#some of these were probably sent to him for blurbs? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

qwimblenorrisstan · 9 months ago

Text

Cuddling with 141 (+Roach!)

Summary: How I think Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost and Roach would cuddle + little blurbs.

Word Count: ~ 2.1k

Warnings: None!

A/N: wrote this at 2am😭 hope you enjoy <3

Requests are open!

Simon “Ghost” Riley 💀

- Tries his hardest to act tough and scary, but only because that’s how a Lieutenant is supposed to act. Or at least that’s what he thinks.

- Also isn’t sure how to cuddle, never saw his dad trying to do anything other than abuse his mom, and his brother was dead before he could ask him for any advice.

- As stiff as a board, has no idea what to do, just awkwardly sitting and glancing at you, increasingly concerned.

- Would eventually get the hang of it only after Johnny made fun of him for being so awful with it, did it just to spite his beloved Sergeant (also practiced cuddling with Johnny, obviously just for practice, nothing more.)

- Likes being the little spoon.

It had been one hell of a mission, 141 barely finding a safe house to rest in for a few hours and restock their weapons and ammo before having to move again. A few more hours, and though Simon knew he should be resting, he couldn’t get his brain off of alert mode, so he settled for watching the game on the telly, even if it was in Spanish. He was mostly fluent, anyway.

You had plopped down next to him after a few minutes, mumbling something about cleaning your gun, taking a rag to wipe it down and try to clear it out, your hands soon slipping down as your eyes dropped.

The other boys had gone off somewhere else in the safe house, probably to find a bed or secure it further like he should be doing right now, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to stand up and shake you off.

You eventually went fully limp, head banging against his shoulder, somehow now waking you even then as you mumbled something, hand slipping towards your gun’s trigger. It was then that he moved, but not to get up, simply to gently pry the firearm from your hand as he clicked the safety on and let it drop to the floor.

The game blared in the background, but Simon was more focused on you, still leaning into him, and the fact that he was even entertaining this. His muscles were stiff, quickly growing sore and agitated at him after the constant use of the day. Slowly, he relaxed, finding that you melted into his body a lot easier when he wasn’t tensed up completely.

Slowly sliding one arm around your waist, obviously just to make sure you didn’t fall off the couch, nothing more, Simon leaned his head back against the couch, his own honey-brown eyes fluttering shut soon enough as he found enough peace of mind for an hour or two of rest.

Not much, but a welcome reprieve.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish 🧼

- Has no shame at all. Will cuddle you during exfil in front of everyone with no care.

- Very clingy, and also a living furnace. Good to have in the winters, since he keeps you warm, but a nightmare in the summers.

- Will whine like a puppy if you refuse to cuddle with him for heat reasons or whatever, absolutely desperate, golden retriever of a man.

- Definitely see him as the type to enjoy lying on top of you, or being the big spoon, but is down to experiment with anything you want. And I mean everything. Frighteningly open to experimentation.

- Sleeps wild or like a rock, no in between.

Of course, they’d sent Task Force 141 and their one notoriously cold-sensitive member out to Russia, staking out for any sign of a recent contract signed between them and Germany, an agreement for some form of biochemical weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands.

“Doin’ alright over there, Shivers?”

You heard a Scottish voice ask from the crunchy grass you were all lying in, Gaz and Price twenty feet to your left, Ghost twenty to your right, you and Johnny right next to each other. You could see your own body shaking, feeling the ground leach out any remaining warmth from it despite your thick clothing.

“Yeah, just-t-t cold.”

You saw Ghost glance back at you, probably having heard your teeth chattering from over there. You heard the radio hiss before his voice sounded.

“When I said stay frosty, I didn’t mean it literally.”

His deadpan tone said, earning a hushed bark of laughter from Johnny, and Price shooting you a sympathetic look with Gaz. You sighed.

“Very funny-y, Ghost.”

You mumbled, not even bothering to say it over the radio. Warm palms encompassed your wrists before you could do anything to stop it, and Johnny moved in closer.

“What’re you-?”

“Ain’t gonna be any use to us as a popsicle, eh Shivers?”

You felt the weight of his body settle even closer, nearly right on top of you, gingerly taking your numb fingers and switching your gloves out with his. His gloves were already warm, and larger and kept the air insulated better. Your gloves barely fit his hands, but he didn’t seem to mind. His body heat leaked into you, numb limbs springing back to life as that pinpricky sensation crawled up your body.

You relaxed a bit more into the snow, mind clearer now. Soap moved even closer, now quite literally on top of you, trying not to crush you with his weight but also keeping you nice and warm. After a moment of shifting around and adjusting, you got quite comfortable.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

You mumbled, already seeing the stupid grin he’d be wearing because of the praise.

“Anytime, bonnie.”

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick ☁️

- Serial cuddle enjoyer.

- Usually the one to fall asleep first because he’s more relaxed around his team. Has fallen asleep on Ghost’s shoulder before and been promptly pushed off.

- Prefers cuddling in bed over anywhere else, will slip into your bed in the middle of the night if he felt lonely or somehow has a sixth sense for you getting nightmares.

- Likes cuddling in a pretzel sort of position, or face-to-face despite the fact that he buries his head in your neck every time.

Rousing from his sleep for god knows why, Kyle rubbed his eyes, slipping from the warm bed he slept in and padding over to the kitchen to grab a drink of water. His throat was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper. Probably the consequences of not drinking enough water while on mission, but he was in his little flat and off duty for now, so it wasn’t like it mattered much anyway.

Drinking nearly an entire glass, he heard a small thug, and his sluggish brain snapped awake as instinct kicked in, he put the glass down, approaching your room where he’d heard the sound come from slowly. Your door was already open.

He peeked inside, abruptly opening it to avoid the awful tension of the slow creaks it would’ve made had he dragged it out, only to be met with the sight of you, his roommate, curled up on the floor and sniffling.

His eyes softened and he crouched down next to you, hands moving to brush the hair out of your face as he caught sight of your watery eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked, nearly a whisper for fear of making you jump. You sniffled again, and tried to get to your feet, only to stumble and be caught by Kyle again before being sat on the edge of the bed by him.

“Had a nightmare.”

You answered in a meek tone, seeming a bit embarrassed, which then was overridden by surprise when Kyle sat on the edge of the bed next to you, calloused hands gently shifting your body around until he was lying right next to you, his dark brown eyes gazing into yours.

“I have them too,”

He admitted, watching as you carefully slipped a hand around him, moving closer as he pulled the blanket over both of your bodies. He relaxed, tense muscles going nearly limp as his head leaned into your shoulder, his breathing deepening out as both of your eyelids grew heavy, eventually shutting as you drifted off into a peaceful rest.

John Price 🏷️

- Is just a big bear of a man. Loves cuddling with his missus when he gets home from a mission.

- Prefers spooning, but when his joints get achy and sore he’ll just lay on his back and let you lay on top of him.

- Is a human furnace just like Soap, so you probably won’t be needing a blanket.

- He usually waits until you’re asleep to fall asleep, but on the really rough nights, he’s out in a few seconds flat.

- Enjoys having your hands in his hair.

- Definitely an experienced cuddler.

Just as you finished your shower, you heard the front door unlocking and opening, and not caring much about getting proper clothes on, you rushed over and pulled a very-tired-looking John into a hug.

He chuckled, hand giving you a few little pats on the head as he pulled you in, taking a deep whiff of the smell of your body wash and shampoo, before slowly releasing.

“Missed me, huh? Missed you too, bird.”

He mumbled as you refused to let go, only releasing when he gave you a light little pinch on the arm, leaving you to finish getting ready after your shower as he trudged off to change and probably at least get a comb through his hair.

With a small smile now on your face, you hurried through your skin and haircare routines faster than ever before, throwing on some underwear and pajamas. As you walked into your shared bedroom, you found John struggling to get a knot out of his brown hair.

“Let me,”

You said, gently taking the comb from his large fingers, brushing the ends of the knot out first, working down to the center of it when you finally got it out. He took the comb and placed it down on his little desk with a little “Thanks, darlin’”, then took your hand and led you over to the bed.

He crawled in first, groaning when his body was finally able to sink into the soft mattress of the bed, body aching after weeks of being gone as he laid on his back, you being quick to crawl above him, head laying against his chest.

He loosed a deep sigh, pulling the blankets over both of you despite the warmth already being shared between you two.

“M’ glad to be home.”

He muttered, pulling you closer, arms settling around you as he already began drifting off.

Smiling, you replied.

“Me too.”

Gary “Roach” Sanderson 🪳

- I definitely hc him as nonverbal (like he is in the games, for whatever reason, you can decide why) but that doesn’t mean he’s any worse at cuddling.

- Roach is a little bit of a wild sleeper, so expect a few nudges and maybe some flips from him during the night.

- Enjoys the sweetheart position the most, just because it lets him hear your heartbeat.

- Serial nuzzle enjoyer. Will nuzzle into you at any moment he can, it’s just something he really likes doing.

- Douses his pillowcases with a lethal amount of your signature perfume or what reminds him of you (has an entire candle of it, too.)

- Can be very clingy.

When you got back home from the little girl’s night you’d had, finding Gary wrapped around one of your pillows and holding it with a death grip, your favorite perfume on the bedside table and a lit candle to match in the same scent wasn’t something you’d been expecting.

As soon as you walked into the room, he glanced up, beckoning you closer almost frantically. With a small smile, you held up a finger, signaling to wait for just one moment. You slipped out of the dress you’d been donning, and pulled off the shoes as well, the heels having made your feet ache anyways.

You used some basic wipes to get any makeup off, deciding that the more complicated cleansing process would be left for the morning, and promptly pulled some pajamas on, finally walking over to the bed, and being pulled in.

Within seconds, you were under the covers, and softly laughing at how he hooked one arm around the back of your neck, pulling you gently into where your head was against his chest, and intertwining his legs with yours. The scruff of his slightly unshaven face scratched lightly against you as he rubbed and nuzzled into you unashamedly, peppering a few little kisses on you while he was at it.

“Clingy,”

You murmured teasingly, and he frowned for a moment, raising a brow as if to call you a hypocrite, and you hummed lightly for a moment in thought.

“Touché.”

You said to his silent response, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose, before finally settling in and getting comfortable against his body. Within a few minutes, the both of you were yawning, sleep pulling both of you slowly under as the rhythm of your breathing deepened.

753 notes · View notes

writingoddess1125 · 4 months ago

Note

HI HI!! Could I possibly request a little blurb of how Crocodile met his wife? I LOVED that story and think it would be cute!

Sure! It's gonna he a bit short but I hope you like ot! (I Wrote this right after the Darling Dove one- So it's probably noticable lol)

Crocodile Beauty and Beast Effect : How they Met!

<<< Masterlist

Sir Crocodile x FemReader

It was fairly average day for you- a few pickups, some commissions on book repairs and having sent out a few copies of your own written work-

Same old Same old really-

Sure it was a bit dull however you enjoyed it for the most part.

Till that lovely peace was oh so rudely destroyed when thw bell above the door of your little shop jingled violently as the door slammed open- almosy falling from its place.

You looked up from the counter with a bit of a jump where you had been carefully cataloging a stack of old maps, to see a towering figure step inside.

His presence was something youd never experienced before... his long coat sweeping blocking out all the natural light like a cloud in your poor shop.

Sir Crocodile. Oh great

The very Infamous Warlord, known for his ruthlessness and willingness to kill on a dime stood in your shop, which was clearly way too small for him since his frame damn near had his head to the ceiling. Paired with him oh so wonderfully bellowing tobacco smoke acrose the place-

Like an asshole..

Behind him, a group of rough-looking men filed in as they overly crowded the store, their eyes scanning the shelves like vultures much to your confusion.

The air was now incredibly tense, as Crocodile’s sharp gaze landed on you. He took a step forward a sneer on his lips as if looking at something that would only iritate him.

“I’m looking for the other half of an ancient book-” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation reachinb into his coat and tossed it at you which you barely caught by the force of the action.

“I’ve heard you might have it. Where is it?”

You blinked, turning what remained of the book in your hands- sad seeing it this way clearly the elements had gotten to it.

The shop was silent except for the faint creak of the wooden floorboards under Crocodile’s boots probably due to being too heavy for the old shop and you flipping through the broken pages to identify what you were even looking at.

His men began to fan out a bit. Their hands hovering near weapons, ready to ransack the place at a moment’s notice.

But you didn’t really care much. Instead you tilted your head slightly. “Ah, yes. I do have it-”

You hum glancing behind you with a sigh at the admittedly slightly messy backroom you had been avoiding organizing.

“But it’s buried in one of the boxes in the back. It’ll take some time to find. Come back tomorrow morning”

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed scoffing at your laid back way of speaking to him, his patience painfully thin at the best of times, especially now. He took another step closer now shadowing you fully, his hook glinting as he raised it slightly as you felt sand beginning to gather around you like a noose prepared to wrap around your neck.

“Brave little thing arent you?” he growled. “Tell me exactly where it is, or I’ll tear this place apart and you with it.”

You met his gaze narrowing him slightly, taking a bit of a breath to ease yourself.

“You are more then welcome to do that-” Sounding damn near annoyed at his threat-

“But if you or your men start tearing through the place, you might damage the book. Or it could take you days if not weeks to find it in this mess. Or, you could let me look for it myself. I have no problem giving it to you. Once I find it, you’re free to do whatever you want. Threaten me, kill me, whatever seems to tickle your fancy. But if you want the book intact and quickly, it’s better to let me handle it.”

For a moment, Crocodile just stared at you his expression now one of curiosity. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, his goons exchanging uneasy glances as well at how he seemed to pause.

Then to everyone’s surprise, Crocodile let out a low chuckle. It wasn’t a warm sound, but it wasn’t entirely menacing either. He took a drag of his cigar and he waved his hooked hand for the others to leave, and his men quickly filed out leaving the two of you alone the sand that had began to form around you fast to leave you.

“Fine,” He grunted out, a smirk on his lips clearly in some odd way amused.

You simply nodded, turning to head into the back room leaving Crocodile there a bit frozen as he watched you leave him like that- Enough to even turn your back to him. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow morning Sir”

He didnt say anything just left the shop after that. Now curious at what an interesting women he had found.

The next day Crocodile returned, this time alone. You were behind the counter, carefully wrapping the ancient book in brown paper and occasionally sipping your coffee, unsure if it would be your last one afterall. When the bell above the door chimed, you looked up and gave him a small nod.

“Good Morning” you said, tying the package with a piece of string. “Here it is”

Crocodile approached the counter his eyes narrowing as he studied your face, clearly looking for something in particular. He reached for the book taking it up fairly fast. For a moment, he seemed almost… unsure? Clearly confused over you in some fashion.

"That will be 40,000 Beri" You say calmly- more out of habit then to expect him to actually pay for it.

He stared at you blinking for a moment. Then, a wide smile stretched over his lips- Like a monster showing its teeth to you, as he set the book back down reaching into his coat and pulled out a wad of bills, tossing them onto the counter.

"That is way more then 40,000 Beri-" You mumble already able to tell by the stack alone. Seeing the way he gazed down at you, going as far as to cock his head to the side.

"Keep it..."

You raised an eyebrow at the way he looked at you making a slight shiver go down your spine, before simply sliding the money into the register.

“Pleasure doing business with you Sir” You say in your usual customer service way going back to your coffee fast.

Crocodile stared at you for a moment longer, as if trying to figure something out or decide something. Then without another word he took his purchased item and left the shop, the door closing softly behind him.

Outside he stood on the street, the book in his hand as he tapped his hook on the side of his leg in thought. He glanced down at the book, then back at the shop, that wide smile still on his lips as he tucked the book into his coat after a moment.

'Interesting.. little flower you are. Prickly too'

Walking away as he thought to himself- He would be returning soon enough thinking of some excuse to return, maybe a map he didnt need or a useless book he could throw in his office.

Afterall it wasn't like he had given you a tip.

No-

It was a deposit really on what he considered a very nice future investment. One that would look very nice seated on his desk like a nice rose for him to look at done up and pretty- Or possibly in nothing at all too.

Oh he liked the thought of that-

He'll have to ask for your name his next visit..

#x reader #one piece #one peice x reader #one peice live action #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile #op crocodile #crocodile one piece #one piece crocodile #crocodile #crocodile x reader #x femreader #x female reader

211 notes · View notes

sidsickly · 1 month ago

Text

Non-Casual

A/n: i said this was gunna be a blurbs acc but here i am with a long ass one shot about my pookie.. i guess this is a blurbs and such acc BUT guess who started season 2🤭

not proof read btw srryyy

welp anyway read at ur own risk im toooo lazy to yk put genre and shit

Casual. That’s what you both agreed this arrangement would be after you ended up in his hotel. Spiraled out on his bed, hands tangled in his hair while babbling nonsense. His hands held your hips down on the bed, not letting up until your release came.

It only happened on long trips, whenever the case would start to get to you both.You’d fidget with your pens in meetings, his eyebrows would furrow not harshly–but enough for you to notice. It was like clock work, everyone would clear out for the night and carpool to the hotel, say goodnight in the hall and branch off to your rooms.

This time was like no other, Hotch was quickly going over the schedule for tomorrow–yet you were in your head nibbling at your bottom lip.You tuned Hotch out completely by this point, your eyes found their way to the man clouding your thoughts..But his eyes were already on you–he looked a little startled before focusing his gaze back on Hotch.Your eyes don’t leave him watching as he tucks away a loose strand behind his ear.

By time your attention found its way back to Hotch he’d finished talking, ending with a quick ‘goodnight agents’ and heading off to his room, everyone followed suit walking off to find their rooms as well. You walked the quiet halls before finding your room; lucky you it seemed to be farther away from everyone, tapping the roomkey on the scanner you pushed open the door immediately kicking your shoes off and tossing the small bag you brought with you aside

Taking a seat at the edge of the bed allowing yourself to fall back onto the plush bed, a soft content sigh leaves your lips allowing your body to relax into the bed. A stare up at the ceiling for who knows how long until you sit up with a groan, your hand immediately goes for your waist band pulling out your phone. You pause as you flip it open–It was already open to your messages with Spencer. A beat passes and you begin to reconsider what you're about to do, but your hand begins moving before your mind can catch up.

Room 220.

Sent 1:04 AM

You stared down at your screen sitting at the edge of the bed. Well it’s too late for regrets now, you toss your phone aside letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

A minute passed. Then another and finally a knock interrupted your thoughts, you begin to nibble at your bottom lip once more while closing the short distance between you and the door. You slide the door stopper out its place placing your free hand on the handle, opening the door you’re met with a disheveled Spencer.

His hair hangs in front of his face casting shadows over his features, but he doesn’t allow you to take in his full appearance. His arms snake around your waist as his mouth attaches to yours, he walks you back into the room shutting the door behind him with his foot.

Within minutes he has you bare and gripping the white hotel sheets and within the hour he’s taken out every single stressor from the case on you.

You knew you couldn’t handle casual, it never ended well for either party; yet whenever he needed you, you came even when your heart would ache.This was different though, you weren’t staying in hotels working on a case.. It was a normal annoyingly long report day.

The sudden vibration from your phone startled you. Pausing the music from your laptop, your eyes glanced at the phone causing you to squint before sliding your glasses back up your face.

Reid📚

Still working?

You slid your glasses off and rubbed your tired eyes. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation catching up to you? But the message was still there and the contact still said his name.

This was new and you felt your chest tighten, he probably needed to relieve some stress from today—you slide your phone away, turning your attention back to the reports on your desk, not bothering to turn your music back on.

“Ouch, you could’ve at least opened it.”

You basically jumped from your seat, sliding off your headphones and turning in the direction of the voice. There he stood, Chinese food in one hand and a bag with what looked like soda’s.

“What are you doing here?” You blurted out.

He laughed in response walking over, you watch him set everything on the open area of your desk before grabbing the desk chair nearby and sliding it over.

He sat right next to you, “I think the better question is, why didn’t you reply to my message?” He was already working on opening the bag containing the food, setting each box down carefully.

“I wanted to focus on finishing my reports.” Your fidget with your pen between your fingers twisting your chair away from him.

He immediately grabs the arm rest of your chair and turns you back towards him, a soft smile rests on his lips and you can’t help the slight flutter of your heart; so you roll your eyes.

“You’d think a profiler would be a better liar.”

You scoff, grabbing one of the take out boxes along with a plastic fork before popping it open. Twirling the fork in the noodles you avoid his eyes feeling the slightest bit of tension begin to fill the air.

“Oh whatever Reid.” lifting the fork to your mouth blowing on the hot food before taking a bite.

“If you don’t wanna tell me that’s fine.”

A silence takes over the room, glancing over at him you almost choke—because he was already looking at you. Attempting to play off your surprise you focus your attention back on the take out box

“So what’s the occasion?”

“Huh?”

You look back up at him;holding up the take out box shaking it a bit. “You’ve never brought me food; so I'm just wondering why now?” He clears his throat breaking the eye contact, his eyes drop down to the take-out box in his hand.

“I uh..” He trails off like he’s trying to find the words.

“I thought you could- uh- you know..use some dinner; since i saw you skip out on lunch”

A smile finds its way to your lips leaning back in your chair, “You watching me doctor?” You tease. He shifts in his chair. Eyes still avoiding yours he moves the food around in his box, a silence filled the room but your eyes never left him. It’s just you and him. Why not enjoy the view?

You shift in your seat. The silence was awkward now and the tension was only growing more and more thick. So you clear your throat and attempt to shift the conversation “Well thanks anyway, I was getting hungry.” He glanced up at you before setting his box down, his hair managed to fall in his face when he faced you again and without thinking; you reached forward tucking it behind his hair.

In the two seconds it took your eyes grew wide realizing your actions, you moved to pull your hand back but suddenly his hand is on yours keeping it in place. A shiver runs down your spine from the action and your body stiffens up.

“Sorry I don’t know why-” You cut yourself off as he uses his free hand to pull you closer.

The sudden action seems to surprise both of you. He lets go of your hand leaning forward a bit, you allow him to enter your space as his hand lays on the arm rest now. You’re just staring at each other now, tension thick and suffocating as you both wait for someone to do something. Anything.

You blinked; and his lips were on yours. They were soft, like always.. But they felt different this time, he kissed you slowly and passionately. No stress behind it. No urgency. You melted into the kiss moving your hands to his hair as he found your waist, in a swift movement he pulled you into his lap causing the chair to creak.

He slid his hands down your waist squeezing at your hips; the kiss never changed pace even in his lap. After what felt like hours you pull away looking to the ceiling catching your breath, your hands rest on his chest feeling it rise and fall; you could feel his eyes burning into you and sitting in his lap made it impossible to avoid his eyes–So you tilt your head down to meet his eyes.

His hair is messy but something swirls in his eyes as he looks up at you, his hands tighten on your hips and it’s like you can see the gears turning before he opens his mouth.

“I can’t do casual” He breathes out.

Worry. That’s what was swirling in his eyes; he assumed you didn’t feel he how did. He assumed you could do it casually with no labels or ties.

You move your hands from his chest to cup his face, you watch his eyes widen slightly before allowing a small smile to find its way to your lips.

“Neither can I.”

A/n: if you’d like to be added to a taglist for future stories pls drop a ‘📚’ in the comments :3!

my request are open as well if you have anything you’d like to see me write!

#sid’s impala #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #x reader #fanfic #fan fiction

136 notes · View notes

madridfangirl · 4 months ago

Text

So near, yet so far

(Jude bellingham blurb. Some fighting, some fluff, some missing each other.)

‘Stop being a baby & pick up the phone.’

Jude searched for his phone blindly when it pinged, while lying face down on a pillow, saw the message from his girlfriend, then put the phone away on the side-table.

She had sent that message after four missed calls throughout. He knew she had seen him online and would have understood that he was avoiding her on purpose.

Good, he wanted her to realise that. After everything she put him through.

The phone rang again, disturbing his sulky mood. He didn’t even look up this time.

‘Fine. Remember this the next time I don’t pick up your call.’

In this department, Jude could dish it out but absolutely could not take it himself. He always went nuts when she even remotely avoided him, following her around like a lost puppy. In fact, their whole fight had started from this.

Ananya was having a super tough day at work yeaterday. She was roped in on a deal last minute and the Managing Directors of their team had to pitch next afternoon. Which meant it was all hands on deck for the whole team. All day and most of that night.

That same day, Jude had a fantastic session at training, scoring bangers for fun, nutmegging teammates like child’s play. Especially Cama - he’d never let the boy live it down. For all his snake like agility, Jude had still managed to nutmeg that silky smooth footballer. And had even secured the video of it, which he had immediately sent to Ananya, along with a few others with his shooting.

Later, Carlo had called him to the side and praised him for his sharpness. He even invited him to accompany Carlo for the next pre-match press conference. It was a big Champions league away night, which meant it was a high-profile presser that Jude was being entrusted with.

It had been a great day overall. Plus he was having a great hair day as well, & took a couple of selfies in the gym (shirtless, sweaty, just what she liked) which had immediately made their way to her inbox as well.

She was supposed to get off work sooner today, given her MDs were due to travel the next day. He had no idea the pitch had to completely be overhauled at the last minute and that she was dying at work while he was having a gala time.

When he didn’t get any response even when he got home in the afternoon, he started to wonder if something was off. If he had missed some important day or did something or said something he wasn’t supposed to. But he couldn’t think of any such thing.

‘Hey, just checking in, all good?’

One hour went by. No response.

‘I’m home, what time will you get here? Italian is good tonight?’

This was a harmless enough message, or so he thought.

‘Talk later.’

That was all she had time & energy to type back.

Food was the last thing on her mind when she saw his message. She was surviving on two apples and 5 cups of coffee all day and would probably have to pull an all-nighter by the looks of it, on a day when she was supposed to get done by 6 pm. An anomaly. A massive anomaly in her line of work. But Satan was intent on ruining her happiness.

Her team was cooped up in the conference room while her MD was on a zoom call from his mansion on the outskirts of the city, spelling out 1000 changes to the formatting while sipping a glass of red wine.

One day, she’ll get there too. But till then, she had no choice but to slog her ass off. Like the rest of her team.

In the middle of that, her phone kept buzzing. She just put it on silent and threw it in her bag. Her plans for the evening all but forgotten.

It was 6:30 pm already, and Jude figured she would have left by now. So he made the cardinal sin of calling her, twice.

‘Are you ok?’

Still no response.

‘Are you mad at me?’

He started to get worried now. And called Roma. Who was also in the room with Ananya, as frazzled as her friend, as knee deep in work as the rest of them.

Her phone was on silent too. The executive director absolutely hated any sounds when they were all cooped up together like this.

30 mins later, they finally got up for a pee break, first in over 5 hours. Ananya and Roma rushed to the loo with their bags, looking at their phones at the same time.

5 missed calls, 15 messages between the two of them. All from Jude.

Ananya was furious. She was actually hangry, which made her even more irritated with this. Even her family knew not to bother her when she was having a tough day at work, just one message was enough for them to know she’d be out of reach for a while. Jude knew that too, but still had bombarded the both of them. And what in god’s name was he doing calling Roma? It just made her look stupid in front of her friend. She didn’t like people calling her friends to check in on her, a pet peeve since childhood.

But this boy just didn’t understand.

The said boy happened to call again just then.

‘Yes?’

‘Oh hey - finally. Where were you?’

‘On Mars.’

‘Huh?’

‘Where do you think I could be, Jude? Obviously I’m working.’

‘But, I thought you were getting free early today.’

‘Yeah, not happening.’

‘When you will get done?’

‘No idea. Not anytime soon.’

‘But…we had the whole evening planned, food is also on its way.’

‘Let me go say that to my MD and maybe he’ll let me go’

The crankiness and sarcasm in her voice was increasing with every passing second. And Jude couldn’t help but wonder if it was anything more than work that was causing that.

‘Ok gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow?’

Wait what? So she was seriously not coming home all night?

‘We are travelling for the match tomorrow.’

‘After than then.’

‘International break. This was the last night before I’m on the road for 12 days.’

‘After that then.’

Her voice was curt and her attention was elsewhere, like she was barely even listening to him anymore.

‘Are we good? You’re not mad at me for something?’

‘Oh for the love of god not everything is about you. I’m dying here. DYING. You’re not important right now. I told you I was busy, so pls try to understand.’

Jude was silent. She hadn’t said she was busy. She just said talk later. How was he supposed to decipher this is what she meant? How could she be cross with him for this?

‘Bye now. See you when I see you next.’

‘Bye.’

He stared at his phone long after, and at the screen where a game of FIFA was loaded, waiting for her. The food was on it way too, which he called to cancel immediately.

It was next evening. He was in the team hotel after a long flight. But still, 24 hours later also he was in a pissy mood.

Ananya had worked all night, came back in the morning, slept for a few hours and was back in office now, on standby while the MD meeting was going on in London.

She finally got some time to focus on her irritated boyfriend, who she was trying to reach for the last 2 hours, and finally sent this message to get his attention.

Silent treatment was beyond his coping ability, they both knew that perfectly well.

‘Sure - be more mean to make up for being mean earlier.’

‘I wasn’t mean to you. I was just busy.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘Jude - I didn’t sleep all night. Didn’t have a proper meal in 24 hours. So of course I was on edge.’

‘You said I wasn’t important to you.’

‘Not important in that moment.’

‘Same thing.’

‘Big difference.’

‘Even after everything you’re still talking to me like this.’

‘How else should I talk?’

‘Like you want to make it up to me?’

‘Make it up to you?’

‘Yes. Massively.’

‘I should make it up to you coz my work is sucking the living life out of me right now? Sure, that makes sense.’

‘You forgot yesterday was the last day we had together in almost 2 weeks.’

‘It was not in my control. What could I have done?’

‘Could have felt bad for not being with me? Like I was feeling bad? Five seconds for that was too much to ask for?’

That made her take a pause. She was still learning to cope with the mad pressure that came on sprints like these, and didn’t always react in the most even-tempered way. Could she have taken a minute to talk to him softly and explain the situation? Possibly yes. But she was still leaning the ropes and all the first-year associates were as frazzled as her. Heck she only had 1 minute for a pee break, which is when she spoke to him. Why couldn’t he understand that pressure, when she understood his work pressures and how the weight of the whole world was on his shoulders at times?

‘You needed to be here to understand what it was like.’

‘Darling - I know what professional stress is.’

‘It’s different for you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You are Jude fucking Bellingham.’

‘And don’t you think that means 100x pressure?’

‘No. Because you’re not some first year associate who is expected to work 16 hours a day, 6 days a week with near-perfect output.’

She could hear him breathing heavily at the other end. But he didn’t say anything, neither did she.

This was one of those moments where their crazy schedules got to them. As did the high-pressure of their jobs. For no particular fault of either of them. They were both fiercely ambitious, and driven in their careers. Which meant personal life suffered at times.

Ananya always wondered till what point would this be sustainable. If he’d turn around one fine day and would want more from her. That more was not in her control to give. Unless she sacrifices her dreams.

‘We’re going in circles.’

He broke the eerie silence. Another thing he wasn’t too fond of. Awkward pauses made him uncomfortable.

‘Yes we are.’

‘Did you manage to get some rest?’

‘Slept for a few hours. You?’

Jude was a sound sleeper otherwise but for the life of him could not sleep on a plane well.

‘A little bit.’

‘Match is day after right? You should get some rest.’

‘Yeah, will crash soon.’

He didn’t want to sleep before talking to her. But he absolutely didn’t want to be the one making the call.

‘The presser was nice.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘Could have smiled a bit more. Your fan pages were waiting for classic Jude happy face.’

‘Nothing to smile about in my life.’

‘Stop being dramatic.’

‘Stop being mean. And stop being so far away.’

The sincerity & longing in his voice melted her on the spot.

‘Babyyy.’

He immediately felt lighter.

‘What I wouldn’t give to hold you right now.’

Sleeping without her being next to him just wasn’t the same anymore. He slept better now when she was in his arms.

‘Me too sweetheart, me too.’

She could use a Jude hug too. Desperately. And a nice, long, peaceful sleep. But no relationship was perfect, this was something they just had to deal with.

‘Say something nice.’

‘I love you my dashing boy.’

‘More.’

‘So cute. So sweet. So sexy.’

‘More.’

‘One of the best players in the world.’

‘One of the best?’

‘Yes. The best midfielder though.’

Jude didn’t push further, knowing this was the best he’d get. She wouldn’t lie when it came to football. Not even to him or for him. This was enough for now.

‘Missing you.’

‘Me too, babu.’

Jude loved it when she used this particular Hindi word of endearment for him, which was the equivalent of baby. She often used many such words when they were snuggled together & she was cooing to him, explaining the meaning of each of them. He understood quite a few by now.

‘I can’t sleep. What do I do?’

‘Keep talking to me. And hug a pillow.’

‘Way ahead of you.’

They both hugged pillows while sleeping now, when they were not next to each other.

‘Now tell me about yesterday.’

Excitement seeped back into his drowsy voice, but the exhaustion was evident. Midway through, he started slurring some words and a few minutes later he was almost asleep, while still mumbling things to her.

‘Honey, put the phone down, turn off the light & get some rest, yeah?’

‘Yeah, ok.’

He mumbled, already near crashing.

‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Mmmm will dream of you, beautiful.’

With that, the phone dropped from his hand, while the lights were still on and the TV was on mute. But it didn’t matter. He got what he needed, so did she.

...........................................................

Wanted to do a realistic comfort fic, for all the madness happening around us.

Hope you liked it! Wrote this in 2 hours so not edited properly.

#jude bellingham #real madrid #bellingham #jude #jb5 #jb #jude bellingham smut #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #star crossed lovers #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #desi girl #jude bellingham angst #jude fic

259 notes · View notes

withleeknow · 1 year ago

Text

how he would take care of you during shark week. ⤷ chan / minho / changbin / hyunjin / jisung / felix / seungmin / jeongin

pairing: jisung x f!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, mentions of periods bc duhhh erhm note: ok so i'm REALLY not sure what this is lmao but i switched up entirely compared to the first installation (with minho) and i think this is the format i'll be sticking with for the rest of the members. i'm still just experimenting and trying to figure how i want to approach doing drabbles/drabble series like this so pls bear with me a little for now lol

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / blurb masterlist / ko-fi

jisung, who can't be trusted with even the simplest of tasks. you should've known better. (and honestly? you did know better, which probably makes the whole thing so much worse.)

jisung, whom you ask to run to the store just because you were too lazy to brave the evening chill yourself and get the shit you need.

jisung, who texts you what size pussy u wear? while he stands in the middle of the aisle, feeling like he's illiterate as he's surrounded by products of different colors and shapes and sizes and wings.

jisung, whose eyes catch a specific pink packaging with pretty flowers that makes him pull out his phone and snap you a picture. this one looks better. yours is boring, he'd text you, to which you'd replied with a dozen question marks before calling him an idiot and telling him to leave the fancy pads and hurry home with the ones you usually use.

jisung, who returns about thirty minutes later holding two large bags in his hands, which definitely contain a lot more than what you had sent him out for - just a pack of overnight pads and some sweets.

jisung, who kisses you in greeting as your eyes narrow suspiciously, then he'd proudly show off the goodies that you didn't need - an assortment of sour candies and chocolates, chips, ice cream bars, your favorite cookies, and lastly, a random purple pouch.

jisung, whose love language looks a lot like making you get diabetes whenever your time of the month rolls around.

jisung, who beams like a kid in a candy store when you ask him about the pouch with a brow raised. "look!" he'd beam, holding the little thing up like it's the most magical invention he's ever come across in his entire life. "it holds your pads! and it has unicorns on it!"

jisung, who doesn't deflate at all when you tell him that you already have one, but instead, he'd tell you to ditch the one you have because it's too "boring" (re: it doesn't have unicorns.)

jisung, who volunteers to carry the pouch for you the next time you go out together, musing to himself about whether or not he should add a little strap so he could wear it like a crossbody bag, not even batting an eye when you stare at him and gape in disbelief.

jisung, who really uses your shark week as an excuse to buy dumb shit for himself and stuff you full of treats.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung #blurbs

524 notes · View notes

harstyle · 1 year ago

Text

the styles' nanny: part two

Summary: Harry finally realizes his mistake, but is it too late? Featuring a strange encounter with Jamie’s mother, another sad drinking session and an unfiltered conversation that changes everything.

Pairing: plussize-nanny!y/n + older-singledad!harry

Word-count: 10.2k

Warnings: age gap (13 years), mentions of alcohol and drinking, kissing, mentions of sex

here’s part one!

A/N: guys!!! It’s been three months!!! I hope you haven’t completely lost interest in this story :( I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting for so long, I just didn’t expect so many things to come up (plus somewhere along the way I lost motivation). I also hope you enjoy this second and (at least for now) last part. No smut, but maybe in a blurb/oneshot of some kind? Anyway thanks for waiting and happy reading!

—

I’m resigning. I will stay until we find a replacement but not longer than necessary. I thank you for your generosity during my time working for you, but I’m ready for a fresh start as I think it’s what would be best for me right now.

I’ll see you soon,

Y/N

That was the text Harry had received at 11am, just one hour ago. He’d called profusely, probably ten times in total, and had sent out a pathetic amount of text messages that had all gone ignored and unanswered.

Harry had lashed out— he could see that now; he’d been horribly unfair and he had taken advantage of Y/N’s inability to express herself in situations of distress. Harry’s worst trait was his short-temperedness and while he had gone through years of therapy to work on it, sometimes it took ahold of him in ways he couldn’t realize until after the fact.

Of course the last thing he’d wanted was for her to resign, which was exactly why her message had twisted his stomach a bit more intensely than he would’ve liked; he had no idea how to rectify this situation. Most things in his life went as he wished and if they didn’t, he found it was easy to make it so they did. But not now— no, he had to think about this carefully.

It had turned one when his phone rang; he was typing away in his office, trying to distract himself. Her caller ID flashed on his screen, but it wasn’t her voice that caught his ears— it was a man’s. A man’s whose name was Andrew.

“I’m from the viper,” he said, and Harry could swear he started seeing red, “your friend Y/N got a little too drunk for me to feel comfortable sending her away on her own. Is there any way you could come pick her up?”

Harry couldn’t help the string of curses which left his mouth as he gathered his house key. “Is she okay?” He asked, only to receive a conflicted hum.

“She had too many martinis and she was crying earlier. She said something about a fight.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, man. Will you keep an eye out until I get there?”

“Of course.”

As Harry got into his car, he felt the overwhelming urge to chastise her, to keep talking until she finally listened to him when it came to her own safety. Not even one day had passed since he’d had to pick her up the last time— no lesson learned, no regrets.

But then, as he neared the bar, the rational part of his brain advised him against it. Y/N was no child, she was aware of her actions and she knew what was best for her— so for Harry to act high and mighty would be wrong and uncalled for.

He needed to just be there for her. Drop the barrier and be there.

He was ready to offer that to her.

—

Y/N could swear her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be unrealistic, really, her vision had become blurry about an hour ago— but, well, she would probably recognize that silhouette anywhere. He wore jeans and a shirt and his hair was still styled for work; Andrew was pointing at her, and so his green eyes followed. When he spotted her, Y/N felt naked under his gaze.

And before she knew it, he was walking toward her.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, lower lip jutted out in a pout. Y/N had gone drinking in the hopes of distracting herself— and yes, maybe it wasn’t exactly working, but it definitely wouldn’t start working if he was physically here.

“Andrew called me. Stand up, I’m taking you home.”

Andrew was somebody she‘d met a few hours ago. Originally he‘d flirted with her, asking questions about her as she sat at the bar willing to answer all of them soberly— but once eleven had struck, all she could talk about was Harry. Y/N wasn’t fond of airing out dirty laundry so she‘d left the gory details of their fight out, but Andrew knew of a fight.

She was starting to regret it now that Harry was here.

Instead of doing as he’d asked— or ordered, more like, she leaned into the booth further.

“No.”

His eyebrow raised, “no?”

“I don’t leave or go out with dickheads. You taught me that.”

He looked ticked off and it satisfied something within her that had been needing it all night. When he breathed a sigh, eyes closing momentarily, she knew she had him.

“Y/N, would you please humor me and let me take you home? We can keep talking in the car, but not in front of these people.”

“What if I don’t want to go home, huh? Why are you always telling me what to do like you have the right? You’re not my dad.” Her words were slurred and her expression loose. Then she laughed to herself, giggled actually, ridiculously loud. “That’s funny, of course you’re not my dad cause he’s dead! Dead, six feet underground, you know? Probably lower, cause he definitely didn’t go to heaven! He’s, like, really deep underground.”

Concern warped his features.

“Y/N,” he warned, “please.”

She’d turned heads.

“But you know what you and my dad have in common? Yelling. Just yelling, for no fucking reason— yell yell yell, make it feel like my fault even though it isn’t. Right? That’s what my dad used to do to my mom, you know that? That’s why he’s in hell.”

She was pointing an accusatory finger at him, slurring even more than before.

“And you know what I said to her when she left him? That I would never let a man treat me that way. Never! Promised, hand on my heart and everything, I promised. But you’re different, aren’t you? Cause I like you, cause you’re not like my dad.” Her face fell again into the surfaces of her palms, “you’re not like my dad, but you reminded me of him. And I feel— feel like I’m betraying my mom.” Y/N hiccuped quietly, stumbling over a few words.

The gravity of her words were not lost on him— in fact, he’d never felt as guilty in his life.

“Hey,” he beckoned her to look at him, placing his tentative hand atop her arm, “we’ll talk about it. About everything. But not now. Not here.”

“You’re so confusing, you know that? One second you’re really nice to me and then— and then you aren’t.”

“Sweetheart,” he grasped her face as a last attempt to catch her undivided attention. Harry thumbed at her cheek and stared dutifully into her clouded eyes, “let me take care of you tonight. I’ll make it better.”

In all fairness, she’d lost the fight the second his eyes had met hers. There was something about them, maybe their deep shade of green or how effortlessly she could read them, that could probably persuade her into doing anything.

“Fine,” she mumbled after a minute, letting Harry wrap an arm around her waist as they walked. On their way out Y/N said goodbye to Andrew and stayed quiet otherwise, choosing to give Harry the silent treatment. Harry knew he couldn’t expect her to speak to him, so he didn’t force it.

As they drove, Harry couldn’t help glancing over every once in a while to study her expressions. There was barely a moment she wasn’t staring out the window watching cars drive by; even when his hand instinctively landed on her thigh she didn’t react, only moving it away slightly from his touch.

“Are you driving me to my apartment?”

And although both of them knew he’d really been directed toward his house, Harry still pretended to have chosen to take another route. “Course,” he muttered hoarsely, trying to mask his embarrassment with a quiet cough. Y/N sighed, her eyes pressing shut for a moment as she tried to let the guilt roll off of her back. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.

“Where’s Jamie?”

He clicked his tongue. “Still at my mother’s.”

“Oh.”

The stubborn thing she was, Y/N refused Harry’s help getting out of the car. Instead she opened the door by herself, almost tripped when she jumped down from her seat and kept a distance anyway. Harry still watched, though, ready to help if needed.

Y/N unlocked the door (failing to find the keyhole several times) and kept it wide open for Harry to follow behind. The first thing she did was toe off her shoes followed by falling into bed.

“Y/N, have some water.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” she uttered, but accepted the glass of water anyway.

He ignored her. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m tired.”

“You can sleep as soon as you’ve changed and washed your face.”

She groaned, pulling a blanket over her head, “Harry…”

“Y/N.”

That stern mention of her name was enough to get her out of bed, limbs pretty much hanging loosely from her body as if she had no control over them— and honestly, it felt like she didn’t. Her eyes closed as Harry wiped a cool cloth over her face, ridding it of a light layer of makeup and sweat, everything that had accumulated at the bar. There were times she leaned into him, forehead falling to his shoulder and arms wrapping instinctively around his waist for support. She could swear that for a moment he’d pressed his lips to her forehead, but the daydream she was in barred her from really registering it.

“Why’d you go out drinking again?”

“Wanted to.”

“Told you not to do that. I meant it.”

“Well people keep hurting my feelings,” she mumbled, “and drinking your pain away is kind of a tradition in my family, so.”

Y/N had never really shared personal details about her family to Harry, but… well, the words were flowing right out of her mouth and the memories reincarnated newly in her head. She was referring to her mother, the former alcoholic in the family. Growing up her mother had drunk so much that she’d almost died from liver failure. As a small child Y/N had promised herself never to end up like her, but she was starting to understand more and more why her mother spent so many years drinking.

Harry‘s thoughts stayed internalized, but he made sure to make her feel heard. Rubbing over the top of her eyebrow, his breath hit her forehead as he spoke, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t deserve it.”

Her eyes peeked open, the previously warm towel no longer warm. Harry ran it under water again. “Deserve what?”

“Everything, especially the way I behaved earlier. I should’ve taken a moment to myself, instead I lashed out on you.”

It wasn’t until now that Y/N noticed the close proximity between her and Harry— obviously she knew he was cleaning her face for her, but it didn’t really click until now, she supposed. She could see everything, but it didn’t really matter; there was nothing about Harry, especially on him, that could deter her from thinking of him as the most beautiful man alive. Imperfections and all.

The towel met her neck this time, the other side held upright by his steady hand. She could feel his thumb tracing shapes on the surface of her skin and although she was trying very hard not to think of him in any inappropriate way, the image of his hand wrapped around her throat awakened something horrible within the confines of her intoxicated mind. It stayed there.

It was self destructive how often she spent thinking about him, really.

“You still there, baby?”

And he was so gentle— whenever he wasn’t yelling at her, of course— and soft, knowing the lines of what she could handle and what she couldn’t. No man had ever been this considerate and while it may just be his nature, it meant everything to Y/N. As the boundaries had begun to blur more and more, it became easier to misinterpret normal gestures for something more, something so much realer than it could ever be.

But he was calling her baby, and nobody had done that before.

“Yeah.”

“You were much more mouthy back in the bar,” he breathed out, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t wanna yell at me anymore?”

“No, I‘m not like you.”

“Ouch.”

Harry was humoring her and while it was really really nice; this whole thing, the gentle touches and the giggles shared in between a serious conversation, Y/N couldn’t let it get to her head.

“You were really mean to me and I didn’t do anything.”

His eyes searched for hers, but hers were stuck to his chest. “I know. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but I’ll spend a long time trying, I promise. You’re so sweet to me, so nice, I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know that, right?”

And although her heart was still furiously bleeding out, she was willing to ignore that for now. Throw bandages on and refuse a trip to the hospital because really she was just fine. There was just something about how he spoke to her that made it feel like she was floating— like she really was fine.

“Yeah.”

“Good, it’s very important to me that you do.”

Y/N’s eyes nearly glazed over when she thought about Harry being like this on the regular. It was a dangerous game they were playing.

“Look at me,” he breathed, beckoning her to do so with the grip he still had on her throat. Her eyes looked so innocent in this moment and although Harry knew Y/N was nothing if not tainted, she looked like she’d never been touched by the realities of life. “So pretty, you know that? So beautiful.”

She felt smaller in his gaze. “You think so?”

Y/N didn’t think anyone had said that to her ever. Nothing of the sort.

“I know so.”

“Thank you.”

“How about we go find you something comfortable to sleep in, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/N shook her head, willing to rid herself of this weird tension in her body before allowing Harry to lead her back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed as Harry retrieved some clothes and looked up at him expectantly when she could barely keep upright.

“You sure?”

“I physically can’t stand up, Harry.”

And though he looked torn, he ended up reaching for her sweater to pull it over her body, revealing the lacy bra she hid underneath. Y/N’s breasts had always been the biggest ones amongst her skinny friends and growing up she often felt ridiculed for it, though she supposed she could count on Harry not to judge. They were just there, so why pretend like they weren’t?

For Harry, taking off Y/N’s sweater was a completely different experience and although he didn’t wish to be a creep, he couldn’t help but letting out an awkward but knowing cough when he accidentally stared right down them. He hastily threw the shirt he’d brought her onto her torso, scared of what would happen if he were to delay it any longer. Harry prided himself on being a respectful man, but being with Y/N had always tested that quality of his.

“What?” She asked, a touch of feigned innocence to her tone, and he rushed to shake his head.

She knew what.

“Nothing.”

“M’kay.”

“Stand up for me?”

Y/N felt less amazing about her thighs, to be frank. She couldn’t really explain it, but they weren’t visually pleasing to her; cellulite littered the back of them and she obviously didn’t have a thigh gap, but that had become less of an issue. Y/N felt like her thighs had no real redeeming quality. It was a destructive way of thinking, she would admit, but… well, she’d carried that around since childhood.

As Harry pulled down her jeans, she felt void of anything. She didn’t exactly feel great, but better than when other guys had taken off her trousers. It was probably his age. She figured maturity increased as age did, and if Harry were to dislike the look of her body, he would be graceful about it.

“Hold onto my shoulders and lift your right leg.”

He got on his knees in front of her, pulling one leg in after the other. After doing so successfully, he allowed her to get under the covers.

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled into the covers, eyes fluttering to a close.

He hummed, “I know.”

“But thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.”

“Mhm,” she breathed, “it’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Sleep was pulling at her eyelids.

“Last time what?”

He received no answer. Upon a closer look, he saw Y/N completely overtaken by sleep. Her lips were situated in a pout and her foot peeked out of her thick comforter in the way he had already seen last time he’d brought her to bed.

He allowed himself more time to watch over her this time, scared that if he were to leave it would be the last he saw of her. The anxiety settled on his chest in heavy waves and the image of a precious Y/N was slipping further away from his mind. He had been a horrible person, allowing himself to become the type of man he’d always tried not to be… and he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t let this be that with her. He couldn’t bare it.

Harry had always thought of himself to be tattooed with imperfections. As he stared down at Y/N’s sleeping body, he couldn’t help the guilt that wrapped around him like a torture blanket. To him, she was perfect. She was kind and beautiful, she carried her heart out on her sleeve and overcame her past to grow in spite of painful trauma.

What he didn’t know, though, was that she thought the same of him. She thought of him as the most capable person, strong and kind. Her heart yearned for him in ways no one could comprehend.

She thought of him as everything but instead of embracing it, he’d pushed her away… and now both of them had to suffer the consequences.

—

Harry had stayed the night, but he hadn‘t slept; he‘d spent the night lying on Y/N‘s uncomfortable couch with various thoughts swirling around in his head. At eight he‘d stood up, started preparing breakfast and wasted time looking through social media to distract himself from the girl sleeping in the next room.

Y/N slipped out thirty minutes later, surprised when she saw Harry moving through her kitchen as though he knew it like the back of his hand. She coughed, not knowing where to put her arms and folding them in instead.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he tried to smile, “I hope you’re hungry, I made you a bagel with eggs if that’s okay.”

“That’s… yeah,” she swallowed a lump in her throat, stepping close to the counter, “thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“My pleasure. You—“ he pointed at the side of her face, “you have something there.”

“Oh, I—“ Harry reached forward to swipe at it, wiping his finger clean on his trousers and stroking her cheek once for good measure. “Thanks. Probably toothpaste.”

“Probably.”

Silence decorated their next few seconds, awkward glances and uncomfortable tension felt down to the bones. Then Harry straightened up and breathed in, simultaneously Y/N opened her mouth.

“I—“

“Are you— oh, sorry.”

“No, you go on,” she urged, waving a dismissive hand at him.

Harry smiled, “are you okay?”

“Uh, yes. Yeah, I am actually. Bit of a headache but that‘s expected. Thanks for…picking me up, I guess. I didn‘t want to be a burden, but I kind of told Andrew about you and he got a hold of my phone…“

Harry’s eyebrows drew together, “no, I’m glad he called. You should always reach out to me when you’re in trouble.”

“Yeah, but last time didn’t go over very well, so…”

Harry cleared his throat. “Right, I’m sorry about that. I was out of line, but that doesn‘t mean I don‘t want you to call when you need help getting home. There’s nothing more important than your safety, Y/N.”

“Yeah, but…” Y/N shook her head, overwhelming thoughts swirling endlessly inside rendering her speechless. There wasn’t anything she could say to efficiently express these concerns to him— Y/N had always been bad at communication and the last thing she wanted was to poke the bear even more.

“No go on, tell me.”

“I just… I don’t know. I felt like shit after last time.”

“I know,” he breathed out lowly, “I know you did, and I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean it.”

“But clearly you did if you felt the need to say it. I mean, it doesn’t just come out of nowhere, those accusations. You felt them. And I was thinking about it all day yesterday and… you were probably right, we are too unprofessional.”

“No, sweetheart. I enjoy our dinner sessions and I appreciate that you feel comfortable to talk to me when something bothers you—“ It didn’t matter, though. There was nothing he could say to change her mind.

The words that left her mouth were mostly involuntary. They were a protective barrier, a reason to say no, back off and a clear indication that she had no capacity for this. And although it hurt somewhere deep within her chest to express them, to become a viscous reminder of last night, especially when Harry’s eyebrows drew together in deep regret, it needed to be said.

“Harry, I meant it when I quit last night.”

A reasonable response was lost on Harry. For a moment he needed to think, to gather his thoughts— not that there were very many. He had to admit, he’d hoped they would gloss over her drunken text and pretend as though it hadn’t been. He’d hoped that Y/N felt a small spark of embarrassment when she thought about it, that she looked back on it with regret. Alas, she didn’t.

“Oh.”

He pulled back, shoulders tensing when the gravity of her statement had pulled him down along with it.

“Yeah. I mean, I love working with Jamie, I do, but I—“ I’m scared that I’ll form an attachment I will never recover from. I’m scared of the proximity we share, of how sometimes you let your fingers brush over my thigh. I’m scared because I don’t know what you mean, scared because psychoanalyzing doesn’t work on you. Or maybe— maybe I’m scared of love. With you. Or with anyone. Maybe I’m not capable of being loved. And maybe I’m not even capable of loving and maybe— just maybe, this will be the end of me. And for what? For you to say that the affection you extend to me is customary? That I have a tainted perception of reality, of love? Because I know I do. I know I do, and yet hearing it from you would hurt much more. And so maybe… maybe in this case, finding out isn’t worth the hassle. You’ll probably find I’m not either.

There was so much to say and such little capacity to say it. All Y/N could think to do was sputter words she didn’t mean and hope he understood because the alternative was ridding herself of every. little string of dignity she still possessed and she simply couldn’t do that. She couldn’t allow herself to unfold in front of the only person who’s perception of her she wanted to nurture most. No one had stayed. Even if he would come to leave, she wanted him to leave with a sound picture of her.

“But you…”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t… because of yesterday?”

“No. I mean, I guess that was a bit of an eye opener, but I—“ Y/N breathed in, “I think I’m getting too attached to you. You and Jamie.”

His eyes widened just a bit and he took a small step toward her. It was so small she hardly felt him entering her space. “I don’t mind that, Y/N, you don’t need to quit—“

“I do though,” she interrupted him, a stern undertone to her voice. She coughed and said again, “I mind.”

“I think you’re still angry about yesterday.”

She had to contain the urge to roll her eyes, “I’m not. This is separate from that.”

“So it’s the attachment that’s the problem?”

“Yes.”

Harry scoffed, “that’s ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with attachment.”

“It depends on what kind, doesn’t it?”

“Enlighten me then.”

Y/N’s mouth closed. She couldn’t do that.

So she deflected.

“Harry, my contract says that as long as I stay long enough to find a fitting replacement—“

“Fuck the contract, Y/N,” the volume of his voice almost caused Y/N to flinch into herself, “I know what my contract says. What I don’t know is why you’re giving up a job that you love, a job that pays you well, for reasons you can’t even explain to me.”

“Is my resignation not enough for you? Would hearing my reasoning really change anything if I will keep insisting on resigning no matter how often you’ll advise me against it? I doubt it matters. I doubt you would even so much as give a shit, Harry."

Y/N shook her head, tears building in the ducts of her eyes. Her father had been of great emotional abuse, her mother had spent half of her life drinking herself to liver failure and her brother had moved to Madrid as soon as he’d turned eighteen, leaving Y/N to fend for herself in a household that contained not one ounce of love— and yet this felt worse. This felt like her heart was being ripped from her chest, dropped on the floor beating and bleeding.

“You think I don’t give a shit? Really?” Y/N couldn’t help rolling her eyes, huffing when he tapped her on the wrist, muttering with a steady furrow in his brow, “don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“You know why I’m quitting and yet you want to hear it come out of my mouth. I’m not going to do it.”

“I don’t know.”

She almost laughed, “sure”

“Sweetheart—“

“Don’t call me that.” She gave him a sharp glance before heading back to her bedroom, arms falling to the sides of her timid frame. Harry stopped her just short of the door, a steady hand gripping around her wrist. She couldn’t help the gasp that left her mouth, built up tears finally streaming down in heaps— embarrassment brewed in her stomach and she couldn’t bare to look him in the eye anymore. Harry’s touch elicited a spark on her skin, blistering with uncomfortable heat. “What?”

“You’re being rude. I really think you should consider this.”

“There’s nothing to consider, okay?! I… I feel too much for you, there’s too— there’s too much, okay? There’s too fucking mu—“

What would transpire between them next was a kiss. Initiated by Harry.

It was barely a kiss, more of a brushing of the lips— tentative movements, gentle breaths. It was the minimum and yet it was more than enough. There was an electric feeling that dragged through Y/N’s entire body as she closed her eyes and let herself feel. Harry didn’t seem very much like a gentle lover— generous, without doubt, but Y/N had always pictured him as a pin-to-the-wall, bite-to-the-lip type of man and she quickly received confirmation when he began squeezing her hand as if feeling restrained.

Y/N hadn’t kissed many people; less than five, probably, but she could say with certainty that this was already better than all of the other ones combined. She knew why. She knew the reason was that she genuinely liked Harry, that he made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But then again, Harry was her boss. He was off limits, taboo. And he was absolutely out of his mind right now.

“Wait.”

His breath fanned against her chin. “You don’t want me to?”

“No I do, I just—“ she shook her head, thoughts in a disarray like they’d never been before.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Her mouth opened but nothing came out, merely staggered breaths as she tried to regain the ability to think. The interruption came when Harry’s phone rang on the counter.

He groaned, took a glance at the screen and broke away when he saw his mother’s name flash as the caller ID.

“Yes?” He called into the speaker, frustration molding his features as he kept on listening. “Yes, okay, tell him I’m on my way. Give me twenty minutes… Love you too, bye.” When he turned to her, phone slipped into his back pocket, she could tell that he yearned to say more, that he yearned for her to say more. She knew he would halt his actions, leave time for her to get her words out before he left for whatever emergency he’d been called in for, that if she only said something he would consider putting her as a second priority after his son. She knew that he would make her feel important. But she said nothing. And nobody, not even the most patient person in the world could work with nothing. “Jamie’s asking for me. I need to go get him.”

She only nodded.

He sighed, running a tired hand down his face. “Alright. I need to go. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

She stood at exactly the same spot as Harry slammed the door shut, unwavering.

Her heart was still pounding as the words she should’ve expressed minutes ago died on her lips.

—

Résumés had been sent to him, interviews were lined up, and Y/N had received no reply back. She hadn’t received anything, really, just a text on Thursday that he would arrange for another babysitter to come in for Jamie while he left for his late meeting, to which Y/N had typed a dry ‘ok’ and left it to sit in her inbox.

The week had started fresh and Y/N had finally left home again (only to her classes, but still). After days of not working, she was scheduled to pick up Jamie at two thirty and hoped for these last weeks to resume seamlessly. She’d gotten the car from the house, locked the door back up again and made the ten minute drive down— everything was fine.

Until now. Until Y/N set foot on preschool grounds and noticed another woman hugging her arms around Jamie’s shoulders. She seemed unfamiliar at first— glasses tipped back on her long blonde hair, a pencil skirt concealing her toned legs. Y/N had no idea who she was dealing with until she took a closer look and recognized this woman to be Stacie. Y/N had seen a picture of Stacie up in Harry’s study— she seemed to have changed a little, but the structural features she associated with her still remained intact through all these years (big blue eyes, defined cheekbones).

As soon as Jamie’s eyes set on Y/N, though, Stacie’s hands were torn away from his shoulders as he ran for her. She got on her knees, his familiar smile melting away all of the cold spots she’d developed in over a week of not seeing him.

“I miss you!” Jamie pulled away to plant a kiss right on the top of the apple of Y/N’s cheek, something he only started doing recently. She guessed he’d only really learned how to. “Daddy said you pick me up today.”

“I missed you too, buddy. I see somebody else came to see you?”

“Oh, Stacie. She wants to take me home but daddy said you pick me up.”

“Yeah, okay. Do you want to wait a second while I talk to her?”

Jamie nodded, moving to stand next to her (small hand clutched in hers, of course) while Y/N greeted Stacie. Well, greet was a bit of an exaggeration; she didn’t get to before Stacie decided to introduce herself first.

“I’m his mom, I called Harry in the morning telling him I’d come for pick up. I have a packed schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you could let go of my child.”

Y/N almost laughed, the audacity of this woman a damn near mystery to her. “Wait. Don't talk about him like some sort of property. Harry never told me about anyone else coming to pick up Jamie.”

“He must’ve forgotten. He’s a busy man, I’m sure he would confirm—“

“Well then let’s call him, shall we?”

Stacie wanted to interject, she could tell, but Y/N had dialed way too fast for that to happen. The phone only had to ring once before Harry picked up, his voice coming in clear.

“Hey, you‘ve got Jamie?”

“I’m here at preschool but Stacie showed up before me and wants to take him home. You didn’t tell me, so I…” she trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the blanks.

It seemed to take a minute to click. “Stacie? His mother showed up at school?”

“Yes, was this arranged beforehand or…”

“No. No, don’t let her take him home. Shit, we talked about this last week, I don’t—“

“You… you talked about this last week?” The confusion dripped from Y/N’s voice and all she could hear was Harry’s attempt at concealing profanities. “What did you talk about last week?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get home, tell her to call me to clear this up. I don’t want Jamie knowing Stacie is his mother yet, okay? So just get out of there before she tells him herself.”

A frown settled over Y/N’s features before she continued to end the call, scoop Jamie up into her arms and walk away after quick word. Stacie protested, but both her and Y/N knew she wouldn’t do much more than that in fear of causing a scene.

Y/N failed to pay attention to Jamie as she fastened the belt on his seat, only registering when she looked back into the rearview mirror and noticed the little pout starting to pull at his small lips.

And when he finally asked her, little quips of fear polishing his quiet tone: “is Stacie my mum?”, all Y/N could do was pretend she hadn’t heard and hope he would forget, knowing he wouldn’t.

—

Y/N bombarded Harry with questions the second he‘d unlocked that front door.

“Y/N—“

“No, I’m entitled to know this time. I’m entitled to know when she ambushes us at preschool. Don’t you want me to know what I’m dealing with if it happens again? That woman almost fucking kidnapped him—“

“Calm down, Y/N. Sit down and I’ll explain it to you.”

She huffed in annoyance, listening nonetheless. She set herself down on one of the kitchen stools and tried to take control of her breathing. She watched as he took a seat opposite her.

“Stacie came to visit last week on Wednesday. She’d called beforehand, asking if it would be okay. She came and we had dinner, we talked some things out while Jamie was in bed. She apologized, asked if we could start working things out again. I agreed under the condition that she would approach the idea of Jamie as a friend first. She said that she would respect my wishes and that she wouldn’t come near him unless I gave my permission. That’s it. So far all Jamie knows is that she’s a friend of mine. I didn’t—god,” Y/N felt bad when Harry buried his head in his hands, itching to reach out in comfort. She chose to play it safe, settling a gentle touch over his thigh. “I didn’t think she’d do this.”

Y/N hadn’t seen Harry this distraught over anything. “I’m sorry. That’s heavy.”

“It’s—“ he sighed, “it’s something I keep having to deal with. All she wants is to have him on the weekends, have him pose as her cute son. But she doesn’t actually care about him.”

Y/N couldn’t do much more than nod. She was caught between playing the comforting role and being honest. She wasn’t sure if this was the place, if her opinion would be welcomed or if it would contribute to Harry’s sorrows. “She seemed… uncooperative when I spoke to her at school. Like she was in a rush or something, it scared me.”

“Yeah, she’s hardheaded.”

“Right.” Y/N pulled her hand away when Harry lifted his head, clearing her throat and averting her eyes. The change in her behavior didn’t go unnoticed, though he knew he shouldn’t ask. “So when you talked… when you agreed to working things out, you meant that in a friendly manner? Or were you going to be… a couple again?”

“We… I don’t know. We kissed— well, she kissed me a few days ago when we met up again for a playdate with Jamie. Never discussed it any further.”

“Do you love her?”

Y/N had begun to hold her breath in, but she didn’t notice it.

Harry did. He noticed the suction of a deep breath and he noticed how his own hands got clammy with sweat.

Harry looked skeptical, as though there was something on his tongue ready to peek out tentatively, only it couldn’t because he had to spare her feelings. Because there was little Y/N, intimidated by everything she’d ever had to face in her lifetime— little Y/N who had rejected him and still expected loyalty. Little Y/N who couldn’t have him, but had always wanted to.

“I think a part of me will always love her. I mean, she gave me Jamie and he’s… the best thing to ever happen to me, really. I love him, and I will always love her for giving birth to him. I will always love her for the good parts of our relationship.”

Y/N hated herself for hating his answer. It was a perfectly reasonable answer, truthful as Y/N expected, yet her mind wandered past the barriers, past the barbed wire. She couldn’t fully grasp how he could still love her— and yet she understood perfectly. There was Jamie, of course, but there were many other things. There was her hair, her bright complexion, the beautiful curve of her hips and the effortless look of her makeup. There was the fashion, the business-casual look that seemed to mesh so well with Harry’s. There was this calling when Y/N pictured the two of them standing side by side, almost like they were destined to be together. She could imagine it perfectly, the many years they had spent together. She could see it. And it looked perfect.

Y/N coughed, head nodding along to his words as if she were listening to instructions and not some heartfelt confession. It felt instinctual, though.

When it came time for her to speak, she let a smile mold her lips into a perfect crescent moon. She never thought faking a smile could hurt more than a physical injury, but she’d been proven wrong. Everything looked intact— Y/N was sure she almost seemed unaffected from the outside. She wasn’t, though, and she wondered if Harry would recognize that.

“That’s… yeah. I get that.”

This was the first time Y/N actually felt the age gap between her and Harry. He sat here, ready to air it out. He spoke about his concerns, about the state of his son, and the only thing she could fret about was herself. Her sadness had no weight, it was too insignificant in comparison to his and it made her feel pathetic. It made her feel young and stupid and pathetic.

Harry deserved better than this. He deserved careful consideration, security for his child. He deserved trust and honesty, a sort of transparency Y/N couldn’t afford to offer to him yet.

“That’s not to say that I want to approach her in that way, especially after today, but…” he trailed off, only finding his words when it’d clicked that she wasn’t responding, “I just want you to understand that it’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded. Then she cleared her throat, ready to rid herself of this spotlight. She always messed up in the spotlight. “Um, Jamie asked me if Stacie was his mum today. I didn’t answer, but you might want to think about what you’ll say to say to him next time. I also sent you a few résumés, I’ve talked to a few people and have set up interviews, the first one is scheduled for tomorrow—“ she visibly flinched when his hand came down on her thigh, “please, Harry. I can’t. Please just let me finish this.”

“Okay.”

A deep breath, “it’s scheduled for tomorrow after you come home from work. Do you want me to come on the call, or are you okay interviewing yourself?”

“I’d like you to come.”

“Okay. I’ll stay longer tomorrow.”

“Can we talk about us now? Properly?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Harry almost laughed, “there’s a lot to talk about. We just added on a good bit today.”

“I’m quitting. That’s it.”

“You know, I don’t understand why you insist that there’s nothing going on—“

“Because there isn’t,” she snapped. “There isn’t. I’m going to check up on Jamie.”

She was teary-eyed as she slipped from the stool, ready to conceal it all for the ball of sunshine sitting in the next room. She could do it all for Jamie— she would do it all.

Before he could say any more, Y/N disappeared behind the door. Harry could hear the two of them converse in the next room and his heart felt heavy as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Harry had always known what to do— he was a CEO, for god’s sake. He was trained to find solutions, take control of seemingly unfixable problems, to make life easy. And yet, this girl thoroughly baffled him. He had no idea what the fuck to do anymore.

And yet, he was determined to keep trying.

—

Two people had interviewed over zoom and Harry had hated every one of them. His excuses were vague, something about the lack of experience (even though they both knew that Y/N hadn’t had any when she’d started either) and the supposed ‘wrong vibe’. One time he’d criticized a woman for her ‘ridiculously shrill voice’, at which point Y/N had rolled her eyes and proceeded to walk home in a fury.

The next day Y/N showed up again, ready to interview three more people. She sat beside Harry as he set up the video call and listened as he asked questions. Y/N was mostly in attendance to listen and give her honest feedback by the end (she really did want to find someone spectacular for Jamie), so the difficult part came later. For now she could be quiet.

This woman, aside from qualified, seemed very kind. So far, it’d been the best candidate.

“So how flexible is time for you?”

“Very. I do online classes for uni, so I can very well manage my time how I see fit.”

“That sounds fine. And you’ve had plenty of experience, I see.”

“Yes, I started babysitting when I was fourteen, so for more than ten years now. The last family I worked for just moved out of the country, which is why I’m looking for something new, but I was with them three years.”

This woman had nothing but good evidence she would be the best for the job; no doubt better than Y/N. She had the experience, she seemed mature, she looked kind— she would act in a professional manner, something Y/N had never quite figured out yet.

That didn’t matter to Harry, though, because as soon as she’d gotten off the call, he muttered a ‘no’.

“Why not?” Y/N asked, bewildered by his blunt response, “she was literally perfect for the job.”

Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, busying himself with his laptop, “just didn’t feel right.”

“Okay, this is just getting too unreasonable at this point. You didn’t like the lack of experience, fine, that one woman’s shrill voice, fine— but this? She just didn’t feel right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—“

“No. We’re not doing that.”

“It’s a feeling, Y/N. When I interviewed you, I got the feeling that it’s right, that I’d feel safe leaving Jamie with you. It takes trust.”

“But she’s— she’s so qualified, she—“

“Experience isn’t everything. It’s important, but not everything. You weren’t experienced when you came for your interview but you gave me the right feeling. Thus you were qualified for the job.”

And she understood, really, but it still fucking pissed her off. “That’s fucking— you’re being too picky.”

“For good reason.”

“At least two of the people we interviewed were qualified enough for a test run.”

“We still have about fifteen to go and there’s no rush.”

Y/N found this ridiculous. She muttered under her breath, pushing some hair back with a sweaty palm.

“Why is it that everything I do makes you angry?”

“Because you’re fucking infuriating.”

He breathed a chuckle, “that’s nice,” and closed his laptop. “Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’ll make your favorite pasta.”

“I don’t—“ but Harry had already gotten to work, tuning her voice out without much trouble. He smiled at her, almost mocking.

“Do you have another job lined up?“

“Uh,” Y/N didn’t want to admit no, that she hadn’t even begun looking properly (save for that one café down the street from her apartment), knowing the consequences and aware of the tiring reprimanding from Harry ahead. A pitied glance. A pathetic speech. “I’ve applied.”

“Where?”

“A cafe.”

“Where?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“Are you hired?”

She huffed, “no.”

“Where else?”

“Um, a… another café. It’s in... near my apartment.”

“Would be bad if it wasn’t,” he quipped, paying her a shortened glance from over his cooking pot. “Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Financial help, maybe?”

Y/N groaned, “no.”

“Because I wouldn’t mind sending you some money—“

“Harry,” she cut him off in an instant, glaring daggers at him, “I’ll just send it back. I’ve saved up enough to get by for a few weeks.“

“That doesn’t exactly ease my—“

“Can we just— can we not?”

And they didn’t. Harry closed his mouth— forced it closed, actually— having to clench his jaw to stop himself from voicing unwanted thoughts. Y/N looked away, pretending this conversation hadn’t happened at all. It was easier that way, to pretend he hadn’t conveyed such an open and honest display of care, to pretend that it hadn’t ripped her heart to shreds.

There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't. It was the first time in a while that Y/N stayed (somewhat voluntarily) after her shift, and he couldn't risk pushing her away further.

For now, he had to be okay with this.

—

Y/N couldn‘t keep her eyes off of Harry, images of last night flashing in between conflicting thoughts.

She was in bed. She was clutching her blanket, a wet spot and the outline of her body marked by sweat on the sheets. He‘d looked so real fucking her, he‘d sounded so genuine whispering into her ear as he thrust up into her cunt.

He‘d called her a good girl, and she‘d run with it, afraid to look back.

But it hadn‘t been real, had it?

It‘d been a dream. But god, was it a good one.

Would he do it all the same? Would be hold her close, spreading his fingers over the expanse of her breast as he kissed her neck? Would he glide them up, and wrap them around her throat? Would he— fuck. No. She couldn’t.

But he would. And they‘d look so pretty resting there. And she‘d feel so pretty as he overwhelmed her with his presence, his chest pressing against hers. He‘d look so right as he danced along the fine line of praise and degradation— the line of rough and sweet, cold and warm. Because he would know. He would know exactly what she would need.

Wouldn‘t he?

He would. As she watched him move through the space of his living room, she knew he would. She‘d always known, really.

And Jamie wasn’t here anymore, he’d fled up the stairs. And Y/N really, really shouldn’t be here with him alone.

She was biting on her nails, eyes cast downwards in avoidance as Harry read his book on the other end of the couch. He had an arm stretched along the back of the couch and her legs were tucked to her chest as she scrolled on her phone, trying her hardest not to let her gaze run wild. It proved especially difficult when his arm fell mere inches from her legs. And when he touched her, warm thumb rubbing comforting circles into the cold of her skin, she couldn’t help biting her lip.

“You okay?”

“Hm? Yes. Why?”

A smile stretched his mouth wide, “just seem distracted, is all. Squirmy.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

God, she was feeling small under his gaze.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she mumbled. Harry saw her eyes, though, tired dark circles resting where they didn’t belong. He saw how they widened, how desperate they seemed for something she didn’t want to disclose to him and he wanted so badly to satisfy that need for her. “I should go home.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly. “Would you like me to drive you?”

“Um, no. It’s okay. Thank you.”

But she failed to move.

Y/N had shut him out for so long that the effect he’d always had on her multiplied by ten. It was much much worse and the finger on her leg burned through her skin with ease.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Come here,” he demanded softly, watching as a war unfolded on her face. He could read her like a book, sensing the exact moment her heart won and her head gave up. He pulled her to him, fingers dancing up and down her shoulder. “You seem tired.”

Y/N cleared her throat, tips of fingers holding onto the edge of safety and threatening to let her cascade into the depths of danger. “I had three classes in the morning and I’ve been writing this paper, so—“ she allowed him control as he made her face the other way, legs outstretched, her back just inches from his chest and his hands massaging her tense shoulders. Her eyes closed in pleasure at the sensation. “And last night, I—“

“Last night you what?”

“I had… I had this dream and—“

She didn’t want to finish and he didn’t need her to.

“Is this okay?”

His voice felt soft and comfortable against her neck. “Yes, thank you. You’re good at that.”

He hummed.

“I really should go home though,” she mumbled, getting quieter with each word. She knew she wouldn’t dare push him away now, but she supposed it was more about convincing herself that she’d tried. “Cause I have classes early in the morning.”

“It’s only seven.”

“Yeah.”

Harry snickered quietly, her awful try at resistance not surprising him in the least. He had never seen her quite like this though, weak and smitten in his arms, on the verge of purring like a cat. He definitely couldn’t complain when she inched closer and dropped her head back so it could rest comfortably on his shoulder.

“Can you do my arms?”

“Of course, baby.”

She could’ve melted. In fact, she probably had without noticing.

And when she felt his lips pressing to her skin… well, then it was game over.

“Is this okay?”

She nodded promptly, heart racing.

Y/N was tired of rejecting this feeling, tired of pretending as though she didn’t want or need Harry’s affection. Because truly, it was all she wanted, all she’d longed for.

A love like his would feel so great.

“You look really beautiful, you know that?”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, sensing Harry’s chuckle rolling against her back at the response.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re the one who keeps running.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

Y/N took her time answering, grateful when Harry didn’t rush her. He would sit here waiting for an hour if he needed to, she was confident in that. There was no hurry, just soft hands on scalps and warm kisses on necks— Y/N hadn’t experienced such an overwhelming feeling of comfort in the arms of a man.

“I’m scared to stay.”

He sounded unfazed, giving her a surge of confidence when he asked, “why?”

“Because we’re such different people. You’re a dad, a very accomplished ceo. I’m a student, so much younger—“

“Don’t make me out to be so old, love.”

Her eyes rolled. “A little younger than you. And last week when I saw Stacie, I don’t know… it did something with my brain, I guess. You seemed so right together, you know? I didn’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything, don’t think I could bear that.”

“Look at me,” he muttered, tilting her head so that he could pin her down with a stern stare, “I couldn’t regret you, sweetheart. I regret much in life, but I wouldn’t regret you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Eh, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”

“Harry,” she warned, “I’m not the most lovable person once you get to know me.”

“I doubt that,” he retorted.

“Past experiences have proven as much.”

He gave gentle strokes to her cheek, a glaze he didn‘t expect overcoming her eyes, pulling him in, “so let me show you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his nose mere inches away from hers. “Show me what?”

“How easy it is to love you.”

Time stood still, but it couldn’t not have with a statement of that kind. It seemed so easy for him to brush off concerns as something undeserving of thought, to create an allusion of simplicity where it didn‘t belong. Those words meant everything to her.

“You must know how wonderful that sounds coming from your mouth.”

Harry breathed a chuckle, nose nudging against hers softly. When he asked for permission, Y/N couldn’t deny him of another kiss.

And if it could’ve gotten any better than their first kiss, then it definitely had. There was a newfound sense of freedom and security with this kiss, unspoken thoughts reduced to small details rather than what had been when they’d spent time together last.

When they parted, nothing needed to be said. They already knew it all.

—

A month later.

“Y/N, will you hand me another bowl for the soup, please?”

As Y/N fulfilled Harry’s plea, she couldn’t help but let giddiness dictate her movements. Things were fresh, things were good— but they were also scary. He was scary. Anxious butterflies spread in her lower tummy at the mention of his name and infested it with the low sound of his voice.

She waited by his side as he tidied up, ready to be of assistance. It was pathetic, really, how awfully smitten she’d become for him.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She hummed in reply, scared that if she were to speak all that would come out was a squeak. Harry chuckled, smirk molding into his cheekbones as he grasped Y/N by the waist and pushed his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. His hand slid lower, giving her a squeeze.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“It’ll be great, I promise. And whatever he says, we’ll work it out.”

“Okay,” a surge of confidence rode her to sunny dry shores, shoulders sacking in comfort, “yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You ready then?”

“Yes.”

Things proceeded as they always had; Y/N and Jamie shared funny anecdotes of their day as Harry mostly listened, admiring the two of them with love filling his eyes. It wasn’t until desert had come that the setting changed, unbeknownst to Jamie, and Harry took the lead.

“Jamie, we want to talk to you about something.”

Jamie stared between the two of them, waiting.

“Do you remember when you came home from school and told me about Katie and Josh? That they’re boyfriend girlfriend?”

“Yes, they still are.”

Harry chuckled, “and do you remember what I said when you asked if I had a girlfriend?”

“You said that you don’t.”

“I did. And while that may have been true for that moment, things have changed.”

Her heart melted and sank all the same when his little green eyes lit up, “do you have a girlfriend now?”

“I do,” Harry laughed, “you know her.”

“Who?”

Harry smirked, motioning to Y/N with a nod of his head to draw Jamie’s attention away. Jamie’s gaze landed on Y/N and in the matter of a second it filled with excitement. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Are you okay with that?” She asked, timid at first but becoming more confident when a genuine smile imprinted small dimples in his cheeks, a feature he’d been lucky enough to receive from his father.

He nodded, full of movement, and hummed in confirmation.

When Y/N and Harry had put Jamie into bed later that night, and had vacated to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of wine together, things finally fell into place. The thought of happiness within a relationship was no longer a distant one— no, it had become a reality. Harry had kept up with his promise, he had shown her easy, he’d shown her effortless, and while there was no doubt in her mind that hard times were still to come, she was confident that no matter the circumstance, her gratitude for his open portrayal of love could never be put into question.

“I love you,” she shared, eyes glassy, head tilted. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know. I think I’ve loved you for quite some time, I just didn’t want to realize it.”

The silence was short lived.

He placed his glass back down on the table and smiled, though to her it almost looked awkward. “Wow.”

“I know, you don’t have to… cause I know it’s a big deal, so you don’t have to say anything.”

“I do too,” he then offered, hand traveling to rest on her knee. “I love you.”

“Really?”

“I do.”

This stumped her.

And now it was her turn: “wow.”

Harry’s laughter spread everywhere on Y/N’s skin, engraving itself into her soul and staying there to be kept and remembered forever.

“Good. Now that that’s cleared…”

She couldn’t deny him of a passionate make-out session, hands on thighs and lips everywhere they fit, everywhere they felt right. A moan slipped from her mouth, his smirk molded into her hot skin.

“Move in with me,” he muttered, dirty against her mouth, “we’re finding a new nanny for Jamie and you don’t have a new job planned yet. Just focus on university, move in with me, with us. Let me take care of you.“

“Harry—“ his mouth collided against her neck, her eyes closed shut, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“We’ve only been together—“

“Doesn’t matter, I’ve fought for a long time to have you. I believe in us, I trust this.”

“I…“ Y/N felt torn— on one hand, she really wanted to move in with him. On the other, was that really wise? To move in with a man after a month of dating him? Albeit this was Harry, and she trusted him too. Fully. It was herself she didn’t trust. “Are you sure?”

And when she looked into his eyes, there was no not one ounce of doubt in them. They welcomed her.

“Jamie would love it just as much as me.”

“Would he?”

“Are you kidding me? He loves you so much.”

“I love him too,” she played with a strand of his hair.

“Then move in with us.”

A smile began to pull at her lips. “But I pay for groceries.”

“No,” he mumbled, “you’re too broke for me to let you do that.”

“Harry!”

“It’s true!” He laughed, massaging her thigh. “Baby, I don’t expect you to pay for anything living here. I’m more than capable—“

“I know you’re capable, but I just… I was taught not to burden other people.”

“You’re not burdening me,” he insisted, finger sliding under her chin, “it’s okay to let other people do things for you. It’s okay for others to show their love.”

“I know that.”

“So please don’t worry about it. Focus on your studies and make me proud in that way.”

“I need to make money somehow.”

“No you don’t. I’ll support you.”

“No,” she breathed right away, “I won’t depend on you for money. You’re not my… my sugar daddy.”

“Why not?” He grinned, “you call me daddy either way—“

Y/N’s eyes rolled, “shut up.”

“Told you not to roll your eyes at me.”

“Sorry.”

Harry hummed, “try it for a month. If you want to move in after, you can. If you don’t, I’ll help you find a new place. Or I’ll pay your rent while you’re here so you don’t lose out on money.”

Comfortable silence dictated the next few seconds as Y/N thought about her boyfriend’s offer, and then: “fine. We’ll try it for a month.”

Harry’s smile widened, “yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t regret it."

He'd been right.

The end! Would love to hear your feedback :) but also like… don’t be too harsh cause I can’t handle it

tags:

@tpwk-mia @gem1712 @behindmygreyeyes, @sinarainbows @infixinfinity @adkmermaid2399 @daphnesutton @imaginexxharry @bry211 @haliastyles @watarmelon212 @impossibleme @cali-888 @dreamybabbyy @evie-119 @cumuluscranium @c-a-b3002 @buckybarnessimpp @freckles-things @harryedwardstylesluva24 @ihavesimpedovermanyfictionalmen @angelbunny222 @ivegotthecinema @harryscowgirl

I hope I didn’t forget anyone!

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #harry styles materlist #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles x nanny #harry styles ceo #harry styles fanfic rec

586 notes · View notes

imshymorph · 11 months ago

Text

Okay so, after a few months, i’m back with something that was supposed to be a blurb and ended up being almost 2.9k words (added a full 100 words when editing, oh well).

It’s Situationship!Ghost, specifically angsty situationship ghost. (i have a full bullet point list with headcanons for this ghost and i’ll probably write more at some point) . Anyway, enjoy!

- - - - -

You had seen him quite a few times before, although you barely knew him. He lived across from you, the door on the other side of the hallway. Hardly had known anything about him, that his name was Simon –something you only had discovered when his mail had been left in your mailbox by accident– and he was military.

However, somehow since that day, the fateful day that you had taken what seemed to be a letter from the bank, the two of you had started to talk more often. It didn’t start as anything crazy, but at least now he would say “hello” when you both were in the hallway, coincidentally leaving or going back to your respective flats at the same time.

It had slowly evolved over time, happening over the expanse of full months with how little he seemed to be home. From just a greeting to some small talk, be it a comment about the weather when the mancunian skies delivered nothing but rain day after day here; or perhaps a remark on how expensive everything seemed to be lately when you walked back home with a bag of groceries there.

What really made all of it change though, was when Simon got sent home for a medical leave after a close call in a mission, a bullet almost lodged in his lungs. He didn’t know why, but having to stay out of the field was much harder than any other time, he was much more restless. The feeling was only made more obvious when he started to go in and out much more, busying himself with little tasks or just taking walks. It meant that your meetings in the hallway happened more and more often.

When you had discovered why he seemed to be home for so much longer than usual you had insisted on helping him out, getting things from the store for him, bringing him home cooked meals and mainly keeping him company. By the time he had gone back to the field, you spent more nights a week on his side of the hallway than your own.

That’s when he realised, when he really noticed the way a smile would pull at his lips when he noticed something you had left back at his place. The way his heart would flutter when you’d smile at him and offer some biscuits you had just baked. Or the way he’d stare a hole through the helicopter wall while the whole task force was on their way to a mission, earning himself some teasing from Johnny and Gaz and a discreet knowing look from Price.

He realised that he had started to count the days until his next leave and that he didn’t think of going to his own place, but going back to you. That’s when he decided this was needed.

He opened the door as you were walking out of your place, carrying dinner to his place like you did every Friday when he was on leave, a smile pulling at your lips as you greeted him with a kiss to the corner of his lips before walking in. He had been home for a while now, chastising himself every day that went by, letting you come into his space again and again when he knew what he really had to do.

He closed the door, taking the container from your hands and taking it to the kitchen. You were about to follow him, meaning to keep him company and have a chat –although most of the time it was you talking and telling him stuff about your day while he hummed and grunted in acknowledgement, happy to get lost in your soft voice–. Instead he guided you back to the living room, signalling for you to take a seat on the couch. “Simon…?” you began to say, confusion evident in your voice and the slight furrow of your brows.

“We need to talk,” he said before you could finish your question. His voice gruff and low, eyes cold and distant. He sat across from you, all the way on the other corner of the couch, his expression unreadable.

And that’s when you knew, when those four little words left his lips. You weren’t stupid, you had definitely noticed. They way he’d be more distant, more short with you. How the small conversations in the hallway had got shorter until they had gone back to just greetings, or just a nod of the head. The way he had stopped lingering when he was at yours until you offered for him to stay, instead rushing through dinner before leaving with whatever excuse came to mind. Or how he seemed to find excuses to make you leave his place sooner and sooner each day.

What you hadn’t noticed but were definitely seeing now was the difference in his eyes. The warm glow that had been there for the last bunch of months completely gone. Instead there was a cold and distant look, a wall that you hadn't seen since you had first moved into the building, now placed between you once more.

Silence sits between the two of you and it only breaks when he says the words you had been bracing yourself for, “we can’t do this anymore.” You barely give a light nod, your eyes lowering to the coffee table that sat not too far away.

You didn’t know what else to do but to give in, deep down you knew you had been waiting for this, doing everything you could to push the moment back even if it was for a little longer. But if you were honest with yourself, you had known this would happen all along, this whatever it was meant to be, was bound to end sooner or later.

His eyes boring into you didn’t make any of this easier. But he couldn’t help himself, because a part of him had hoped that you’d get angry and finally say what he had known all along. That you would get up and call him out for thinking he ever deserved to be with you, for even daring to think he deserved any of your tenderness and care, or your attention.

Instead of anger, all he saw in your eyes was defeat and hurt, and it only made his chest feel more tight and heavy with guilt. He couldn’t deal with it, with how much it hurt to be the one to make you look so hurt and defeated. So he just doubled down. A light huff leaves him and he runs a hand over his face, his tone a little more gruff and demanding when he talks again, “why aren’t you saying anything?”, his eyes boring into you once more as he waits for your answer.

It takes a moment, but you finally push out the words that are constantly cycling through your head, “because I knew this was going to happen,” you admit quietly. “Noticed the distance”, you add as your eyes lower to the coffee table once more and your fingers start to play with a loose thread on your clothes, “guessed you’d get tired of me, sooner or later.”

Simon was used to handling pain, he thought he could manage any kind after all the suffering he had gone through already. But something about the light crack on your voice, the defeated tone and self-deprecating words. The way you were convinced he could ever grow tired of you when he was the one undeserving of your time. It made his heart break and a hatred for no one but himself filled him.

He clenched his fists on his sides, having to hold back. Hold back from the way he wanted to grab you in his arms and hold you close. Hold back from pulling you into his lap and kiss you time and time again until you forgot his stupid words. He wanted to hold you all night long, worship you and prove that he could never get tired of you, that he would never leave you, that he didn’t mean any of it. That he loved you.

But instead, once more, he doubled down. “I think it’s for the best…” he barely makes the effort to justify. Your only answer is another small nod, your eyes that had braved enough to look up at him, lowering back to your lap. You focus on the way your fingers fidget with the loose thread and swallow thickly, doing your best to keep at bay the knot that closed up your throat, fighting back the tears that so badly wanted to form.

If his heart hadn’t shattered before, it definitely had now. The sight of you across from him, the distance on the couch between you both as you refused to look at him. He hated this, hated to see you in this state and hated even more that he was the one to cause all of this. He wanted to take all of it back, to apologise and beg for you to forget all of this and just have dinner with him like you did every friday. But he couldn’t.

“I guess I'll pack my things then,” you say, barely audible with how the tears strain your voice. You don’t wait for an answer, getting up from the couch and moving through the quiet flat. You get the toothbrush you had left in his bathroom, the few staple skincare items he had insisted would be easier to have a duplicate off.

His eyes followed you, the hollow on his chest only growing with every item you plucked up and added to the totebag you had forgotten on his couch just a couple days ago. He wanted to go to you, to hold your hands and get on his knees. To beg you to stay and spare his sinful soul from having to live another day without you.

Still, he stayed seated on the couch. His soul bleeding and body numb as he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but follow your movements with his eyes. He saw all of it, how you kept yourself from crying, taking the few sleep shorts and extra shirts you had left behind. How the tears had been too much to hold back when you’d come back from the kitchen, a pile of empty food containers in your hands.

When you got all of it and went to the door he finally managed to get up, just taking a couple steps closer but still staying far, distant. He had to, he had to keep the distance. Because he knew that he got closer his selfishness would win, and he’d pull you into his arms and never let you go.

You take in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand reaches out for the knob, but before you twist it open you look at him. Your cheeks and nose are rosy and the teartracks are more than evident. “Can I ask you something?” you risk, even if you know that whatever the answer maybe would only make it worse.

He gives a light nod almost instantly, taking a deep breath as he prepares himself. He probably was as fragile and unready as you were for the answer, but he owed you this –this and much more, because he had just taken and taken this whole time–. So his tone is honest when he answers with a gruff “anything.”

You take a moment, needing to take in another shaky breath, trying to find his eyes through the tears that blur out the vision of yours. And before you could regret even thinking about it, you talk again. “...Did I do something wrong?”

If Simon thought he knew what guilt and pain felt like, he had been proven wrong right this instance. His stomach churning and his chest feeling tight and hollow as he hears the way you blame yourself, the way you sound so uncertain and fragile. “No.” he states, firm.

You barely nod, lips trembling as you press them together to hold back a sob. Silence sits between the both of you once more, you try to blink the tears away but it only makes them fall faster. “T-then what happened?” you muttered, barely able to get the words out, swallowing thickly when your voice cracks.

He feels like he’s drowning, his chest burning with guilt as he sees the way you’re trying to stay strong and hold the tears back yet failing. He’s about to say it, about to tell you the whole truth. About to say how he’s fallen for you, how your soft smiles and soft touches make him feel like a new man. How your care and attention make him feel like he’s alive, how he’s Simon and not Ghost. He’s about to confess how much he loves you.

He’s so close to saying that what happened was him. That he was a bastard and a murderer, that he wasn’t who you thought he was –who he had tricked you into thinking he was– and he didn’t deserve anything from you. That he had been selfish this whole time and had been taking advantage of you. What happened was that you deserve much better than the ghost of a man he really was.

Instead he doesn’t say any of it, only the vaguest excuse starting to leave his lips, “it’s not you…” His words cut off when he sees your eyes close, your lips closing tightly and your shoulders shaking with a silent sob. Your head lowering to uselessly trying to hide it, the way his words sound –and are– a shit excuse, the way it just makes you feel that much more heartbroken.

He doesn’t dare try to come up with more excuses, instead ripping his eyes away from you, not able to handle the way you’re falling apart in front of him. He instead busies himself with looking around the room, checking if there’s anything you may be forgetting behind. “You have everything?” he asks, forcing himself to look at you again.

And you take a shaky breath, ignoring the way your chest tightens and your heart bleeds at the softer and more caring tone in his voice. You force yourself to ignore the way he sounds just like he did barely a few weeks ago, holding back the plea for him to rethink all of this that burns the back of your throat. Instead, “Should be… And if there’s something else, you can just throw it out.”

You don’t even look at him, eyes instead focused on the blurry sight of his black combat boots and the hardwood floors beneath you. And he hates it, he hates how quiet and weak your voice is, hates that you can’t hold his gaze. But most of all hates that he’s the one to cause all of this. In what he was trying to convince himself was an effort to spare the both of you, he delivers the last blow, “you should go.”

You don’t say anything, biting down on your lip probably hard enough to break the skin in a last ditch effort to hold back the sob that so desperately wants to leave you. You turn around, adjusting the pile of things you had retrieved from all around the flat in your arms to be able to reach for the handle.

Despite knowing it will break you, you look over your shoulder, red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes meeting his for the first time since the conversation started –and for what Simon knows will probably be the last time ever–. “Take care,” you murmur quietly, adjusting all the stuff crowding your hands once more. Without another word or another look back you pull the door open, closing it behind you just a moment later, leaving him alone in the silent flat.

Simon stays frozen for a moment, he feels like he’s outside of his own body when he sees all of it play out, eyes boring into the dark wood of his door once it’s closed. Your words seem to echo in his head, the way you still talk to him with so much softness and care after he had stomped your heart. He only manages to move when he hears the quiet click from across the hallway that signifies that you’re back in your place, away from him like you should’ve always been.

He takes his phone out, sending a message to one of the few numbers saved there, telling Price he needs to be back in the field. After, he goes to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of whiskey that could never be as bitter as he feels right now. His phone pings with Price’s reply, but he doesn’t look at it, nor does he get a glass or the bottle of whiskey.

Because instead, he stands frozen, seeing the dinner you had brought over, still sitting on his counter. And that’s when it really dawns on him, this is it, it’s over. You were out of his life, and all because he had been too much of a coward to admit the truth. Too much of a coward to admit that he loves you.

#x reader #cod x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #gender neutral reader #situationship!ghost #situationships #angst #simon riley angst #cod x you #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod modern warfare

394 notes · View notes

mayearies · 2 years ago

Text

✩ ARCADE

arcade date hc/blurb with miles g morales. genre: fluff n crack bonus . another bonus

warnings: n word usage (?) a/n: i saw someone say miles would dominate in shadow boxing they right for that ‼️

e42 miles’ whole reason for dragging you out here is ‘cause he loves you—and video games. so, why not combine his two favorite things into one singular date? pretty genius of him (not sarcasm).

he rides a motorcycle, so its obvious he’s into those racing games. like fast and furious: super bikes—which he would dominate against every single time. he’s got a smart mouth too.

“ha! gon’ keep tellin’ me i cant win against you?” “look back at the screen, ma.” “…nigga-“

e42 miles would basically win every game yall played. he would let you win some to not bum you out.

say you play air hockey or somethin’—he would absolutely destroy you (not intentionally) or let you win (intentionally if he feels pity, unintentionally if he’s just out of it for that single game).

someone comes inturrupting your date you say? well, uh oh for them.

if someone walked up to you and started hitting on you, good god you will not see them for the rest of your life. and if you do, it would be the image of him provoking the dude before he is dragged away towards the bathrooms. don’t get the wrong idea, though. 9 times outta 10 there will be blood in that stall unless they feel sincere about their mistake.

“miles? what happened to that guy who came hittin’ on me?” “oh y’know, the usual.”

he’s not fond of talking to strangers, and vise versa. but if someone were to walk up to him and start talking he wouldn’t mind (if its not to get towards his girl) that’s actually how he makes friends. it could also be how you make friends.

✩—SCENARIO!

“watch me cook this guy, ma.”

MILES and you had ran into another guy and his girl, also on an arcade date. coincidence? probably. the dude challenged him to a round of shadowboxing as you and his girl stood off to the sides watching them, bein’ their lil’ hype girls.

“that way. that way, that way-“

you never understood some of the things he engaged in. nonetheless, was supportive. you were dating after all. his girl, however, looked uninterested and impatient at her boyfriend.

MILES rubbed his hands together as he bit his lip.“that way. that way, that way. that way, that way, smile for the camera, nigga.”

covering his face is absolute shame, MILES snapped a photo of his face which was actually fuckin’ hilarious.

“this is why i can’t go nowhere wit him.” “girl, i hear you.”

you two would share some food at the bar and play back the photo he took. sent this to your homegirl n she bust out laughin’ too. then he took you to the back of the arcade to make out real fast, maybe. possibly.

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales blurbs #e42 miles #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles g morales #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x you

2K notes · View notes

chvoswxtch · 5 months ago

Note

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I am so in love with a really bad day. Like it’s an all time favorite, I’ve picked up my phone and specifically sought it out at least twenty or thirty times. Something about that particular flavor of angst, with Matt pushing you too far, just scratches an itch for me. At the end of a long day, usually an emotional day, it’s exactly what I need for a good hard cry. 💕♥️💕

Could I please get a thriller for it? Anything at all! (Though if you need inspiration, maybe the morning after?)

that makes my heart so happy 🥺 I remember being so nervous to write that one bc I wanted to get it right and find that balance and do it all respectfully and i'm so happy you love it and keep coming back to it

I ran with your idea of the morning after, and bc that one was so heavy and angsty, I made this one super light and fluffy, so you get the best of both worlds (*cue the hannah montana soundtrack*)

blurb below the cut

atonement starring matt murdock

Matt was awake, but he didn’t want to move. Not yet. The soft bare skin of your chest was warm against his cheek, your heartbeat was amplified, thumping steadily right under his ear, and your fingers were gently carding through his hair, your nails occasionally scratching at his scalp. He knew his body weight was probably crushing you laying on top of you like this, but you didn’t make any move to move him. You didn’t sound like you were struggling to breathe. And even if he did try to move, he couldn’t. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms were around his shoulders.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

He was able to block everything else out. All the noise from the outside, the voices of his neighbors, the buzz of electricity in the building, the rumble of the nearby subway station, all of it. Instead he focused on you. On the warmth of your soft skin, your scent intermingled with his, the ruffle of your fingers gliding through his messy hair, and one of your fingertips lightly tracing the raised skin of one of the scars on his back. It sent a tingle down his spine, and he nuzzled his face into your neck.

The action made you hug him tighter to your chest, and he could feel your lips pressing against his head before your gentle voice whispered in the silence.

“Hi.”

He let out a deep exhale through his nose, and his voice that was rough with sleep was low and quiet.

“Hi.”

You waited a moment before speaking again.

“How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that.”

You could already hear the self deprecation in his voice, so you moved your hand to tap your index finger against his nose, which made him scrunch it up. The way he reacted made you let out a soft laugh, and that sound made warmth spread throughout his body.

“I asked you first.”

Turning his head slightly, Matt’s sightless gaze became fixed in your general direction, and creases of confusion nestled between his brows.

“Did you just boop my nose?”

“And I’ll do it again.”

Even if he couldn’t sense the smile spreading across your lips, he could hear the lilt of it in your voice, and it caused an involuntary smile of his own. The sight of his tiny smile made you grin, and you cupped his face gently in your hands as you gazed at him.

“There you are.”

Your soft whisper eased some of his lingering guilt from last night, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting out another deep exhale as he melted into your touch, nuzzling his face into your palm and pressing a soft kiss to your wrist.

“You know, if you wanna make it up to me, I’ll accept offerings.”

Matt could hear the playful tone in your voice, and he let out a deep chuckle of amusement.

“Oh yeah? And what are these offerings that’ll buy my forgiveness?”

“Coffee is at the top of the list.”

“Of course it is. What else?”

Letting out a soft hum, you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Chocolate chip pancakes. With strawberries.”

Matt arched one of his dark brows as he blankly gazed in your direction, a faint smirk at the edge of his mouth.

“Anything else?”

“I think it would soften my emotional burden if you did all of this naked.”

Matt let out a snort and a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, which made you laugh in return. He dropped his head to press his forehead against your shoulder, and you could feel his body shake with laughter, which only made you laugh harder.

“C’mon, how many people can say they wake up to the Devil of Hell’s kitchen bringing them coffee and breakfast in bed, naked? I’m taking full advantage of this.”

Matt brushed his lips against yours with a grin, shaking his head.

“You’re not gonna make me throw the cowl on, are you?”

A wicked grin stretched across your lips as you looked up at him.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

#court's 5k followers celebration #court's 5k friends celebration #movie night at mine #matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock blurb #daredevil #daredevil blurb

95 notes · View notes

gunraekae · 4 months ago

Text

Roger with a quiet MC

Diana, the Huntress - Guillaume Seignac

>ikemen villains

>Roger Barel x reader

>a/n: I know all of my works are pretty self-indulgent but this is probably my most self-indulgent post so far. Still, I hope all my quiet girlies out there enjoy this little blurb. Thank you for checking me out and enjoy! <3

Thinking about how Roger would be perfect with a quiet MC. You always had a quiet voice growing up shy in your childhood but as your anxiety developed you silenced your voice even more. Anxious about others hating you and uncaring of what you had to say, you muted your voice and insulated your thoughts to protect yourself; never speaking up so others couldn’t hate you for the words you wish you could say. The few times you did speak out of obligation, your voice was squeaky and unrefined, vocal cords unused out of fear. Occasionally, some thoughts escaped your head in quiet whispers not meant to be heard by anyone — you remained unaffected because no one could decipher your words so this was never an issue… that is, until you joined Crown.

After negotiating for your life in exchange for a brief tenure as “Fairytale Keeper” for Crown, your even more reserved nature diminished into itself even further. Before you learned everyone’s abilities, you were sent on a mission with Elbie, Alfons, and Roger (the Snow White gang) to investigate a human trafficking ring under the guise of a shipping company. The three of you needed to act as Elbie’s entourage to inquire on the business. The man you met made some unsavoury comments on the higher “value” that certain women had and you couldn’t help the curses under your breath, “Death is too merciful for men like you, you deserve only to rot in hell.” Roger couldn’t help the startled chuckle at this comment. You’ve been shy, muted, and unreadable so Roger was charmed he could finally hear your thoughts. Of course, you were even more startled that he could hear what you said so your face was hot with shame. Roger wouldn’t hear any of your embarrassed apologies and instead leaned in to whisper (much to the jealousy of Elbie and Alfons) that no matter how hard you try to suppress your voice, he will always hear what you have to say.

Roger could confess that he selfishly liked being the only one to hear your voice sometimes. Although he knew it was better in the long-run for you to gain more confidence and finally speak your mind, it thrilled him that his Curse gave him way more of your personality than the other guys could even hope for. And he was certainly no Elbie but his own greed won him over whenever someone like Liam would have to beg and beg just to hear a word from you yet he had unlimited access to your voice all the time. Of course, he did help you slowly gain more confidence and grow more comfortable with the guys by either interpreting and repeating your words or shutting the guys up whenever you had something to say so they could all hear. A particular act you noticed was that he could tell during missions that you often shrunk into yourself so as not to hinder the operation; whenever they were stuck and you had an idea, Roger would tune into any word that left your lips (more so than usual at least) and repeat it out loud while crediting you.

Roger’s consideration, while coming from a place of fondness, doesn’t go without payment. He tends to take credit as the first man among Crown to truly get close to you, which he uses as his justification for whenever he wants to be affectionate, teasing, or protective. After particularly difficult missions, he and Alfons (sometimes Jude as well) will take you out to drink where they hope you’ll indulge them more of yourself without so much of your anxiety holding you back. Whenever your lips began to loosen, Alfons would use the excuse of “not hearing you well enough Miss MC” to slither next to you and intimately wrap his arm around your shoulder. Roger would always block him and claim the seat next to yours as it’s “his right” as your first man (Rio?). Another you-privilege Roger indulges in is holding an entirely private conversation with you in front of the others. Guys like Liam and Elbie will whine (one more elegantly than the other) over sitting close with you so they can get just a tiny glimpse of the you that you hide, but Roger can sit on the opposite end of the room and just converse normally. Additionally, with how quieter you tend to be compared to the others, Roger is always a little worried over how you’re doing throughout the day; he strives his listening abilities to hear your small footsteps throughout the castle, the rustle of your skirt when you move around your room, and his favourite: when you sing a little song under your breath when you think no one’s listening. He’s a little protective of you, so he gladly listens in on you whenever he can (and he’s glad he’s the one who can do that). So yes, unfortunately his ears are always “on” for you. With Roger you never have to worry about repeating what you say over and over, or speaking up because the other person can’t hear you, or even just holding back. He greedily consumes every sound coming from your lips, so it’s immensely comforting you finally have a faithful listener to the repressed yapper in you.

In short, Roger would be a dream to have around girls who tend to be shyer and have quiet voices. He’s always there to listen, tease, protect, and be with you. And don’t worry, he adores you and your quiet presence because the possessive and greedy man in him gets to be the only one for you in this way.

Bonus: It’s not explicitly stated but I feel that out of the other guys, Elbie also tends to have a quieter voice. He has such a soft tone that grows even gentler with you because he finds you so precious and as something to protect the first time he hears your voice. He understands the struggle of having a quieter voice but never had to feel silenced/overlooked because of his enormous aura or have to repeat what he said because everyone was already paying such rapt attention to him. In a way, he feels possessively protective of you (does that make sense?) because he’s the only other one to know your struggles but simultaneously doesn’t experience the hardships from it. So he takes on the pleasant burden (don’t worry he loves it) of being your voice whenever you don’t want to speak. After noticing (and admittedly growing jealous of) how Roger has an intimate bond with you, he’ll trail very close to you so he never misses what you say. You catch him just full on watching you sometimes, paying such close attention to your lips and whenever they move that you’re always warm in the face because of it. So if you’re a shy and quiet girl, it’s almost a 2-for-1 deal that you get two handsome guys hanging on to your every word!

#cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen villains x reader #ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil roger #ikevil elbert #ikemen villains roger #ikemen villains elbert #ikevil x reader #ikemen villains elbert x reader #ikemen villains roger x reader #ikevil elbert x reader #ikevil roger x reader

81 notes · View notes

gamesetattach · 3 months ago

Text

No Words

Jannik Sinner x Reader Blurb of Jannik's dynamic with his PR manager... he's not the most cooperative. Honestly, he straight up ghosts his social team. But reader makes all of that somewhat bearable... but he never really gives it, or her, much thought. Until... Rewatched "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" earlier and so the yellow dress scene was on my mind. I love a good formal-wear reveal, you know. Warnings include... reader in a dress, observations of reader's body (nothing specific, descriptive, or characteristic, and it's relatively brief!), basically Jannik eye-fucks reader

---

Jannik Sinner wasn’t a difficult client, exactly. He was always polite, professional, never outright dismissive of the many media obligations that came with his career. He never argued when you handed him a schedule packed with interviews or a list of deliverables for brand partnerships. He nodded along when you explained why a certain post or event was important, why a particular sponsor wanted more engagement.

But he could be slow to agree, sometimes a little reluctant. It wasn’t like he ever jumped at the chance to fulfill any PR duties—you often had to coax him to participate at all. And that was an understatement.

Painfully long amounts of time passed before he'd respond to your texts about social media. He’d take forever to approve posts or captions, to film the requested clips that you had to practically chase him down for. His messages were always short, efficient, and oh so polite—and they were anything but eager. It was obvious that this wasn’t an aspect of his lifestyle he wanted to do, it just happened to be another chore he understood to be a necessary evil.

That was the first thing you had learned to remind yourself when you took on the role of managing athletes’ social media and PR. They didn’t hate you, they hated your job.

And Jannik was no exception.

He had made it very clear from the beginning that this side of his career—the sponsorship shoots, the media requests, the perfectly curated Instagram posts—was not his priority.

"I just want to play tennis," he had said flatly, after you cut off his seventh take of a video meant to thank the dozens of guests that came to Nike’s most recent event just for him. He had to list each person by name, and he seemed to always stumble on the same few—he was fed up before you even started filming, if you were honest. You should’ve just been grateful he was sticking it out at all, some of your other clients weren’t quite so gracious.

"And I want you to play tennis," you had countered, before handing him his phone with a reminder to actually post something. “So let me manage the part of your career that exists outside the court, so you can focus even more on the game. Just—let’s just get through this. We’re so close, I promise.”

It had been like this since the start—a delicate balance between his reluctance and your persistence. He didn’t like the PR side of things, but he respected that you had a job to do. And despite the slow responses, despite the way he’d let your calls ring out more often than not, he still did what you asked.

“Jannik?” You said over the phone after he finally picked up, you’d tried him for days.

“...Yes?”

“I need you to write a caption for the series of photos I sent you the other day. It can be simple, I just want it to be from you.” You hadn’t bothered with pleasantries, cutting straight to the chase.

“I—” He started to speak before you heard the audio shift, the other end sounding like he moved the phone away from his ear to swipe through the photos. Probably for the first time, too, you thought to yourself.

You gave a moment for him to look through the handful of images, but after a minute of silence passed you rolled your eyes and spoke once more. Prompting him, “Jannik?”

“Yeah—still here.” You could picture the expression on his face, brows probably furrowed as he continued to stare down at his screen. “I don’t know what I should say, I—I have no words.”

“You have no words…”

“...No.” The smile in his voice was undeniable, you huffed a little to yourself knowing it was in response to your exasperation.

“Okay well—I’ll write out a couple options, and you pick the best one, okay?” You almost always ended up offering the same thing.

“You’re the best. Thank you.” And he really did sound sincere.

“—And Jannik.” You’d cut off his gratitude, worried he might quickly end the call and then escape you once more. “I’m going to send those options in literally a minute. One minute. So please, please respond as soon as I send it. We need to get the post out tonight.”

He hadn’t even tried to conceal his laughter at that, “Will do. You have my word.”

And he had stuck to it, much to your relief.

Because, though he never said it outright, you had come to understand one thing over time: he always did it because it was you asking. He listened to you, even if he didn’t like what it was that he had to do. And if you were being honest? It was hard not to let that go to your head.

Beneath the quiet irritation, the way he sighed when you asked him to redo a shot, the way he ghosted half of your messages but never fully ignored you—you liked him. Not in the abstract, professional dynamic way. It was a little more than that. It was in a way that made your stomach flip when he rolled his eyes but still did what you asked. In the way that made it infuriatingly difficult to separate your job from him.

The majority of your interactions with Jannik were based on professional pretense—it was the only reason either of you two ever corresponded. He’d never seen you outside of that lens.

When the opportunity did come, you’d leapt at the chance. You didn’t have to just be in the background of one of his tournaments or one of his appearances. You weren’t the voice over the phone or a text handling his media schedule.

For the first time, you could just come as you were. As yourself.

It was when you got to attend a formal event as a part of Jannik’s team, a lavish evening filled with sponsors, press—much like the kind of networking opportunities you usually had to force Jannik to attend. But, this one was to celebrate the supporting staff of athletes, honoring team's like Janniks. People who took on roles such as your own.

The rest of the group had reached long before, the coaches and the trainers being the main honorees. So that night, Jannik had shown up by himself. And so had you.

All dressed up and everything.

You didn’t quite know what to expect when you walked into the venue. But you felt him before you even saw it—his attention, locked onto you like a forehand down the line, unwavering and precise.

And when you met his gaze across the room, something shifted.

Jannik had always been reserved with you, and with the cameras. Controlled, rarely letting anything slip. He had mastered the art of restraint, of keeping things measured—his emotions, his words, his reactions; it was one of the few saving graces that actually ever aligned with your role's needs.

He was someone who could endure five-hour matches in blistering heat without showing so much as a crack, who could walk into press rooms and deflect questions with practiced ease. The kind of person who could tune out entire stadiums, silencing all external noise with nothing more than sheer force of will. But now?

Now, it was like he had forgotten how to breathe.

And he wasn’t just staring—he was stunned. Wholly and completely, unapologetically caught off guard.

His grip around his drink went slack, his fingers barely curled around the glass, his usual, effortless posture straightening to betray him. His body had frozen mid-motion, caught in the middle of some half-formed thought or conversation he no longer had the ability to process.

It was like every reaction of his was scripted—everything he did seemed too dramatic to be real. But you’d seen too many of his acting attempts to believe that he could have faked the way he’d looked at you. The way he’d felt.

He did an obvious double take, and his pulse seemed to both stop and race at the same time. His lips parted, practically gaping at you as his entire being seemed to suspend for a moment in time, his gaze tracing the length of you, unblinking.

It was like his brain was struggling to catch up to something his body had already registered.

And when his eyes finally lifted back to your face, there was something almost vulnerable behind them. Like seeing you like this had peeled a layer back, left him open in a way he didn’t know how to hide. His mouth opened, as if to say something, but nothing came. No sarcastic quip, no coolly measured greeting.

You had Jannik Sinner completely speechless...

And that only continued throughout the rest of the night.

His glass still sat untouched in his hand, his usual air of nonchalance nowhere to be found. His eyes dragged slowly over you every so often, taking in the drape of your dress, the dip of your shoulders, the small of your back. How you seemed to be even more yourself than usual, something about the way you carried yourself without the usual responsibility of your job taking the front seat.

It was like you couldn’t get rid of him—not that you wanted to.

You felt him watching you, eyes trailing on your every movement at nearly every part of the event. Like he couldn’t look away.

So, smirking to yourself, you had a thought—a feeling. It was like every begrudging moment between you, every reluctant task, every slow message of his… it had all been a slow build up to this.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders, hyperaware of the weight of his attention. It was heavy, thick in the distance between you, pulling at you even if you turned away. Because even when you weren’t looking towards him, you still felt it—his gaze on you, following the curve of your spine, the way the silk of your dress hugged against you with every step.

It wasn’t just that he was seeing you done up for the first time. It was you, outside of the job, outside of the role you played in his world, outside of every guarded interaction that had kept this from happening sooner. And, that fact...it got him. It really did.

He marveled at the fact that he hadn’t seen it before. That he hadn’t seen you, not really.

As you connected with the rest of the team, he lingered in place, sticking to himself for most of the night—eyes trained on you even as you spoke to those closest to him. He didn’t come up to you until the end of the event neared, and you couldn’t tell if it was nerves or if he just wanted the time to process the shift in all its gravity. Time to continue admiring you.

And when he finally made his way over to stand right by you, his shoulder sturdy and just slightly offset from yours, he easily pulled your attention from the surrounding chatter when he ducked his head down to your ear—

“No words—I have no words.”

---

Can't really claim that there's a lot of substance to this one. It's not so much love at first sight, as it is lust at second glance... Nothing wrong with a little, late realization though

Finally posted not too far off from my intended schedule time, for the first time in like 2 weeks!! A win... a win!

If you haven't already, check out yesterday's fic!! 'Tis one of my favs rn xx

#jannik sinner #jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner blurb #jannik sinner one-shot #jannik sinner fanart #jannik sinner smut #atp tour x reader #tennis #tennis fic #jannik sinner fluff #Jack Draper x reader #GameSetAttach #jannik sinner one shot #jannik sinner fic #sinner #forza jannik

76 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

At Least Twice a Day (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: language, mentions of smut, mention of injury

You loved having Goose and Carole stay with you and Bradley. His mom always taught you a new recipe, and you could tell how happy it made Bradley to spend time with them. Especially Goose.

The guys were out walking Tramp after dinner, and you were helping Carole make a cake in your kitchen as you kept pausing to look at your engagement ring which used to be hers.

"He'll take good care of you," Carole mused out loud as she cracked some eggs. "Not that you can't take care of yourself, of course. But he'll give you anything you need or want. That's just the way he loves you."

Her words made you feel gooey. "That's the way I love him, too."

Your future mother-in-law's beaming smile left you wishing Bradley would return from his walk so you could touch him. You just always wanted to be touching him. "Chocolate frosting?" Carole asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Yes. As long as Goose likes that."

She laughed and tossed her head back. "Goose has never meet a food he won't eat."

"Sounds exactly like Bradley."

Once the pretty cake was cooling and the frosting was ready to go on it, the front door opened, and Tramp bounded in ahead of the guys. "It smells good in here," Bradley murmured as he made a beeline to give you a hug. He kissed the top of your head as you snuggled your cheek against him. "Well this is a warm welcome."

"I missed you a little bit," you whispered. You made sure Carole and Goose looked distracted as you said, "You told me you'd make some more time for me all week. I want it real bad." You sent him a little pout just to reinforce things. It was hard to be as intimate as you liked when his parents were visiting.

His response sounded a little stern. "I know. I've been tired. And a little preoccupied. Don't act like you aren't getting it, Baby Girl." You pressed your lips together, because he'd actually taken the time to go down on you this morning before he got dressed. For almost thirty minutes. And it had been really good. "Now what smells so delicious?"

You patted his belly; he was still trying to get in shape again after his horrific accident during his last deployment a few months ago. "I don't think you should eat too much cake, okay. You told me to make sure you were making healthy food choices."

Bradley sighed and said, "If you make it, I'm going to want to eat it." He sounded a little snippy, and you knew it was because he loved his mom's recipes, but you'd stand firm.

"Just one small piece. I'm going to ice the cake, and we can all eat it tomorrow before your parents fly home to Virginia."

"Fine."

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

Bradley knew you were probably a tiny bit annoyed with him when you excused yourself early to take a shower and get ready for bed. But the cake looked so good, and he wanted to eat it even though he did tell you not to let him have too many sweets. His parents were on the couch watching a movie together when he changed into his gym clothes as he heard you get into the shower. Since he had his weight bench in the garage now, he should be using it every day.

When he walked into the living room on his way to the kitchen to make a protein shake, he felt two pairs of eyes on him. "What?" he asked, turning toward the couch. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Well..." Carole began, already cluing Bradley in to the fact that this would be an irritating conversation. "We couldn't help but notice that you got a little bit snippy with your fiancée earlier."

"Oh here we go," he muttered in response, running his hand through his hair. "How much did you hear?"

They shared a look before Carole asked, "Are you sure you're pleasing her in the bedroom?"

He froze in place and barked out an annoyed laugh. "We are not having this conversation. Absolutely not."

His dad put a hand on his mom's shoulder, but that didn't stop her. "Oh, yes, we are. We have always been very open about sex, Bradley. It's nothing to be ashamed of!"

Bradley looked at her bright blue eyes before glancing at his dad. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to talk about sex with his parents even though he was well into his thirties, it was more that he wasn't sure how to defend himself right now. "This conversation is not necessary. She was being dramatic."

Carole scoffed in response. "It's not dramatic when you're letting your partner know you need something, Bradley. She's going to be your wife!"

"Yeah," Bradley barked. "And she's already getting it at least twice a day most days!"

Goose choked on his sip of tea.

"Oh," Carole said softly, but she looked a lot calmer now as Bradley shook his head. "Well, that's good."

"Mmhmm," he hummed sarcastically with his hands planted on his hips. "I am fucking my fiancée regularly. She's plenty satisfied. She just likes being a brat. But thank you for your concern." He turned toward the kitchen, nearly forgetting what he was planning on doing in the first place. "Jesus," he grumbled as he grabbed his protein powder. "The fucking audacity."

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

When you woke up the next morning, Bradley was still sound asleep, so you made your way to the kitchen to start breakfast for the four of you. The coffee was brewing, and you were collecting ingredients for some pancake batter when you froze. Half of the cake was gone. "What the fuck?" you gasped, and that's when you saw Bradley walk in. "You ate the cake."

He frowned at you. "No, I didn't."

"You did!" you accused. "It's half eaten! You ate it out of spite!"

Bradley raised one eyebrow and asked, "Are you serious right now?"

You spun when you heard Goose clear his throat, and you turned to see that Carole couldn't even look you in the eye for some reason. "Good morning," she said as she reached for a mug. "Goose has something he needs to tell you."

"I ate the cake," he said. "It was delicious. I had one piece, and then I couldn't stop eating it. And then the next thing I knew, half of it was gone."

"Oh," you replied softly. "Well, that's okay. Why don't we just finish the cake for breakfast?"

"That sounds lovely," Carole replied, barely meeting your eyes.

You took a deep breath and turned toward Bradley. "I'm sorry, Roo. You can have a much cake as you want, I shouldn't have told you not to eat it."

He leaned in closer and whispered, "I'll have a little slice, Sweetheart. And I'm sorry I haven't been as attentive this week as I usually am. If you want me to fuck you nearly constantly, you know I will."

"Shhh," you hissed. "Your mom is already barely looking at me right now!"

Bradley laughed as his parents took the cake and coffee into the dining room. "That's because I told her you're a needy little thing who wants me balls deep inside her all the time."

"You did what?!"

#is it working for you?#roosterforme #b&bg #if you ask emily #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine

407 notes · View notes

giuseppe-yuki · 8 months ago

Text

👻 anais' halloween blurbos 👻

summary: it's well known that formula 1 is a cutthroat and and merciless sport. that's why, when murder and other shenanigans are legalized by the fia during race weekends to add a little drama in the paddock, all hell breaks loose. fans are going missing, reporters are being found dead, team employees start writhing in pain for no apparent reason. it seems like everyone would do most anything to win the sparkling championship trophy. luckily for a few select drivers, they have a little advantage with supernatural powers on their side.

or: supernatural!reader x driver mini oneshots (kind of purge!au (?))

warnings: mentions of death, gore, murder, hurting people, and curse words

total w.c.: 5k

picture credits from pinterest :)

I - fallen angel - yt22

II - vampire - op81

III - ghost - zg24

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

V - witch - gr63

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

a/n: a quick little project i meant to put out before halloween but i got a little sidetracked with my other fics... i'm going to pretend that it's still spooky season and totally NOT november :P

ALSO i feel obligated to say i don't condone doing anything in these blurbs irl- hurting people for any reason is NOT okay.

I - fallen angel - yt22

yuki always called you an angel. with your entrancing looks and ability to light up any room that you were in, it was hard not to compare you to an ethereal being. when you walk outside holding yuki's hand, you don't miss the stares of envious women and salicious men when the way the sun seemed to create a halo around your head, and air seemed to shimmer around you. little did he know, you were an angel. well, you used to be, until some petty arguments and pointed fingers resulted in you losing your wings and falling into the mortal world. now, you spent your life dedicated to tempt others to sin.

this worked perfectly, because while yuki focused on dominating on track and getting maximum points, you could use your full power and focus on other aspects- like making sure your boyfriend didn't get fucked over by unfair officials of the sport.

"do good out there, okay?" you say to your boyfriend, giving him a hug and a kiss on his recognizable japanese maple leaf helmet.

he smiles back at you, only visible through his flipped-up visor.

soon enough, it was lights out, and the drivers were sent on their way, throttling around the night track.

you settle in a padded chair that a starstruck engineer pulled up for you while monitoring the multiple tvs that lined the garage. most of them showed the live feeds of the drivers aggressively battling on track, using dirty racing to cut their way to the lead. you took pleasure in seeing yuki gain several positions as he overtook the battling fernando and liam. his engineers burst in rambunctious applause, but it quiets down rather quickly, notifying you that something was amiss.

you turn around to see the engineers crowded around a singular data computer. storming out of your chair, you snatch a nearby engineer's arm, roughly turning him around.

"can you tell me what just happened?" you ask with mock-sweetness, pointing your chin the whispering group of engineers that hid the computer screen from your eyes.

he gulps, knowing that you had the power to hurt him, especially with the fia's rules, and stammers out an answer, even if he knew you wouldn't like it.

"w-w-well," he stutters, "apparently, the stewards gave yuki a penalty for false start and forcing a driver off track. he'll have to- um- serve it when he comes in for a pitstop."

there's no way, you think, angrily. a false start and forcing a driver off track? what a load of bullshit. were they actually even watching the race? someone had to pay for this.

your heels clacked as you strutted through the linoleum floors of the fia building. the walls shook from the sheer forces of the cars on track barreling by, probably halfway through the race. stalking through the stale white hallways and up a flight of stairs, you finally find the room you were looking for- a dark wooden one that proudly held a silver sign that had the words 'stewards' carved into it neatly. you take a deep breath and turn on your full dazzling skills before knocking gently on the door.

an older gentleman, shirt marked with the telltale fia symbol and orange lanyard, opens the door. the perfect victim. he falters a bit when sees you, practically glowing, even in the hallway's dim lighting.

"c-c-can i help you miss?" he asks, face turning a bit red and hand instinctively reaching up to to loosen his collar. you tended to have that affect on people when you wanted to.

"yes," you drawl, purposely batting your long lashes at him. "i have a something to show you."

he shakes his head nervously, eyes glued to something that was definitely not your face. "no, no, no, i have a job to do-"

"oh, come on," you say, pouting, "it's just down the hall!"

you turn and strut down the hall, purposefully showing off your long legs, knowing that there was no doubt he would follow you out of the room. when you turn back around at the end of the hall, the steward, like you predicted, had naively followed you like a dog to a bone.

you don't even make sure that no one was close by before plunging a dagger straight into his heart. he slumps down on the ground, blood flowing out of the fatal wound. you blow him a kiss, before flouncing away back towards yuki's garage. that will teach the stewards a lesson before giving your boyfriend unfair penalties.

II - vampire - op81

when oscar met you, you seemed like a shy little thing with your timid personality and reserved smiles. he swore that you could do nothing wrong. i mean, how could you, when you were scared of such small things like sunburns or funnily enough, garlic bread? the first time he introduced you to the paddock as his girlfriend, he kept a good watch on you. if he didn't, he was so sure that they were going to eat you alive just to gain an advantage on him.

and that's also why, when he heard the news of yet another important paddock member going missing, he was so sure that it was you.

"fuck!" oscar shouts, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "i leave to do one five minute interview and she disappears!"

ignoring the stares of the reporters and cameramen who turn in surprise to his outburst, he yanks the clip-on mic off of his fireproofs and chucks it at his interviewer's head. if he found his girlfriend dead on the floor, bleeding out, it would be this stupid interviewer's fault.

he stalks off without a word, listing potential places that his girlfriend could possibly be taken in his head.

behind him, lando skips in the shadow of oscar's steps, grinning around the rubber straw of his water bottle that was clenched between his teeth.

"you better hurry, osc!" he trills, "you know what happened to ocon's little girlfriend when she went missing- she was found-"

oscar snaps back, interrupting lando. "yes i know, she was found at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster. you don't have to remind me."

it was a fresh memory in his head. ever since the fia allowed murder, during race weekends, all hell had broke loose. vip guests dropping dead, officials found with broken necks. whoever had murdered poor ocon's girlfriend had did a great deal of damage mentally on esteban, resulting in multiple poor finishes for him during race weekends. oscar never thought it would happen to himself.

frustrated, he roughly shoves lando away from him, pointing in the direction of the red bull garage.

"why don't you go blow up max's tyre like you did in australia or something!" he shouts, clearly annoyed by lando's constant pestering.

oscar doesn't wait for a response from lando before sprinting down to the mclaren motorhome. he checks each individual door to the bathroom, kitchen, and computer rooms when he finally stumbles upon a door with a blood red liquid seeping out the bottom. a muffled thud sounds from within, and he winces automatically.

he closes his eyes, praying that you died a peaceful death, before slowly turning the silver knob of the storage closet.

to his surprise, the the grey, pale, body of otmar szafnauer thumps out into the hallway, head rolling. the side of his neck is a bloody mess, probably the source of the pool of blood now seeping into the carpet and staining the edge of his racing shoes. there, stood primly behind otmar's repulsive body, is you, without a drop of blood on your pretty pink dress. you send oscar a bashful smile, revealing your fangs covered in the cherry-red liquid.

picking up your skirts, you step over the ex-alpine team manager and carefully close the door to the rather stuffy closet you were just in. he'll probably be found by the janitor in the next 24 hours or so.

you peck a quick kiss on oscar's cheek, unknowingly getting a bit of blood on his skin.

"i got rid of otmar for you, baby," you say quietly, fiddling with your fingers. "i hope you don't mind- i heard he gave you a hard time last year."

III - ghost - zg24

you were dead. no, literally. you passed away 5 years ago- beheaded after you fell off of a high building you suppose, going off of how you could pull your head off your neck if you wanted to, and the fact that you always had phantom back pains. it worked out quite beautifully that you were dead already when the fia announced its new rule.

as opposed to the girlfriends of several other select drivers that tended to play a rather active part in gaining the best advantage for their boyfriends on track, you tended to be a little more laid back. however, one thing you could never excuse was when people talked shit about your boyfriend, zhou.

zhou grips your hand tightly in his as you both walked down through the paddock. you loved how his fashionable clothes glittered brightly under the lit lamp posts that lined the walkway. the sun had set, which meant the night race was starting soon. the crowds of fans in the paddock had somehow gotten thicker, and the hired security that zhou had gotten struggled just the tiniest bit holding the horde back.

like you always do when you get nervous, you flicker in-between your solid and ghost form. your boyfriend clocks this right away, especially since that this meant his hand, which was holding firmly holding yours, passed right through you. he stops, looking at you concerningly.

"hey, you alright?" he asks, brows furrowed. "i can-" before he can finish his sentence, an apple flies out of the crowd of fans and bounces off his shoulder, landing at the place where your translucent foot is supposed to be.

the fan that threw it begins to shout obscene remarks directed at both you and zhou, before being dragged away by security.

an anger flares through you. who did she think she was? throwing an apple at your boyfriend's head? that had to count as a murder attempt.

you flicker more rapidly between your states, to which zhou takes your hand.

"hey, it's fine," your boyfriend says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "forget it- my security will deal with them. let's go to the garage, okay?"

you nod slowly, letting your boyfriend lead the way, but oh, you don't forget.

you wait, in your ghost form, in the metal supports of the grandstand. drifting aimlessly, you pop up here and there to scare the crap out of some random fan, when you finally spot your target. the fan from earlier tirelessly climbs the lengthy walk to the grandstands. she's decked out in alpine merch, which makes you scoff. why criticize zhou's team when the very team she was rooting for wasn't doing so well either?

you watch as she settles herself at the very top seat of the grandstand, waving her little alpine flag. what a pity. if only she wasn't so rude. when the cars roar around the corner and she stands up to cheer, it isn't hard for you to reach out your hands and push. a look of recognition registers in her face before she falls backwards off of the high-up stands. she screams, but who hears her over the loud engines as they make their way around the turn? except you, of course. she lands on the ground with a sick splat, likely breaking her back and neck the way you did when you died. you float for a moment over the carnage before floating away to your rightful spot in zhou's garage. serves her right, you suppose.

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

the second pierre found out about your special "ability," he didn't hesitate to take advantage of it. sending you to spy on the other team's cars? check. going to pester the invasive reporters who only cared about spreading yet another rumor? check. monitoring around him to make sure there wasn't any people trying to attack him in the paddock? check.

you didn't mind of course- anything to help your boyfriend one step closer to his end goal. you hated seeing him coming home, again and again, dejected over the progress he's made, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he raced.

today, a night race, gave you an opportunity to give your boyfriend another chance at points. with the sky being pitch black, it made it easier to navigate around without being seen.

in the garage, under the harsh incandescent lights, engineers and alpine employees mill around, checking data and making any final adjustments to the car. before long, pierre gets the green lights to drive up to the starting spots on the track. just prior to pulling on his helmet and climbing into his shitbox of a car, he pulls you close.

"remember what we talked about, okay?" he whispers into your ear, playing it off as a tight hug.

you nod, pressing a kiss to his freshly-shaven jaw.

"of course, baby," you respond earnestly.

when the car rumbles awake and your boyfriend steers the car towards the starting grid postions, you take off running as well. taking a flying leap behind the car, you shift into your bat form and fly up, up, up, into the rapidly darkening sky.

you sit patiently on a tree branch near the track, watching carefully with your sensitive night vision. like you planned, when you spot the telltale black carbon-fiber and vibrant red bull car pull in towards the pitlanes, you dive bomb down back towards the garages. it takes a second, maybe even quicker, to find the engineers poised with the fresh tyres ready for max verstappen's pretty little rb20. you don't hesitate to sink your pointy teeth into their unprotected necks, one by one. the venom in your saliva works quick, and by the time max pulls into his pitstop spot, his pit crew all lay on the ground, incapacitated.

huh, that worked suprisingly well, you think, soaring away from the crime scene. maybe you should try that again in the next prix.

V - witch - gr63

with the fia implementing the barbarous rules at every prix at every calendar, you would think people would be more scared to come. however, it seemed like the audience doubled, if not tripled ever since the rule was announced. something about 'the thrill of it,' lewis had said when you asked him. so, like the crowds of fans lingering in the fanzones, the vips and sponsors visiting the paddock club increased significantly, eager to get a look at the track action and drama between drivers like it was some drama movie.

so, the only thing that made sense to do was to profit off of it, of course. with your magic and brewing pot at hand, you could do most anything to the pompous rich pricks who wanted nothing more than an in to the thrilling secrets of the bloodthirsty sport of formula 1.

"what are you wearing tonight, darling?" the vip asks, flaunting her massive diamond ring in your peripheral vision, obviously fishing for complements. it shined tauntingly in the colored overhead lights at the exclusive paddock club event. jazzy music and the clinking of glasses drown out the pretentious conversations of yet another pair of billionaires talking about their newest private jet acquisition or supercar purchase.

you fake a half-hearted smile at her, smoothing down your own outfit.

"i'm not really sure. i just pulled it out of my closet, i suppose."

failing to get a proper response from you, she smooths down her own glittering dress haughtily and brushes her carefully styled hair behind her ears.

"well, i'm wearing all ysl. the heels themselves cost at least 1.3k!" she exclaims, pointing to the rather painful-looking heels holding up her feet.

just then, your boyfriend appears next to you, lips wide in a smile.

"hello, darling," he says, handing you a drink from the bar. it's a small glass of margarita, coincidentally matching the one in the pompous vip's hand.

"it's not poisoned, i promise," he says to you, making you roll your eyes. the vip, hearing this, laughs.

"so exciting, isn't it? with all the fia's rules, i can't wait to finally see some more drama on track tomorrow," she says giddily, as if george wasn't in grave danger every day, on track and in the paddock because of people like her. dropping her voice down to a scandalous whisper, she continues, "i heard, some fan fell- or was pushed off the grandstands last night!" she giggles, waving her hand. "honestly though, i would probably jump too, if i had to sit in those grimy seats."

you and george both exchange looks of disgust, but she doesn't catch it as a well-dressed gentleman walks up with a grin, giving her a polite hug.

"ah! ricca, how nice to see you again! i haven't seen you since- what, our little outing to bali a month ago? wanted a little bit of racing action now huh?" he asks, swishing his whiskey on the rocks. he turns after finishing his sentence, as if just realizing you and your boyfriend's presence. his gives the both of you a demeaning look, as if you were the ones butting into the conversation instead of him. however, after a beat, his eyes grow wide, and it is obvious when it clicks in his brain where he has seen george.

"oh my!" he proclaims, clutching his chest. "you're that- that racing driver! what's your name again? lando norrin? ferdinand alonso?"

that really said a lot about the reason these socialites were here. who the fuck was ferdinand?

your boyfriend, like the kind-hearted person he was, pastes on a smile and gently corrects the man.

"er- no, sir. i'm george russell- driver for mercedes."

"as i thought," he states with no shame. he then loudly clinks his drink with the young lady, ricca's, glass, and they both down their respective liquids.

you literally could not take it anymore.

"let me take those onto the bar for you," you offer helpfully to the affluent pair. "another whiskey and margarita?"

they have the decency to thank you tipsily before shoving the empty glasses in your hand. you turn back to george, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"i'll be right back," you whisper.

squeezing through the crush of the crowd, you station yourself in an mostly empty table in the corner of the room placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window. the empty glasses in your hand clink when you set it on the table, the last dregs of the drinks swirling at the bottom of the glasses. a quick wave of your hand summons fresh ice cubes in each glass, and a practiced flick of your middle finger and thumb sends a stream of margarita and whiskey out of thin air into its respective glasses. from your pocket, you retrieve a vial of silver liquid that you brewed just about every grand prix. with a hint of nightshade, wings of a spanish fly, and ground up pearls, it made the drinker do whatever you wanted, really. after carefully pouring half into each drink, you throw the empty vial into the air, where it is promptly teleported to your vial cabinet back in george's driver room.

perfect.

before heading back, you take one last look through the glass that presented the night sky and darkened track below. the track still had streaks of black from the burnt rubber from the race only a few hours ago.

it was a wonderful sport really. it was a shame that implemented these barbaric rules that forced your hand. but if that's what you had to do for george, then you would do it.

it didn't take very long for the potion to take effect. you could tell from their slurred speech and slow movements that one could pass off as being drunk.

deciding to waste no time, you pull out your quill pen and paper out of a hidden pocket in your dress. it levitates in the air, visible to only you.

with a nod to george, you both go through the usual spiel- bank account numbers? passwords? credit card numbers?

the vips list off the information as if it is public knowledge, unknowingly allowing your quill to copy the numbers and sensitive information into your notebook.

when you are satisfied, you slip the notebook back into your pocket.

"alright, i think we're done here, georgie," you say to your boyfriend, ignoring the two figures that sway, silent, next to the two of you.

george pouts.

"aww, i was really having fun with that!" he whines.

"well," you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "do you want to stay at this god-forsaken place where you might be stabbed by "ferdinand" alonso for no reason or do you want to go home to our comfy flat?"

he shrugs.

"i guess you have a point," he says unhappily.

taking his hand, you lead him out of the still-packed event, but not before slipping another vial of blood-red liquid into their drinks- mind-wiping serum that worked perfectly every single time, except the fact that it also had a tiny side effect of excruciating pain that lasted a few hours.

eh, they deserved it for not even knowing your boyfriend's name.

tomorrow- if they even survived- they would wake up to see their bank accounts drained. you suppose you should send them a thank-you letter next time for single-handedly sponsoring the next merc upgrades, even if they didn't know it.

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

at this point in time, you didn't care anymore. you dared one person- a fan, an official, or opposing team member to try again to break into carlos' driver room. they never seemed to learn their lesson of how loyal and protective you were of your boyfriend. one bite with your teeth are sure to dismember an arm and one swipe of your paw could brake even the most sturdy tire drills, as demonstrated with the last haas mechanic that tried in vain to murder carlos.

it might not seem like it, the way you were curled in carlos' arms on his couch. you practically had your face buried in his red branded hoodie, half-asleep, while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. it's so soft and comfy, you can't help let out a soft snore as you drift off.

carlos laughs, chest rumbling, patting your head with his free hand. "i thought you were supposed to be on guard, protecting me, mi amor!"

opening your eyes a tiny bit, you pull yourself even closer to carlos, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"i am on alert," you defend, but it doesn't help your case the way your voice comes out muffled from being pressed against his hoodie. "i am always list-"

footsteps.

you hear a pair of scuffled footsteps from the hallway outside of carlos' door, thanks to your exceptional hearing. it slowly drags closer and closer to the only door out of the room, a slow patter of sneaker on pavement that is only audible to you.

without wasting a second, you leap up off the couch and shift into your hellhound form, baring your sharp teeth towards the door, poised, ready to attack whatever poor soul that had decided had your boyfriend was an easy target.

behind you, carlos slides off the couch slowly, recognizing something was wrong.

a knock sounds on the door, making him flinch and eliciting a warning growl from you. however, when both you and carlos don't move an inch toward the entryway, the door slowly slides open.

you muster up all the power you have to leap straight at the attacker, making sure to aim for the neck. but before you can pounce and go for the kill, carlos roughly yanks you back by the scruff of your neck.

"woahwoahwoah," he says to you, pushing your foaming mouth away from the cowering man in the doorway. "it's fine- it's okay!"

you snap at the man once, making sure to purposely show off your canines, but back off a little into the room. if carlos said the man was safe, you wouldn't go against his words.

carlos scratches his head, briefly apologizing to what you realize was his head race engineer, riccardo adami, explaining the precautions he had to take in light of the fia's new rules.

riccardo laughs nervously, but proceeds to let carlos know that he is wanted in the media pen.

carlos holds your hand in his when you stroll down the lighted walkways of the paddock. you flounce your way past the plush couches next to the walkway and the little cafe/bar that served absolutely bomb coffee and cocktails. honestly, you missed the times before the fia's stupid fucking rule where you could drink cocktails with alex's girlfriend or gossip with yuki's girlfriend without fearing that they would poison your drinks or strangle you behind the mclaren hospitality just to help their boyfriends. you guess you still could if you really wanted to, though. maybe you'll do the poisoning and strangling if really needed.

lost in thought, you miss the fake smile the interviewer gives you before dragging your boyfriend off into the media pen.

throwing yourself onto the said couches from before, you convince yourself that he'd probably be fine, but you make sure to keep an eye out and train yourself to listen to any concerning sounds within all the chatter and crowds.

to your surprise, the interview ends quite early, and you have hardly taken a sip of your iced coffee (even though it was, like, 8pm a the track) before carlos storms out of the media pen.

"you okay?" you ask your boyfriend concerningly as you take another swig of the still-full iced coffee in your hand.

carlos huffs angrily, running a hand through his hair, before grasping your free hand to lead you back to his driver's room.

"it's fine, let's just go," he says dismissively, straight-up dragging you behind him.

you pull him to stop with your strength, and glare at him with your arms crossed.

"no! carlos sainz, you tell me what happened in there," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. "well, that stupid interviewer just kept on asking me questions about my thoughts on the missing otmar, dead steward, the fan "falling" from the stands, and all that bullshit that i said didn't want to talk about. i told her i wanted to talk about the race, but then she just responded with a question about my reaction to max's pit crew being injected with some type of venom. i was so done at that point, i just walked out."

you frown. that woman sure sounded like a bitch. honing in your hearing to find the woman through the noise in the media pen, you hear what you assume to be the interviewer mention carlos' name.

"...no, and like i felt like he was so hard to work with," she laughs.

perhaps she was talking to a friend in the media pen?

"...yeah, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions- like what am i going to put in my article? nothing?" she says incredulously. "honestly," she continues, "i hope he dies next on the grid, so it'll make it easier for the next poor reporter who has do an article on him, because then, she won't have to go through the misery of interviewing him!"

a symphony of giggles from a group follow her sentence, a few muttering their agreement.

you turn back to carlos, purposely blocking off the noise of the media pen in your ear, and give him a genuine smile. pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, you comfort him, "i'm sorry that happened to you, baby. i'm sure it won't happen again- ever."

true to your word, you wait until carlos is proccupied with arguing with charles in the hospitality about one of the controversial on-track battles that took place earlier in the day when you make your move.

the sky is dark, throughly littered with sparkling diamonds, when you pad through the mostly-empty paddock towards the media pen. several fans and officials, seeing your demonic form, scamper out of the way in an effort to avoid your wrath.

you spot your target with your sharp eyesight immediately, walking wobbly in her high heels with a clipboard in one hand. several of her reporter friends huddle next to her, their laughs echoing through the darkened paddock.

time to enact your plan.

stopping a meter behind them, you use your sharp claws to draw a circle on the ground. with three taps of your paw and a breath of fire into the middle, the pavement slides away to reveal a portal into a fiery pit. you're not too sure where it leads, but you don't really plan on finding out either.

silently scampering over to the group, you clamp your jaws down the legs of one of the people that you heard agreeing with the interviewer. you ignore the group's screams before roughly dragging the woman towards the pit. she falls, and it's not long before her yells are covered up in the rumble of the flames.

even when the group scatters in different ways, it doesn't take long with your supernatural speed to catch up to them and drag each person into the pit. you purposely save the main interviewer for last.

when she lies at the edge of the pit, arm bleeding profusely from the wounds from your teeth, you shift back into your human form.

"don't fucking talk shit about my boyfriend ever again," you snarl.

with a shove from your arm, she falls backwards into the deep fire pit with the rest of her "friends."

if carlos was hard to work with, you bet whatever demons down there were so much more harder to work with. oh well, that was her problem.

92 notes · View notes