say it again for him as your eyes drifted to where the box of baseball cards was still out on the coffee table.

Your smile grew as you reached out for his hand and tugged him closer like you were going to kiss him. "Yes, I do. I love-"

Bradley heard a noise behind him, and his heart sank as his eyes went wide. You were looking off to the side, and he heard Shannon's voice. "Oh, sorry." He turned to see her with a puzzled look on her face. He had completely forgotten she was even here. After a few minutes in your presence, you were the only thing that mattered.

"Oh my god," you gasped, wrenching yourself away from Bradley. "Oh, fuck." You looked at him with your hands on your forehead and tears in your eyes. "You know what? Forget I was even here. I'm sorry," you gasped, turning on your heel and walking full speed across his yard to the black car that was parked at his curb.

It took him a second, but then he was right behind you. "Ace! No, Baby, you don't understand." But it didn't look like you were listening as you dug the keys to your rental car out of your pocket. "Ace! Please!" He ran barefoot out onto the street to try to beat you to the car door, but you were too fast. When he reached for your hand and spun you around to face him, you had tears streaming down your cheeks.

He was frozen, clinging to your hand as you whispered, "She's the bartender. I should have never come here."

"No," he begged, stepping into your personal space, but you kept dodging him. "It's nothing. I want you here. I need you here."

But you pulled your hand free and reached for the door handle as you sobbed, and it broke Bradley's heart. "I need to go."

He was ready to drop to his knees. "She doesn't mean anything, Ace! Please! I missed you too, Baby! I've been miserable without you, okay? You have no idea."

You wouldn't even look at him now as you pushed him out of the way so you could climb in the car. He felt all of his dreams slipping through his fingers twice now as you slammed the door closed, started the engine and drove.

"Ace!" he shouted running alongside your door until you hit the accelerator and left him standing in the middle of his street without shoes on. "Ace. I love you," he whispered as you turned left at the end of his block, and then you were out of sight.

Bradley sank down until he was squatting with his face buried in his palms. "Fuck!" he screamed, the sound only slightly muffled as he jumped up to his feet and made his way back to his house where Shannon was standing on his porch. She looked disgusted as another car pulled up in front of his house.

"Why are we sleeping together if you're clearly in love with her?" she asked, barely looking at him as she headed toward her Uber. "You should go take care of that."

As Bradley watched her away, he tried to pinpoint exactly how he'd fucked all of this up. He wondered if there was any way to fix it. Once again, he couldn't breathe correctly as that crushing feeling returned to his lungs. This feeling has vanished for those few minutes he was with you again.

"Maybe you don't even deserve her," he told himself as he walked back inside alone, thinking about how for a minute there, you'd loved him back.

------------------------------

Oh, Bradley. Oh, you sweet thing. Should I add one more part? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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thisismeracing · 8 months

Note

Charles + medical au(?) + Fluff comfort

Medical | CL16

⸺ Charles misses you and he won't measure efforts to see you. ✓ mentions of injury.

⁕ one word, a thousand stories blurb night (closed) ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

It was a slow day at the clinic, much like every Wednesday, you come to notice. You were super tired from the routine you've come to get used to, early classes during the morning, then study sessions to get your studies done before rushing to the hospital three times a week, the other three days you went to the clinic, an opportunity you got with a friend to experience a bit more of the medical field.

And though it was great for your grad life, it was actually hard for your love life.

You've been dating Charles for almost two years now, and he was always very supportive of your career, much like you were with his. He would make time, and plan cute dates whenever you were together and free at the same time, and when your school would let you, he would fly you to be by his side.

With the added internship at the clinic, it got harder, and you haven't seen each other for almost a month now. He was busy with racing, Ferrari meetings publicity stuff, and you were busy with school and internship.

So Charles decided to surprise you at the clinic where you were working that Wednesday after he got some days off. With the help of Pierre, he faked an injury to get there and find you. He had everything planned perfectly, he only forgot that you weren't the only person working there, and he found himself too deep on his lie back down.

That's how he found himself in the small individual side of the emergency room waiting for a doctor to collect his blood and run some exams. If Pierre was there he would be laughing his ass off at the fact that Charles was about to let someone have his blood taken, just for the sake of his surprise.

Thank goodness though, he didn't have to get that far, because you were the intern assigned to take his blood, and the second you turned the corner and saw the mop of chocolate hair your eyes went wide.

"Omg, Sharl, are you okay?" you ran to his side in the blink of an eye, holding his face between your hands and frantically looking for signs of sickness.

Charles gave you a toothy grin, "surprise!"

"What do you mean surprise?"

"I mean surprise, as in surprendre!"

"I-" you dropped your hold on him to put your hands on your hips, attentively looking at your boyfriend.

"Don't be mad. I just wanted to surprise you," he smiled. "And I talked with your boss, she just forgot to tell the guy at the reception and the nurse that it was a fake sickness, they almost drew my blood and ran tests on me," he ranted and Yn laughed.

"You're lucky I love you and missed you like crazy," you whispered before smashing your lips together in a loving kiss.

Charles held you close finally feeling at home after a month away form you.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I hope you like it babesss <3 Don't forget to reblog and leave me a comment *mwah*

#cl16 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fandom #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #op: blurbs #one word a thousand stories blurb night #millies inbox #anon #millie writes #doctor!reader #long live the queue

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sanjismywhore · 1 year

Text

One Missed Call

Carlos Oliveira x Reader

Warnings: Nsfw, phone sex

—————————————————————————————————————

Assigned on patrol duty, Carlos silently made his rounds around an empty city block that had previously been blocked off by his team.

In the distance he could just make out a few other soldiers standing, holding their weapons low as they waited for the possibility of something to happen.

The streets were fairly quiet at this time of night, with most people probably still asleep.

Carlos didn’t particularly enjoy being on patrol, strictly because of the lack of action. Threats were just as uncommon as intruders. So for the time being, he would walk in circles for hours, bored out of his mind.

It was tiring, and made him a lot more homesick than he already was. He was missing you pretty bad.

With the thought of you fresh in his mind, he tried to stay in good spirits. Once this shift was finally over, he could stay home with you as long as he wished.

Turning a corner that led down an alley, Carlos felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

At first he ignored it, allowing it to ring until it went to voicemail. Since he was on duty, he wasn’t supposed to use his phone in case something did really pop off.

But when it rung a second time consectively, he fished it out of his pocket out of curiosity.

He checked the caller ID to find your name flashing across the screen, making him raise a brow. Why were you even awake at this hour?

He got a sense that this was a possible emergency, causing his heart to stop momentarily.

As the phone continued to vibrate in his hand, Carlos looked around to make sure he was hidden before accepting the call.

He cleared his throat, “(Name), what’s up?” He asked urgently, “Is everything alright?”

Then he heard something that threw him for a loop. His breath hitched in the back of his throat as he pressed the phone closer to his ear.

A soft moan came through the line and a quiet whine soon followed after. “Mm… Fuck me...”

It took him a second to register what he had just heard. Furrowing his brows at the sounds, he repeated a little louder, “(Name)?”

However he recieved no response. Instead there was only the sound of rustling, like someone was trying to get comfortable.

A few more moans came across the line, “Fuck.. I need…” You paused, voice trembling as another long moan ripped from your throat.

Carlos swallowed hard, covering the speaker to his phone and quickly moving away from the mouth of the alley.

He closed his eyes, hands tightening around his phone as he took a deep breath. The lewd noises coming from your end of the phone were nonstop.

Your voice sounded too far from the phone’s microphone, which made him doubt that you could hear his voice. Yet the phone was still close enough for all the noises to be registered by him.

“Oh god… Carlos.” Along with your moans, in the distance he could make out the sound of something squelching and vibrating.

“(Name), what are you…” He gasped quietly upon the realization that you were masturbating to the thought of him. The sudden wave of heat that came over him was almost overwhelming.

The longer he listened, the more he was sure that you were completely unaware of the phone call.

“Ahh fuck…” You whimpered again, “Carlos, please…” The sound of your bed creaking filled his ears. “Please.” You repeated.

His mouth went dry. As his pulse pounded in his ears, the sound of his name being chanted over and over grew louder and louder.

It filled him feelings he had long since forgotten. The way you moaned his name so effortlessly as if he was right there with you, it made him miss you even more. It filled him with a sudden, fiery desire.

Swallowing thickly again, he glanced down at himself upon feeling his pants begin to grow tighter.

“Fuck…” He whispered, running a shaky hand through his hair. This was the first time he’s gotten hard at work.

Feeling a a sense of guilt and embarrassment, he knew that he should’ve ended the call then and there.

Yet he stood in the alley dumbfounded for awhile, still listening to the phone and thinking of all the possible explanations to this scenario.

The hot, wet sounds that came from you playing with yourself only grew louder.

As much as Carlos wanted to hang up for the sake of his job, your sounds made him want to give in so badly. Soon your voice was becoming to much to just sit still and listen to. He threw all rational thoughts out the window.

Never in his entire life would he be so grateful to be on patrol today. Thank god no one was gonna be around to see this.

“Damn, (Name)...” Carlos groaned as he leaned up against the nearest wall, setting his weapon down at his feet.

His right hand fumbled with his tactical belt, quickly disgarding it on the ground. With great haste he unbuttoned his pants and let them hang off his thighs.

The air became hot and dense with every passing moment. The sweat on his skin evaporated faster than it could fall. When he heard you moaning his name again, the sensation sent chills down his spine and straight into his groin.

“Oh my god.” He whispered, grabbing his cock through his boxers and stroking it gently.

You let out an audible gasp, seemingly quickening your own movements. “Oh fuck..” Your wavering voice was almost lost in the distance but Carlos was able to pick it out easily.

He dipped his hand beneath his boxers and freed his thick cock, not wasting any time stroking it in desperation.

He was hyperfocused on every single noise that came from his phone. “I need it so fucking bad…” He heard you whine.

Closing his eyes, he used the best of his effort to picture exactly how you were pleasuring yourself right now.

Maybe you were laying on your back, legs spread and knees slightly bent on the bed as you rubbed yourself vigorously to a photo of him.

Or maybe you were riding your favorite toy, moaning his name over and over again each time you sunk down on it. Wishing it was his cock instead.

His face flushed red hot as he imagined you straddling him and sinking down, down, down… Taking all of him.

Groaning softly, he could feel his cock twitch against his hand—wanting you desperately.

“God, I need you. Please… please…” Your pleas rang in his ears. The desperation in your voice made his balls clench.

“I know baby...” He groaned, bearing his teeth and running them across his bottom lip.

Carlos’ back made contact with the brick wall behind him while his hips jolted upwards against his hand.

“Keep moaning for me sweetheart.” He huffed, gripping his cock tightly with his thumb rubbing over the tip.

He heard you moan again on the other end of the line, seemingly fucking yourself faster and harder. Your breathing grew heavy and ragged.

The down right pornographic sounds of you fucking youself with some toy, or your hand, or whatever it was sent blood rushing straight to his cock.

“Just say my name over and over, it'll drive me fuckin’ crazy.” His words flowed out in a flurry, desperate and vulgar.

Even though he knew that you couldn’t hear his words, his body continued to act on its own accord.

The noises coming from your side got louder, more desperate. The sounds of your pleasure became clearer, “Shit, I wanna feel you..” You whimpered.

Carlos clenched his jaw shut, biting down on the inside of his cheek as he began to move his hand faster, increasing the friction between his fingers.

His breathing was growing short and he felt like the whole world was falling away from under him. “I miss you so fuckin’ much…” He grunted.

You whimpered again, “I miss you Carlos… oh god, I miss you…”

Carlos visibly shuddered at that, pulling the phone away from his ear to take a breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to calm himself down.

He wiped his forehead with his free arm as the heat radiating from his cheeks slowly died down. He ran his tongue over the corner of his lips, tasting his salty sweat that lingered on the skin.

After collecting himself, he placed his phone back onto his ear and began groan once more, “Baby… Fuck, say my name again…”

His stomach tightened painfully when his cock throbbed at the mere thought of his name running off your tongue. It was all he could think about.

Your moans gradually grew into long huffs and pleas. Breathing much heavier than before, you slurred. “Wanna cum for you…”

An audible groan of pleasure slipped passed his lips as his head tilted back against the wall behind him.

He could feel his orgasm building steadily in his stomach.

“Oh God... please…” He begged with a whimper, closing his eyes tightly. His cock throbbed again, leaking so much pre that he could use it to lube up his dick and stroke it faster.

He pieced together that you were drawing near your orgasm because the lewd squelching became more frequent.

You choked out, “Fuck, Carlos…” before letting out a long moan. Your words scrambled like an incoherent mess of lustful songs.

Carlos bit his lip harshly at the sound of your voice, making him even more aroused. He could feel his heart thumping faster, his breathing quickening.

“Fuck yeah. Say my name baby…” Carlos groaned louder as he fucked his fist harder, “I'm wanna cum with you… so hard.”

The last part of his sentence barely escaped his mouth before his hips spasmed, making his eyes roll back into his head.

You let out a cry of ecstasy. Your breathing was erratic as you continued to moan desperately in pleasure.

With another call of his name, you cried.

“I wanna cum… all over your big fucking cock!”

“Yeah, that’s it baby… come for me…” He groaned, throwing his head back against the wall and smiling. Unable to control the noises escaping his throat, he thrust his cock deeper into his fist.

Your cries pierced the air once more. You clutched your stomach as you panted heavily, fingers moving vigorously against your sex.

Sweat poured down his neck and drenched the front of his shirt. The muscles in his arms and abdomen tensed repeatedly as he stroked himself vigorously.

Carlos hunched forwards, spreading his legs wider and bending his knees a bit as he worked his cock to the max.

Then, he let out the sluttiest moan. “Oh fuck… Take it baby, take it.”

He pounded into his hand for what seemed like an eternity, panting heavily. A giant wave of intense bliss washed over him and he could feel the knot in his stomach beginning to unravel.

“Shit, I’m cumming!” You gasped. When he heard a loud smack against the floor and your muffled whimpers fill the air, he knew you reached your climax.

A low growl slipped past his lips, his mind feeling hazy and fuzzy from the incredible sensations coursing throughout his body. His hips started jerking furiously against his cock, his hips bucking violently as well.

A deep moan erupted from Carlos’ throat and he pulled his hand from his groin. Dropping to his knee's, he slid his left hand down his chest, squeezing and caressing himself.

Carlos released a primal growl as he came undone, “Oh shit. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

His entire body tensed up as a flood of hot fluid spurted from his slit. His cum dripped from his dick like a steady stream of tears.

Moans and curses spilled off his tongue like velvet. Continuing to stroke himself hard, his body convulsed and spasmed as he kept cumming. “O-oh shit….” He panted, vision blurring as he rode out the rest of his orgasm.

He slumped forward, dropping his forehead into the palm of his free hand and panting heavily. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he feelt so exhausted from his release that he couldn't lift his arms.

He stared down at his wet, glistening dick, watching the remainder of his cum drip onto the ground. “Fuck…” He huffed to himself.

There was a long moment of silence between both lines on the phone. Carlos could faintly hear your breathing beging to grow calmer and then some rustling in the background.

The rustling began to cease when you finally discovered that you were on a phone call. Then a loud gasp came from your end, “Oh shit…”

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Carlos smirked at your reaction. “Having fun without me?” He teased, chuckling softly.

He recived more silence from your end, until you swallowed thickly and responded. “I butt dialed you on accident… How much did you hear?” Your voice couldn’t hide the embarrassment you felt.

“I heard enough.” He answered flatly.

Carlos could practically see the blush rising to your face as you mumbled something incoherent before taking a deep breath.

“You weren’t the only one having some fun though, don’t worry.” He reassured with amusement, “You know how much love it when you say my name.”

Your eyes widened, “So you heard all of that…” you were practically speechless.

“Every word.” He replied cheekily.

“Ughh…” You grumbled from embarrassment, face palming yourself.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed baby. I loved every second.” He purred, “You should’ve heard it. I came so hard.”

“Damn. I should’ve had you on speaker.” You groaned sarcastically.

Carlos chuckled again, knowing exactly where this conversation would lead, “As soon as I get home, you’re gonna hear the real thing. That’s guaranteed.” He said in a low, seductive tone.

You giggled, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You better keep your promise.” You warned him.

He let out a soft chuckle, placing the phone back against his ear and leaning his head back onto the wall. “Always do, babe. I always will.” He assured you.

#x reader #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos x reader #carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira smut #carlos oliveira x you #re3 carlos #carlos x y/n #smut #fanfic #resdient evil #re3 #re3 remake #re3make #resident evil x reader #ao3 fanfic #carlos smut #resident evil 3

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berriweb · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ FOR ME? ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. johnathan ohnn (the spot) x gn! reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. attempted robbery (don’t steal atms kids), cursing

: ̗̀➛ note. i can’t resist writing for the silly little guy

Ring ring ring.

“Hey, Y/N, when you get a chance do you think you could look over some of the papers? If you’re not busy or anything.”

“Of course!”

Buzz. Buzz.

1 unread message. 1 new voicemail.

“You think you could be a dear and help out with my reports? I’m a little behind and you know how the boss can be…”

“It’s fine, I can help you.”

Ring ring ring.

2 new voicemails.

“Y/N, if you don’t mind-”

“Just leave it on my desk.”

“You’re the best!”

Between the insistent notifications going off on your phone and your coworkers/supervisors approaching you what seemed like every 5 minutes, it was nearly impossible to keep your head on long enough to get everything done.

After the aftermath of the whole disaster with Alchemax, your job seemed to become increasingly more difficult to manage on your own. Less people to help meant more work for you and less time to yourself, on top of the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to any employee that wanted to take advantage of your willingness to take on any assignment the other didn’t feel like finishing. Surely most of your team had caught onto that by now.

You were worked to the bone nearly every day, which was surprising enough considering you weren’t even on a high enough level to be working on any of the big projects, not to say your skills as a scientist were mediocre, but compared to other geniuses you weren’t much of a competition. Your job however, stressful as it was, was the only thing keeping you from ending up homeless on the street, so despite the exhaustion and anxiety-inducing environment, you pushed on. No need to add any more stress to the plate by trying to find someplace else to work.

And to top it all off, there was Johnny.

Letting out a breathe you didn’t even realize you were holding, you practically collapsed into your chair and wheeled yourself to your desk to drop all of the piles of unnecessarily complicated documents you’d need to get done. The moment you allowed yourself to get your shit together before you were back to working like a dog was likely the only chance you’d get to relax, so you took the opportunity to check your phone that had been consistently alerting you for the last 15 minutes.

7 missed calls from J 😘

5 unread messages from J 😘

2 voicemails from J 😘

Your face fell as you scrolled through your notifications bar, a mixture of guit and worry creeping up your neck.

Ever since the accident, you felt an extra need to be there for the man when he showed up late one night at your door, or rather halfway through it (damn those uncontrollable holes) crying that he had nowhere else to go. At least you assumed he would’ve been crying if he had a face to do so, but the tone of his voice was more than enough of an indicator. Prior to the incident, you two had a solid relationship going for years after meeting in the workplace, and to say that you were worried for him after hearing the news of what had happened while sitting at home waiting for him to return that night was an understatement.

He was gone for weeks, and just when you were starting to assume the worst he popped back up in your life in a completely new form. Your heart broke for him when he explained how everyone else had cast him out and how he’d been afraid to return to you out of fear that you’d do the same, and while you admit that seeing him like this took some getting used to, you weren’t going to abandon him too.

Ever since he’s mostly been hiding out in your apartment relying on you for all of his needs, as the few attempts to go out in public in a decent enough disguise didn’t go well, to say the least. You had noticed how he’d become far more reliant on you and clingy as a result, meaning multiple texts and calls a day whenever you were out of the house and he was left alone to his own devices. You tried to be as responsive as you could to avoid making him feel more alone (and because you knew he’d started to harbor some guilt for “leeching” off of you and being part of the reason you had to work more often and pay rent on your own), but sometimes your work duties got the better of you.

You opened the messages first.

J😘: Are you going to be working late again today? I want to plan something for you.

J😘: What do you think of the name, “The Spot”? That sounds menacing enough, right? I’m coming up with something big right now.

J😘: “Holeman” just doesn’t sound as cool, you know? I’ll work on it.

J😘: Sorry I know I’m texting a lot, are you busy?

J😘: I’m going out, might not be home when you make it.

That uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your stomach only intensified, and while the messages themselves weren’t exactly that worrying, something was telling you he was up to no good. And where was he going?

Your thumbs hovered over the screen for what felt like forever before you went to tap on the unopened voicemails.

“Hey babe, I know this is kind of out of the blue but I know how hard you’ve been working at Alchemax for us and I want to do something to repay you for it- just a way to say thank you I guess? I know what you said about not feeling guilty and everything but I really want to do this for you, you know I can’t keep living off of you and staying cooped up in that apartment forever- n-not that I’m ungrateful or anything! You do a lot for us, you did a lot for me and I’ll never be able to repay you for showing me that kindness when nobody else would.”

“I really needed that and I really need you. You’re sort of the only one I really have left, can’t risk losing that by leeching off of you forever, y’know? A-anyway, I saw that figure you’ve been eyeing from those ads, the really expensive one from that series you like? There’s that one gas station around the corner I used to go to that has an ATM, please don’t be mad, technically it’s bank money anyway and the government has plenty so I’m not really stealing from the gas station! I’m testing out my powers today. I’m getting the money for your figure today to surprise you with it! Wait- shit, it’s not a surprise if I’m telling you- oh god I’m rambling again, is there a way to delete this voicemail?! Hold on, wait-” Click.

Staring at your screen, you were unable to process the different emotions running your brain. You clicked the second voicemail.

“P.S., I love you Y/N~. I’ll talk to you later.”

You were left trying to decide whether to find the nearest bathroom before your coworkers caught you crying at the heartfelt message, frown at the idea of him still feeling as though he owes you when he, in fact doesn’t, or panicking when you realize that your boyfriend was about to attempt to rob a gas station for your sake. You chose the latter.

Jumping out of your seat, you went into a frenzy grabbing as many of your important belongings as you could and shoving them into a bag before you made a beeline for the doors and rushed out of your office, ignoring the concerned call outs from your coworkers asking where you were going and wondering whether or not you were going to finish your work for the day.

Alchemax became the least of your concerns, sending your manager a quick text letting her know you were leaving early on the account of an emergency as you raced down the speed walking faster than you probably ever had in his life.

‘Had he already left? What was he thinking?!’

Now it was your turn to spam him with call after call, silently begging the universe to make him pick up but to no avail.

Suddenly your apartment seemed 10 times farther than it normally did during your walks home from work despite your rush, managing to bump into multiple people as you pushed your way through the crowds, which was met by curses shouted at you, complaints, and a few threats that you could only hope would be tamed by the quick apologies you shouted in return.

You were probably mid journey home when your run came to a screeching halt as the tv stationed outside of a pawn shop caught your news. Spider-Man’s latest fight was being broadcasting through the few clips reporters were able to catch during the escapade, showing the many damages left behind and from the chaotic battle, but it wasn’t the iconic vigilante that caught your attention, it was the headline.

“Spider-Man’s latest battle against a new foe, ‘The Spot’, causes city-wide destruction! Who is this new villain on the streets and what’s his motive?”

Your mind seemed to pull you back to just minutes earlier when you were sitting in the lab, reading his messages.

“What do you think of the name, ‘The Spot’? That sounds menacing enough, right?”

Not only was Johnathan an idiot for trying to rob a gas station, he was stupid enough to get caught by Spider-Man!

If not for your unconditional love your your boyfriend and knowledge that he was once a brilliant scientist, you would’ve questioned how you ended up with such a clumsy fool.

This was further confirmed when you returned to racing to your apartment, only for your attention to be grabbed as a familiar black hole opened up above the street and citizens gasped as they caught sight of Spider-Man falling through the hole, followed up by the current criminal, and your boyfriend. His lack of facial features would argue against it, but you could swear that you made eye contact as his head turned to you and the gaping black hole where his face should be met your eyes before both men disappeared into the parallel hole that opened on the ground and it closed behind them. If looks could kill, Johnathan would be far more than six feet under.

For what felt like an eternity you stood there, the shock being enough to paralyze you and leave you glued to the sidewalk. When you snapped back into it, your palm came up to your face and you groaned in frustration, but wasted no time groveling over the situation. There was no point in trying to get home now, instead trying to figure out his location by what was being shown on the news. That was pretty hard to do, however, when he couldn’t control where the fight kept popping up in the city.

It wasn’t until a few minutes and about 50 missed calls later when the dial tone finally ceased and he picked up the phone, long after the news station seemingly lost track of the fight. You almost forgot to speak before the realization set it and you deeply inhaled.

“…before you get mad-”

“JOHNATHAN OHMMS I SWEAR TO GOD if you had ANY idea how much I want to strangle you right now-!”

“I know I know, I’m sorry, look-!”

“A gas station? ARE YOU INSANE?! You know better than this! How could you be so reckless! What were you thinking?!”

“-I wasn’t planning on getting caught-”

“And fighting Spider-Man?! You could’ve gone to jail, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse! What was I going to do then?!”

“I get it! I’m sorry, I swear! It was a bad idea I screwed up, I’ve never robbed anyone before-”

“I’d hope not!”

Taking a second, you lowered your voice and ducked into an empty looking alley so no one could hear your fussing, pinching the bridge of your nose and forcing yourself to calm down. Clearly he already knew he screwed up and the guilt in his voice made your heartache, you weren’t going to keep chastising him for something he regretted when he’d already suffered the consequences. Wait-

“Hold on, Johnny, where are you? And why do you sound so far from your phone?”

You heard a nervous chuckle from the other end of the line, where the portal that had his hand with his phone floated at least a good 10 feet from his face.

“Okay, funny story right? You’re going to laugh, I haven’t been arrested yet-” oh god. “But Spider-Man may have left me in a bit of a tight spot.”

You swore listening to Johnathan explain how he’d been webbed up in a multitude of his own holes thanks to the webbed hero and describing the building in hopes you’d help it out made you swear you’d grow grey hairs in that very moment, but you couldn’t focus on the absurdity when your main concern was getting your boyfriend back.

“-and now I’m sort of stuck and can touch my head with my right foot.”

“Johnny.”

“…yes, Y/N?”

“You’re very lucky I love you.”

He made a noise equivalent to a sigh that was mixed with relief and guilt.

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again. We’ll talk later, I’m on my way.”

“This why I love you~”

#across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #the spot #the spot x reader #johnathan ohnn #johnathan ohnn x reader #spot x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv fanfiction

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missglaskin · 1 year

Text

Modern au!Aegon, Jace, Aemond as your toxic boyfriends would include:

Aka you want a breakup but can’t. This is very much based on the concepts earlier. Please do not report this

These photos are all from the lovely @mrsgrwy

Tags: Modern!au, some smut, toxic behavior, co-dependency, blackmail, manipulation, guilt-tripping

Aegon

Aegon was like a drug. Being with him was all fresh and exciting. The first meeting-found in a corner at some party. Bowling together and him cheering even when you miss. The sudden road trips when he wanted to get away from everything. In the early hours of the day, when he clings to you and won't let go. But a drug can only work a few times before the high wears off.

His clinginess was initially endearing. You enjoyed the thought of him loving you so much that he can't keep his hands off you. But over time, it starts to become slightly annoying and suffocating. The numerous times you wiggle free of his hold in the early morning rushing to get to work/classes. The first time you were able to come up with excuses, but you soon encountered consequences if you continued. It aggravates you when he doesn't appear to be bothered by it.

Hardly do you remember a moment when you had some alone time to yourself. At the showers, cooking, or working on your assignments. Aegon was constantly looming over you, hands encircling you with his chin resting on your shoulder. Even when you hang out with your friends, Aegon is on your side. You can see the annoyed expression on their faces, but you don't have the heart to tell Aegon that he shouldn't come.

It was inevitable that the first argument would happen. Maybe it's because you spend every minute with him, noticing all the little things he does that annoy you. But you come to learn after every fight, nothing will be remembered the following day. The resentment is simmering beneath the surface, but as he holds you close and plants kisses all over your face. It keeps it there.

When none of that works. The hand slides down under your shorts. Fingers brushing against your pantie-covered pussy. Pleasure dulled the mind and the senses. And you found yourself giving in to the sensation of his fingers caressing your slick folds. Soon replaced by his cock-stretching you wide with each thrust. After every exhilarating high, there is this unpleasant feeling that you can’t seem to shake away.

But a day came when his swoon-worthy words and orgasms couldn't keep you. When you asked for a breakup, Aegon didn't take it seriously. You said it so often. Once he realizes that you are serious, he follows you around as you pack your things, promising to change. Pleading with you not to leave. ‘I love you’ was thrown around more than once. No matter how many times you block him, he still finds a way to call you, continuously leaving you voicemails. Leaving him hurts deeply, but it feels good to be free of the burden that had been pressing on you.

A message from someone you sure was Aegon prompted you to peek out of curiosity. Staring at the screen in horror. The camera focused on you, on your knees, bobbing your head down on his cock. That wasn’t it. Other videos were sent. Showing you on the bed with your moans ringing through the phone, one with his face hidden between your legs, the other video with your head buried in pillows as he fucks you from behind.

You knew what it meant. All your hard work and aspirations gone with just one send. You underestimated his cruelty. He will always prevail, just like in every other fight. As you stand in front of the house you once believed you would never see again, you swallow your pride to knock on his door.

Jace

You still vividly recall Jace's flushed freckles on the day he asked you out. His charm managed to find a way into your heart. It was just plain adorable, and you immediately agreed to the offer. In the beginning, every date was special and just brimming with sweetness and affection. Holding hands as you run from the rain, lending you his coat when it got chilly, him trying to cook and almost burning down the kitchen, cuddling throughout the entire movie.

However, you quickly learn that Jace and jealousy do not get along. Not missing the glares he sends to your male friends and colleagues. How tense he gets when your phone rings or when you receive a text notification, almost too eagerly asking who it is. Often, you wonder if you hadn't been there, would Jace have gotten himself in an altercation, as that would not be the first time.

On the subject of your phone, Jace is usually the one to respond to any notifications you receive. He lends you his phone. He trusts you. So as your boyfriend, you should also trust him to look through your phone. Unless you are hiding something from him. More times than not, Jace secretly has blocked or deleted some of your contacts. Your social media isn’t safe from either.

Jace was well-liked, with a social life full of those who admired and hoped to catch his eye. Still, he is eager to push them all aside just to spend more time with you, and Jace expects you to do the same. You are often left feeling you have to choose between the two; Jace or your friends. But Jace assures you they will understand if they are truly your friends, and you reassure yourself that it will only be a onetime-thing. Even though you find yourself leaving your friends hanging for the hundredth time.

Jace is the ideal boyfriend in every person's eyes. He was the type that would lend a hand to a neighbor carrying groceries or assist a senior citizen crossing the street. That generosity was no different with you. The surrounding people were in awe of Jace's refusal to let you hold anything while he was around, and they couldn’t help but swoon when he gave you a bouquet of flowers in front of them. It just leads to them dismissing your worries and being told to be grateful for having him.

His protectiveness can suffocate you at times. Jace insists he trusts you more than anyone else, but not those around you whenever you wear a revealing outfit. Jace gives up trying to convince you but will become oddly quiet, making you feel bad. You end up attending the party/event wearing your boyfriend's jacket to hide your ‘revealing figure’.

Jace longs for your admiration. He is not ashamed to admit his love for you. Either by his words or by his deeds. To keep you there with him, Jace will do anything and everything. He tries so hard to cover up the bad parts of him, but you can still feel them in the way he clings to you tightly at night and in the way he once broke a pencil in half when he caught you merely glancing at another. Most evident is when Jace drags you into some abandoned room, pinning you to the wall as you are fucked roughly. Broken moans escaping his lips asking if you still love him.

While you were uncertain of the future, your boyfriend seemed to have it all planned out. The topic of children made you uneasy, and you made that known. Jace at first seemed to respect that you were focused on your career, but as time passes, he ignores your warning look as he tells his family and yours that he wants to start his own family with you.

Aemond

Having a boyfriend like yours made you feel lucky. Knowing how many girls swooned over him, but he chose you over them. Well-mannered and disciplined, he excelled academically and in sports. He was essentially every parent’s wet dream. Slowly, you begin to realize that something was off about Aemond, but it took you so long that one cannot blame you. Not with the dates at your favorite coffee shop, the bouquet of flowers mailed to you, him sharing you his favorite books.

No matter how nice and funny your friends were, Aemond didn't like them. Early in your relationship, you learned how much he loved his alone time with you. Of course, Aemond never told you directly, but you were aware of the irritated expression on his face whenever one of your friends or colleagues approached you both in a public setting. More so, you can see the expression on his face when you get dressed up to leave the house without him. He tells you it's okay, but you are still overcome with a deep sense of guilt.

When it comes to Aemond, it seems to everyone that he is the one putting most of the effort into the relationship. Waking up in the morning and finding breakfast prepared. How willing he is to drive you to work or class. Assisting you with your studies. Keeping track of all of your appointments. You can’t help but feel guilty, eager to do anything to repay the favors, which Aemond doesn't mind one bit.

And before long, he had control over all of your finances. At first, it was him paying for all of your dates, refusing to take a single penny from you. Then it came to him covering every purchase you made. To all your vacations and trips. Within a short period of time, you were no longer burdened by any debt. You tried to refuse every time, but nothing could ever change his stubborn mind. And soon enough, Aemond began to hint that you should retire for a time; after all, there is no reason for you to carry on working.

Even in the bedroom, Aemond was giving. He would spend hours between your legs if you let him. Each time, you are left feeling sore and overstimulated. It won't be long before you let sleep overtake you or Aemond starts a warm bath for you. As much as he cares about your pleasure, Aemond has his own selfish reasons. A means of preventing you from leaving the house.

Arguments with Aemond are the worst of the worst. It's not that he shouts, throws things, or belittles you. It is the silent treatment. He has the patience to walk around the house for days, ignoring your presence. You no longer get the forehead kisses, the barrage of gifts, or the cuddles while you read together. Sometimes you are in tears, sometimes you beg him to speak to you again, but somehow it always ends with you being the one to apologize. You feel relieved when he takes you into his arms and tells you he has forgiven you.

By chance, Aemond appears to be aware of your location at all times. Regardless of how skillful a liar you are or how many witnesses you present to support your case, the truth will always be out. He merely sports a look on his face that tells you he knows of your whereabouts. When he offered to have your phone "fixed," you did not realize that he had installed a tracker on it.

On one of the holidays, you were at his family's mansion rather than spending time with your loved ones. As you feign a smile and greet each person, Aemond holds you close. Even so, your face falls when children and weddings are mentioned, and your stomach sinks when Aemond assures them that day will come. You already felt confined. What good will a ring do if not dig your own grave?

Taglist: @alanybunnuewrites @violet2507 @caramelcandescence @sanguinesaint-kaleidoscopeeyes @a-dorkier-book-keeper @dlphantom @fanfictionlover-007 @dehnablume

#aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #modern au #asoiaf x reader #yandere asoiaf

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modrntravlr · 6 months

Text

i drew curtains closed - alec hardy

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

cw: vague references to sex (like the vaguest) during literal showering together

summary: When Alec finds out you've been sick after not seeing you for a few days, he takes a step back from work to comfort you and nurse you back to health.

Title from The Great War by Taylor Swift

wc: 3.1K

In all honesty, Alec had been planning on paying a visit to your flat that evening since he woke up that morning. He had spent yet another late night at the station, swearing he was close to a break and would come across something he had missed if he only put in a couple more hours of reviewing the statements he and Miller had taken so far. It was by no means unusual behaviour from him, but since you two had started seeing each other, he tried his best not to go more than a day without taking a break to see you, even if it meant just grabbing a quick lunch together, and if he didn’t get to see you today, it would’ve been his third full day away from you. Just like he did every morning, he sent you a message, this time ending it with the promise of seeing you that evening, even if it meant showing up at your doorstep long after the sun had gone down. He knew it was unfair to you, being put on the back burner simply because he was in the midst of one of his unhealthy work obsessions.

As far as Alec was concerned, the morning passed by as normal as any other morning would. He got ready for work as quickly as his body would allow him to, and set off back to the station, after only a couple hours of sleep, where he met up with Miller and the rest of his team, debriefing them on his findings from the night before and calling out assignments. He and Miller would be out most of the day, poking around every crevice of the small town that they could find, leaving no stone unturned. Also like most mornings, he kept his phone in his coat pocket, never taking it out knowing that any calls or messages from his team would come through Miller. It wasn’t until they finally decided to take a break to grab some lunch that he gave his phone a thought, pulling it out to see if he had received any calls or messages from either you or perhaps Daisy. Like most days, there had been nothing from Daisy–she only seemed to reach out to him when she wanted something, or had gotten into a fight with her mother, pleading for him to side with her and tell Tess that she was being unreasonable, even though she knows he’d never contradict her parenting decisions. Unlike most days, however, there hadn’t been a reply from you to his message that he had sent that morning, nor had there been a missed call or voicemail. Despite being a bit unusual, Alec didn’t give too much thought to it, quickly deciding you must have slept in late and had to rush off to work, or maybe your work day had just been busy, leaving you with no time to check your phone or fashion a response. He returned his phone back to its usual space in his coat after sending another short message letting you know he still had every intention of seeing you that evening.

The afternoon had been just as normal as the morning. Some people from his team had come across a witness that they had initially missed, and they without hesitation went to the station and gave Alec their official statement. With a success like that and eager to see you, he sent his team home early with the promise of a hard day’s work tomorrow before returning to his office to finish up the last of the urgent paperwork regarding the witness statement and tidying his desk. When all work was accounted for and all sensitive documents filed away under lock and key, not to be surveyed until he returned to them in the morning, he left the station. As he got into his car, allowing the engine to warm up and tossing his coat into the passenger seat, he once again pulled out his phone, this time finding a message from Daisy asking if he could please convince Tess to give her permission to go to a concert that weekend with some friends from school, to which he replied he was not in objection to, however her mother, as always, had the final say. To not have heard from you for one morning was one thing, but to not have received a reply well into the afternoon was certainly another, and certainly not something you’d have done under any normal circumstances. Alec would’ve been lying if he had said the first thing that ran through his head wasn’t that you were more upset by his neglect of you over the previous few days than you had let on to, leading you to now ignore him, but the thought left him nearly as fast as it had come. He knew for a fact he was no stranger to bottling up his true feelings, refusing to communicate, but he also knew that you certainly were not the type. The two of you hardly ever had any arguments or miscommunications, but that was all attributed to the fact that you insisted on making your feelings, wants, and needs known, thus forcing him to make an attempt at getting into the habit of doing the same. He was sure that if you truly had been so upset by his absence, you would have told him before it got to the point of feeling the need to ignore him, meaning your silence had to be the result of something being very, very wrong.

He wasted no more time once coming to his conclusion, and drove as fast as the traffic allowed him, not even bothering to stop at his own home first to change clothes into something more casual and comfortable. When he finally arrived, he found your car parked outside in its usual spot, although not unusual for the time of day, as you were usually out of work by this particular time. He jogged up the steps to the front door, knocking, and calling out your name, announcing his arrival, only to receive no response. You’d not yet given him a key to your flat, but the two of you had been seeing each other long enough that he knew where the spare key was hidden, and on many occasions, and with your general consent, he had let himself in while you were both out and at home. He waited a moment before knocking again, and when he was met with silence once more, he decided to retrieve the spare key. Your flat was nearly always tidy, hardly ever a thing out of place, but when he walked in, it seemed eerily even more put together than usual, almost as though not a thing had been touched since the last time he had come over. He called out your name into the silence once more as he began to move around the flat, finding no sign that you had sat on the settee, or turned on the telly, or even grabbed a snack from the kitchen upon arriving home from work. Finally, he worked his way over to the bedroom, where the door was open, but barely a crack, gently pushing the opening wide enough to allow him to look inside, and saying your name, almost whispering. It was finally here that he found you in bed, underneath the covers and fast asleep. He walked in quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching up with his hands to brush the stray hairs away from your face and patting them down into place. You were here, safe in bed, and breathing.

He sat there for a moment, gently caressing the parts of your hair and cheek not being obscured by the blankets that had seemingly been tucked all the way up to your chin, and since shifted upwards. He tried his best not to disturb you, but eventually you began to stir and soon woke up. Not even a little bit startled by his presence, you groggily mumbled something incoherent, leaning into his hand which hadn’t left your face.

“Hello, darling,” he cooed, continuing his movements only now in your hair. He was met with a groan and mumble once again. “Sorry I haven’t been by in a while, but I’m here now,” he finished. Eyes still droopy with sleep, you blankly stared at him through half closed eyelids. His face took on a worried look, and as he was about to ask if you were alright, you suddenly turned over, letting out a dry cough into your pillow, trying to shake it to no avail for much too long for Alec’s taste. He stood up, announcing he would get you a glass of water before leaving the room in a hurry and returning a few moments later, at which point your coughing had stopped. He helped you sit up properly before handing you the glass giving you a moment's silence to drink and recover from the fit. When you were satisfied, you dropped the half-emptied glass down onto the bedside table, hoarsely forcing out a thanks, trying not to trigger another coughing fit.

“Oh, darling, are you feeling alright?” he asked, returning to his previous spot on the bed.

You shook your head no in reply, before beginning to talk again. “I’ve been feeling a bit off the past couple days now, but it was worse this morning when I woke up. I had to call in sick,” you explained with a raspy voice, painful and strained from the sore throat you’d had all day. He reached out with his hand, taking yours as he began to rub circles into the back of it with his thumb. Staring down, and intently at the touch, he frowned, before speaking. “I should’ve been here,” he nearly whispered, voice dripping with sorrow. “There was nothing you could’ve done,” you offered, tightening your own grip on his hand.

He stood up eventually, and after having been informed of your symptoms, made his way towards the bathroom, pulling pill bottles out of the cupboard, as well as refilling the glass of water. A headache, which had been one of the worser symptoms, prompted him to pull the blinds closed, and shut the drapes before switching off the overhead lights, which he had turned on when he first walked into the room. Once the pills had been taken, and you were laying back down under the covers, he made his way back to the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry. He had never really learned how to properly cook, and never really felt the need to, but in that moment, as he realised he would have to make due with a can of soup that required nothing more than being heated on the stove, he wished he had learned, if only to be able to make you a proper one. Leaving the soup to heat up in the kitchen, he returned to the bedroom, and opened up the wardrobe, as quietly as it allowed, so as not to disturb you. He didn’t occupy much space in your flat yet, not that he occupied much space in his own home apart from work related documents and files and evidence, but he did have a small section in your wardrobe that was home to a few changes of clothes, although you left plenty of room for him if he ever wanted to add more to it. He silently slipped out of the suit he had been wearing all day and into his more comfortable clothes before returning to the kitchen to see to the soup.

He prepared a small tray with a bowl of the soup along with some soda crackers he had found while he had been looking through the pantry. Alec Hardy was the last man on Earth who would be caught in bed before the sun went down, but tray in hand, he cautiously slid onto the bed, careful not to spill anything before handing it over to you as he tucked himself under the covers and pressed up against your side, wrapping his arm around you. You ate the soup, grateful that Alec had prepared it for you, as he cooed at you, still apologising for his absence, and promising he’d stay with you through the night, occasionally helping himself to a soda cracker or a spoonful of soup as well. When you’d had enough, he returned the tray back to the kitchen before returning to his own spot in bed, this time with the promise of sleep on both of your minds. It was early in the evening, but he had only slept a couple of hours the previous night, and in all honesty he truly was exhausted after pushing himself to the brink over the past few days. If your body was insistent on getting some more rest, he figured he might as well sleep for a bit as well.

The two of you had lulled into an easy sleep, and awoke a few hours later, the winter sun having already set. The medicine and the soup had eased the symptoms a bit, but you definitely weren’t anywhere near back to normal just yet. Feeling better rested himself, Alec on the other hand was ready to jump back into his work, body and mind already conditioned to run on minimal hours of sleep at a time, but he’d be damned if he left your side anytime before he absolutely had to go into the station to meet his team in the morning. “I feel much better now thanks to the soup, I hadn’t had food in all day,” you whispered, still laying in bed, curled into his chest. “I think I need a shower now though, I didn’t have much energy for that today either and I haven’t had one since I got home from work yesterday,” you continued, making a slight half-hearted effort to move away from him. He stood up then, holding his hand out to you as you soon followed after him. Hand still in his, and with a quizzical look on your face, he led you to the bathroom, letting go of your hand to make his way towards the shower, turning the water on. When he turned back around, he reached for the hem of your shirt, hand resting on it with a questioning look on his face awaiting your approval to continue. When you didn’t protest, he continued, pulling your shirt and remaining clothes off of you, with gentleness and care before repeating his ministrations on himself.

Fully undressed and under the warm spray of the water, Alec, considerate as ever, massaged your scalp, working your scented shampoo through the roots of your hair as you relaxed into the heat radiating through the room from the hot water. When your hair was clean and the water had washed away the shampoo, he took to a washcloth, rubbing slow and gentle circles over your skin. Alec wasn’t a greedy man, you had learned early in the relationship. He loved and appreciated every inch of you, worshipping it when given the opportunity to, but in moments like these, any lingering touches his hands may have made left behind only warmth and comfort, never once begging for something more, something you probably couldn’t and wouldn’t give him in your ill state, something he would never dare ask or expect you to give him in it. When he had finished working his way down your body, and as the warm water was beginning to turn cold, he gave you a moment more under the water to rinse away the remaining soap before quickly and carelessly cleaning himself off. Unlike you, he had showered that morning before returning back to the station, but he had no interest in taking a moment to relax into the warmth. He did what he had to do to be decent and presentably clean, but he took it no further than that apart from the times when in health, you had been the one to coax him into a shower or bath, taking time to thoroughly massage the knots out of his muscles and work over-priced, fragranced soaps into his hair and skin that he otherwise would have never thought to use himself.

When he finished cleaning himself, he shut off the water, quickly reaching for your bath towel and wrapping it around your dripping frame, hoping to shield your skin from the cold air before reaching for a towel of his own to wrap around his waist. He abandoned his focus on his own towel soon after, instead focusing on drying you off first, patting away the remaining water still dripping from your hair and down your skin. Not until you were both content did he hastily repeat his actions on his own body, eventually leading you back out to the bedroom, sitting you down at the foot of the bed. For the second time that evening, he made his way over to your wardrobe, this time pulling out a set of clothes from your own section and passing them over to you, allowing you to dress yourself while he did the same for himself. He returned to the bathroom, hanging the towels to dry and grabbing your hairbrush off the counter before once again going back into the bedroom joining you on the bed. Brush in hand, he beckoned you over to him, and you allowed him to settle you in front of himself, back towards him before he slowly and gently began to work the brush through your hair, beginning at the ends before making his way up to the roots. You hummed and sighed in content, sinus now feeling much more clear after the hot shower. When he was happy with his work, he placed the hair brush down onto the bed side table, moving back to lean against the head of the bed, pulling you along with him. Adjusting both you and himself, he pulled the covers up around the two of you as he held you against him, half clinging to his side and half on top of him.

“Thank you,” you whispered, leaning into his embrace, burying yourself into him.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me,” you replied. He didn’t reply, choosing instead to plant a kiss into your hair.

#—︎ my posts ☕️#fanfic #alec hardy #alec hardy x reader #broadchurch #david tennant

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cupid-styles · 7 months

Note

A frat boy alpha Harry and omega y/n blurb perhaps l👀 only if you have motivation bestie<3

based on this blurb (and this part two!)

word count: 866

content warnings: none!

. . .

Harry tries not to worry.

And really, he hasn't had to worry very much throughout his life. He's been fortunate in that way, but then he met Y/N, his mate, and things just... changed. Now, whenever they're apart, he feels like there's a string tied around his heart, tugging at whatever direction she's in. She's all he can think about, as if half of his brain is solely dedicated to thoughts about her.

He tries to keep it under control. The primal alpha part of him is always threatening to break out when it comes to her, and he has to double-down on his efforts to suppress it. But when he doesn't hear from her all day — something that rarely occurs; even given their busy schedules filled with classes and lectures and studying and homework, at the very least there's a few texts, something along the lines of hope you're having a good day ! :) — he can't help the anxiety that creeps into his stomach, spreading to his chest and throat.

At around 7 pm, he calls her, desperately hoping that maybe she's just had a busy day, but he's met with her voicemail. He continues laying in his bed, ignoring the sounds of his annoying housemates celebrating their weekly Thirsty Thursday downstairs, bottom lip wedged between his teeth. He doesn't want to overwhelm her; it's only been a few months since they decided they were really gonna do this, give into the whole backwards mate thing neither of them cared for until they met, but he's lying if he sometimes doesn't worry that he'll end up losing her somehow.

He decides he'll give it until 9 pm. By then, there's nothing school-related she could be working on, since he's learned that she tries to put her assignments away before she gets too tired. She has to text him or return his call by then.

. . .

At 9:02 pm, he's come to terms with the fact that he's probably insane, that Y/N will likely break up with him after this because he looks like an obsessive boyfriend.

He's using his spare key to gently unlock her front door, tip-toeing through the entryway and listening for any sign of her. All her lights are on, he notices, as he toes his shoes off.

"Y/N?" he calls out, tugging his jacket off and hanging it on the hook by the door, "Baby, are you here?"

When Harry doesn't receive an answer, his chest twists, sock-clad feet taking long strides as he passes the empty kitchen. His stomach drops when he finally finds her in the living room, her hunched over form wrapped up in her favorite fuzzy throw blanket. Study materials are strewn across the surface of the coffee table, papers, highlighters, and pens covering every inch of the wood. Her head is tucked into her arms as she sleeps, steady puffs of air leaving her nose.

He coos to himself, kneeling down next to her body and placing a soothing hand between her shoulder blades.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs in attempt to wake her up. She stirs, blinking her eyes open. They widen immediately when she realizes who's next to her, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Hey," Harry greets with a soft smile, "You alright?"

Y/N groans, lifting her head from the coffee table and groaning out from the ache in her neck and back.

"Oh god— did I sleep all day?"

"'m not sure," he replies as he helps her sit up, "I didn't hear from you all day and I was worried. I, um, used my spare key to come check up on you. I hope that's okay."

"Shit, I'm so sorry, H," she sighs, rubbing her hand over her forehead. "You must have been so worried. I've been so stressed with midterms— I-I think I stayed up all night studying and I must've... I don't know, I must have slept all day somehow."

"It's okay, don't apologize," he hushes her comfortingly, an overwhelming feeling of relief washing over him. "You shouldn't pull all-nighters like that, though. 's not healthy, bub."

"I just have so much going on!" Y/N whines, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close to his body. He won't say it right now, but he's so elated to have her here, knowing she's absolutely fine.

"I know, baby, it's a tough time in the semester. You gotta take care of yourself first though," he murmurs, tucking his hands under her thighs and lifting her to the couch. Her limbs readily wrap around his body, happy to allow him to move her however he wants. "Listen, how about this? I'll run you a nice warm bath, tuck you into bed, and tomorrow morning, we'll come up with a plan to make sure you get everything done."

She nods into his neck, pressing a light kiss to his skin. "Yes. Yes, please."

He smiles gently, "Alright, good."

"Will you stay?" she asks, backing away slightly to look up at him, "Stay with me tonight? I just... I missed you."

He swears his heart may burst at her soft and sleepy tone.

"I can't imagine spending my night any other way, baby."

#writing #abo harry

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sideeve · 9 months

Text

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀assigning the wickverse characters links ! !

characters ;;

— ted logan , john wick , constantine , kevin , neo

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ted logan 🎸

— before ted met you , he was a virgin. he had never experimented with women because…well he just never cared for it. his main goal was to become a rock star.

— when the two of you got together , sex wasn’t even on the table. you two were to happy together without it to even bring it up.

— until he heard some boys in one of his classes talking about their sex life. “she was screaming bad. she enjoyed every inch.” “she won’t leave me after that.”

— ‘were you happy with him?’ ‘did you want sex?’ ‘was he enough for you?’ his mind was flooded with self deprecating thoughts , making him more insecure about himself. he didn’t want you to leave him.

— so he did what he could. he went to the back of blockbusters , looking for any popular porno for him to learn how to pleasure a woman. “sick.”

“teddy.” you gasp as he softly pushes you on his bed. “shh. i’ve got you, baby. just let me take the lead.” he kisses down your neck. he rolls your shirt over your head, rubbing his hand over your soft skin. ‘what’s gotten into him’ you thought. your bra and panties were next to go, leaving you naked in front of him. “shit…” he didn’t think this all through. he imagined everything but he didn’t actually expect all of this to happened. but he he pulled himself together, taking a deep breath and leveling his mind. “you’re beautiful.” he kisses down your leg, stopping at your inner thighs. you didn’t know how to react. you and ted both were virgins from what you knew. how was he so confident about this? but you weren’t really complaining. the way his tongue flick across your clit was intoxicating. “oh my god , ted.” your fingers card through his brown locks. “don’t—don’t stop.” you whine , squeezing your thighs around his head. his wet tongue licks through your folds , making your shiver in pleasure. “you can’t be finished already , babe. we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff.” he chuckles like nothing has happened. like he wasn’t the one making your legs shaken two seconds ago.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀john constantine 🛁

— christ. why was being with a woman so hard? to him , they were sensitive being loaded with unnecessary emotions and uneven hormones. you and him had gotten into another argument and haven’t talked in weeks.

— he kept telling himself that he didn’t need you and that he waited for you to cave in first. but a man has his needs. and he needed to let out his saved sexual tension.

— his fist would only work for so long. he needed the real thing. or at least look at the real thing. he remembers the stacked of recorded sex tapes the both of you needed.

“fuck it.” he tosses his cigarette across the room after budding it out. he walks over the the pile of tapes. special tapes. if you wouldn’t give it up , he had a way to still get off with you. he pulls out his cock out its confinement , groaning as he sees how angry his tip is , oozing pre-cum. “sonfabitch.” he presses the play button , stroking his length. “john.” your moans came from the speakers of the tv. his grip on your hips were like iron. his tip kisses the hilt of your cunt , making your brain feel like mush. “please.” you grab his hand , attempting to pull it off you. “move.” he swats your head away. “stay still.” he groan , his head lolling backwards. “goddamnit!” he groans, tucking himself back in. he reaches for his phone, looking for your contact. the line goes to voicemail but that doesn’t stop him. “baby, i’m sorry. just come over.”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ mr. wick ✏️

— he’d been really mean lately. really mean. he would lash out at on you with simple things , depriving you of attention , making you feel like shit. and you had enough of it.

— one night , as he was winding down , you straddled his hips , giving him no room to move. and frankly , he wasn’t disappointed. you looked so sexy on top of him , taking initiative. it was until your rode him at he regretted how he treated you.

“baby. i’m sorry. please.” this was the first time you’ve seen him whine, beg none the less. you restricted him the privilege to touching you. he was twitching under you as you rode him to oblivion. “i’m sorry, honey. please just let me touch you.” he tries to touch your thigh, just wanting to touch one piece of you. “fucking touch me one more time and i’m tying you up.” you pull his wrists over his hand. “sweetheart, this is unfair. i just—” he groans as you sink yourself on his cock again. “shit!” he seethe through his teeth. “i swear after you’re done, i’m fucking you through the damn mattress.”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ kevin lomax 💸

— now listen. just listen.

— after a gala (or whatever you call it) , he just wanted to fuck you in that dress you dawned tonight. he was tempted to fuck you in public , giving everyone a show to see but that would be unruly of him.

— he decided to take you home and have his way with you but you looked too fucking hot for him not to have you right then and there.

“come on, baby. cum on my fingers , please.” in addition to his fingers , his faint country accent was sending over the damn edge. his digits were coated with your slick , making velvety sounds every time they pushed in and out out you. he curls his fingers , pulsing them inside of you. “we’re not making it home until you cum.” he chuckles. “kev…” you moan, leaning your head on the window behind you. the feeling was euphoric , overwhelming. you wanted to let go then and there but he was teasing you bad , making you chase your own orgasm. “i guess you don’t want to feel good. huh , sugar?”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ neo 📀

— mutual masturb*tion! i headcanon the neo loves this shit. you stroking his cock lazily as his fingers pump inside of you.

— his whimpers and moans make you wetter and wetter by the second. how cute was it to have the one submit under your touch? fucking beautiful.

“you’re doing so good , baby.” the time count has been lost. all you knew was that it was time to kill the lights. both you and neo were restless and needed a quick release. you were too lazy to remove your clothes and so was he. you snuck your hand under his loose sweats , softly grabbing his cock. his hips jerked at the sudden touch. “calm down, baby. i haven’t even started.” you teased. “baby…” your lips ghost over his adam’s apple , nipping carefully at his throat. you spread his pre-cum over his tip , eliciting a loud whimper from his lips. “hush, neo. do you want to wake up the ship?” you softly chuckle. he felt bad that you were doing all the work in his. he wanted to hear you moan also. he missed you after all these runs he’s been on. the only time he could catch you was when he went to sleep. his thumbs draws tight circles around your clothed clit. “n—neo.” you almost fold. almost. “i can’t be the only one having fun, right?” he pulls you in for a kiss. this is gonna be a loooong night.

i—don’t say anything…i had an idea

taglist ;; @iovesia

#keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick x reader #neo anderson x reader #neo anderson #kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax #john constantine x reader #john constantine #ted logan x reader #ted logan

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defectivevillain · 9 months

Text

this broken design, ch12

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical cannibalism, violence, blood & gore

Hannibal eyes the clock on the wall. It’s nearly 8:00 p.m.—approximately the time that you should be showing up for your appointment. In the time Hannibal has known you, you’ve never been late to an appointment.

It’s not like this is the first time a client has missed an appointment. It happens a lot, especially within the practice of psychiatry and psychology. Events occur, people contact sudden ailments or forget commitments… It happens. Yet, this has never happened with you before. If the client were anyone else, Hannibal would resign to sitting at his desk and sketching until the patient showed up or twenty minutes passed—whichever came first. An absence has never bothered him before, yet when he glances over at the chair across from him, he can find no better word for the sentiment. Absence.

The clock’s hand shows no mercy. It spins mockingly from its brass confines, creating a subtle ticking sound that embeds itself into Hannibal’s very skin. He doesn’t understand this strange prickling feeling, this restlessness that eats at him from the inside.

For a fraction of a moment, he hears the telltale movement of someone’s hand turning the doorknob to his office. Hannibal walks over to the door and opens it, only to find nothing on the other side. There is no one sitting in the lobby—nothing waiting for him save for the foreign feeling of dread he seems to be accruing.

Hannibal spends the rest of the night resolutely refusing to read into your absence. It is a human’s nature to forget—you likely forgot to attend. He will follow up with a phone call tomorrow. You could have gotten called onto an assignment, too. Indeed, there are a multitude of rational explanations for your absence. Hannibal spends the rest of the night rifling through them in his mind, before firmly compartmentalizing any thoughts about you.

The next day, he calls you again. You do not respond. Foreboding threatens to trickle into his psyche, but Hannibal pushes it away insistently. You are fine. You are likely busy with work, busy sleeping, merely… busy. Hannibal immerses himself into the sessions with his clients that day, pretending that he isn’t avoiding the unshakeable facts staring him straight in the face. You’ve never missed a session. You always answer your phone.

He begins to grow accustomed to your voicemail message, to hearing the tranquility in your voice as you kindly tell him to leave his name and phone number after the tone. Days slip through Hannibal’s fingers and there is absolutely no sign of you.

Something must be wrong, because Hannibal is soon summoned to the Bureau. Once he arrives, he realizes that he very well could have been the last person to see you. Hannibal cooperates with Jack Crawford’s insistent questioning and pretends not to notice the man’s evident annoyance at the utter lack of information about your whereabouts. Hannibal isn’t your keeper, and he tells Jack as much. Jack doesn’t take too kindly to the remark, however, and he elects to murmur under his breath in the corner of the room. Hannibal folds his hands in his lap and pretends not to be amused by all the fanfare. Amusement is far preferable to any other foreign, forbidden feeling clawing at the unmarred carcass under his skin.

At some point, Jack steps away to take a phone call. Hannibal waits, with nothing but the insistent rhythm of the clock on the wall to accompany him. Before long, Crawford returns with a grim expression on his face.

“I have some news you may want to hear,” Jack tells him. His lips are pinched and there’s an unreadable emotion lingering in his eyes.

“Yes?” Hannibal asks. He already knows what he will hear. Indeed, he hears your name fall from Jack’s lips, with that tortured expression on his face—and he knows. Hannibal gets bits and pieces of the rest—Abel Gideon, abandoned residence outside Baltimore, a kidnapping.

Somehow, there is little discussion about what will be done next. Jack regards him for a moment, before evidently deciding that his presence will be useful. Jack simply nods and turns on his heel, ever the leader. Hannibal follows, mildly surprised by the show of trust. He isn’t very close with Jack—has only invited him to his residence a few times for dinner. He sees value in having Jack as an acquaintance—another chess piece—and therefore quells his pride and follows after him.

“Right under our noses, this whole damn time,” Jack sighs once they’re comfortably situated in the helicopter. The man’s jaw is clenched tightly. Hannibal recognizes that he doesn’t want to talk about it. He asks for details anyway. Crawford then recounts the phone conversation he had with you all those days ago. A maelstrom of irritation, amusement, and something far darker rages inside Hannibal’s mind palace. The ivory walls are crumbling and peeling. Dust falls from the ceiling every few seconds, coating neglected surfaces with more memories. He clenches his fist at his side, annoyed with the onslaught of feelings he had thought long buried. Hannibal can’t remember the last time he’s felt so…bored. Unfulfilled.

They arrive soon enough and far too late all the same. The helicopter lands in a grassy field, across from a nondescript house that almost appears to be molding and decaying at the seams. Jack is quick to run to the front door, which has already been thrown ajar by the agents that must have arrived before them. Hannibal follows the man, turning the corner to find a dilapidated dining room. Wallpaper crumbles and falls from the walls, coating the floor in a truly unsightly amount of dust and debris. The room reeks of decay and death. Truly, the only indication that the room is meant for meals is the delicate, purposeful organization of plates and silverware near each seat. All the chairs are empty. As Hannibal blinks, he realizes he can see what the killer saw: a full table, listening with rapt attention and hanging off his every word. The head of the table is the puppetmaster, content to watch as everyone trips over themselves to earn his favor. Hannibal understands the vision, but the execution is rather lacking. His eyes travel from the table to the chair at the other head of the table with frayed ropes attached to the arms.

Jack suddenly bursts into movement at his side, moving towards a figure collapsed against the far wall. It seems Jack Crawford only has eyes for his agent. Hannibal, on the other hand, finds his gaze searching for the one presence that is currently unaccounted for. Gideon was here; he’s dead now—at least, according to Jack. Hannibal warily walks through the hall before he stops in his tracks. Abel Gideon lies dead in the hallway, a bullet wound carving a neat path through the center of his temple. Blood colors the wooden flooring near him. The weapon is nowhere in sight. It doesn’t take long for Hannibal to comprehend what happened here.

You escaped from your bindings. Chilton and Lounds were present, too. In an effort to keep them out of the crossfire, you stumbled back into the hallway. It’s a rather long passageway with several doors on each side—apt for concealment. Perhaps you stumbled into the closet on the right wall, or the tiny bathroom on the left wall, and hid as Gideon trailed you. Perhaps you stood there silently—a hand over your mouth as you tried to stifle your breathing. You only had a dagger; you knew that stealth and speed were your only advantages. As Gideon passed, you jumped out and stabbed the back of his neck. There’s a smattering of blood on the floor a few feet from Gideon’s corpse. You two brawled. Gideon, overcome with fury at your insolence, clasped his burly hands around your neck and squeezed. You managed to break free of his grip by stabbing him in the eye. You picked up the gun as he dropped it and fired it at his temple. A clean shot.

Your dagger lies in the crimson puddle of Gideon’s blood. Hannibal feels himself reaching out to grab it before he can rationalize the urge to do so. He’s taken by way droplets of blood slowly slip down the weapon, catching the light briefly before falling down to stain the floor. He manages to suppress the unexplained urge.

Jack’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. Hannibal remembers himself and turns his back on Gideon’s corpse, before walking to the dining room. He finds himself thrown into sheer chaos. Freddie Lounds is being questioned by a few agents. More agents are huddled around a dining chair on the ground. Hannibal takes another step forward and realizes that they’re surrounding Chilton, who is unconscious and mutilated. He is in a rather dire state, yet the sight of his mangled face only incites indifference within Hannibal. It’s laughably easy to conceive what happened there: Gideon’s grudge against Chilton prompted him to kidnap the man and mutilate him. The man had no intention of killing Chilton. Why would Gideon kill him, if he could instead ensure that Chilton lived as a mangled mess of limbs and skin in constant pain?

Hannibal then looks over to the wall, where he finds Jack kneeling and speaking to someone. It’s you, he realizes. You’re on the ground, holding a hand to your side. You’re shaking and shivering, a glassy glaze over your eyes as you stare at Jack. Your hands are drenched in blood and your clothes are bloodstained. There are several markings developing near your neck—evidently from your scuffle with Gideon. You look frail—vulnerable in a manner Hannibal has never quite associated with you. Hannibal feels himself walking toward you before he can take another breath. He mimics Jack’s posture and glances at him. The department head looks uncharacteristically troubled. Hannibal wonders if the rumors of his favoritism for you are somewhat founded.

There’s a scar ripping down the left side of your face, spilling bloodied tears down your cheek. It’s a gruesome sight—clearly performed to anger him—yet all Hannibal can fear is a strange sense of reverence. You look like a painting, a textured canvas brought to life in vivid colors. There are lacerations on your wrists from the ropes that kept you bound to your seat at the dining table. Horribly rude, Hannibal thinks. It is much more gratifying to entertain willing dinner guests. Evidently, Gideon didn’t fully grasp that notion.

Within moments, the paramedics enter the scene. Hannibal follows the medic who is currently carrying you. Jack nods at him—a symbol of approval and reassurance. Hannibal nods in response, knowing what the man is trying to convey with the slightest gesture. Crawford is the head of the BAU—he’s needed elsewhere. Hannibal meets the paramedics in the driveway and they move you onto a stretcher. You’re wheeled into the ambulance. Hannibal finds himself faced with the paramedics’ questions: who you are, if you have allergies, what wounds you’ve acquired. He answers to the best of his ability and, with a subtle mention of his past as a surgeon, he’s allowed to accompany you in the back of the ambulance.

As the ambulance speeds down the road, Hannibal reflects. Something about you eludes him, and he can’t quite figure out what it is. He wants to wind you up and see what makes you tick. Through your sessions, he’s built a rudimentary understanding of you. But… he wants more.Hannibal wants to know everything about you. You’re special. He’s met with dozens of clients throughout his years as a psychiatrist, but none of them have stimulated his mind as much as you have.

You’re sharp. You’re never lost in his extended metaphors or hyper-specific references to the arts or academia; rather, you easily understand them and see directly past them to the root of his psyche. The thought provokes an equal amount of exhilaration and wariness within him. You look at him and you see him. You don’t see Hannibal Lecter, the well-read surgeon or Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper—although he feels you’re clever enough to have had a fleeting suspicion of him before. Your organic, effortless insight into his perspective is something Hannibal has been entirely unable to find anywhere else.

Perhaps that is why Hannibal finds himself lingering in your hospital room, waiting for you to wake. The chair at your bedside has become his seat; even when you have other visitors, that chair is always left alone. He stays long enough to learn which nurses care for you during different shifts. He stays long enough to fall asleep with his hand resting on the mattress next to you.

You’re still unconscious after a few days. Hannibal knows you must be in significant distress; he wonders if you unintentionally exacerbated your injuries during the fight. Your adrenaline must have been pumping—otherwise, he can’t quite conceptualize how you escaped with your life. Hannibal knows you’re a force to be reckoned with, but to his knowledge, Abel Gideon was, too. He supposes he is pleased with how things turned out—Gideon would have grown rather annoying. Judging from the scar on your face, Gideon wanted to confront Hannibal himself. It would have been a waste of time. Abel Gideon is far from the ideal prey; in fact, the ideal prey is now unconscious in a hospital bed next to him: you.

Hannibal finds himself unable to dismiss such an opportunity. You aren’t getting too many visitors these days, since you still haven’t woken up. Hannibal reckons he has a few days before you’ll wake. That’s more than enough time to kill a nurse, take their scrubs, and enter your room unencumbered. Frighteningly easy, really.

Perhaps that opportunity is why Hannibal finds himself looming over you in someone else’s skin, reaching for the scalpel to cut you open. Security around the hospital is laughably lackluster—Hannibal reckons he didn’t have to go to such lengths to conceal himself. Even so, he doesn’t intend to go to prison any time soon. Captivity would be a horrible bore.

Your wound’s location is far too convenient, Hannibal thinks to himself as he removes your sutures. Surely, it would be foolish not to capitalize on it. With that recognition lingering in his mind, he pushes the scalpel to your skin and allows his vision to be flooded with the sight of skin, tissue, blood. His gloved hands move with practiced precision. He’s first greeted with the mesentery, which briefly impedes his access to the meat. The small intestine also serves as a momentary obstacle. Finally, after some manipulation, Hannibal finds the tube he’s looking for—the ureter—and removes a portion of it to free the kidney. His right hand almost moves on its own, reaching down and yanking at the organ. Hannibal puts your kidney in cold storage and then moves to stitch your skin back together. By the time he’s finished, your wound looks exactly the same as before.

He stares down at you, before taking a slow breath in. That process was laughably easy. When you wake, you will feel pain—but that pain will be easily attributed to the gunshot wound. The nurses already performed blood tests in the days prior. With your normal functioning, it is very unlikely that the medics will order more tests. You likely won’t even wake within the next day or two. By then, Hannibal will have returned to his residence and feasted on the meal you provided him. Meanwhile, you will be reclined in your hospital bed, feeling none the wiser. The thought sends a thrill down his spine and shivers down his skin. Hannibal can already envision the dish he’ll make: deviled kidney on toast. The dish is traditionally associated with breakfast, but Hannibal will likely eat it for supper. He has a loaf of fresh-baked panettone bread, which will pair beautifully with the flavors of the meat. He feels the insides of his cheeks stinging with salivation as he walks out of the hospital and leaves the receptionist with an amiable departing remark.

Hours later, he sits at the head of his dining table with a beautifully constructed meal in front of him. Hannibal almost doesn’t want to consume it. It is truly a vision to behold. Hannibal gives himself a few moments to breathe it all in, before finally picking up his fork and letting it pierce the meat. The sauce coating the kidney dribbles from the piece on his utensil. Hannibal brings you to his tongue, his lips twisting in a morbid, macabre mockery of a smile.

next chapter

Thank you to my bestest friend and #1 Pinocchio simp, @pinocchiospissrock, for helping me with the medical stuff. I’m not the least bit knowledgeable about medical stuff, so if there are any remaining inconsistencies, they are absolutely my fault and I urge you to blink at them for a moment before moving on. Lol.

Some small lil details: Apparently, panettone bread is rather difficult to make, since the dough is very sensitive and the entire baking process is time-consuming. It made perfect sense to me, therefore, that Hannibal would both have a loaf on-hand and also display absolutely no struggles with the baking process, in true mysterious Hannibal fashion.

I used a lot of alliteration in this chapter, yes. You can rip it from my cold, dead hands.

“Looming over you in someone else’s skin” is more of a reference to Hannibal wearing someone else’s clothes. However, in Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal does actually wear someone’s skin, so… take that as you will.

“Hannibal brings you to his tongue” okay, buddy, take me on a date first. sheesh.

and we finally we got to some more cannibalism. *maniacal laughter escalates*

taglist (comment if you'd like to be added/removed): @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian

#defectivevillain #hannibal #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x reader #yuh yuh #Hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #u get the idea #wanna cover all the bases

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gloomyswritings · 2 months

Text

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

warnings : none

notes : maybe ooc, not proofread

synopsis : Sephiroth and you have a calm night

Sephiroth was different when he was with you, vulnerable and gentle. His calloused yet soft hands gingerly touched your body as if you were a delicate porcelain doll he was afraid he’d break. His lips were soft but always slightly chapped—you never minded though. He was everything you ever dreamed of. To the world he was a hero—the greatest SOLIDER to ever live but to you he was Sephiroth your boyfriend. Though these days you were seeing less and less of the silver haired SOLIDER, as you focused your on your career as a journalist and he was preoccupied with more and more assignments.

Tonight was like any other night you sat in your cubical typing away on the keyboard rapidly your eyes glued to the computer screen. A tap came from behind you, your coworker Danny poking his head into your cube. He smiled warmly, “Damn _______, you’re still here? Actually don’t answer that I’m not surprised. Anyways I’m heading out for the night, some of us are gonna hit up the bar. You joining us?” He asked. You sighed leaning back in your chair outstretching your arms and popping your fingers, “No I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get this piece written and published by Thursday.” You sighed in slight frustration. Danny laughed, “So you have a week still. What’s the rush?” He mused. You shrugged, “Just want to perfect it is all. Don’t worry I’ll close the office, you all go on ahead.” You smiled before returning to your computer. Your coworker shrugged and wishing you a goodnight before leaving the office. Not soon after their departure the lights had went off, signaling it was after hours, only the dim emergency lights illuminated your small office.

You weren’t sure when you had fallen asleep but you were suddenly startled awake by the sound of footsteps approaching your cube. “______, you’re still here?” A familiar deep voice asked just as they round the corner of your cube. Your eyes widened in disbelief when you saw him. He was dressed so casually, in a simple black turtle neck and black slacks, his hair pulled back in a loose low pony tail. “S-Seph…” you stammered. He smiled softly nodding, “I tried calling your cellphone but it kept going straight to voicemail then I tried your apartment and you weren’t there. So i assumed you stayed over at the office.” He said, “You really shouldn’t be staying over past your regular work hours.” He scolded half heartedly. You nodded quickly spinning around in your chair saving your work before shutting the computer off. You began to gather your things that were strewn about half haphazardly. Sephiroth only watched in amusement, he reached out grabbing your purse and lunch bag, “Let’s go.” He motioned with his hand.

You stepped outside the Shinra building the cold breeze nipping your bare face. You shivered bringing your arms close to your chest. Though Sephiroth didn’t seemed phased in the slightest he only chuckled, “I parked out front let’s hurry before you catch a cold.” He said as he reached out interviewing your hands. His hands were always cold but they were comforting. You nodded following after him as he lead you to his luxury car. The streets of Midgar at this hour were always so silent, it was always strange to see such a bustling city be so still. Sephiroth opened the passenger door of the black car once you were in he shut the door and placed your belongings in the back seat before finally he began to drive.

The drive back to your apartment was a comfortable silence. You leaned your head against the window watching sleepily the streetlights and homes you passed by. Quiet jazz from a local radio station playing over the speakers along with the the soft humming from the car. You lived in a poorer more dangerous part of the Upper Plates, it wasn’t as nice as Sephiroth’s home but its was comfy enough for you. “I can’t believe you live here ______. I wish you would just stay at my place when I’m not here. It would make me feel better.” He said as he pulled into a spot in front of the apartment complex. You simply shrugged as you unclamped your seatbelt. “You know why I can’t do that.” You mumbled in reply as you stepped out of the car. You quickly grabbed your bags from the back seat and rejoined the silver hair SOLIDER’s side. “Come on let’s hurry before anyone sees us.” You whispered walking ahead of him and quickly into the complex.

Finally you arrived back at your apartment and you swiftly quicker off your heels and tossed your keys on the front entrance table. You didn’t even bother placing your bags back on the wall hook and instead tossed them onto the floor. Sephiroth watched your with gentle eyes as he followed your lead. “Want anything to drink?” He asked walking towards the kitchen. He grabbed the dark red wine that sat in the counter and effortlessly pulled the cork out before pouring a glass. “Hmm?” He asked raising a brow outstretched hand holding the freshly poured glass. You shrugged, “Yeah sure. It’s been a long day Seph.” You said gratefully accepting that glass. The wine was bittersweet but it’s just the way you like it. “Ahhh…” you breathed flashing your lover a smile.

“It can be exhausting writing constant propaganda for Shinra. I don’t understand why you don’t become independent dear, you have the talent.” He said in between sips of wine. Rolling your eyes you made your way over to the couch promptly flopping down onto it though careful to not spill your wine. “I wasn’t writing propaganda. I was actually writing about how Shinra has been doing charity work in the lower plates.” You retorted a proud smirk on your lips. Sephiroth chuckled joining you on the plush grey couch you owned that definitely was not your style. “Soo…propaganda?” He smirked playfully. “N-no it’s not—“ you stammered desperately trying to defend yourself. He only laughed more, “I’m teasing. I enjoy seeing you get so flustered. It’s cute.” He purred cooly taking another sip of wine. “But you do know Shinra is only doing ‘charity’ just to look better to the public. But regardless…it’s a nice thing to do. Just don’t fall for their lies is all I ask ______.” He said. You nodded slowly, “I know. But I actually have something else to ask you. Why were you gone for so long this time?” You asked your eyes watery as you gazed into his intense green ones. Sephiroth made a face, it was one mixed with pain and uncomfortableness but he quickly masked it replacing his expression with a neutral one.

“Wutai had a lot more holdouts than we expected that’s all. I tried to call as often as I could.” He replied gently trying to explain the situation. You frowned hanging your head as you gazed at the red liquid in the glass. “It was three months this time.” You whispered. Your relationship with Sephiroth was one that was in secret; per his wish. He said it was to protect you but these days your relationship felt so distant after four years you wanted to take your relationship further but duty called. You wanted a family and to not be in a secret relationship with him, you wanted to be able to hold his hand walking down the street, run errands around Midgar with him but you couldn’t. A gentle hand caressing your cheek caused you snap out of your self loathing. Sephiroth brushed a strand of hair out of your face and used his finger to move your chin to look up at him. “After the war I promise we can begin our lives together. So for now wait for me for a little longer, would you ______?” He said a hint of pleading desperation laced in his voice. The last thing Sephiroth wanted to happen was for him to lose his only sense of joy and comfort. You nodded your head softly smiling, “Okay I’ll wait. Buuuttt just for a little longer.” You giggled leaning over to place a kiss on his lips which he gladly returned.

You nestled your way in between his legs and rested against his chest. The sound of the television playing in the background fading away as you drifted to sleep. Sephiroth’s heart beat was strange but it was so comforting.

I can wait forever for you Sephiroth….you thought before finally falling asleep.

#fanfic #writings #final fantasy #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #sephiroth #Sephiroth x reader #reader insert

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hina-hina · 1 year

Note

i LOVED könig friends to lovers. maybe ghost w friends to lovers? ❤️❤️❤️

Hello friend!! Of course I can do that one for you! Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!! (○｀ 3′○)

This came out as more of a childhood friend trope because I got a good idea for it (o′┏▽┓｀o)

This fic has a good amount about Ghost's backstory, nothing too in depth but if you don't know what I'm talking about, a good glance over his Fandom page should be find (trigger warning for content within).

This is eventually a rewrite of Ghost's backstory but with you as his childhood friend/partner. Some details have been changed and is no way accurate to his actual backstory.

→ COD Masterlist

|| Ghost Having a Friends to Lovers Trope With Reader ||

Tags: Friends to Lovers Trope, Fluff, Hurt!Ghost, Comfort, Childhood Friends, Getting Together, Pre-Relationship, Protective Ghost,

Warnings: Talks of Ghost's backstory (child abuse, neglect, and murder), heavy angst at some parts, mentions of torture and injuries (non graphic)

Gender-Neutral!Reader // Romantic

So, we all know how awful Ghost's childhood is

It wasn't really the place where friends were easily made

So I imagine for this trope to work, it has to be a forced proximity situation

So, like you were a neighbor kid or perhaps like a teacher assigned tutor for him

Nevertheless, despite Ghost having trouble getting close to anyone, you were always there and eventually the two of you fell into an easy friendship

If your more talkative, he would let you take the lead in conversations, happy to just listen and insert little comments here and there

If your quiet like him, the two of you are content to just sit in silence with each other

The two of you also had this kinda quick-witted banter with each other, even if your more on the quiet side

As the two of you got closer, he tried harder to keep his home life away from you

Partly because he didn't want to burden you and partly because he didn't want to soil his "happy place" with what happens at his house

However you do eventually find out one day when he comes to you after he gained a pretty bad bite from a snake because he needs help cleaning it

The night is spent quietly sitting in your bathroom floor as you clean his wounds, him not even flinching when the peroxide touches the bite

You, very gently as to not spook him, wrap him up in your arms and tell him that you will always be there for him no matter what

He says nothing, carefully returning the hug

The two of you get older and when he tells you that he wants to go into the military, you respect that decision despite how much it scares you

You support him as he reconnects with his brother and gets him clean, you even go to his wedding as Simon's "date"

Your sure he means it in a platonic way

He does not

Eventually the two of you have some sort of disagreement (Because of course I have to add drama to these)

Unfortunately, this argument happens right before he leaves to go on a mission to take down the Zaragoza Drug Cartel

To take down Manuel Roba

He had already told you he was going on a short mission in Iran before he had been attached to the American team and had no time to inform you of the sudden change in plans

Therefore, all you had left of him when he went MIA was a unanswered Voicemail from the day he left on the mission

You spent many nights listening to this voicemail, wrapping yourself up in the hoodies he left behind, crying for him because you didn't know if he was even still alive

The military would barely tell Simon's family anything and you were told even less, left to think he had just died somewhere they couldn't retrieve his body and the last conversation you had was a petty argument

Months pass and eventually you move farther away from your childhood town in Manchester, not really keeping in contact with Simon's family beyond short phone calls

You get a phone call from Simon's brother one day, him claiming that Simon was found on the border of Texas, injured but alive

You go to meet him at the hospital and at first he tries to hide his face from you

After you urging, he shows you that he now has many facial scars, including a Glasgow Smile, and he was afraid of what you would think of them

It's a rare show of vulnerability, one that causes you to press a soft kiss to his lips and exclaim to him that you don't care what he looks like, just that your happy he is home

Simon is put on leave from active duty to heal his injuries and he lives with you during this time

He also develops a bad temper, usually causing it to come out whenever you push him to talk about what happened

This causes him to shout and run off, often being gone for many hours at a time

The two of you never really put a name to what you are but it's obviously romantic

He would return home after a while, apologizing profusely

He explains to you how terrified he is of becoming his father and than he would never forgive himself if he laid a hand on you

These nights usually ended up with him crying silently and allowing you to hold him, you telling him that he isn't anything like his father

He then meets up with two of the teammates he had from the Roba mission, realizing they have been brainwashed by Roba

He gets a frantic call from his brother, and goes there to see that his family had been killed by Washington.

He kills Washington before realizing Sparks is not there, quickly calling you

He quickly drives to your apartment, see that it has been broken into

He fears your already dead, but instead finds you severely injured

He cries over your body, trying desperately to get you to wake up

He holds your body as the ambulance arrives, he leaves you in the hospital after leaving again to find Sparks and kill him

He leaves to Mexico, eventually killing him and gaining all of his Intel causing him to be recruited into the 141

He returns home to leave that you had been in critical condition but pulled through, not awake and lucid and asking for him

He enters your room, slowly, not yet approaching your bed

Despite this you smile when you see him, asking him if he is hurt

The breaks him, he crouches by your bedside and grabs your hand:

"Love, I thought you were dead and you're asking me if I am ok? You're outta your damn mind..."

He tells you what happened to his family, that you are in danger by just being associated with him and that you should get out while you still can

You smile, placing a hand on his masked cheek before taking it off

You see tears lingering on his waterline, gently brushing them away with the pad of your thumb

You tell him that you are with him through everything and there is no way your walking away now

He promises to make sure nothing ever happens to you

You help him organize the funeral, hold his hand while he says goodbye to his family

The two of you move to London to be closer to the Task Force's base, him urging you to keep his name a secret from those that you talk with

He looks forward to coming home to you, hiding a ring in his bedside table and saving it for the right moment

Thank you for reading!! ⇣Taglist⇣ @scarlettproof @unabashednightmarepizza @kk00789 @cl0udii-m00n @polar2oidsworld @meepsters-world @uwu-i-purple-you

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