Omgg lol well I just really love the thought of an obsessive boyfriend who also just so happens to be a highly praised football player.
He needs you to be at all of his games because he swears he plays better knowing you’re there, the grip he has on your waist tightens when a teammate of his talks to you a bit too much for his liking. He knows they wouldn’t dare to try anything with you, but that doesn’t make him any less possessive/protective.
After a good game, the night ends with your legs slung over his broad shoulders. And even after a bad game, you still end up on your back. He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, licking and kissing at your soft skin. Whispering things like ‘needed you there’, ‘y’always make me feel better, baby. So much better.’
I don’t really see him being an aggressive yan. He’s much more sensitive when it comes to you, and lashes out at anyone he thinks is trying to ‘steal’ you from him. He apologizes with his head in his hands and says he just can’t lose you. You’re his weakness & everyone knows. There’s thousand upon thousands of paparazzi photos where he’s looking at you as if you created life itself. He adores u
ANYWAYS!! so sorry for the ramble lol I love your writing
So magnificent I could cry, you truly have a way with words. I am HONORED to be able to write and develop this character a bit, Devo.
Tw. Drugging (not from the yan), mention of vomiting, questionable legal system (true to life sadly). No smut this time, surprisingly wholesome for a moment.
It's loud. Hot, sticky. That's the only way you can describe this after party, another successful game for your boyfriends team, so no wonder all the sponsors decided to get crazy rowdy and throw a big ol' celebration. You hadn't been able to make it to the game, an issue had come up with your work and honestly, he'd been pissed.
Some words had been exchanged, something about your independence. He makes some much as an athlete, and he invests and saves! He just can't fathom why you NEED or even want to work when he's there to provide for you. Especially when it means missing his game. He'd gotten mad, you'd gotten mad, and you'd taken off.
But it's late, and you missed him. You had a rough night ar work, and just like when he loses a game, you could really use a warm body and some comfort. So, you quickly tracked him down to where you knew he'd be, ready to make amends and get back home, to some Chinese take out and bed.
At least, that was the plan. You'd been offered a drink, something to take the edge off, and given it's basically a company party you hadn't thought much of it, accepting the drink. But now, as a dizziness and sickness weighs heavy on your chest, a cold clammy feeling in your palms, you realize something is very, very off. You search and search through the party, but it's a huge, modern estate, and you can't seem to find him in this swarm of other pro athletes.
Eventually, scared and sick, you find a bathroom to lock away in, trying to call him just as your phone flickers, then dies.
He should be over the moon. Destroyed the rival team and working towards championship rings, all the pizza and tots he wants, and a fat bonus coming his way, even if he's a bit battered from tonight's game. Yet, he can't eat. He still believes you shouldn't work, but you're stubborn and sweet and good to him, and-
"Shit." He mumbles, setting down his still full plate of food. He's been too busy eating his own lip with worry to get hungry. He hates when you fight, he just cares so much! But that's no excuse to get angry, he knows. Grabbing his phone, he dials you. Once, then twice he tries. You're usually good about your phone, and not petty enough for cold shoulder. "Cmon, baby. Pick up..." again, nothing. Concerned, he checks your phones location, shocked to see its within the same house.
Glancing out the mansions sprawling glass windows, he sees your car parked in the very back of a long line of high end vehicles. He sets to following your phones location, before arriving at a closed bathroom door. He's about to knock, but the sniffling on the other side makes him freeze, then burst in anyway.
"R-ryan?" You gasp, looking up from where you perched over the toilet bowl, afraid of vomiting or passing out. "I don't- i don't know wus happening-"
"Holy shit, baby." He gets on his knees, prior argument forgotten completely. What happened and why you were so upset and out of it are the only things on his mind. "Hey, hey, can you look at me? W-whats wrong? Whattya doing here?" He instinctively grabs your hair in one hand, away from the toilet bowl, a reflex from both of your party days.
"I-I-I wanted to apologize-" You can barely sob out the words, gasping for breath. "I had a s-shit day at work and I needed y-you, but I had a drink when I got here a-a-and I feel so bad-" the words are pouring out from you, delirious as you try to recall how you got here. "I think somethinf w-wus in the drink, cus I got dizzy and I couldn't find you!" You let out another sob, trying to lean onto him.
Immediately, your dizzy, spinning head is grounded a bit bu a pair of firm, warm arms around you, putting your head to the crook of his neck to shield you from his own concerned expression, tinged with slight anger as what unfolded becomes clearer to him. "S' okay, I'm here, I'm here. I'm so sorry you couldn't find me, I was tucked away too. Couldn't stop thinking about how much I missed you. But lets focus on now, yeah? Do you remember who serves the drink, what they looked like?"
You shake your head, just mentioning it seemed like some random wait staff. "Okay, okay. We'll handle that later, promise. But we have to get you feeling well again, you think you need an ambulance? Cause I'll call em' and get you taken care of real quick."
You shake your head. "I-I dunno. I just, I just want you to hold me, I'm as scared as I am sick, Ryan."
Those words hurt. Almost as much as seeing you like this. Something could've happened to you, something is happening to you, and he can't make it go away. Can't throw money at it or push it away with his sheer might. "I know, I know this must be so scary. There's a patio door, we can go out through there, yeah? I know your scared but we gotta get you home. This isn't the place to wait out a roofie." He tilts up your limp head in his hand, trying to get you to make eye contact. "Hey, hey, can you look at me?"
Your eyes are glossy with tears, but you do. Even now, worried and angry and sad, he looks so handsome.
"There we go, can you stand?" He asks, taking your arm. You try once, then twice, but both times stumble and fall back down. The second time, you begin to sib again.
"Fuck, what is happening?!" You half scream, half cry, and he returns to his netural pose.
"Shh, shh, this is my fault, baby. I should've just picked you up, yeah? Carried you like I do on the way to the couch on movie night, that okay?" Even with how close you are, he knows your fragile like this. He won't touch without you asking.
After some struggle, he had managed to get you into his arms and into the car, your limp form in the passenger seat.
You've calmed down a bit, but the occasional sniffle can still be hears over the thrum of the engine. "Baby?" You mumvle. "M' sorry."
He almost slams the brakes. "What, no, no, baby, for what?"
"For the fight, a-and ruining your party-"
"The fight was my fault, no, it was mine. I-I don't want you working but I shouldn't get mad cause you do! I-if anything I should be better and show you all the great stuff you'd miss out on working, give you a reason to stay in my house more instead of going to some 9-5." He glances at you now, face stern. Colder, but not at you. It's as if he gazes past you, somehow back into the party you've both left behind. "And you didn't ruin my party. It was the teams party, and whichever..." He pauses. "Animal drugged you ruined it. But-but it's okay now, I've got you, and I'm taking us home. We'll get you medicine and a warm bed and you'll feel so much better." He's rambling, all the emotions he was trying to keep in while putting you first tumble out.
"But shit, baby. If something had happened to you, and I couldn't have stopped it, if you'd gotten hurt even worse or- I don't even know." He slaps a hand to his mouth to quiet a sob, you don't need his emotions making you even more upset again. It's like coach says, gotta keep emotions in check for the sake of the team. He swallows harshly, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he tries to breathe.
"But no, I'm good, I'm good and this is about you. Nothing... nothing that bad happened, its all under control now. Gonna get the footage from the house, pay my lawyer, background checks on the house staff at that fuckin' party- whoever did this won't get away with it, yeah?" He's fuming, sadness he successfully hid switching to an anger which was also suppressed. He'll find out who did it, see if they've done it before. He's seen athletes get off with worse, but their victims didn't have the money or backing you do. He'll ruin them, and if jail doesn't seem enough, he'll... find a way. Shit, even if there aren't other victims, he's got the money to convince girls to play some, all for the greater good, of course.
"I should pick up food-" He cha ges the subject, once again recognizing his mood swings are getting out of hand. "Chinese sound good, I know you love your takeout. And you'll be hungry when this is over." You don't respond, and he frowns. "Baby?" He's been so focused on his rambling and internal conflict he hadn't even looked over to you. As he does, he sees you still. He panics for a moment, but a deep sigh leaves your hunched over form. He sighs in return.
"Sleep tight, baby." He whispers. "I-im gonna make this all better. I'm your man, it's what I'm here for."
He'll do ANYTHING to make it better.
