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theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

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The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.

The reply came faster than you expected.

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning.

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.

He missed you.

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.

AFTER THE PREMIERE

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”

“What?”

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”

AT THE AIRPORT

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.

The response was almost immediate:

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x ofc #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #wicked #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal masterlist #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut

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chantersboard · 2 days ago

Text

Perfection

Word Count: 3.1 K. Joel Miller x f!reader. You are a server at an event where Joel is the client and you make a mistake that needs fixing aka Joel fucks your face because you fucked up.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, AU, oral male receiving, deepthroating/face fucking, swallowing, dubcon (power imbalance, reader works for Joel), reader has hair that can be pulled, orgasm denial

a/n: is this even a Joel Miller fic at this point or is it just straight up a Pedro Pascal fic? idk because this fic was 100% inspired by the Fantastic Four trailer and how goddamn neat and pressed he looks in one frame and then a stressed mess in another. That astronaut image is DOING things to me. so here's pedro with a southern accent I guess lmao. this is the meanest I've ever written Joel. I can't do this I need my soft sweet man back.

Enjoy!

#chantersboardwritessometimes for other work (I will make a masterlist one of these days... maybe)

Perfection

The staff had been warned: be on your best behavior; tonight’s host was a perfectionist. The tablecloths were steamed twice and the cutlery was washed and dried by hand. The fresh flowers in the centerpieces were measured and cut to be the exact same length. New curtains were flown in from France and crystal flutes were flown in from Italy. Every handrail and doorknob and bathroom faucet was polished until it shone.

No detail was overlooked for this event and you could tell as you walked through the room. You have been a server for almost a year now yet you’ve never seen a gala as polished as this one. Your white dress shirt and black pencil skirt are stiff with starch—a must from the host—as you balance a tray of champagne, smiling politely at whoever picks up a bubbling glass by the stem. It’s not long until your tray is empty and you make your way to the kitchen.

When you push through the swinging doors you find some of the kitchen crew crowding the entrance.

“Did you see him?” one of them asks.

Another one answers, “Guy with the red and gold pocket square and the salt and pepper beard? Yeah, I saw him.”

“Joel Miller,” someone says with ire. “He’s the reason we’re putting in all these extra hours.”

They continue to complain while someone loads your tray with new glasses. He made the chef redo several dishes. He said the napkins weren’t folded correctly. He sent a server home because their clothes weren’t pressed enough. He told someone in the quartet their instrument was out of tune.

The outlandish complaints continue and a chill creeps up your spine. The host sounds absolutely horrible. You’ve worked events with bridezillas and micromanagers and clients straight from hell but this guy takes the cake. You make a mental note to stay out of his way. Better safe than sorry.

You grab the tray of Italian flutes full of chilled champagne and begin to head back to the floor. Just as you’re turning the corner someone inside the kitchen calls for you. You turn your head, just for a moment, looking to see who needs you, when you slam into someone.

The imported glasses wobble and fall onto the tray and the golden liquid splashes in every direction. You watch a shiny flute tumble to the floor and explode into a million glittering shards.

“Shit,” you mumble. “I’m sorr—”

Your apology is caught in your throat when you finally look up. You recognize the red and gold pocket square first, then the salt and pepper beard. Yes, it would be just your luck to spill champagne all over the host Joel Miller.

His hair is perfectly styled, no strand is out of place. The graying temples are slicked back and you wouldn’t be surprised if each individual hair was cut to line up just so. His facial hair is also trimmed neatly and it shows off his strong jaw. Manicured eyebrows sit above intense brown eyes. He is a handsome man, there’s no doubt about that.

His suit fits him well, despite his stature. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. You can tell he works out in some capacity. His jacket and shirt would have needed to be tailored to fit around his muscles.

The same jacket and shirt currently soaked in champagne. Your eyes widen in fear. What do you do? What do you say?

“S-sir. I am so, so sorry.” You can feel the cold, expensive liquid wet on your chest. It has turned your white blouse sheer and it does little to hide that your nipples are hardening from the sudden change in temperature.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he says and you are surprised to hear a deep southern accent.

“I-I know,” you stammer, trying to balance the tray of toppled glasses so that no more champagne spills over. “Sir, Mr. Miller, again, I really do apologize. There is a staff bathroom right down this hall. Please, let me help you.”

Joel takes in the sight of you. Your hands shake the tray as you look up at him. You wait to be yelled at, wait to feel the wrath of this perfectionist, but instead he licks his lips. His eyes lower, lingering to where your shirt is most sheer, showing every detail of your pebbled nipples. His scrutiny makes your knees wobble.

You chew on your bottom lip and Joel’s attention snaps to your mouth. He watches your lips for what feels like an eternity before he takes the tray from you. He lowers and leaves it on the floor. When he rises again you catch a whiff of his cologne. He even smells handsome.

“You can’t even manage to hold a tray,” he says. His voice is leveled but you can still feel the anger beneath it. “So how can you help me?”

You open your mouth to say something but then promptly close it. You’re not really sure, you realize. It’s not like you have a spare suit tucked away somewhere. With your hands now free you wring them nervously. This is it. He’s going to send you home. He’s going to get you fired and then the kitchen staff will have more gossip to whisper about.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Please, Mr. Miller, I really need to work the rest of this shift. I need this job. I’ll do anything to make it right. Please.”

He looks at you a long time again before something sinister flashes in his eyes. He brings a hand to your chin and swipes his thumb across your lips. The way he watches you as his finger plays with your lips sends a rush of heat between your legs.

“You’ll do anythin’?” He asks and he forces his thumb through your lips and into your mouth.

For a moment you’re surprised at his sudden intrusion. He doesn’t even know your name, yet his finger is currently rubbing against your tongue. You close your lips around him and gently suck his digit. You understand now. He’s not just a perfectionist. He’s a man that knows what he wants and how he wants it and isn’t afraid to take it.

And if it means keeping your job you’ll let him take whatever he wants.

You nod your head and Joel abruptly pulls his finger out of your mouth. He wipes his finger against the collar of your shirt.

“Well, go on then. Lead the way before you do something else stupid.”

—————

The staff bathroom isn’t spectacular. It’s a tiny room that houses a toilet and a sink. An empty mop bucket rests in the corner where someone scribbled F u C k on the wall. The room smells like cheap solid air freshener and almond hand soap.

The door hasn’t even fully closed behind Joel when he starts shrugging out of his jacket. He throws the garment on top of the bucket and you wince when you see just how soaked his clothes are.

“I should have you fired,” he says as he continues to undress, thumbing through the buttons on his shirt. “You’re not very good at your job.”

“I know.” You lean against the sink in the tight space. “I was careless. I’m sorry.”

His shirt hangs open and all that conceals his body is a thin undershirt. You grip the edge of the sink wanting to press your fingers into his chest.

His shirt slips off his shoulders and he chucks it with the jacket. “Look at you.” He touches your hip and drags his hand up your body, over your wet clothes, until he cups one of your breasts. “Your uniform is filthy. It’s not meeting the dress code.”

His fingers find the tip of your nipple and he pinches, eliciting a whimper from you. He grunts. “It’s disgusting. Take it off.”

He steps back so he can watch as you undo the buttons on your blouse. You peel your shirt off and reach behind you to pull down the zipper of your skirt. You allow your clothes to fall to the floor and you notice Joel’s cock hardening in his dress pants.

You nervously stand there in your underwear while Joel palms himself through his pants. “All of it,” he demands.

You nod before unclasping your bra and adding it to the pile on the floor. Joel is watching you intently, the large bulge in his pants pressing dangerously against his clothes. You pull down your panties and let them puddle at your feet.

You cross your arms against yourself. Joel is still mostly clothed and the contrast makes you feel shy and indecent. His eyes rake over your body, enjoying your nudity, enjoying your embarrassment. He likes that you’re uncomfortable and that realization turns you on. He has power over you and you desperately want him to take it.

Joel lowers the zipper on his pants and reaches inside and frees himself. A gasp slips past your lips when you see how incredibly large he is. Joel wraps his fingers around his cock and pumps himself. Even in his large hands his dick looks unbelievable.

“You like what you see?” He continues to pump his dick and you stare at it in awe. He laughs dryly when you don’t answer. “Get on your knees.”

You hesitate. You want to protest, to explain that whatever he has planned with that huge thing, it won’t fit. But then he steps close and his free hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you down, forcing your legs to fold under you. Your knees press into the cold tile.

He pulls on your hair so you’re looking up, past his stiff member, and at him. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. Understand?” He shakes the hand wrapped in your hair and makes you nod. “Perfect.”

Joel brings his cock to your lips. “Kiss it.” He demands, and you do as you’re told.

“Lick it.” You stick your tongue out and lick the head of his cock, tasting the salty precum already beading there. Joel inhales sharply when you lick him again, running your tongue along the length of him.

Joel tightens his grasp on your hair and the pain translates to pleasure between your legs.

“You’re gonna suck my cock now.” For the second time he pushes a part of himself past your lips and into your mouth. Almost immediately your mouth is full of him. You loosen your jaw and allow him to push further into your wet hole. When you think he can’t fit anymore he pushes even further and you choke and sputter around him.

He yanks your hair and slips out of your mouth a little. “If you don’t do this right I’ll be forced to fuck your mouth.” You look up at him with wide eyes. “Do you want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

“Nuh-uh,” you mumble against him.

“Then suck me until I come.”

You take a short breath and hollow your cheeks around his cock. You begin to bob your head, pushing and pulling his dick through your lips. You suck on him, tasting his skin as his cockhead drags across your tongue.

You start to get comfortable with the size of him, taking more of his shaft into your mouth with each stroke. You press your tongue against him as you draw back and slurp him in as you push forward. You've got a momentum going and Joel rewards you with a moan.

The sound travels through his body, into your mouth, and settles at your core. He’s in your mouth but you want him in your pussy. You want him to fuck you against the sink. You want him to tell you how useless you are at your job while he fucks you senseless.

But his hand remains tangled in your hair, binding you to this position, so you continue to suck. He moans again when his dick nudges the back of your throat. Hearing him satisfied turns you on further and you bring your hand between your legs. You swipe your fingers up your slit, gathering your arousal, and rub your clit. You hum in relief as you grind your hips against your fingers.

Joel pulls your hair again, hard, and his dick pops out your mouth. “Did I say you can touch yourself?” His free hand squeezes the sides of your face and makes your lips pucker. “This is all you’re allowed to do.” He digs his fingers into your face for emphasis.

His hand releases your face so he can return his cock back into your mouth. He gently nudges himself through your lips, pushing until he touches the back of your throat. Then, he clasps the back of your neck into a strong hold.

“Since all you seem to do is make dumb decisions I’m gonna fuck your face and teach you a lesson.”

You panic, afraid of the size and girth of him plowing into your mouth. You try to lean back but the hold on your neck and hair keeps his cock firmly in your mouth.

He pulls his hips back and stares at you as he snaps his hips forward. “Don’t fight it.” He steadily picks up his pace. “Keep that mouth wet and open for me, baby.” In. Out. In. Out. “I want you to choke on it.”

His fingers tighten in your hair as he begins to move your head to meet his thrusts. He fucks your mouth hard and fast, pushing his cock into you until it won’t go any further. You do your best to relax and loosen your jaw while he uses you but he’s just too large. Your lips are stretched wide around him as he drills into you.

Your face is a mess. Drool falls down your chin and tears start to well in your eyes. Your throat has started to burn but you don’t want him to stop. You’re enjoying the pull on your scalp and the assault in your mouth. You want him to keep using you. You want someone outside the door to hear his moans. You want to touch yourself, you want to get off with the taste of his cock in your mouth, and knowing you can’t only makes you more aroused.

The wet sound of his hard dick pushing in and out of your mouth fills the room. He’s cursing under his breath watching himself disappear behind your lips. He pumps harder when you don’t expect and you gag around him. Tears freely fall down your face as you try to gain your composure.

“That’s it. Breathe through it. It’s okay to choke on it.” His hips stutter. “Fuck. You take my cock so well. Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby. You like my big cock in your mouth?”

You hum in reply, honestly loving every moment of this. His thrusts are coming faster now and his breathing is heavy. His once perfectly coiffed hair now falls over his face while he looks down at you. His pleasure is apparent in every inch of his face. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come in your mouth. And you’re gonna swallow all of it.”

Joel’s cock continues to piston in and out of your mouth while he chases his orgasm. You can feel him growing more tense as his fingers dig into your neck. He shoves himself past your lips desperately, and then finally, his pleasure reaches the peak, and he comes.

He’s cursing as he pulls you close, shoving himself into your throat until your nose is pressed against him. His cock twitches against your tongue and his cum fills your mouth. You can barely breathe with your mouth so full and your nose closed against his body.

You love every moment of it. You love the power he has over you, the feeling of his cock jumping in your mouth in time to his gasps of air, the thickness of his cum, the sting on your scalp and the ache in your knees.

Once his breathing has slowed and his body has relaxed he loosens his hold on your head. You pull back, slipping his softening cock out of your mouth. You look up at him with your mouth open wide, your tongue cupping his cum. Joel watches you bring your lips together and swallow his release. You bring a finger to the corner of your lips and push any remaining cum into your mouth and lick your tips clean.

Joel smiles, satisfied with your performance, and extends a hand to help you up from the floor. Your knees wobble as you straighten and Joel pulls you in close, wrapping his arms around your waist to balance you. You breathe in the scent of him, his expensive cologne and his cum still coating your lips.

Joel’s hand moves from your waist, trailing across your body and down between your legs. He inhales deeply when his fingers slip into your slit and finds it soaking with your arousal.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” Joel says as he pulls a finger up and begins circling your clit. “That might’a been the best head I’ve ever gotten.”

You spread your legs a bit and allow Joel to continue rubbing your clit. You’ve been so turned on this whole time it won’t take long for you to come.

Joel leans down and whispers into your ear. “You should quit your job and become a professional cocksucker.” His finger continues circling your bud, bringing you close to orgasm. “At least you’re actually good at that.”

You grab a fistful of Joel’s undershirt as the feeling in your core builds. Just as your body begins to tense, just as you finally get to come, Joel removes his hand from between your legs, your release denied.

You whine. You actually whine and watch him as he picks up his shirt and jacket. Joel smiles as he looks at you, arousal and confusion etched into your face.

“Did you forget this was a punishment?” he asks, draping his ruined jacket over his shoulder. “Do not touch yourself. You are not allowed to come. Put your uniform back on and learn how to carry a tray.”

Joel wraps his fingers around the doorknob and begins to head back out. You need to stop him, you need him to know you’ve never felt as sexy as you did in this small bathroom.

“Wait, Mr. Miller,” you say, not even sure what your next words will be.

Joel stops and looks over your naked body once more.

“Go the rest of the night without incident,” Joel says as his eyes linger on your lips, “be perfect and I might shove my cock into your wet pussy as a reward.”

You simply nod to acknowledge what he’s said.

If he wants perfection, you think as you plan how to work the rest of the night at Joel’s standards, I will give him perfection.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller one shot #chantersboardwritessometimes

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erinwantstowrite · 10 days ago

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opinions on the new fantastic four trailer

RAHHHHHHHHH IM EXCITED!!! we so need superhero movies right now,,,,

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traincat · 9 days ago

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I know you've probably got dozens of other asks about this exact topic, but I'm gonna ask anyway.

What did you think of the new Fantastic Four trailer?

you're actually the first lol. uh, mixed feelings! I like the retro look of it. I'm still not really sold on most of the casting, but it's hard to judge off a two minute trailer, so I'm trying to keep an open mind. I did really like the shot of Ben looking at his reflection in the window, that felt properly Kirby/Lee, and Johnny falling like the damsel he is was intriguing. (I don't love the hair but at least he's blond.) HERBIE was there! and classic Galactus. so I was pleased about those things.

what I didn't like was that they didn't go all in on Ben's Lower East Side accent, which just feels, hm, a little avoidant to me? and obviously Sue's hair looks incredibly out of place with the rest of the sixties aesthetic. I thought the "Ben was always a rock, Johnny was always... Johnny, and I'm right here" line was lazy, because you have references to Ben and Sue's powers but Johnny just gets Johnny'd. but it's not like I'm expecting the screenplay of the year or anything.

idk I'm not like, y'know, the MCU and I are not friends, but I'm keeping an open mind and I'm looking forward to a longer trailer.

#*replies

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l1vchuu · 2 years ago

Text

resentment. part four

!! warnings: mentions of sh and suicide, strong language, may contain triggering themes and blood, angst, and slow burn, P.S. This chapter might have a lot of time skips, so be wary.

A few days went as you were gone, and you weren't the only one who felt the changes.

It was a Monday afternoon as you sat at your kitchen table, reading a book you randomly had picked off your old shelf- "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. You bought this book after watching the film that just got released in the theaters, hoping that you would read it someday and feel the same emotions you did when you sat in front of the big screen. After some unfortunate events that occurred in your life at that time- you never really got to read it.

The soft yellow tint of the light from the cheap lightbulbs filled your small kitchen, going through your hair, and making a slight shadow on your face. The tea you had made for yourself earlier was getting colder as the minutes passed by, and you couldn't feel more peaceful.

So far, you tried taking things slow- since you had a whole month to figure things out. You've put out the thought of seeing a therapist later, your mind was still blurry. Currently, you were trying to calm your mind by reading and watching movies.

A few hours later, you put down the book and decided to take a shower. As you entered the cabin and turned on the shower, the sudden warmth of the water took all your thoughts with it.

You recently bought some new showering essentials- new shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few other things. Maybe if you tried to take better care of your hygiene you could feel prettier, or at least have some type of order in your life that you follow.

The sweet honey scent filled the atmosphere as you washed your hair, slight steam flowing in the air, getting captured in your lungs with every breath you took. Your mind was roaming through your memories, mostly the good ones. You remembered the first time you discovered Wes Anderson.

A few years ago...

You sighed as you scrolled through your Letterboxd watchlist, the titles moving faster than the thoughts in your head.

"'Detachment', 'Lost in Translation', 'Vertigo'..."

You mumbled to yourself as you kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Then your eyes stopped at a yellowish poster, excluding itself from the others.

"Fantastic Mr. Fox"

You had heard of that movie before, all positive things. You stared at the trailer for a while

"Who even watches trailers for movies that have been out for years?"

You thought to yourself as you kept looking, but you were mesmerized. You hadn't seen anything else like this. It was so quirky and sweet and bitter that you wanted to watch it badly. You found the movie, and just as you were about to put it on, Simon opened the door.

He entered the room, looking at you with his brown, empty eyes.

"How was the shift?"

You tried to spark up a conversation, but it ended nowhere.

"Fine."

He sat on his bed, still with his mask on. You know he took it off when he slept, but you had never seen his face. It's like he knew the moment you woke up and fall asleep just so he can put his mask back on and act like nothing had happened.

"You gonna' sleep?"

You asked him, your eyes looking up from the monitor of your laptop.

"Not now, why you ask?"

"I was going to watch a movie, that's why."

You could somehow see his eyebrows rise underneath his mask. It was the first time he heard those words from a Sergeant. People usually never had time to do anything really, being tired from long work shifts and all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It just... It's the first time I've heard that sentence here."

"What? You don't watch movies?"

"No- It's not that. People don't find the time for things like these."

"Well, I do. Does it bother you?"

"As long as it's not too loud, no."

"Good."

You sat back on the couch as you hit space and the movie began.

Half an hour later, you were so invested in the movie that you didn't notice the presence of your roommate next to you... until he coughed, causing you to flinch, and because of your reflexes, your hand went into a defensive position. He looked at you, his eyes slightly wider.

"Oh, sorry."

"I think... I think I saw Jesus."

He chuckled, showing the slightest bit of emotion he ever has.

"It's just me."

"You really live up to your name, huh? Sneaking in like that."

"I didn't do anything, it's the movie's fault for having you so fuckin invested."

"Yeah, sure."

It might not seem like the brightest memory ever, but that was the first time you had such a close interaction with Ghost ever since you got moved into a room with him. That moment felt like a slight push into a whole other universe. A universe where you felt less scared to talk to him, a universe where he got to be the closest person to you.

The whole story began when you joined the British Army at 17 years old after a really bad banter between your dad and your brother, resulting in your brother's suicide. At his funeral, you could barely hold yourself up and alive- it had shattered you completely. You couldn't help yourself to eat, your mother had to force-feed you just like she did when you were a baby. Your body was aching with every step you took, every time your jeans brushed against your thighs, making your fresh scars bleed again from the friction. A month later, you were at your lowest point in life- you didn't go to school, and your mother ignored every call from the principal because she didn't know what to say. Everyone at your house was so lost, your father refused to go out of his room, leaving the house in the process, your mother barely slept at night, and you had ruined yourself. At this point, everything was a lost cause.

One morning, as you barely walked towards the front door, placing the rubbish bag in its' place, you saw the leaflets from the military scouts that live in your area. Usually, you would throw them in the rubbish bin and continue on with the day, but this time something was off. Your brother wanted to enlist in the military so much, he even started going to the shooting ranges outside the city to train his aim. You could feel your cheeks getting wet as you stared at the papers in your hands- he would've served his country and fulfilled his dreams in a year.

With slow and steady steps you went to his door, opening it slowly. His room was always cluttered, as he never got the time to clean it- always so busy with his voluntary work and training. There was a big flag hung on his wall, frames with pictures of him in his boy scouts uniform, pictures with him and his friends at a red cross event, and posters of his favorite movies and superheroes, he was such a bright and generous kid. There were stacks of military scouting leaflets piled on his desk, catching more and more dust as the days go by.

You sat on his bed, holding a picture of him with a German Shepherd 'Scouty' - a military dog that was pretty famous in your city and had saved multiple lives. You remembered taking that picture, him getting so excited when they allowed him to pet the dog, his eyes lighting up when they said that we could take a picture with him, his big smile, showing his braces as the dog stood still. Everything seemed so wonderful, life was so full and bright.

The tears began rolling down your cheek as your fingers traced his face, the room still smelled like him, somehow. You felt a pair of fragile hands holding your body close to them. You looked up with your red and teary eyes at the figure- it was your mother. You two sat in silence, crying quietly as you held each other. She noticed the leaflet in your hand.

"When does the recruiting start?"

Your mother asked you, her voice quiet and shaky as she looked at the paper.

You wiped your cheeks as you checked the dates on the leaflet- it was slightly damp and crumpled.

"The applications can be sent in a month from now."

You said, your voice cracking as your hands shook slightly.

"Mhm."

Your mum responded as she gently pat your head, her fingers brushing through your hair.

You stared at the paper in your hands.

"Will you leave Dad?"

You asked.

"I can't, you are still here."

She replies.

"What if I leave for university? Will you leave him?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

But you still had two years left, and with your absence, you were sure no university or college will accept you. You thought about it- if you were to return to school, people would ask you questions back and forth, and you couldn't deal with that. You knew your mother was suffering more than you, I mean, losing a child can be amusingly painful for a mother. And the last thing you wanted to do is to make your mother suffer even more, but continuing to live with your father after all that had happened was doing that same exact thing.

You thought about this the whole day. Holding that same leaflet, making all the research, asking people about it- and then you made your decision. You were going to join the Army.

Sure, you may have absolutely no experience, unlike your brother, but that's what he would've wanted. You were doing this for him and your mother.

You walked back and forth in your room, wandering in your documents and checking in your strengths. You knew a little about artillery from your brother's trainer and all of his lessons. You had a month in order to prepare for it. You went to consult your mother on the decision.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure, I just need to train a bit, but I need to know that if I go, you leave him."

She thought for a minute.

"I'll stay at your aunt's place until I save up enough money for rent and divorce."

You looked at her, your eyes full of uncertainty.

"Do you promise- No- Will you promise me to do that?"

You took a breath before continuing.

"When I leave, you leave him. You go as far away as you can. I'll lend you money if I can- Go to another country and live there if you need- Just promise me you'll leave that man, please..."

She put her arms on your shoulders, making you look at her.

"I promise you, but how do you know if you are going to get recruited?"

"I will get recruited, don't worry."

She looked at you, not being sure if you were just talking nonsense or actually meaning your words. By the look in your eyes and the sound of your tone, she knew you weren't joking.

After your mother made that promise- you got to work. You went out and trained every single day, but before that, you visited the shooting range. You knew that the trainer was a British Air Service veteran, so you asked for his help.

'You want to enlist? As in, you want to apply?"

He looked at you, a worried look on his face. It was the first time he saw you since your brother's funeral, and he saw the change in your appearance.

"Yes, and I need your help."

You said, looking up at him. You had explained everything to him, in detail, too.

"For a month..."

He silently thought to himself as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing.

"I can manage a training schedule, but I'm not sure if you could-"

"I'll do it.'

You interrupted him.

"- handle it."

He stared at you, his eyes slowly wider than before. He sighs.

"It won't be easy. Not at all. Your brother had months and years of practice, but now you have to make it up to him in a month."

You nodded your head, your eyes burning with ambition once again.\

"I'll do it. I won't give up."

"We'll change up your diet too,"

He paused, taking in the situation with your family. Your mother could barely stand up from her bed, and your father was nowhere to be found.

"I'll bring you food, you'll eat here."

You tilted your head to the side.

"Will that be okay with you?"

You asked him, a worried look on your face.

"It'll be absolutely no problem. I'll pack in food for your mother as well."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his offer.

"Thank you."

He nodded, holding his hand out for a handshake. You took his hand, giving a firm squeeze.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 AM."

He searched your face for any reaction.

"As I told you, it'll be hard."

He gave you a slight smile.

"But now I believe you'll make it."

During that month, he took care of you and your mother- you trained with him all day, and he checked in with your mother in the meantime. He was a single father taking after his father's business. His son enlisted two years ago, leaving him alone in his house all year round. You became attached to him quickly, he was almost like a father to you. He helped you become the person your brother wished to be. For a month, you became a weapon, which got you in the Army, which got you in the Special Forces (SAS). That's the place where you first met Simon.

It was three years after you joined the Army- you were now 20 years old. You finally had the opportunity to apply to the SAS- which you did. After a long process of training and selection- you finally made it into the force.

When you got in, they introduced you to a couple of people, Captain Price and some other Lieutenants. As you entered the base where you would be working and living, they introduced you to one final person- your roommate- Simon Riley, or his callsign 'Ghost'.

As you finally got to call your mother, announcing the news to her, you were surprised more than usual when your trainer picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The male voice echoed through the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely recognizing it.

"Hello?"

You replied.

"It's you! How's it going, kid?"

And that's when you recognized him. You two had a long conversation- apparently, your mother had moved in with him, which got you flabbergasted. Your mother was at work when you two were talking. You announced the news to him.

"Really? You got in?!"

He said, his voice full of pride and joy.

"I knew you would make it. I'm so proud of you!"

I'm so proud of you.

I'm so proud of you

That sentence kept you up at night. It replayed in your mind non-stop, echoing through your veins with each word.

Someone was proud of you.

Simon looked at Soap as he ate his lunch, holding his bowl in one hand as always. It's been a week since you were gone, and by that time everyone was aware of your absence. Soap looked back at Ghost, unsure about how to approach a conversation with him after all that had happened. Your seat at the table was empty, and nobody dared to sit on it, leaving a gap between Gaz and Ghost. It was rather quiet, everyone was lost in their own mind. Some of them were surprised that you never said anything, that you didn't notify anyone. Johnny was probably the first person who decided to write to you.

"Come on, I can't do this by myself. We have to let her know that we are with her and that we miss her, right?"

Johnny states, looking at the empty piece of paper in front of him.

"So, what do we write?"

Kyle grabs the pen and begins the letter, slowly filling it up with words until the page is full. Signing at the bottom were Johnny, Kyle, and Alex. After a few hours, the letter was sent to you, arriving in your mailbox.

The morning after, your neighbor notified you that you got mail. You looked in the box, a confused look on your face as two letters appeared in your hands. One of the letters had three signatures, while the other had only one- a skull face.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heyy!! I'm back as promised with the fourth part. This part had a lot of time skips for which I apologize if you were confused with! Sending lots of love and see you with part five <3

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mw2 #ghost x reader #call of duty fanfic #ghost fanfiction #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley fanfic #cod mw2 fic #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #cod angst

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