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jyoongim · 2 months

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ok but what about alastor with a reader like angel dust in the sense trapped and abused by valentino maybe they have a different sort of personality than angel dust but in a similar situation how would he react to seeing his s/o in that sort of a situation maybe they have to interact with valentino infront of him.

thoughts?

warnings: fluff????sexual trauma! mention of SA! Val is a perverted dick! Fem!reader, Alastor not letting shit slide but caring about your wellbeing first!

Think of this as an extension of the Alastor x retired!pornstar reader fic!

You and Angel took a beauty day from all the hustle and bustle of the hotel. The day was filled with spa appointments and shopping.

Angel laughed as you asked his opinion on lingerie that Alastor would like, blushing when he teased about the Overlord having the hots for you. You were having a great time; until Angel’s phone started blowing up.

Valentino.

The perverted bug was calling Angel in for a shoot and on his day off.

You grimaced, but you understood.

Valentino didn't understand the word ‘No’.

Thats why you stayed away from the industry.

Consent did not matter. At least to Val.

You shuddered at the unpleasant memories.

Angel apologized, but you shook you head, looping your arm through his to walk him to the studio. You at least wanted to see him off.

You felt your ears flatten as you entered the studio, your palms getting sweaty as the two attendants opened the double doors to Val’s studio.

”Annnngeelll baby I missed you!” Val exclaimed, taking a puff of his cigarette as he approached the two of you.

His red eyes shifted to you, a purr rumbling through his chest

”ooooh Angel you didnt say you were bringing an absolute gem!” His large hand wrapped around your unwilling hand, bringing it to his lips and instead of kissing it…Val licked up your arm.

You immediately recoiled, giving a nervous smile “pleasure as always Val, but I fear that I am not here for any…ugh entertaining purposes, just seeing Angel off before heading home”

Home.

That’s right home.

You considered the hotel home.

Everyone was so nice and no one judged you for your past.

You didnt have to put on a persona for a camera and could just be yourself. You could laugh and cry and be comforted for it.

And you were treated like a person. By an evil Overlord at that.

Val chuckled darkly, looking you up and down “oooh really? Because Angel could use a few pointers, you might dress differently but you can’t fool me cara…” A slight burning sensation had you wince a bit, clutching your belly.

cursed womb mark. Damn you Valentino.

“You’re nothing but a little cumslut” Val leaned down to whisper in your ear.

You narrowed your eyes, glaring up at him. Angel gave a nervous laugh to ease the tension “Why don’t you stay to watch one shoot eh? I don’t mind being criticized by a true professional” he tugged you under his arm, away from Val and to give you a wink.

You sighed “one shoot. Ill stay to watch one shoot”

Val grinned as he whisked you to sit in a director chair as he handed you the script.

You made a face of disgust as you looked over the script. Rough, demeaning sex and no buildup at all.

You shuddered. You were happy to have left all this behind but you knew everyone wasn’t lucky.

”ACTION SLUTS!” Val shouted to begin the scene.

Your eyes roamed about the scene and you felt sweaty.

Uncomfortable and anxiety. These were emotions you usually had when you were around Val, but they normally ran this rapid when you were in a shoot yourself.

But you weren’t…so why were you so nervous?

”What do you think about that angle?”

”You could have made that work”

”None of them are gonna reach your level!”

”Ugh they can’t even get that right!”

You barely listened to Val’s rambling until your lower belly burned, you clenched your teeth, eyes looking over at the smug pimp.

A smile was on his face, but it didn’t match his words.

”Why don’t you be a doll and show ‘em how its done babygirl” he tilted his head smiling knowingly.

It was like a light switch went off.

A warm feeling spread throughout your body and you found yourself moving towards the scene.

The script was rather raunchy; ‘victim blindfolded and bound taken advantage of by gang’

”watch and learn” Valentino purred watching as a demon blindfolded you and settled you into a low arch.

You were surrounded. The warmth and heavy scents surrounded you as the demons touched and probed at you.

A whimper escaped your throat as a tongue licked at your cunt, dipping into you to give you some prep.

No No No No No No NO! You were screaming in your head as several cocks entered you.

Your lips parted to scream but a cock was shoved down your throat, a moan erupting from the demon who thrusted into your mouth.

Your body burned as you were worked into an orgasm. You kicked and thrashed to get the demons off of you.

They couldn’t cum in you, they just couldn’t.

Alastor…

Tears streamed down your face as you thought of the red demon.

How would be react when he found you smelling like other demons?

You had given up this lifestyle. You weren’t a whore who needed to flaunt her pussy to the world for a quick buck.

”G-get off-” you tried to say through the haze.

Your blindfold fell as you were pounded into, your eyes frantically meeting Val’s; a smirk was on his lips as he puffed his cigarette

Go on and cum baby he mouthed

No! Nonononono!

Your body tensed as you cummed around a stranger’s dick.

A sob escaped you as the demon groaned before spilling his cum into you, the others cumming on your body.

Long arms wrapped around you, pulling you off the bed and you sobbed into a fuzzy chest.

”What the hell Val!” Angel hissed, wrapping a robe around you.

The tall demon snapped his finger and your womb mark ceased burning. “I’m sure the public would love to see such a diamond return to the spotlight. After all, she’s my best investment”

He looked over you, clicking his tongue and waving the two of you off as he shouted out commands for the next scene.

”I can’t believe that asshole did that to you. Oh toots don’t worry well get you cleaned up and good as new once we get to the hotel” Angel tried to reassure you.

You immediately ran to your room, getting in the bath and scrubbing at your skin.

Tears ran down your face as you scrubbed. You wanted the scent and feeling of those demons off you.

Your skin was red and you didn’t even realize how hard you were scrubbing until a clawed hand grabbed the sponge.

”Darlin scrub any harder and your skin will be raw” a radio-filtered voice chirped.

You jerked away, eyes wide as you watch Alastor drain the tub.

”now what’s got you so raddled?” He tilted his head in question.

Your lip quivered, head down, unable to meet his eyes.

A hand gently cupped your chin to make you look at him. Alastor had a very stern look on his face, despite the smile on his face.

”I-I-I’m sorry Al!” You bursted into sobs as you wrapped your wet arms around his neck.

He patted your back to soothe you, waiting for you to calm down so you could tell him what disturbed you so much.

”I was out with Angel and he was called to the studio a-and Val h-he h-he…I did something I vowed to never do I’m sorry I’m so sorry” you sobbed.

Alastor stiffened.

He knew what your occupation was before you came to the hotel. You had given that up to better yourself.

He never once thought that you would be dragged back to be a former version of yourself.

He could smell the scents of others on you, no amount of soap and fragrance could hide the fact he knew what had transpired.

”Oh my dear it’s alright” he cooed,pulling you to stand. To assess the damage that had been done.

Claw marks and an intricate mark on your lower belly.

He grimaced.

But he had more important matters to attend to, you.

He cautiously lathered you in lotions, put ointments on your wounds and dressed you for bed.

”Don’t worry your pretty head my dear, I don’t think of you any less. I know you wouldn’t have done something like that on your own free will” he hummed tucking you in, pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead.

He waited until you fell asleep to slip away and once your bedroom door closed behind him, his aura darkened.

The hallways lights flickered and the building shook as his shadow angrily ripped at the wallpaper and figurines.

He made his way to his radio tower and smiled wickedly.

He wouldn’t let this offense go unnoticed. Oh no no one dared to lay a hand on his darlin and get away with it.

Oh he was going to make the Vees live a fucking nightmare

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel

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whomst-the-hell · 1 year

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The babysitters’ club, as the older members of the upside down crew have dubbed themselves, meet at least once a week. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, just long enough to watch a movie together, to confirm that everyone is still alive and coping. Sometimes it’s all night, and Argyle plies them all with good California weed while they attempt to work through their collective truckloads of trauma.

Sometimes, like tonight, they spend it goofing off and having fun like the dumb kids many of them couldn’t afford to be.

They’re gathered in a circle at the Harrington mansion, deserted as always, playing truth or dare. Nancy has just admitted to smoking weed in her freshman year, in the drama room with Barbara Holland, and she has set her know it all, meddling, journalist eyes on Eddie.

“Truth or dare,” she asks, a challenge clear on her face.

Eddie knows that, with most people, picking truth may be seen as the cowardly option. With Nancy, that couldn’t be more wrong. If he picks dare, he will be safe, but he will be mocked relentlessly by every single person in the room.

…

“Truth,” he sighs reluctantly.

“Who-” she pauses dramatically for effect, a theatrical detail that Eddie honestly respects, even if it fills him with dread, “-was your most embarrassing crush! And it has to be a person we know, no celebrities allowed!”

Shit.

He feels his eyes dart to Steve. Nancy smirks. Bitch. He can’t even lie about it then.

Time to face the music, he supposes mournfully.

“I would like to say, for the record, that I was in junior year, ok. And, in retrospect, with the knowledge I have now, it’s not even that bad, but at the time-“

“Spit it out, Munson,” says Robin, the fucking traitor.

“IhadacrushonSteve,” he says, all in one breath.

“What was that, dude, I didn’t catch it?” Argyle says, voice mellow. Eddie honestly doesn’t know if he’s in on this or not, but he glowers all the same.

Face red, he repeats, “I had a crush on Steve.” He resolutely does not look at Steve.

“No you didn’t!” Steve responds, immediately, aghast.

Eddie can feel his heart tearing in two.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Harrington, this was years ag-“

“You literally rejected me!”

Fucking what.

He knows he must look ridiculous right now, mouth hanging open, cheeks still red with embarrassment, but he does not have the capacity to care.

“Wh- what do you- huh?” he finally manages.

“When you were in junior year, and I was a sophomore? We were lab partners-“

And ohhh, hadn’t that just been sweet, sweet torture. Pretty, perfect Harrington had had to sit next to him all semester, where Eddie could see his freckles and smell his cologne, but-

“You spent the whole semester making fun of me!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?” says Steve, eyebrows furrowed in that way he does that makes Eddie want to kiss his forehead and- Fucking focus, Munson.

“You always used to make passive aggressive comments about my clothes, or my hair, or my books or whatever!”

Steve buries his face in his hands and groans.

“I wasn’t being passive aggressive.”

“You- what the fuck do you mean, you weren’t being passive aggressive! Why else would you have said any of that shit?”

“Because I meant it?”

Because he- what? Eddie played back as many of their interactions from that year as he could remember. I like your jacket, Steve had said when Eddie had started putting patches on his denim vest. Your hair looks nice today, he had said when Eddie had tied it back to beat the heat. Oh, that sounds interesting, when Eddie described the plot of the book he was reading.

“Oh my god, you were flirting with me.”

“No shit! I once told you you had really pretty eyes!“

“I thought you were bullying me!”

“How on Earth could ‘I think you have really pretty eyes’ be bullying?”

“I don’t know! It made more sense than it being flirting!”

“I asked you to go to the drive in with me! That is the most classic first date in the book!”

Holy shit, Steve Harrington had asked him out. Steve Harrington had asked him out and he’d said no. This was the worst day of Eddie’s life.

His face must have looked some kind of way, because Steve just groaned again. He sat there for a second before peeking up from behind his hands, a move that should not have been as cute as it was, what the fuck.

“If I tried again now, would you still think I was bullying you.”

Holy shit did Steve Harrington want to date him? This had to be a trick or a prank or something, right?

Except that he’d thought that in junior year as well, and apparently it had cost him a boyfriend, so.

“No- nope, I would definitely pick up on it, uh huh. Definitely,” he said in a rush. God, he was normally so good with words, fuck.

Steve emerged fully from his hands, face pink but expression determined.

“Eddie Munson, would you like to go to the drive in with me? They’re playing Jaws next saturday and I’d love to watch it with you.”

“Absolutely, Stevie. It’s a date.”

There are groans from the rest of their friends as they rifle through their pockets, each passing money to a very smug looking Nancy.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #my writing #i dont know the character tagging etiquette on tumblr #should i tag nancy or is that rude

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mylight-png · 4 months

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I refuse to be told to "move on" from October 7th. I simply refuse.

You know the thing about trauma? You don't really get the choice to move on. You may be living in the future, but at least a part of your mind is trapped in that horrible moment. Sometimes that part of you can never escape.

Right now, as I'm writing this, I am sitting at my desk in my room. But right now, as I am writing this a part, huge part, of me is still in that airport. That part of me is still staring at my phone, trying to catch its breath but failing. That part of me is still watching in shock as the death count rises, the videos of Hamas's atrocities are broadcasted everywhere I see, the celebration of my people being massacred is burning my eyes. My ears are hearing the wailing sirens from when I was last in Israel. My hands are still feeling the shaking of the walls as the Iron Dome intercepts attempts upon the lives of my family and me. My heart is hurting for each life lost and each family left broken.

My body is here, in January 10th. My mind is not. My mind, and the mind of nearly every Jew is still stuck in October 7th.

Do not think we chose this. If I could choose indifference, if I could choose apathy, if I could choose ignorance, I wouldn't feel so constantly triggered and in pain.

But nobody gets to choose trauma.

This wasn't a unique trauma, a first-time event. Pogroms are nothing new to us, genocides and attempts at such against us aren't anything new, hateful libel and lies are near-constants.

That's part of what made October 7th so much worse.

I grew up hearing about how my great-grandfather lost his entire family to the Holocaust, how my ancestors survived pogroms, how my parents faced systemic antisemitism in the USSR.

We all grew up hearing our parents and grandparents tell us about antisemitism.

And do not think we were ignorant of it. I was well aware that the world is not even close to shedding its deeply ingrained antisemitism.

I was aware of it when I wrote a speech about discussion of modern antisemitism and being told it was "well-written but controversial". I was aware of it when my teacher said I was responding "emotionally, not academically" to an author claiming antisemitism and the Holocaust weren't "that bad".

I was aware of it when a synagogue near me got shot up, a synagogue I've been to. I was aware of it because I had no other choice.

But it had always felt like it was "winding down" from what my parents had told me. Yes what my teacher did was bad but at least he didn't explicitly single me out for being a Jew and intentionally fail me. Yes the feedback for my speech was hurtful but it wasn't like I was being violently censored. Yes the shooting was awful but it wasn't a full-blown pogrom.

I'm not saying my logic was correct. Far from it. But that's how it felt before October 7th.

When October 7th happened I saw that nothing was "winding down" as I had previously thought. People were still just as keen to gleefully cheer on the killing of Jews as they had been. The world is just as slow to act when Jews are being forcibly held and tortured and killed. Blood libel and ideas of the "doctor's plot" are alive and well.

Oct 7th triggered old trauma, Oct 7th was traumatic in its own right, and for most of us, Oct 7th proved that antisemitism isn't going anywhere. It isn't winding down or getting better.

And that kind of pain? That kind of trauma? That sticks with you.

You wouldn't tell any other person to get over their trauma. So what makes it ok to say it to traumatized Jews as we are still processing the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust?

That behavior is horrible and inexcusable.

Trauma is trauma, you don't get to decide who does or doesn't have the right to be traumatized. You don't get to decide how people discuss their trauma.

#jumblr #jewish #judaism #jew #proud israeli #israel solidarity #opinion #discourse #antisemitism #trauma #generational trauma

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rogueddie · 2 years

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Steve needs to be touched.

He's not sure how he didn't notice sooner. Didn't really realize until his skin almost itches with it. Until he notices how he will almost chase any physical affection without thinking. But by then, it already feels too late to really do anything about it.

Luckily, Eddie and Robin are both physically affectionate people. They use any opportunity to invade his personal space, any excuse to throw an arm around his shoulders or nudge his shoulder with their own. They're always in his space so much that, at some point, he starts to expect it from them.

It only makes him more painfully aware of Eddie slowly trying to pull back, to pull away. To put some distance between them.

Steve wonders if it's becoming obvious how needy he's become. He had thought he'd been a little subtle about it- he goes straight to him and Robin whenever he starts to feel that itch, that need for contact, but they all have so much trauma that no one bats an eye. But if Eddie has noticed and thinks its... weird or uncomfortable...

He doesn't say any of this to Robin when he tries to ask her what's wrong though. It's less... asking. He basically just waits for a quiet moment to wonder; "I hope I haven't done anything to upset Eddie. He's been pulling away a lot recently."

"Steve," Robin looks a little guilty. "He's fine. You haven't don't anything. Don't worry about it, ok?"

Don't worry about it? Steve frowns.

"You talk to him? It's... I mean, it's only me then, right? I haven't fucked up too bad, have I?"

Robin grabs his shoulders. "Steve. You didn't fuck anything up. He just needs some space right now. I'm the one who told him to back off a little with you. I think it's something you both need. Ok?"

"You told him to back off?"

"Yeah, and you trust me, right?"

"Of course I do."

She nods, gives him a lopsided grin and heads to the backroom to "actually do my stupid job for once!"

Steve tries not to curl in on himself. Tries not to jump to conclusions, but... why else would she tell Eddie to back off? But that means that she's noticed how weirdly clingy he is too. She must be ok with it though... right? She told Eddie to back off, she hasn't tried to do that herself. If anything, she's been a little more physically affectionate.

So he's been making Eddie uncomfortable. He has fucked it up. Robin is just trying to be nice.

The next time he sees Eddie, it's almost too much. Knowing that he's making Eddie uncomfortable won't leave his mind, making him painfully aware of what he's doing, making sure he also keeps his distance. He won't make Eddie more uncomfortable- he's a great guy, he deserves so much better than that.

But it is too much. So Steve starts to avoid him entirely. It's easier, even though it means he has to avoid group hangouts. Even though he feels lonelier than ever. It's easier than having Eddie right there.

He can tell that the others are starting to worry about him. Even Eddie, apparently, is worried. But he keeps dismissing it all. Brushes them off. Falls back on the excuses and tactics he'd use on Tommy. It's not good, he's too cruel sometimes, but it gets them to back off.

Of course, that doesn't last long.

He wasn't fully awake when he pulled open the door and, as soon as the door opens, Eddie shoves his way inside. He ignores Steves complaints, sitting on the sofas armrest, quickly settling down with his arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow at Steve, who is still hovering in the doorway.

Steve reluctantly closes the door. He doesn't sit down. "What do you want?"

"I was about to ask you the same. What the hell is wrong with you, Steve? Did something happen?"

"I'm fine. No, actually, I'm tired. Maybe you should leave so I can fix that."

Eddie narrows his eyes. "You're lying."

"So?"

"So? Fucking hell, dude, I thought you were better than this! Or was that a phase? Miss being King Steve too much, huh?"

Steve flinches at the nickname. "I'm trying to deal with some shit right now. Being around you guys is only making it harder, so I'm taking some time alone to work through it. I'll be fine, I just need some time."

"Time for what?"

Steve grits his teeth. Even if he were willing to talk about it, explaining that he's trying to forget what it felt like to have Eddies hand on his shoulder is too embarrassing to admit.

"Steve, come on," Eddie tries, stands up and walks closer. "Talk to me. Please, I just want to help."

His hand is so gently on Steves arm. He just wants to curl up in the touch, even as small as it is.

He feels shame boil under his skin when his face scrunches up, hating how visibly close he is to crying. Especially with how soft Eddies voice gets, with how he pulls Steve closer so he can hug him, wrapping him up in his arms. Steve can't help but hug him back, gripping the back of his top tight, shaking.

"It's ok, you're ok, I've got you," Eddie is saying. He tucks his face into Steves shoulder, gently rocking them. "Whatever it is, you don't need to be alone, ok? I'm right here. I'll always be right here."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," Steve finally sobs. He hates how his voice cracks.

"You don't make me uncomfortable. You've never made me feel uncomfortable, I promise. I don't think you could if you tried, sweetheart."

"But Robin- she told you to back off?"

"Yeah, but that- that's nothing to do with you, ok? You didn't do anything wrong. That wasn't your fault."

He waits, but Steve doesn't respond. If anything, he feels more tense.

"Ok, Steve, come on, hey." Eddie gently pushes Steve away, holds him by his shoulders so he has to look at him. "That wasn't your fault."

"So why were you pulling away?"

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Robin didn't want me stressing myself out, worrying all the time."

"Why would I be uncomfortable?"

"Steve. I'm gay."

"Yeah? I do listen when you talk, man, I don't need a reminder."

"No, that-" Eddie snorts, shaking his head. "I'm gay and you're pretty. And nice. And you're always curling up on me like a fucking cat. Did you really not realize?"

"Oh." Steve blinks. He isn't sure what he's feeling, but it definitely isn't negative. "Really? Me?"

"Yeah, Stevie, you. I thought you'd noticed. I stare at your lips a lot. Even the kids noticed. Like I said, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. It's one thing to be ok with a dude being gay, it's another for that dude to be crushing on you. I get it if you don't feel comfortable with any of that shit."

"No, it... it's not making me feel uncomfortable."

"Ok. That's good? Right? How is it making you feel?"

Steve fiddles with the hem of his top, face heating up. "Uh. Nice, I guess? I don't know. But not, like, bad."

"Nice as in... it's nice to feel wanted?" Eddie glances down to his lips- this time, Steve notices.

"No, um... I don't know. I didn't really think you'd ever want to look at me like that. It's nice." Steve shifts, hesitating. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but he really wants to admit it... "I, uh... I think I want you to look at me like that."

"Steve, please, you need to elaborate. I don't want to read this wrong. Why do you want me to look at you like that?"

"It's... uh..."

Eddie steps a little closer, gently reaching out to hold his hand. "Steve. Why do you want me to look at you like that?"

"Because that's how I look at you," Steve whispers. The thought is a little shocking, even to him- but it's true. "Oh."

Eddies thumb rubs a little circle on the back of his hand. It's nice, comforting. "Steve, I'm gonna kiss you now. Is that ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, yes, that's ok, please."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #ficlet #I'm pretty sure I was aiming for something else at the start but #this is what it devolved into so 🤷‍♂️#hurtcomfort

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deathbecomesthem · 4 months

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You, Me, and Baby Make Three, Pt. 1

Pregnant!Reader x Partner!Eddie Munson | 3.9K

Summary: You and Eddie are at the end of your first pregnancy. Things take an unexpected turn. This story starts on day -3 to birth and will go through ~day 42 postpartum. It will be a realistic portrayal of first time parenthood.

Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, childbirth, pregnancy complications, gross body things that come along with childbirth and parenthood, financial insecurity, medical trauma, and all of the wonderful and terrible feelings that are a part of having a child. The good, the bad, and the very ugly. This story will have smut in the end. I'm only telling you this because I know that information sometimes means a person will otherwise not bother with a story. I should warn you, though - it will be an accurate portrayal of postpartum sex.

A/N: This is largely based on my own experiences as pregnant person and new parent. I'm writing and publishing this story without a whole lot of tidying of the story. It is what it is, and I'm very ok with that. Don't read this if you think it will trigger you in any way.

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Day -3 to 0

You can almost reach it. You got down on your hands and knees in front of the large stainless steel refrigerator before you really thought about it. It was just a small thing, reaching under the behemoth cooling machine to get the errant bagel that fell off the baking tray. You’ve done it, or something close to it, hundreds of times before. Except this time, you can’t lay flat on your belly to reach under and grab at it with the tips of your fingers. You’re wondering if you’re even going to be able to get up off the tile at this moment.

“What the fuck are you doing?” An annoyed voice asks. You can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed, only relieved that someone is here to help you up. “Whatever’s down there can stay there. Don’t need you going into labor over a danish.”

“A bagel,” you answer back. You reach your hands out and let Beth, the opening barista, help you to your feet. “I didn’t think about it. I know, it’s stupid.”

“Well, I’ll leave a note at the baking station. ‘You’re super pregnant, you idiot. Stay off the floor.’”

You cock your head to the side and roll your eyes. You hate this. You hate people treating you differently. No, it’s more than that - you hate that you need to be treated differently. It’s not right. It’s just not. You are still in this body, and you can take care of it yourself. It’s not right that everyone gets to have an opinion about what you do with it.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I have an appointment with the midwife this morning. I came in early, I’ll be gone for about an hour. You’ll have to hold it down til the other girls get in.” You’re hanging your flour dusted apron on the handle of the already cooling oven doors, not waiting for a response from Beth.

“You know, you can just take the day -” Beth doesn’t get far before you cut her off.

“You know the fuck I cannot just take the day. I need every second of work I can get before this kid pops outta me.” You’re telling her while still making your way to the back door, grabbing your bag on the way.

“I can’t believe Eddie lets you work like this.” Beth gets her last jab in, earning her your middle finger before you slam the large metal door closed on your way through the door and into the parking lot.

You consider your hip pain on the ride to your doctor. It’s been getting worse. Every part of your body is heavy, all of the time. You wish you could be done with spending 9 hours on your feet 5 days a week. Truly, would a few hundreds of dollars matter? Probably not. There isn’t enough money for what’s coming, that’s something you’re certain of. And Eddie.

Eddie. Your sweet man. Oh, he does worry, it’s all he does right now. It’s why he’s pulling 50 hours at the factory, delivering pizzas 4 nights a week, and still doing guitar lessons on Saturdays. You want to tell him that it’s too much, that you need him to be happy. You need him with you more, holding and caring for you. Except. Except that there’s a baby on the way, and what you need is as much cash as possible. This is how the world works.

Your legs feel heavier than when you left the cafe as you swing them out of your car in the parking lot of the midwife’s office. Today, your ankles feel like full balloons ready to pop. Your feet hurt, but not from standing on them - they hurt because they feel too big for your shoes. You try not to think about the last appointment, when your midwife told you to keep an eye on the swelling in your legs, and how you ignored the advice. What could you do? Tell your body to stop retaining so much water?

The empty waiting room is a blessing, you don’t even have time to waddle to one of the cold, plastic chairs that line the walls of the waiting room. No time to flip through the glossy paged parenting magazines. The nurse brings you right back. You turn your face away from the scale as it registers your weight, follow her back into one of the rooms at the far end of the office.

“Alright, get a gown on, and then open the door. I’ll come back for your blood pressure.” The nurse is making her way out before you even have a chance to respond. You undress clumsily. You can’t get used to the way your weight is distributed, every day something changes in you. Your body expands and makes space for the thing that’s growing, that’s sucking the nutrients from your blood. You’ve come to think of them, the baby, as a kind of parasite. An unkind thought that you’ve kept to yourself.

You tuck your bra and underwear beneath the maternity pants and oversized blouse, and waddle to leave the door open a crack to indicate you’re once again modest. As modest as you can be with the back of your gown open to anyone that might move behind you. The paper under your butt crinkles as you move your thighs around to try to get comfortable. The nurse is back, and you wonder if she was standing in the hallway waiting for you to be ready for her.

She pulls the cuff down from the wall, and wraps it around your arm. With a finger at your wrist, she pumps air into the cuff. And pumps. And pumps. And pumps until it starts to get painful, and you feel a vague sense of panic, as if your arm might break open at the pressure. She mercifully releases the air just as you're gearing up to tell her it’s too tight. You look at her face, feeling your own features relaxing, waiting for her to tell you the numbers that are meaningless to you. Her eyebrows are pinched together, the first sign of anything more than vague politeness and professionalism.

“Why don’t you lay back, let me get you a pillow.” She pats the paper covered table behind you, and pulls out the extension at the foot end. She pulls a pillow, covered in a similar paper to your gown and the table cover, and sets it down by your head. “Janice will be in very soon.”

You do as you’re told. You lay back. You think about the look on the nurse’s face, and start to feel small rumbles of concern surge through you. Your heavy belly sits in your eyesight, so that when the midwife comes in, you can only see her cheerful face. The prickling of panic fades when you see her. A 65 year old woman that has birthed a countless number of babies, a motherly figure you’ve come to trust, she guides you through the strange wilderness of pregnancy.

“How’s mom feeling today, hm?” She asks as she wheels over the backless stool to sit next to you. Unlike during a doctor’s visit, Janice likes to sit and talk to you before she begins her examination. She told you on your first visit with her that it lets her understand what she should be looking for. Today, though, she’s looking at your ankles, and testing the skin while she waits for your answer.

“Oh, I’m tired. My skin itches. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat.” You’re listing your usual complaints, and see Janice nodding along. Normal complaints.

“How’s baby? Have we been keeping track of movements?” Janice looks at you, her hand still feeling around your lower leg. She’ll know if you’re lying, so you don’t even try.

“I mean, I haven’t kept notes or anything, but I feel like it’s moving around all the time. Just before you came in, I swear there was a dance party going on in there.” As if to reiterate your point, a movement could be seen across the top of your belly. An elbow? A knee?

“Good, good. That’s what I like to hear.” Her words seem a little hollow, and you know she’s holding back something. “You’re very swollen, though. I’m more worried about mom than baby right now. Have you been keeping your feet up when you can?” Janice is already on her feet, and heading to the counter to pull out a pair of vinyl gloves.

“Well. Sure, when I can. I’m still working, but after work I try to keep them up. Eddie found a recliner a couple of months ago, did I tell you that? It rocks when it’s upright, good for the baby, he said. It’s been a godsend to have that thing.” You’re just talking now, but Janice is still nodding along with your words.

“That’s good. It helps to have a supportive daddy at home.” Janice sighs, and smiles. Her lips are a thin line, and you feel your muscles brace for impact, “your BP is pretty high today, and I don’t like the look of your ankles. Your urine sample was normal, though, so we might just be looking at a bad day.”

You don’t say anything. You’re trying to remember what that means. It’s in the book, the one that Wayne bought you as soon as he found out about the baby on the way. A potential complication, oh shit, what was it called. It could be really bad, you’re remembering - low birth weight, birth complications, postpartum seizures, fetal and mother death. Shit, shit, shit, what is it called -

“Just to be safe, we need to treat this like it’s toxemia. That means partial bed rest for the next few weeks. You can come in three days from now for a BP check. We have a wonderful OB that comes in once a week, and we can squeeze you in to see him.” You can hear Janice’s words, but you lack understanding. You pick out one bit, and ask,

“Partial bed rest? I can’t work?” You ask Janice’s back. She’s rifling around in the cabinet about the sink. She finds what she’s looking for, bringing out the measuring tape so that she can see the fundal height of the baby. She gives you the same tight lipped smile as before as she works the tape around your middle.

“No, you can’t work. I’m sorry. We’ll know more when you see the doctor. For now, you’re staying with your feet up unless you’re going to the bathroom.” Her voice is soft, but firm. No room for argument.

—-

You hear the van pull up outside the trailer. It’s Wednesday, that means he’s home tonight, not driving around town delivering pizzas to the people of Hawkins. You hope he won’t notice the puffiness around your eyes, you cried for an hour after you stopped at the cafe to turn in your keys. You looked at the checkbook balance while you sat in your car and wondered how you’d be able to afford groceries by the end of the month. This wasn’t in the plan.

“If you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world,” Eddie’s singing as he swings open the door, “tell her I’m sorry, tell her I need my baby!” He’s smiling and swinging his old lunch box. You can’t help but laugh at him, still dressed in his coveralls and hair pulled up in a ponytail. The hairnet and earplugs were left in the van, along with his safety glasses.

“You goon. Charlie Rich, huh? You’re edging closer to becoming Wayne’s twin every day.”

Eddie comes over to you, and kisses your forehead, careful to not get his still grease stained hands on the chair. “Hello, beautiful. How are we doing tonight?”

“Mm, ok. I saw the midwife today.” You don’t like the way your voice sounds. You’ve thought about how to tell Eddie this news, and have decided that ripping the bandaid off is the best approach. No point in trying to soften things, especially if it ends up being serious.

“And?” Eddie asks, looking down at you with expectation.

“And, go wash up.” You tell him, “we’ll talk over frozen pizza.”

You click the knobs on the oven to let it heat up. You decide to throw together a salad - just some iceberg, tomato, and cucumbers - as an attempt to get some vegetables into Eddie’s system. You try not to think about how you’re supposed to be keeping your feet up right now. Unless I’m going to the bathroom, you think. You shake your head and chop up a tomato. What an unreasonable expectation.

You see the way his lips jut into a small and concerned frown, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just makes his way down the hallway to take his after work shower. You’re surprised to find that your legs feel even heavier now that you’ve spent the last several hours reclined on your chair. Eddie found the chair at an estate sale, and it’s been a godsend. It keeps you upright enough to ease your heartburn, you sleep better in the chair than your own bed these days.

Eddie’s back, smelling of Irish Spring and fabric softener, just as you’re putting the pizza into the oven. He walks up behind you as you shut the oven door, and wraps his hands around your belly. The baby, Eddie’s sure that it’s a boy, moves around as if to get its father’s attention.

“He’s really movin’ in there.” Eddie’s rocking you back and forth, slowly. You close your eyes and lean your head back into his chest. If you could live your life between his arms, you would do it. This is your home.

“Yeah, ready to make a break for it.” You tell him. You turn the dial timer to 15 minutes, and say, “the midwife says the baby’s fully cooked now. Just putting on some extra weight. I could give birth tomorrow, and it’d be ok.”

“Oof, tomorrow? Let’s hope not.” Eddie kisses the top of your head and slaps your ass. “Go sit down, woman. I’ll bring you some lemonade.”

You do as you’re told, you waddle your way over to the lumpy couch and put your feet up. Eddie follows behind you at a much quicker pace, glass of lemonade in his hand. It’s sweating already, the ice can’t keep up with the warmth inside the trailer. You look over to the small air conditioner in the corner and wonder if it’s even worth running the thing. The space is too big, and it just adds more money to the electric bill. Eddie sits at the end of the couch, and hands you the lemonade before taking your feet and placing them on his lap.

“So. What are you not telling me?” He asks, working his thumb into the bottom of your foot. You sink lower, giving him better access to your sore feet. They’re so swollen tonight, you feel like your skin might burst.

“Don’t overreact,” you pick up your foot and point a toe at his face. He grabs it again, and sets it down on his lap. “My blood pressure was high. I’m on partial bed rest. I have to go see the OB in three days.”

Eddie hands freeze for a second, and then his thumb begins to work on your foot again while he absorbs the information you just gave to him. “What does that mean? Partial bed rest? Do they think you have - shit, what’s it called?”

“Toxemia. Yes, the midwife said maybe. But it’s ok, because we’re fully cooked,” you point two fingers at your swollen belly, reminding him that the child inside could come out at this very moment and be fine, if a little small. “We’ll know better in a couple of days. I just need to keep my feet up and keep track of any really bad headaches. But I haven’t had those. I really think it’s fine, Eddie. I just hate that I can’t work.”

“You should’ve stopped working a month ago,” he looks over to you with an expression of slight exasperation. This is not the first time this idea has come up between the two of you. “I told you, that’s why I started working at Gino’s. You do too much.”

“Stop. Do not lecture me, Eddie Munson. I’m fine. I’ll do what the midwife says, and lay on this couch, or in the bed, or in the recliner, until I can get this thing out of me.”

“Yes, you fucking will. And no more making dinner. I’ll figure that shit out.” As if to put an exclamation on his statement, the kitchen buzzer goes off, and he’s up before you can even consider moving. “Stay.” He puts a hand out before making his way across the room and behind the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen.

—

Day 0

Eddie took the day off of work. When he told you he was coming to your appointment with you, you had put up a fight. You had argued. You had gotten unreasonably annoyed at the idea that he thought you needed him there. The pain inside your skull, a sneaking thing that had begun to keep you up at night, beat a steady rhythm at the idea of Eddie seeing you in that vulnerable position.

It’s so unfair. The days of bed rest have done nothing but steadily increase your irritation about everything. Your situation. The too warm trailer. The fact that you can’t make yourself anything more than a sandwich to eat, or Eddie will scold you like a child when he comes home after work. He’s like a detective, looking for any clues of potential bad behavior. The worst of it all, though, is that Mrs. Reynolds has been assigned to take care of you. The elderly woman that lives in the trailer between Wayne and the Johnsons comes down every day to bring you egg salad, or tuna noodle casserole, or whatever other concoction she’s decided is appropriate for the poor pregnant girl.

You had not expected Eddie to pull 10 hour shifts, followed by extra hours at Gino’s following the news of your bed rest - but you should have seen it coming. The financial anxiety is getting to him. Where you carry the weight of your unborn child, he carries the weight of expectation. You see it written all over his face, and no amount of reassurance that you’re fine, and you’ll be back to work in no time, eases the deepening creases on his beautiful face.

This morning, you don’t think about that. You don’t think about the fear that he’s feeling. You ignore your own fear, and allow irritation to take over. That irritation gives you a sense of control, of power over a situation in which you have no authority. Your body is not your own, and its betrayal is something you can never forgive. Today, you will go see this doctor, and he will show you exactly how out of control you really are.

—

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Seiver.” A man about your age comes strolling into the exam room. He zeroes in on Eddie sitting in the chair beside the exam table and offers his hand. You fight against an urge to scoff. “Let’s take a look. Scoot down, please.”

You scoot down, holding onto the paper blanket that covers your naked lower half. Eddie’s seen your naked body many times before, but never like this. And, this doctor, Dr. Seiver, has probably seen hundreds of naked women. You wonder if he looks at the naked body of his lover with cold medical appraisal.

You look over and see Eddie’s eyes are wide, and you can feel your skin burn with embarrassment. He must have known that his insistence at being present for this appointment meant that he would watch a doctor stick his fingers into your vagina, but maybe not. You hadn’t prepared him beforehand, too annoyed to bother.

Speculum, vinyl gloves, and lubricant on two fingers, the doctor continues to talk with no preamble, “your blood pressure is more elevated than the other day, and I’m sorry to say that your urine dip this morning showed protein. So,” he’s looking over to Eddie now while his fingers dig deeper into your vagina until they hit a wall, “we need you to leave here and go straight to Mercy to be induced today. No need to risk it, not while you and baby are in good shape.”

The pain shocks you to your core, a deep ache that you are not at all prepared for. Tears flow down your cheeks, and you let out a small sob. Eddie’s hand is on your arm, and he’s looking at your face with confusion. The doctor is unaffected, and pulls his now bloody fingers out of you and says -

“That should get you going. I manually dilated your cervix, it will make this process go a lot quicker and maybe we won’t need to load you up with too much pitocin. Just head over to Mercy, the maternity ward is on the 4th floor.” The doctor is up on his feet, peeling bloody gloves off and disposing them into the red biohazard waste bin on the wall, “there are pantyliners in the top drawer over here, you might bleed for a little while.”

And just like that, the doctor was gone, leaving you with your legs spread on the table and tears streaming down your face. You’re going to have a baby today. You turn to look at Eddie, his hand is still clenching your arm. He’s pale, the blood drained from his face completely. You would swear that the lines of his face are even deeper than they were when you got in the car this morning. You wipe your face with your free hand, and sit up.

“Ed, come on.” You’re suddenly anxious to get moving. Get on the road, and into a hospital bed. Let the professionals take over. “It’s ok. Why don’t we call Wayne on the way out. He can meet us at the hospital.”

Eddie stands up, helps you to your feet. You see him sway a little bit and wonder if it was the sight of your blood that did this to him, or if it’s the thought that this baby is actually real and he’ll be holding it in his arms in less than 24 hours.

“I, uh, are you ok? That guy was an absolute asshole,” Eddie’s helping you get your clothes back on. He helps you with your jeans, and then sits you in the chair and starts working on getting your shoes on your feet. You are overwhelmed with love for him, bent down on his knees in front of you, jaw clenched in anger and frustration at the way you’ve been treated today.

“I’m ok. I’m glad you’re here, baby. I’m sorry I was such a bitch about you coming.”

Arm in arm, the two of you walk through the hallways and through the front door of the medical building. You think it might be your imagination, but the child inside of you feels like he’s lower than he was when you entered. The doctor, with his cruel fingers, cracked the door, and the baby is making its way down.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #tw pregnancy #pregnant!reader

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 4 months

Note

Heyyy

Do you do request? I hope you do requests.

I had this idea, and I really like your writing.

So imagine. Enemies to Lovers. Reader is an og avenger. And reader and bucky hate each other. (for some reason, idk). But she can't help but worry about him sometimes due to his trauma and the winter soldier program and stuff. But she still hates him

So, once, when bucky has this nightmare, he is shouting and grunting in his sleep. He is still laying on his bed and his eyes are closed. His eyebrows are furrowed. So the reader, she hears him and slowly makes her way towards his bedroom and starts comforting him by rubbing his head, massaging his head, whispering calming and soothing words in his ear, so that he falls back asleep into a peaceful slumber. However bucky doesn't know who it was (Since he was still kinda half asleep or something.) The reader after her work is done calmly and quietly goes back to her own bedroom. Next day bucky approaches her and ask if it was her to helped him last night or something I don't know if it makes sense but I hope you understand what I am trying to say

Thank you love ya bye

(Please don't make it smut)

Care and Worry » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Even though Bucky and Y/N don’t get along, she can’t help but care and worry about him.

Warnings: tiny bit of Angst, Fluff, language, Enemies to Lovers, nightmares, kissing, pet names (doll)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this. I hope this is what you imagined.

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found this one on Pinterest.

For as long as you and Bucky have known each other, you two don’t get along. You two hate each other. You know hate is a strong word, but that’s how you two feel about each other. Well, a little more Bucky than you. Deep down, you can’t help but care and worry about him after everything he has been through.

You were walking back to your bedroom from the kitchen when you heard noises coming from Bucky’s bedroom who happens to be next door to yours. You walked over to his room, pressing your ear against the door. You heard him talking and making groaning noises. You wrapped your hand around the door knob and slowly turned it, only to find out that it’s unlocked. You opened the door wide enough to slowly go inside of his room. You quietly closed the door behind you. You looked at Bucky to see him tossing and turning in his bed with his eyebrows furrowed, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and breathing heavily. It hurt you to see him like this. You carefully laid down on his bed next to him and began to cautiously run your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp.

“It’s ok.” You whispered in his ear. “Everything is fine. Try to relax.” You say sweetly.

You watched as his body slowly relaxed, his eyebrows weren’t furrowed anymore, and his breathing went back to normal.

“There you go. You’re ok.” You whispered, kissing the side of his head.

You stayed there for a couple more minutes, massaging his head and running your fingers through his hair just to be sure. You carefully and quietly stood up and left his bedroom to go to your room. You knew that you were going to sleep better, knowing that you helped Bucky through a nightmare. The following morning, Bucky woke up without feeling tired for once. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he was glad that he was able to get some sleep.

“Morning, Buck. How’d you sleep?” Steve asks as Bucky walks in the lounge.

“Surprisingly good.” Bucky answers. “Which is kinda weird.” He says.

“Why’s it weird?” Steve asks.

“Well, I was in the middle of one of my nightmares when it randomly ended. It’s like someone pulled me out of it.” He says.

You looked up at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. You stood up, walking towards the door.

“I’m going to get some coffee.” You say, trying not to make it obvious.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows as he watched you leave the room.

“What’s her problem?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know.” Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe she just wants coffee.” He says.

“No that’s not it. I always see her with coffee every morning. She’s acting different and I’m going to find out what it is.” He says.

Bucky walked out of the room and went to the kitchen to see you making coffee.

“Morning, Bucky. Do you want some coffee?” You asked, not making eye contact with him.

“No. I want to know why you’re acting weird.” He says.

“I’m not acting weird, Barnes.” You say.

“Yes you are. You’ve been acting weird since I said I slept good last night.” That’s when it occurred to him. “Wait a minute…” He mumbles.

Bucky thought back to last night. The sweetness of your voice soothing him to sleep, pulling him from his nightmare.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be honest with me, ok?” Bucky says, approaching you.

You nodded, taking a couple steps back.

“Did you comfort me through my nightmare last night?” He asks.

“Define comfort.” You say.

“I hear a woman’s voice whispering sweet things in my ear while her fingers were playing with my hair.” He says.

“It could’ve been Natasha or Wanda.” You say.

“No. It didn’t sound like their voices.” He says.

“I don’t know who it could’ve been.” You say.

Bucky studied your body language. He took a step closer to you as you took another step backward.

“What’s up with you, Y/N? You’re never this talkative with me. The only time you have something to say to me is when you’re insulting me.” Bucky says.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Bucky! I don’t know what you want me to say!” You say, raising your voice.

You tried to walk past him, but Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you back to him.

“You didn’t answer me.” He says.

“You never asked me a question.” You say, yanking your arm out of his grasp.

“The question I’m trying to ask you is, were you the one who helped me through my nightmare last night?” He asks.

“So what if it was me?” You asked.

“Why would you help me? I thought you hated me.” He says.

You looked down at the floor and shrugged your shoulders.

“Y/N…” Bucky says.

You looked up at him, looking into his beautiful blue eyes that makes every woman fall in love with him.

“Be honest with me.” He says.

“Ok, fine. It was me.” You say.

“Why though?” He asks.

“I uhh… care and worry about you after all you’ve been through.” You say honestly.

Bucky blinked a couple times. He wasn’t sure what to think. Besides Steve, he hasn’t had anyone care or worry about him in years.

“You care and worry about me?” Bucky asks, making sure he heard you right.

“Yes.” You answered, feeling your cheeks heat up. “We can pretend that it never happened.” You say.

You tried to walk away again, but Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you close to him. What he did next surprised you. His lips were on yours, kissing you passionately.

“Thank you.” He says.

“Oh umm— you’re welcome.” You say.

“I haven’t had anyone care or worry about me in years and if I’m being honest, I like it, especially if it’s coming from you.” He says.

“Did Bucky just admit his feelings to me?” You thought to yourself. You weren’t sure what to say or think.

“What are you trying to say, Bucky?” You asked.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with you.” Bucky says.

“Y-You’re in love with me?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answers. “It’s ok if you don’t feel the same—” You silenced him with a kiss.

Bucky was caught by surprise, but kissed you back.

“If you shut up for a fucking second, you’ll know that I’m in love with you too.” You say with a smile.

“Go out with me.” He says softly, cupping your cheek.

“Only if you buy me coffee.” You say with a giggle.

“I’ll buy you anything you want, doll.” Bucky says with a smile.

You grinned and kissed him again.

“Sounds like a date.” You say, looking into his eyes.

“I love you, doll.” He says softly.

“I love you too, Bucky.” You say in almost a whisper.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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bonkhrnyjail · 1 month

Text

sweet plum | chapter six

masterlist | pinterest | spotify playlist

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

summary: the last of us wrap party is tonight, and the tension between you and pedro can no longer be ignored…

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: alcohol consumption, mild sexual content

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR THE LOVE ON CHAPTER FIVE omg. i’m kicking myself for not posting this fic on tumblr sooner! pls enjoy chapter six and feel free to not analyze what our lovely reader’s actions might say about me as an author or my relationship to conflict <3 love y’all.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You’ve been avoiding Pedro like the fucking plague.

Sixty missed calls. Even twenty texts, and off the top of your head you can't remember the last time he actually texted you. The calls became less frequent as the weeks passed, but he still tries at least once every day. You silence them every time.

The day you kissed him, he tried to call you ten times in a row, unbeknownst to you. You had thrown your phone across the living room the second you made it through the door and laid completely catatonic on your bed until your roommate got home.

“Babe, you’ll never guess who I saw last night— Are you good?” she inquired nonchalantly as she entered your room to find you face down in your mound of stuffed animals.

Droplets began to prickle the corners of your eyes as you let out a muffled groan in response. Your mouth wasn’t capable of words, the fat, dry lump in your throat stubborn and unyielding, forcing you to clench your teeth around nothing. A hand landed softly on your shoulder.

“Woah, hey,” she started to rub your arm up and down as a full body sob rippled through you. "Talk to me."

You looked up at her, tears rolling fast and hot down the apples of your cheeks, and threw yourself into her chest.

“I- I- I did something st-stupid,” you managed between sobs.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she tried to reassure you gently, smoothing down your hair. “Unless you accidentally shaved some of Pedro’s hair off or something. I’m sure he’d forgive you anyways, though.”

You tried to form words against the sobs clawing their way out of your chest.

“Bad, Abby. Like, r-really bad.”

“Well shit. What’s the damage?” she spoke somewhat brashly, which was nothing new when it came to her attempts at being gentle. “Do I have to kill somebody? ‘Cause I will, I've been playing a lot of first person shooter, I can handle it.”

Laughter overtook your cries, although whatever sounds were coming from your throat were a horrifying mixture of both. Abby chuckled at the sound. You continued like that for a while, laughing and crying and laughing again, until the tears finally stopped.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she blurted as a soberness enveloped her tone. “I’m sure I can come up with a solution. You know I’m crafty.”

“Do you know how to erase memories?” you mumbled as you sat up straight. “That’s the only solution I can think of.”

“No… but I own a bat. Blunt force trauma is a pretty surefire solution.”

“Jesus… not to Pedro.”

“Did you, like, shit yourself or something?” she blundered, immediately biting down on her lip after the words left her mouth. “Sorry, no, this is serious. Serious time.”

You let out a gargantuan sigh as you stared fervently into your lap.

“... I kissed him.”

“You WHAT?” she grabbed your shoulders and shook you aggressively. “YOU WHAT?!”

“I—”

“WHAT? HOW? WHEN?” she shrieked, piercing the hell out of your eardrums.

“I kissed him, on the lips, on the doorstep.”

“ON THE DOORSTEP?!” she flailed her arms, slapping your shoulders in the process. “AND I MISSED IT?!”

“You’re hurting me.”

“WAS IT GOOD? IS HE A GOOD KISSER?”

“Can we use our inside voices?”

“FUCK— ok, sorry,” she mellowed, blowing air through raspberried lips. “Why are you so upset? I thought you wanted this to happen!”

“I... I did. And didn’t. It’s complicated,” you babbled through your frustration. “I just… kissed him. I didn’t think, or ask, and I can’t take it back.”

“Well, did he kiss you back?”

“Uh… I...” you muttered hesitantly. "I think so."

Abby sprung from your bed, squealing and dancing as her fists punched awkwardly into the air. The sight alone made you cackle.

“OK- so, what happened after that? Did he confess his love to you?”

“Jesus christ… no, that’s not what happened,” you groaned. “I sorta... ran away.”

“You WHAT?!”

“Oh god, please don’t kill me,” you whined. “I didn’t know what to do, I only realized what I had done after I had done it and I fuckin' panicked. He tried to grab my hand but I ran inside as fast as I could.”

“Dude, you have got to be kidding me,” her tone went flat, eyes laced with disappointment. “Where's your phone?”

“I don’t know, I threw it across the living room when I got up here. I was kinda freaking out.”

Abby immediately jumped off of the bed and started toward the door to your room, despite your insistent pleas to leave it be. She came storming back inside moments later.

“10 missed calls. 10 MISSED CALLS,” she pointed aggressively to your lock screen displaying the missed notifications. “Look, he even texted you.”

You snatched the phone out of her hand, shoving it under your pillow. “I can’t… I can’t right now.”

“If he didn’t want this, he wouldn’t call you that many times, and he definitely wouldn't have kissed you back," she trailed off for a moment, some sort of realization sparking behind her eyes. "Wait, did he get you those flowers on the kitchen counter?”

“I- yes. Just because I helped him out today last minute.”

“No, not because you helped him out last minute. Flowers from a man mean one of three things. Number one, congrats. Number two, condolences. And number three, please have sex with me.”

“Jesus,” you giggled. “And what does it mean if he brought me a coffee too?”

“Your usual?”

“...Yes.”

“Please have sex with me and be my wife forever and ever.”

You rolled your eyes and flopped back into your pillows, covering your face with your hands and groaning. Abby sat with you for a while, but eventually gave up, knowing damn well that you're to stubborn and you'd make your own decisions regarding the whole situation. She knew she never stood a chance to change your mind anyways.

The days passed, slowly at first, but eventually you found your way back to a steady rhythm. You went to work, saw your friends, read a lot, and spent practically zero time on your phone. Impressive how avoidance managed to cure your social media addiction.

You'd pushed it out of your head that you’d have to see Pedro in a few weeks. Then the weeks turned to a week, then to a few days, then to a day.

You woke up this morning and it all came crashing down.

The wrap party is tonight. Then the premiere tomorrow. Everyone is going. You couldn’t get away with skipping it if you tried. Bella would probably storm into your apartment and drag you out by the hair.

You haven’t even told Bella about the kiss.

You end up lying in bed for hours, watching video after video on Youtube to silence your racing thoughts. You had set an alarm on your phone earlier to remind you when to start getting ready, and it frightens the hell out of you, jolting you from a groggy haze of half-sleep. You curse under your breath and roll lazily onto your feet, your blankets crumpling to a pathetic-looking pile on the floor.

You power up your speaker and choose some music, an upbeat and catchy playlist to try and redirect your energy. The upside in all of this is that you can get all dolled up. It gives you an excuse for extensive self-pampering and wearing outfits that mostly collect dust in your closet.

An everything shower is an understatement of what you have planned. You have your products lined up, various scrubs, masks, body washes, etc, and a fresh razor sitting right beside them. You crank the faucet on, just a hair below the boiling point, and step into the tub.

The steam coats your lungs as you inhale deep, the sudden sensation of the water colliding with your skin sending a stark chill down your body. As you close your eyes, leaning your head back and letting your hair fall into the steady stream, your focus slips to a corner of your mind, the pesky corner that you've tried desperately to keep locked away. Because once the thoughts start, it’s damn near impossible to wrangle them back in.

The fantasy is vivid. You can almost feel Pedro’s hands in your hair, massaging shampoo slowly and intentionally from behind you. He’s close, his bare body pressed to your back, his skin hot and pulsing against yours. He leans you back to rinse the product from your hair, pressing a small kiss to your forehead as he squeezes your shoulder softly.

“Mmmm,” he hums, trailing languid, open-mouth kisses across your cheek and down your neck. “My sweet plum.”

A faint voice in the back of your mind is shouting wildly, trying to stop the scene from playing out in your head, but it's not enough to break through the noise.

He runs his hands down the front of your body, gently tracing your curves and valleys, finger-painting your skin with adoration. Your head falls back into him as his kisses grow deeper, longer, more desperate, him hardening against you as his gentle caresses turn to needy grasps.

“Let me… please,” you whisper into his ear, snaking your hand behind you and running your palm against the underside of his shaft. His body presses harder into yours as he lets out a soft grunt of approval directly in your ear, the vibration of it surging straight to your core.

A jolt of cold water shocks your body, tearing you from your fantasy. You come to and find yourself leaning against the wall of the shower, your ass having knocked the knob to the coldest setting.

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath, cranking the control back to where it was and reaching for your overpriced shampoo bottle.

You go through the motions of the rest of your shower, losing yourself in the music and singing along as you always do. Shower concerts have been your most recent replacement for the therapy that you can't quite afford.

You paint your toes, your leg hoisted up precariously on the counter and torso bent over to reach as your fuzzy robe dangles from your hips. You choose an eggplant purple, matching the accents in your dress. The press-ons that you found are a damn-near perfect match to this color, with a swirling design decorating the tips of the almond shape.

The dress is more of a dainty feminine than you typically go for. You generally gravitate towards sultry colors and styles, but the cut of this dress instantly drew your attention. A plunging neckline with miniscule gold buttons decorating the front. Beneath the bust, a sheer panel with corset boning outlines the waist, and the remainder of the skirt flows heavily, the hem sitting perfectly at your ankles. It reminds you of a Free People style dress, but in your size. Hallelujah.

With a feel-good playlist booming through your speaker, your makeup goes on quick and easy. A thick, black wing smoked out with a deep purple and a subtle, black cherry sheer lip. Everything else you keep fairly light and natural, letting the boldness of the eye do the talking.

You pull your hair up into a bun, making sure the dress is the center of attention. You leave a few, short pieces out and curl them, creating the sense of a haphazard version of a Victorian era updo. After donning some simple gold jewelry and your Mary Janes, the outfit is complete. You throw on an oversized brown blazer just to keep you warm, but you’ll likely take it off the moment you get to the party.

Your uber arrives moments later, somehow exactly as you descend the stairs outside your building. Your driver, an older man named Mario, gets out and shakes your hand as he introduces himself and his very nice BMW named Maria.

You've never met anyone quite this aggressively Italian.

The good-natured man even asks if you'd like to pick the music for the ride. You choose something that you hope the both of you will like: ABBA.

“This was popular when I was your age!” he gushes, the gravel and rasp in his voice more audible than the actual pitch.

“ABBA is absolutely timeless,” you chime, adding a few more songs to the queue.

You chat the whole ride there, his jovial presence somehow working away some of the knots of anxiety in your stomach. He asks all about your work, thankfully steering clear of who you work with, and even prodding you for styling tips for his “thick and unruly” curls.

He pulls up to the entrance, stopping near a hoard of your coworkers from the crew crowded amongst the steps to the double doors. You exchange goodbyes with Mario and slide out of the car into the brisk air, your blazer draped over your shoulders and doing a very ineffective job of retaining any of your body heat. You hear a shriek of joy emerge from the blob of people in front of you, followed by your name in the same cadence. Most of the heads you can see turn to face you, arms reaching out for hugs and smiles as far as you can see.

You’re going to make this a good night. No matter what.

. . . . .

It’s significantly warmer inside the venue, so you decided to drop your jacket at the coat check. It’s much more crowded than you expected, but then again, everyone was invited. Some of your friends from makeup even made the trip from New York to be here. Since you’ve never been to one of these before, jokes keep getting thrown around along the lines of “Baby’s first wrap party!" and you losing your wrap party virginity. The group dynamics from the days on set settle right back into a rhythm, your place as the baby of the group still yours for the taking. You don’t mind the coddling, as it seems to help keep your mind off of the inevitable.

There’s a slurry of waiters dipping and dodging amongst clusters of bodies, hors d'oeuvres and drinks displayed gorgeously on shiny golden platters. Someone’s arm is dragging you towards the open bar across the dance floor, where a herd has already begun to form. A slew of voices and faces pass you by as you travel swiftly through the crowd, and you’re unable to make out anything distinct amongst the clamor.

Until you hear his voice.

That familiar boom of laughter, crisp and thunderous, crystal clear amongst the hundreds of noises up against it. You immediately whip your head around to locate the source, forgetting your hand is in the grips of your friend and nearly snapping her limb off in the process. She lunges forward into you, nearly knocking your hors d’oeuvres plate from your hand and garnering the attention of several people surrounding you.

You somehow stumble back to balance and a very attentive waiter quickly swipes the mostly finished plate from your hands. The swiftness of everything is making you dizzy, sounds and sights swirling in the warm glow of the gorgeous chandelier decorating the space above you. With every turn of your head, the crowd in front of you shifts to blurry outlines of colors and shapes, like ink bleeding from the hard lines where people should begin and end.

Suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing your organs to a pulp.

“Who-” you look down to see two small hands with black painted nails. “Is that my Bellie?”

A head pops into your peripheral with a wide, toothy smile. You let out a little shriek as your arms envelop them and squeeze, lifting them off the ground a bit with the sheer force of it.

“I missed you so much—'' you pause, taking in their presence once more. “Look at you! You look amazing!”

“I look amazing?” They toy gently with the skirt of your dress. “You look amazing!”

You embrace once more, the excitement of seeing them in person completely overriding your ability to control the gleeful noises escaping your body. They pull away, your hands still gripping each other’s elbows.

“Have you seen P? I know he’s already here,” they pull their phone out of their back pocket, his location pulled up on Find My Friends.

“Oh, uh… I— I haven’t yet,” you hear your voice quickly morph into a downbeat tone against your will.

“Uh oh,” they blurt. “Why is your face doing that? Did something happen?”

“I- uh…” you stumble over a sad attempt at words, muttering unintelligible syllables. “Well—”

Your train of thought comes to a screeching halt as he appears through a sliver in the crowd.

And, god, he looks handsome as ever. A nice, nice white suit clings ever so perfectly to his muscular, statuesque frame. The collar is folded neatly against his strong, thick neck, a few subtle veins protruding softly from his caramel skin. His dimples are on full display as he throws his head back with laughter, the little heart-shaped patch in his beard perfectly prominent.

Bella follows your gaze until they see him. They call out his name and wave him down on their tiptoes. He immediately clocks the voice, and you watch as the small smile on his face spreads to a wide grin. He excuses himself from his current conversation and starts towards your direction.

Your stomach drops. You quickly survey around you to find that there is no clear escape, there are clusters of people surrounding you on each side and no pockets that you could gracefully slip into to weave your way through the crowd. For better or worse, you’re trapped.

He quickly scoops Bella into a bear hug, his arms enveloping their small frame in it's entirety. He spins them around, their feet dangling, hovering just above the floor. You stand there, frozen, little bunches of your dress clumped up in your tight, fidgeting fists. The fabric rolls between your thumb and forefinger, a haphazard attempt at soothing the anxiety surging through your veins.

It takes him a minute to acknowledge your presence, and with every second that passes, your urge to bolt revs in your belly.

Once his gaze meets yours, a soft, forgiving smile paints across his lips. You force the corners of your mouth upwards, attempting to create what hopefully appears like an expression of joy. Hopefully.

“Hi.”

It comes out more like a sigh when he says it, like it’s been pounding at his chest, just waiting to be released. His hand lays flat on his abdomen as he taps his pointer finger repeatedly. The muscles in his neck flex, creating movement in the collar of his shirt.

He’s nervous. You know him well enough to know that, and you know you’re likely not hiding your true state very well either. He knows you just as well.

You try to respond. The air you've been holding prisoner in your lungs tumbles out, catching in your throat. A feeble, "H-hi," is all you can manage.

“You look…” his eyes wander your body, your face, your hair, his lips parted ever so slightly. “You look lovely.”

The statement reverberates in your mind until you hear a distant call of your name. A quick turn of your head finds your favorite hairstylist waving you down.

“I—” you swallow and start over. “Thank you. Thanks. I—, sorry, I gotta—” you motion toward your destination with your thumb before decidedly turning and slipping through the crowd, a copious amount of polite little statements slipping off your tongue in order to get out of sight and away from him.

. . . . .

“So… what the fuck was that?” Bella states gruffly, sitting opposite of you at a small high top table, tucked away in a quieter room off of the main ballroom. “That was, like, painful.”

You let out a small groan, knowing you’d have to tell them at some point, but dissenting the fact that the time for that confession seems to be right this very second.

“I kinda… I fucked things up between us.”

“I doubt that,” they say reassuringly.

“No, seriously, I—” you stop yourself mid-sentence to catch your breath. “I kissed him, Bel.”

They let out a satisfied chuckle.

“Well thank god. It’s about goddamn time.”

“No, no you don’t understand,” you babble. “I kissed him without thinking, realized what I did, and ran.”

“Ohhhh my g—” they blow a raspberry. “Ok. Well. When was this?”

“Like… a month ago?”

“A month?!”

“I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Jesus christ… I’m assuming he’s tried to call you, yes?”

“Pretty much every single day since it happened,” your words come out more sigh than pitch.

Bella rubs their temples, an incomprehensible expression on their face.

“Gosh, it feels like mom and dad are fighting.”

That makes you snort laugh, to your own surprise.

“Well clearly he’s not angry at you. And you can’t avoid him forever,” they reason, their bluntness somehow comforting, unraveling the little knot sitting in your gut. “I wish you two would just put all your cards on the table. Worst comes to worst, things don’t work out.”

“I just really don’t want to lose him, Bellie,” you mumble into your drink.

“You will if you don’t talk to him,” they quip right back, eyes stern and decided.

You know they’re right. As much as you don’t want to admit it, you know.

“I’ll talk to him. Tomorrow. Tonight is supposed to be fun.”

“Fair enough. Now, come dance with me.” they hop to their feet and extend a hand.

You take it with a smile, and within a mere second they’re whisking you towards the dance floor.

. . . . .

You’ve had 3 drinks. Three strong drinks. On a stomach with only a few bite sized hors d'oeuvres to soak up the copious amount of gin in your system.

And it’s helping, sure. Helping you forget momentarily that Pedro is probably within 100 feet of you at any given moment. Helping your breath move in and out the way it’s supposed to, without catching on threads of worry webbed inside your lungs. Helping to loosen the knots that riddled your body when you got here.

But it’s also making you dizzy.

Dizzy enough that you’re not quite sure when you end and others begin. It’s all lights and laughter and limbs, filling your senses to the brim. The corners of your vision have a little haze to them, a haze that’s starting to grow inward.

You stumble your way out of the hoard, searching for the nearest corner to tuck yourself away in for a moment. A friend hollers after you, asking if you’re alright.

“I’m good! Just got the spins,” you reassure her. “I’ll be back.”

A little awning reveals itself to you in a narrow sightline through the crowd. You follow the slender gap without a second thought. Once you reach the end, you find a dimly lit hallway with an emergency exit sign illuminating a sturdy black door. You steady yourself on a railing and lean your weight into the wall, your head bowed slightly and shoulders rounded.

The pattern on the carpet sways in your vision as you let yourself hang for a moment, releasing tension from your upper body and pushing your feet firmly into the floor as some attempt at grounding. After a moment, you decide to take your shoes off in hopes it will inspire your body to feel more “at one with gravity”.

The sound of booming bass still accosts your ears, but more muffled now, and the sound waves flow through you, perfectly in time with the beating of your heart. It isn’t until your name is spoken the third time that you really hear it.

Your eyes shoot up to find Pedro, a worried, scrunched brow on his face and a bottle of water in his hand.

“Oh- um…” you stammer. You continue to fight for the right words, any words, until he cuts you off.

“Drink this,” he twists the cap and gently places the bottle into your right hand. “I haven’t seen you take a sip of water the entire night. No wonder you’re dizzy.”

A moment of confusion clouds you, but you quickly remember that you shouted over the blaring music for all to hear of your current state. Your voice can be quite head-turning with a lack of inhibition. You obey his word and take a swig from the bottle, the crisp, cold water relentless against your sensitive teeth. The temperature is a visceral opposite to the flush of your face, causing you to furrow your brow slightly as it travels down your esophagus.

He lets out a chuckle as he scans your expression.

“Cold?”

You produce an affirmative grumble and try to pass the bottle to him, but he gently pushes it back towards your chest.

“Have some more.”

Your eyes flutter under the softness of his gaze. You try to gulp down the dry seed in you throat.

“Pedro, I—”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“Bella told me I have to talk to you,” you admit, your chin tucked and stare driving into the carpet, whispering in a way that sounded more like you were reminding yourself than telling him.

It makes him laugh, releasing that sweet, boisterous sound and it's accompanying smile you missed so dearly.

“Taking orders from Bellie now, eh?”

“They can be a bit militant when push comes to shove, to be honest,” a puff of air passes through your nose as a smirk tugs at your lips, your eyes glued to the floor. "'Specially if I'm being an idiot."

You take a few more sips of water and Pedro shifts to stand beside you, kicking his foot up with his back flat against the wall. Neither of you speak, only the sounds of your breath filling the space between you.

You both inhale at the same time, as though you are both about to speak.

“F—sorry, y-you go,” you gulp, though your mouth is bone dry.

He lets his exhale escape through puckered lips, and you watch as his hiked up chest deflates. His hand sits flat against the first button of his suit jacket as he thumbs at the lapel.

“I’ve spent the past month in agony, you know.”

You gaze up at his face, his eyes fixed on the glint in his freshly-shined shoes. He rolls his bottom lip through his teeth nervously, the hue of the skin shifting from an off-white to a bitten pink as it’s released from the grip.

“Missing you…” he spoke softly. “Wanting to talk to you…”

Guilt spreads like a wildfire, scalding your throat.

“Pedro, I— I am so s—”

“Wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.”

The words kick the air from your lungs, your lips parting to make way as the muscles in your jaw give out entirely. He turns to face your visage, and you find his painted with an expression of pure yearning. His eyes have a sparkle to them, but not of joy. It’s more like a heat, a burning that seems almost painful to endure. The thick, inescapable tension wraps itself hermetically around your neck.

“I— You didn’t even give me a chance to kiss you back.”

Before you can even process the words, the clinking of glasses sounds in the distance. Through the muffled shouting you hear a strained attempt at organizing a drunken group photo.

“We should probably…” you floppily gesture towards the ballroom, the alcohol seemingly turning your bones a bit soft and pliable. “Can we talk about this after the party? I'd like to be a little more sober if I can help it.”

“Right, uh—” he adjusts his tie slightly, insecurely clearing his throat. “After the party. I can do that.”

“I promise,” you assure, though you’re acutely aware that he has very little reason to trust you, considering you avoided him for almost a month straight. You reach for his hand, the one that’s still fidgeting with his jacket, hopeful your touch will convey your sincerity in a way that your words can’t.

He smiles, somewhat forcibly. and offers his arm.

“Shall we?”

You make your way back to the crowd, observing with a small chuckle as a few people with phones in hand attempt to herd people left and right, trying to create some semblance of a formation. The two of you slip into the hoard easily, gliding right into a perfect little cranny to the left of the pointed cameras.

Pedro slides his arm around your waist as you pose, and you’re certain he can feel your raging pulse thumping through every vessel beneath your skin.

“Ok, now a funny one!” says one of the photographers.

You turn to each other, smiling and searching for an idea. Drunken and foolish, you take his arm and pretend to bite it.

He lets out a hearty laugh before leaning into the “scene”, his face mocking an expression of terror. You have to stifle your giggles with an open mouth, which results in a strange, almost strangled sound escaping you. It only encourages his laughter, which encourages yours, and droplets form at the crest of your eyes as you wait for the signal to drop the pose.

“Got it!” someone blurts across the ballroom.

“Sorry about that,” you guide his arm back to his side, giving it a gentle pat into place. “These hors d'oeuvres just made me hungrier.”

You laugh at your own joke, snorting on the inhale, and you look up to see his smile, wide and gleaming, the bounciest part of his cheeks sporting a salmon-pink hue.

A distant voice calls for Pedro, hollering something about an actors-only picture, and he turns his head to find the source. You grab his hand before he starts towards them.

“Call me, ok? After the party,” you gently squeeze at his wrist. “I promise I’ll answer this time.”

He nods, his sickly sweet smile punctuated with picture-perfect dimples. He turns his back to you and weaves his way through the crowd.

. . . . .

You finally made your way out of the coat check line after a grueling twenty minutes of needing to pee but not wanting to give up your spot in line. You’re standing outside the entrance now, the brisk air nipping at your bare ankles. You idly pull out your phone to find two text notifications from Pedro.

The first is an address, with a unit number. Los Angeles. You recognize the street name.

The second message reads:

I just got home. Buzz me when u get here. :)

You almost start to skim through the unread messages he’d sent you since that night, but you’re quickly derailed by another buzz.

Pedro Pascal sent you $100. Description: for your ride.

You laugh out loud, amused by his overestimation of the price, but nevertheless stunned by his unfailing thoughtfulness. You start towards the stairs, your nerves burning and buzzing, entirely uncertain and out of control of what the evening holds.

. . . . .

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #plus size reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #the last of us #pedrohub

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imaginesforeons · 5 months

Note

Can we get some more stuff with your yandere! nanami? it could be anything like even your headcanons about how he treats his darling ! I really like the way you write him!

Yes!! Any excuse to write my man. I hope this is ok, and if you want more, feel free to ask.

Not Your Room (Yandere!Nanami x Reader)

~You wake up somewhere completely foreign to you~

CW: Past kidnapping. Yandere Nanami. Vomiting but that's because reader is dizzy.

Word Count: 1,178

Reqs are OPEN! At the top of my page you can see what fandoms I write for, so DM me with your ideas!

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

You woke up in a bed that was not your own.

The first thing you’re aware of is a weight across your legs, then a warmth around your body, and, finally, the plush sensation of sheets and pillows cradling you. It was almost enough to drag you back down to the impossibly deep sleep you fought your way out of. Almost, but not quite, because this was not your bed.

You took a moment to breathe, bracing yourself before opening your eyes, only to wish you’d kept them shut.

You weren’t in your bed, and you were definitely not in your room. All of it was completely foreign, so unlike your own home that you might as well have stepped into a separate country for how unfamiliar everything was. The room was dimmed with only one lamp on, but you could see off-white walls and beige curtains, no colorful accents but for the single blue throw draped over a chair in a corner. It was like the owner had never dared impress any of their own personality into the room, and you had woken up in an interior design catologue.

Could you be hospitalized? If you were, wherever they had put you was surely thousands of dollars out of your budget. It was bland, yes, but just from a single glance you could tell that everything was top quality.

You forced your body to sit up with a grunt, limbs oddly heavy, casting your eyes around the room, searching for your things, only to pause. Beside a door was a pair of shoes; a pair of men’s shoes. If you were in a hospital, it would make no sense for a man to leave his shoes in your room, not if they were a doctor or visitor. You swallowed, and this time looked around the room with new eyes. Other than the shoes, you saw a bedside table with a book resting on the top, a suitcase set on the chair that held the blue afgan, and opposite from you bed was a door cracked open just enough for you to see a bathroom rug.

You weren’t in a hospital, you were in someone’s house. You stiffened, and you found yourself fisting your hands into the white sheets beneath you.

Your panic was cut off when you heard the creak of a doorknob turning. Jerking, you slid from the bed to stand and hide from whoever was coming, but instead you nearly crumpled to the ground. A sudden dizziness overtook you, black speckled at the corners of your vision, and a rushing pounded through your ears, deafening and clouding everything around you.

“-sy. Take deep breaths.” A voice, also male, broke through to you, and you felt calloused hands guide you back to the bed.

“Where-” You paused, rubbing your temples, a headache building up in your skull. “Where am I?”

You glanced up and gasped. Brown eyes behind wire glasses, blond hair professionally slicked back, a sharp face; you knew this man. Every Thursday, you’d go to a bakery a block from your house, treating yourself to something sweet. Exactly at eight in the morning, the man in front of you would walk in, buy the same thing every time, then leave. Never had the two of you shared words, or smiles, or anything more than a quick glance. What was he doing here?

“Stay calm,” your bakery aquiantance said as he guided your head back to the pillows. “You’ve been through a trauma.”

“A trauma?” you muttered. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t give you all the details yet. For now, just focus on relaxing.”

You found yourself lying back in bed, staring at the ceiling, mind trying to process what was being said yet falling oddly flat.

Suddenly, your vision was obscured as he reached for your face, and you didn't have any time to flinch back before his hands grabbed your head. Big was the only word that came to mind, before fingers were gently massaging at your scalp.

That felt nice. Your eyes started to droop, and you felt yourself sinking into that strange fog you had just struggled from. You were nearly asleep, gentle, strong fingers massaging your neck, when a thread of anxiety worked its way through you.

“My parents!” you exclaimed, sitting back up again. “I have to call them! Where’s my phone?”

The blond man sat back, dropping his hands from your face. “I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, then winced. Your head was hurting again.

“I mean you can’t have your cellphone or any other electronics without my supervision.” He put his hand on your sternum, urging you back, but you pushed him away.

You thrashed, throwing off your blankets. “What the fack does that mean?” you snapped, swinging your feet over the bed. “Where’s my phone? Where’s the rest of my shit?”

“Easy,” he soothed. “Too much movement might make you dizzy. I’m not sure how you’ll react with the drugs.”

You felt an icy cold work its way down your back.

“You drugged me?” you hissed. Now that he’d admitted to it, you did feel heavy, dizzy in a way that not even alcohol could accomplish. Even the anger you felt towards the man for what he didn’t was only there for a moment before guttering out, like a weak flame fed with damp wood.

“With propofol, yes. It’s a common anesthetic used in hospitals and other healthcare settings.”

You had to get out of here. You had to run. Stomach churning, you rolled to the opposite end of the bed, away from him, falling to the ground with a thump. You whimpered, clutching at your head. It felt like you were drowning in cotton.

Arms wrapped around you, lifting you into their hold effortlessly. A horrible vertigo washed over you, and you gripped the man’s shirt collar in front of you to at least try to stay in control.

“‘m gonna puke,” you mumbled. And then you did. All over the plush carpet.

You could feel a sigh travel through the man’s body as he stepped carefully over your mess, carrying you towards the bathroom.

“If you felt sick you should have told me earlier,” he said. It made you feel like you were being scolded.

“If you hadn’t drugged me I wouldn’t be sick,” you snapped, before being set on a toilet seat. “I have bad reactions to propofol. It makes me nauseated.”

It was hard to be angry at him. It was hard to be anything; it felt like you had an empty hole in your chest, swallowing up every emotion you tried to muster. It was the propofol, surely. A garbage can was settled between your feet before a cool hand, strong and steady, massaged the delicate nape of your neck.

You stared into the empty can, and tried to cherish the feeling. As soon as the drugs wore off and you got your lucidity back, things would be infinitely worse. Soon, everything would be real.

#jjk imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #yandere #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #kento nanami #yandere nanami x reader

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litteralyjustawriter · 1 month

Text

"Could you hold me for a bit?"

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader angst to fluff

! Set after Season 2 EP 15 !

angst to fluff, no pronouns used, Criminal minds spoilers

You weren't the type to go to bed very early, contrasting your coworkers, most specifically Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer went to sleep early on the rare occasions he didn't have work, even then sleeping on the plane rides back no matter the length. Point is, Spencer was not one to interrupt his quote-on-quote "beauty sleep", as Derek liked calling it, so seeing him on your doorstep late at night was certainly a surprise.

"Hey I'm really sorry-" Spencer whispered, red in the face from both tears and anxiety, with his hands fidgeting close to his torso "I just needed to be with someone and I just figured- I mean I guess you were the first person that came to mind"

You moved aside from the door, a hint Spencer immediately took by walking into the house.

"Thank you, I know it's late but-" he paused, being met with the confusion on your face he continued, "It's kind of a stupid reason."

"I'm sure it's not as stupid as you make it out to be." You assured him as you locked the door and led him to your living room couch. "What's bothering you Spence?" You ask as you sit, patting the spot to your right, gesturing him to sit down, of which he does.

"It was a nightmare, most likely trauma induced, it's weird we see all sorts of horrible things at the BAU but this one thing- I don't know- it just kinda stuck." Spencer's eyes were fixed on his hands twisting and turning into each other on his lap.

"What was it?"

"You remember when I was kidnapped? With Tobias, his dad, and Raphael? I don't know- I just can't get that stuff out of my head- no matter how hard I try it just keeps coming back." He paused, "It was so real, like I was back in that chair- back in that shed- back in that graveyard-"

"Hey-" you cut him off, "you don't need to think about that now ok? You're here and you are safe, that's all that matters."

Spencer met you with silence, poorly hiding his appreciative smile. "I know this might seem weird but could you hold me for a bit? Just till I go back to sleep?"

You immediately followed his request, laying down on the couch with him soon after, placing his head on your chest and curling into a loose ball. Rubbing your hand in circles on his back you watch as the serious doctor unravels into your touch, slowly drifting to sleep.

(sorry if this kinda sucks I'm on the aromantic spectrum and have never written anything like this :p)

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #angst #angst to fluff #angst to comfort #spencer reid x gn reader

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lotus-pear · 21 days

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Can we stop acting like dazai was the devil. Like yes he did bad things but he was a child. He was 15 alone and in the mafia where althe was told to do was bad things. ALL dazai knew how to do is lie and deceive because it what he's always had to do.it's self preservation. Like??? When will people realize dazai wasn't a monster and was justa child brought up in an Unsafe and abusive environment. Behaviors are learned your aren't born with them. Dazai was a suicidal child just trying to survive all'he knew was manipulation and Iying because that's all he was taught. He abused akutagawa because that's all he was taught. And as he got older it's all he knows how to do. Obviously he's gotten better but he's still morally grey. And that's ok but it's not enough to call him a monster. hes trying so so hard to change, and even if he may not realise it or cling guiltily to his past, the entire prison arc shows how much effort hes put in to become a better person it isnt easy, growing up exposed to death/violence resulting in empathy and apathy issues, all while battling an emptiness inside thats slowly eating up ones will to live. hes genuinely trying to recover from that period of his life, and i cannot express how proud i am solely because of that. hes finally found a healthy environment, a family, and he deserves it along with so much more. he may be deemed as a “monster“ in the past, that cannot be erased, but he hates that part about himself too. being in the good or bad used to make no difference to him, but i strongly believe it does hate that part of him. Dazai slander are fún and everything - BUT people seem to not get his character right. No, he's not an edgy boy. He genuinely wants to change for the best to make Oda proud, 'BUT HE ABUSED AKUTAGAWA’ , yeah, Akutagawa abused Kyoka and nobody is talking about how its litterally GENERATIONAL TRAUMA. Dazal was never raised correctly, he got raised by Mori and used by him to make him his right hand, maybe because of his ability, or he saw potential in him. He never fell parental Love nor being special to Someone except for Oda. "He LEFT Chuuya!!!“ ok and? Chuuya doesn't need him to live: Dazai LITTERALLY SAW PEOPLE GETTING KILLED/KILLING THEM ON THE DAILEY (AND HE WITNISSED ODAS DEATH - THE ONLY PERSON THAT MADE HIM WANT TO CHANGE.) his eyes at the age of 14, and Mori made him live in a shipping container. Obviously he is not gonna feel human after all this.

And about him and chuuya - the thing is they DO CARE ABOUT EACHOTHER. but nobody seems to care about chuuya other than the fact hes hot asf anf the fact that he is ’super mega gay for dazai 🥺🥺🥺’ because are we reading/watching the same series???? There’s SO MUCH to his character too!!!! But all everyone talks about with him is with dazai, chuuyas character is CRAZY WELL WRITTEN and everyone dumbs it down to ‘he’s an angry short boy with a god inside him and he’s mega gay for dazai and he’s also really hot’ like no - stfu he’s not actually super hot headed and it’s CANNON he’s usually pretty calm and collected. On the other side of the coin is that dazai DOES care about him - in Stormbringer ; Dazai literally willing gave Chuuya an option to either use corruption on Verlaine when he used his true form or to retreat and not do it, which gave a sense of Dazai giving Chuuya the choice to do what he wants without forcing him to, and the fact that when Chuuya used corruption, he was being injured badly to the point where Abahabaki was going to destroy Chuuya which FREAKED DAZAI OUT , and the fact that Dazai certainly believes that Chuuya is human shows that Dazai does care about Chuuya in certain ways without showing due to afraid of losing someone he cares about. and In age 15 Dazai, was willing to help Chuuya to find Abahabaki and defeat Rimbaud, along with stormbringer with him helping Chuuya to find out if he's human or not and to defeat Verlaine.

Ty for reading my rant 💞💞💞💞

i can't tell if this is attacking me or just a rant in general but anyway YESSSSS I 100% AGREE YOU ATE W THAT ANALYSIS BRIAR‼️‼️

#everybody who mischaracterizes dazai over the stupidest shit read this Right Now #lotus’s asks

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 6 months

Text

Sexiest Podcast Character — Unscripted Bracket — Round 5

Propaganda

Glenn Close (Dungeons & Daddies):

#Propaganda for Glenn Close: one of the other PCs mentions multiple times how hot he is #Actually several characters point it out but especially Henry #Also the only person in a podcast that has to put a disclaimer about not being a BDSM podcast to have had sex during the course of the show

Young hot rocker dilf

Loyal to his dead wife <3

Does in fact smoke weed

BARD!! HES A BARD. HE WAS LEAD GUITAR IN HIS BAND (that he was kicked out of)

His band was a Christmas cover band btw.

Literally the fandom had hot Glenn summer which consisted of drawing him being incredibly hot and sexy

Anti government (ofc)

Kind of cringefail (Disney adult) (was on dilfs of disneyland)

Young and sexy not your style? Then how about HIM AFTER YEARS LOCKED IN A TIME PRISON WITH A DAMN HANNIBAL MASK ??

Lost an eye and wears a fucking eyepatch

One incredibly buff arm

Has a pet rat named after his son <3

Immeasurable amounts of trauma in this man- becomes progressively more unhinged

OH OLD HUMAN BARD ISNT CUTTING IT? FINE

HE BECOMES A FUCKING DEMON

A COOL HOT ONE-EYED DEMON WHO WANTS TO KILL HIS DAD (also sexy)

HE CANONICALLY ENDS CHRISTIAN HELL VIA CHRISTMAS

IS ALSO WAY OVERLEVELED

Becomes a demon hunter for the rest of his existence

Also nonwhite !!! We are done with cringefail whiteboys !!!!!!!!!

I can’t put into words ok just know he is the best plz love him.

Okay but Glenn made a minivan cum by talking to her so

HE HAS A BOOK THAT HE MARKS X’S AND CHECKS FOR EVERY DAY TO SEE IF THAT DAY WAS A SUCCESS OR NOT. TO SEE IF HE DID GOOD THAT DAY. ITS ALMOST ENTIRELY X’S. HE WAS CUCKED OUT OF A SON. AND A DEAD WIFE. HE DIDN’T EVEN GET TO KILL HIS DAD IN REVENGE. There’s absolutely nothing going for him except his sex appeal in his life. Nobody he loved remembers him. He lost his eye. All he has is a pet rat and friends who admit they don’t really like him that much. He was kicked out of his own band. The band was named after him. He was kicked out of the Glenn Close trio. All he could do was deez nuts the big bad and be sexy. If nothing else, then pity him. Look in his eyes. Look at his heart and soul. He did not do the BDSM episode for this I’ll tell you what. Do this for my his sake. Do it for Nick Jr, who needs the prize money to pay for his rat snacks. Do it for his son. For Morgan. Ganbatte.

Glenn is the goofiest sexiest character there is and I will die on this hill! I will ride into battle for him! what Dndads created is truly unique and Glenn is a key part of that and for that he deserves to win. I said it before and I'll say it again - GLENN SWEEEEEP

Can we talk about how he says ‘baby’ casually? Like he just calls people that?? That’s HOT. THAT IS HOT!! He’s also bilingual and knows Japanese!!!! He’s a big dumb idiot with a lot of charisma!!!!!! HE WORKED AT A BDSM PLACE FOR TWO SEPARATE ONE SHOTS. HES SO SAD BUT PLAYS IT OFF LIKE HE’S CHILL ALL THE TIME!! HE DOESN’T THINK OF HIMSELF AS SINGLE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T DIVORCE HIS DEAD WIFE!!! He’s like.. the perfect guy. We need this win.

I’d also like to add the fact I made this. Which is the first 11 episodes edited to (almost) only have Glenn in them <3 which is a level of insanity I hope to reiterate. These took hours to make. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.

Mod Note: While I will still take "bad dads are sexy" propaganda and "bad dads aren't sexy" anti-propaganda, I kindly request no more discussion on whether or not he was a bad father. This is a sexypoll, not a parentingpoll. If you see a post you strongly disagree with, you can just not reblog it.

Mod Note 2: This tournament is about fictional podcast characters. Please do not vote for the real actress Glenn Close.

Amber Gris (The Adventure Zone: Ethersea):

Middle aged woman who punches sharks to death. My hero

If you love me you'll vote for amber gris I swear to everything holy on earth amen

Amber is butch, instant win

Amber Gris has a negative charisma modifier and she pissed her pants on purpose in order to trick a guard and knock him out. She tied up a dude. She once killed an evil magic shark (they're out for murder. not like real sharks) by punching it and then picked it up and smashed it into another shark, also killing it. She talks in a southern accent. She calls people guppy because it indicates a lack of respect. She has a big pair of magical green arms that come from her stomach. She got a fancy jacket and immediately ripped its sleeves off. She has a gay thing going on with one of the political leaders in the city. She gets in fights with people and doesnt do vulnerability and tries to lay low and not get in any social trouble she doesn't have to. She jumped through a portal into a new world because she could. She's now the god of said world, alone with only afformentioned political leader, who was previously possessed and she had to fight. She spends her time in a bar called the Cloaca. She calls people she doesn't like claspers, because it means shark penis. She and her friend, an old man named Uncle Joshy, sneak attack each other and yell VIBE CHECK! She tries to talk fancy to impress people and she's really bad at it (verily).

She’s everything and more. She’s irreverent. She punches sharks for a living. She becomes God. What more do you need in a butch.

amber gris propaganda: she is straightup the physical embodiment of "women want me, fish fear me." also she's an appalachian post apocalyptic sea captain. that's just objectively cool.

AMBER GRIS IS PUNCHES SHARKS AND IS (one of) THE MOST BADASS BLACK WOMEN PCS IN DND SHOWS IVE EVER SEEN. SHES INCREDIBLE AND A WIN FOR DYKES EVERYWHERE

amber's creator said she was based off of the type of working-class woman you commonly see in appalachia where "this is the sort of woman that you see walking past CVS, and you know that a truck could hit her and it would just split around her as she continued to go pick up whatever she had to do that day." and that's pretty hot

guys Amber becomes lesbian god of the new world with her childhood “”friend””

#amber gris is LITERALLY a middle-aged butch #she would win this entire tournament in a just world

Last time Amber got horny was when she killed that shark

"it was a savage bummer though, don't-- trust me, there's nothing that great about a history. You know? I got one. What did I do, killed a bunch of sharks? Last time I got horny, god and christ I can't even tell you-- well, it was when I killed that shark. But! Hey. We're all just kinda figuring it out."

Moonshine Cybin (Not Another D&D Podcast: Bahumia):

She's a hot elf with mushrooms growing on her. She has 1 level of barbarian. She's bisexual. She shapeshifted into a dragon and ate a god.

how tf does the post not mention Moonshine’s giant boobs her greatest asset

Moonshine has canonically gone down on a woman for a solid hour without asking for anything in return. Moonshine edged a dryad just by kissing them. Moonshine faced down someone being controlled to kill everyone in his path and told him if he still wanted to hurt her, she would take his blows as a friend. Moonshine makes jambalaya for her family and friends. Moonshine mispronounced someone’s name for a month and that woman still wanted to hook up with Moonshine. These are just a few of the reasons why Moonshine is sexy.

shes illiterate

canonically huffs dirty water from a bong

has big tatas

wears a belly chain with a demon trapped in it

almost became the queen of hell

ate a god

turned into a pregnant moose & gave birth

The woman she went down on for an hour asking nothing in return is still hung up on her, 200 years later. Moonshine is unmatched

To be clear the woman whose name Moonshine mispronounced for a month and then hooked up with is the same woman she went down on for an hour, and the same woman who is still flustered over her 200 years later. The rizz is unparalleled. She’s also incredibly kind and accepting of others, and goes out of her way to bolster her friends. The party always requests one big bed.

moonshine cybin is a druid who learned counterspell through sheer force of will. moonshine cybin turned one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse into a dolphin, flew him 60 feet up into the air, dropped him on the ground, and then spit spores into his face to kill him. moonshine cybin turned into a dragon and bit the head off of a double god. moonshine cybin was willing to confine herself to an eternal hell to save the world. moonshine cybin is a dragon rider. you know what you must do.

Amber and Moonshine Together

Look at them. They should not have to fight when they could be gay instead. Imagine the power they would have combined... Every lesbian in a hundred mile radius of the post would swoon. It may be an odd alliance, but from an Ethersea fan to Bahumia fans, i believe this will strengthen both our odds. I have always been insane about Amber Gris but through this poll I have also learned about Moonshine and come to love her too. Take my hand... We can do this together...

OKAY HEAR ME OUT MOONSHINE AND AMBER WOULD GET ALONG SO WELL

appalachian sapphic solidarity!

Art of Amber and Moonshine from @pirateknight.

#Round 5 #Glenn Close #Glenn Close DnDads #Moonshine Cybin #Amber Gris #Not Another D&D Podcast #Bahumia #The Adventure Zone #TAZ Ethersea #Dungeons & Daddies #Dungeons and Daddies

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ddollfface · 3 months

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God, I love golden retriever men so much.

*Intensely staring at my fav athlete*

Now, that I have a brainrot~

1. Our lovely Athlete with a nerd darling.

- This would be funny. It is giving black cat × golden retriever. So hard.

- Darling has anemia? She's used to sitting around and reading? Can't walk too long to save her life? He's fucking carrying her everywhere.

- Can you imagine darling bringing a book about his sport (I don't know if you've mentioned what he plays) to the game and reading as they watch him play cuz they don't know crap about sports? He'd be so, "But you're supposed to be watching me." :Insert puppy eyes:

- He's isolating darling? Eh, Darling needs a 4 hour nap after every social gathering anyway.

Ok but-

2. Him with a nerd darling who's a childhood best friend, where darling has a childhood filled with emotional and physical abuse. (I'm finna design a whole ass character to ship him with. If you don't mind, of course.)

- This.

- Don't let me get started on this.

- They would be so power couple coded fr. (Darling knows Athlete is trying to manipulate her. Doesn't care as long as she's getting taken care of.)

- Darling is snarky with a S.

- Darling: "The cheerleader was flirting with you."

Athlete: "I know. :3"

Darling: "Go marry her."

Athlete: "But you're the love of my life. :("

Darling: "Oh, really? I could've sworn it was Cindy instead. Go to her, shoo."

Athlete: "No."

Darling: "Who's bestie are you?"

Athlete: "Yours."

Darling: "Exactly."

- Don't let this fool you, tho. He's def the dominant one in the relationship.

Athlete: "You're my baby :D."

Darling: "Mhmm. Don't say that infront of anyone else."

Athlete: "Why not?"

Darling: "I'll bite your head off, that's why."

(spoiler, he says it in front of everyone and darling does nothing but get shy.)

Darling: "Why would you say that?"

Athlete: "Becuz you're my baby?"

Darling: *cuddles closer to him.* *Whispering* "I'm his baby."

- 💗 anon (if I may) (also, he's my baby now, thank you. I'm keeping him in my head and heart.) (It's so late at night. I just keep thinking about this 😭 and I can't put my thoughts into proper words rn, bear with me on this)

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈

��𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗮𝗳𝗮𝗯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Trigger Warnings; yandere behaviors, possessive behavior, talk about trauma bonding (both reader and yandere or mentally ill), yandere masking, bad writing, and me rambling (I'm so sorry 💗Nonny lol) If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ I offically declare you 💗Nonny!! And I don't mind you coming up with your own interpertations of reader and LoveSick!Athlete! Just share 'em! Also, I may or may not have gone on a tiny, just tiny, tangent, so sorry 💗Nonny... Feel free to submit more asks if 'ya want

LoveSick!Athlete can really mold and mend well with most personalities and darlings, this is due to his manipulative personality. A little off-topic, but he really has a hard time understanding who he is because he's always pretending to be what others deem "acceptable". This causes him to have a multitude of identity crises, but when his darling, you, comes into the picture, it makes it easier for him to find himself. He feels like he's the real him whenever he's with you. You just feel so natural, he feels natural, too. It's just right.

And for that reason, I think LoveSick!Athlete would go really well with a childhood!reader, seeing as she's been with him since they were young. And, I'm not too sure if you've read my Yan!Alphabet for him, but I mention LoveSick!Athlete's childhood; let's just say it wasn't the best situation for a kid.

LoveSick!Athlete would feel a special bond with his darling now, seeing as they've been together threw thick and thin. He's trama bounded to you, and you to him. We'll run off the assumption that reader has also had a bad childhood, whether it be an absent parent, abusive sibling/family member/or parent, whatever it is allows you to feel a connection to LoveSick!Athlete, seeing as you have a mutual situation. You both have something to bond over, something that locks you together.

He has a bad home environment, you have a bad home environment. He doesn't feel at home, so you become his home, and he to you.

And I like to run on the assumption that reader is all talk, no bite. And if you've read any of my writing where the reader talks, you'll see that I prefer to write reader as more "real" (to me anyway) because I'm personally not the hugest fan of the "helpless" reader. I like to write a darling who has a mouth, someone who's bratty (but that's 'cause I'm a brat lol).

Anyway, I'm getting off-topic, back to LoveSick!Athlete.

To your idea about a snarky reader, I totally agree. Honestly, LoveSick!Athlete would eat that shit up, no joke. He would love it, as he enjoys the back-and-forth between you two. He loves to press your buttons, wanting to see what sarcastic reply you have ready for him.

The thing is, he knows your just talking shit, never willing to actually do anything. You just run your mouth, and he lets you, but whenever you step outta line, sometimes, he's gotta put you back. Though, you'll never think of it like that. No, no, he's too sweet for that. He's gotta keep that golden retriever vibe going, y'know?

He just swat you on the ass, telling you that you got such a dirty mouth, mamas? I thought you were my little princess, no? Girls with a face like yours shouldn't be speakin' that like-

He'll just move on, as if he didn't just grope your butt, nope, not at all. And you'll be standing there awestruck, face red, and biting your tongue as you try to not overheat in embarrassment!!

It never ceases to entertain him, watching your face widen with surprise whenever he refers to you as his girl, his cute little girlfriend. The way your face heats up when he wraps his strong arm around your waist, putting his cap on your head (a silent sign of possession over you, trying to get the guy in the back to keep his eyes to himself, but you don't need to know that ;)).

In your little monologue, you go over some cheerleader girl (named Cindy??). Though I would agree that chicks (and some dudes) practically flock around LoveSick!Athlete, I would say that he doesn't even pay them any mind, not even entertaining the thought. Don't get me wrong, he'll talk to them, but make it painstakingly clear that he's only got one girl on his mind, you.

Most of the time, the girl will just find it endearing, slapping his shoulder, and telling him that he'd make a great husband or some shit like that. Of course, the chicks joking, making some nice comments to leave the, now awkward, conversation, but LoveSick!Athlete will take it to heart. Now, he's imagining a pretty ring on your finger, something he paid for, he got you. Because he'd be such a good provider for you, don't you know?

Another thought, 'cause I'm on a role, but I'm not sure if I've directly said this or not, but LoveSick!Athlete is a hockey player. I've tried putting strickly hockey photos on all my posts (you should see my Pinterest feed, it's filled with hot guys lolol).

Hockey is an aggressive sport, I would know. I used to ice skate every day for an hour or two. And, trust me, I got to see a lot of hot guys, though I was always too nervous to say anything, that's beside the point.

I can imagine that reader would be the same, intimidated by these testastrone-filled, young men who just wanna get all sweaty and gross. And I prefer to think that reader also doesn't know how to skate, much to LoveSick!Athlete's enjoyment.

Just to torture you, he'll take you to his ice rink, partly wanting to show you off, and also wanting you to rely on him to move around. He won't even let you hold onto the side, nope, all you got is him, babes.

And anyone who's been to a rink before knows that if you're not on the wall, or smack in the middle of the rink, you're in traffic, especially if it's busy. And this means that you gotta go fast, keeping pace with everyone else. And there's always a handful of assholes (usually hockey players) who will purposefully do a hockey stop, flinging a shit tone of ice at newbies.

I imagine that this shit would happen all the time and LoveSick!Athete is enjoying it sm. He gets a rush every time you flinch, clinging onto him tighter, especially when the really fast skaters zoom by you, scaring the crap outta you.

And he won't let you go at your own pace, forcing you to follow his lead. This means you're going far too fast for comfort, leaning on him for support. You're arms wrapped around his bicep, which isn't recommended btw. Your cheek pressed against his arm, holding on for dear life.

You'll snap at him, telling him to shut up and stop enjoying this, you dork. I'm only clinging to 'cause I gotta!

And he'll just take it, giving you a lopsided smirk.

#𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠!𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 #𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡'𝙨 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 #💗!𝙉𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙮 #lovesick #anon #ask away #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere imagines #obsessive love #x reader #oc x reader

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