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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 2 months

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Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader

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the-californicationist · 25 days

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Hello Cali ❤️. Por alguna razón no te había visto más en mi muro de tumblr y me preguntaba si no estabas aquí, por eso busqué tu perfil y me di cuenta que tumblr me estaba jugando una mala pasada.

How are you??? I'm so busy because I have a loooot of work, pero me tomaré el tiempo de leer todo lo que me perdí de ti ✨✨✨

YOU ARE THE BEST, OK? I LOVE YOU ❤️💍

Quisiera que escribieras un smut de John Price CEO/Mafia con un Reader inteligente y astuto, que queda cautivado cuando John comienza a seducirla, porfis ✨

Anything for you, my friend!! I love you so much <3 <3

Wonderland

John Price is a famous mob boss... but you don't know that. All you know is that you've got a crush on a mysterious, handsome man, and you're willing to go all the way to find out if his bite is as bad as his bark.

The parking garage was dark, and the concrete seemed to hold in the cold like a freezer. It felt like ice on his cheekbone, and not even the blood from his eye socket was enough to warm the skin. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, that odd whooshing sound, and in a distant memory he could recall the first time he had ever gotten a black eye. But, all that was gone now. He had ratted out the one man that no one had dared fuck with in the past five years: John Fucking Price.

Those fucking coppers had said they’d protect him. He even had his people outside his house every hour of every day. How could this happen? He had to admit, he wasn’t even scared, he was just pissed off. Fucking bastards. They’d get what was coming to them. Maybe he’d tell them so. Not like they'd give him any more chances.

“Fuck you, Price. I hope those pigs skin you alive,” he spit out the blood that had began to pool in his mouth, and hoped it hit those stupid boots John was always wearing.

John Price slid his shoe away from the red stain that had began to swell on the ground, keeping his kangaroo leather Berlutis from ruin. The fool beneath his feet had no idea what was about to happen to him, and John almost felt sorry about it, if only for a moment. He and Vinson had been friends once. Hell, he’d even stood up at his wedding.

“Vince, what did I tell you about that bloody mouth of yours? Said it'd get you into trouble, didn't I? Wish there was something I could do for you now, cause you and me, we used to be mates. But, I can't afford friends like you. Not anymore," Price gave the rat a quick shove with his heel and watched as the stain smeared in a thin streak across the cement. He turned to his men,

"Well, lads, I've got a party to get to. You wouldn't mind cleaning things up here for me, would’ya?"

"No, boss," was their quiet reply.

"You'll be sorry, you goddamn pussy!" Vinson was screaming now, "I hope they hang you from the fuckin’-”

Bang! The loud gunshot echoed through the hollow space.

Vinson didn't say anything after that.

"Let's get outta here, Gaz."

"Right away, boss," Gaz opened the door to the limo and prepared to drive John back into the city. There was a big gala at the Genting Casino tonight, and Mr. John T. Price was never late.

He was never early either. In fact, he was perfection incarnate. When he was younger, that wasn't always the case, but after his father died, he had needed to change. No one was fit to rule Liverpool in his stead, and he was thankful that no one had been foolish enough to try. His father had made this town what it is. Liverpool was built by his family, and even though everyone thought the Price regime had grown tired of their reign on the old docks, they couldn't have been farther from the truth.

John had his cut from all of the major casinos, and he traded security in exchange. He owned two of them himself, along with four shopping malls, five bars, three neighborhoods, two apartment complexes, and a golf course - not to mention the property that wasn't in his name. He made sure to give his men plenty of reign over their own enterprises, even if most of them were strip clubs. But, he didn't care. As long as tribute came in every quarter, he never messed around in their business.

He thought Vinson was one he could trust. He'd even given him a car dealership just last month.

"Don't run it into the ground, Vince," he had said.

But, no. What had the little bastard gone and done? Put a tracker on his car and dropped bugs in his office. After everything he'd done for him, that's how he was repaid? To tell the truth, John never liked violence. It was awkward. But, his father had given him fists and showed him how to use them, so there was really no going against it. Violence and fear were vital pieces of the only language that men like Vince could understand. Now, with another family coming to Liverpool, John had to be on his best behavior. Even if 'best' was a little more loosely defined.

As he lit the tip of his last cigar, he reminded Gaz to grab him another few sticks on the way home. Gaz would've never turned coat on him like Vince did. He'd give him the car lot.

"You want the dealership on Sefton street, Kyle?" He offered.

"Sure, boss. Thanks a lot," Gaz smiled, knowing exactly which business he was talking about, "You want me to pull around back?"

They had arrived at the main entrance. Throngs of people were craning around the limo, trying to see who was inside. John thought about it for a second, smushed his cigar tip into the ashtray, and adjusted his tie.

"Nah," he said, "We'll give them the show tonight."

"Sure thing, boss."

Gaz parked the car and leapt out of the cab. His hand was on the door before John could take another breath, and on either side of the door, some of Price’s own foot soldiers took up their posts as bodyguards. When he emerged from the muffled quiet of the limo, it shocked John for a moment to be in such a whirl of chaos.

"Mr. Price, can I get a photo?"

"Over here, please, Mr. Price," a cute reporter was frantic enough to step in front of his men. They picked her up and put her back in the crowd.

John made sure to smile and wave, shake hands with those he had seen before, but he knew it was safer inside.

The manager greeted him warmly and, he noted, by first name,

"John! Good to see you again, mate. We've got just the table for you, tonight. Wait til you see the legs on these girls! It'll be a night to remember."

"I'm sure it will."

"Ah, sorry, but we don't allow weapons past the main floor," the manager's face fell. So did Kyle’s.

Gaz cleared his throat,

"I'm sure you can make an exception for Mr. Price. We'll be very discreet."

It was more of a threat than a promise, and John smiled at his friend's heavy tone. Kyle was anything if not polite.

"Uh, yes, we can certainly make arrangements. Right this way, gentlemen," and now the manager was nothing if not nervous. Perfect.

The night continued as well as it could, but he had never really enjoyed gambling. Why make all this money if he was just going to throw it into the wind? But, he could mingle with the right people here. Except that these weren't his people. He had come as a favor to his long time friend, Alex Keller, but Alex was nowhere to be found.

"Passed out on his missus’ tits, probably!" One of the strangers guffawed at the other end of the Blackjack table.

"He’ll show, don't you worry," another replied.

Well, John didn't have all night to wait on a man to get to his own party. He needed a drink. When he rose to head to the bar, Gaz stopped him,

"I'll get it, boss. No need to bother yourself with it."

The table was silent. The strangers who had been so brassy before were now silent and transfixed on the pair of men at their table, one of whom was important enough to have his slightest whim catered to at a moment's notice.

"It's alright, Garrick. Play my hand, yeah? I'm headed out for a smoke."

"Yes, sir."

John retreated. The awkward stares and weird glances were too much for him to bear. Surely there was a patio around here, somewhere.

By the time he found one, he was disappointed to see it was occupied.

"Oh, beg your pardon. Thought I was alone out here," he said.

To his shock, it was a woman's voice that responded from the shadows. Your voice.

"You're fine. You got a light? Fuckin’ matches are all wet..." You fumbled with the book, striking to no avail.

He smirked,

"I have the fire if you've got an extra smoke."

"Fair trade," you smiled back jokingly.

You were dressed in a clean chef's coat, your hair was pulled up, and you might have been going without makeup, but it was almost too dark to tell. It certainly wasn't casino makeup, that was for sure. John watched as you tugged two cigarettes free from the box, put them to your soft lips, and covered his flame with your hand. Your fingernail paint was pink and chipped. You pulled in the fire of both cigarettes and offered one to him. He took it,

"Thanks."

You grunted in a minimal response.

"So, you're a chef?" He asked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, giving him the glare he deserved for such an obvious question.

He back pedaled,

"I mean, you work here as a chef. I just thought, with the coat...I mean, where's your big bloody hat? You need the hat."

You laughed. It was wonderful to hear, and he liked the way your mouth moved when you started to speak,

"Yeah, I work here. Have for the past three years or so. Bill signed me on as head chef, and I've been slaving away for him ever since."

"Bill?"

"Oh, he's the culinary manager. Runs all the restaurants in the casino and the hotel. When the last guy disappeared into thin air, they had to scramble to find someone, I guess. What about you? Where's your fancy hat? Based on that Hermes tie, I'm gonna assume you're here with the party."

He mindlessly adjusted his tie, noticing its feel on his neck as she called it out,

"Well, I might be."

"Yeah? You some kind of big-shot?" You eyed him again, challenging him to answer with something more than a yes or a no. You had heard yes and no plenty of times.

"I might be," he wouldn't give in.

"If we keep going like this all night, you might end up being the Queen, for all I know."

You both laughed, but then, you sighed,

"Oh well, Mr. Mystery. Keep your secrets then," you shrugged and turned away from him.

He couldn't have that.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Sarah," you spun back around, "Rachel. Tiffany. Willamina. Might be anything."

You had the audacity to wink at him.

"Alright, you got me, love," he moved a little closer to you, "I'm John. John Price."

He extended his hand and waited for the bad news to sink in. No one who knew his name in this town would be dumb enough to be on a patio alone with him at night. He had dodged the media for a long time, but his trials always managed to get leaked. Twelve accounts of assault and battery, two separate accounts of theft, three murder charges - all acquitted of course. But, still, he was no stranger to ducking the law.

"John? Of all the names," you shook your head and smiled, taking his hand firmly, "Pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. You've never heard of me?"

"Oh, Jesus," you lamented, "Are you famous or something? Look, if I'm not in the kitchen, I'm at home asleep. Sorry. I don't even watch TV."

"No, nothing like that, I just - " He thought about it for a moment before you saw him decide to take a different trajectory, “Not famous.”

“Why is it that I feel a little bit like Alice tonight?” You took a long drag and let the smoke fall from your lips, “Like I’m following a white rabbit down a deep, dark hole.”

He chuckled, and you enjoyed seeing his eyes shine with his laughter,

“If you follow me down,” he sidled up to you, his face close enough to yours so you could smell the balsam in his aftershave, “I’ll show you just how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

A man’s voice cleared his throat behind you, and you both turned to look at who it was.

“Garrick?” John asked, clearly annoyed.

“Yes, sir. Johnny and Simon made it up. They said they know why Keller hasn’t shown.”

John didn’t answer. He simply turned back to look into your eyes, trying to divine some sort of future from them. He must’ve liked what he saw because the next thing you knew, you were being given a golden key card. Top floor.

Not famous, my arse, you thought to yourself.

“Why don’t you take the night off, love. Come see Wonderland, yeah? I’ll be right behind you.”

“My, my,” you said, palming the card from him, “No one ever tells you no.”

Another smile, a little colder than the first,

“No, they don’t.”

“Maybe I will,” you pulled the tiger’s tail.

“You won’t,” the tiger growled back.

As you watched him leave the small patio, his broad back stretching that expensive suit, his thick fingers flicking his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony’s edge, you were kicking yourself. You knew you were going up to his room, even though something inside of you really wanted to yank this guy’s chain. But, his dark, purring voice had made Wonderland sound so inviting… maybe just one little peek wouldn’t hurt?

You waited a whole five minutes before slinking off to the service elevator, cutting out for the night. No one was making dinner anyway; it was the bar that was slammed. You’d already cleaned and prepped your station, so no one would miss you.

You ducked into the bathroom just before the top floor, getting off on the service side in an empty hallway, checking your face for stray flour or coffee stained teeth. You smelled like a pizza oven, but maybe you could sneak a shower before he showed up?.

What a slut, you heard the angel on your shoulder chastise you.

So, what? The devil’s side replied, indignant.

You peeled the chef’s coat off of your body. All you had underneath was a black tee. It was cropped a bit too high for work, but you wore it anyway. Your black work pants were covered in flour and dried food. You brushed them off as best you could. It would have to do. You shoved your coat into your bag and headed back to the hallway.

Luckily, the main elevator was vacant, as was the hallway, so you wouldn’t run into any other guests on your way to Wonderland.

The angel rolled his eyes. The devil glared at him.

The elevator dinged, and you inserted the gold card, clicking the very topmost button to the penthouse.

You’d been up here before. Sometimes, you picked up cleaning shifts on your off days for the extra cash, so you knew the layout. But, that had been in the cold, hygienic light of day. At night, this floor was a sparkling vision. When the elevator doors opened, huge clear windows reached all the way into the ceiling, framing Liverpool’s city center, looking more beautiful than it ever seemed from the ground.

You took quiet, uncertain steps out of the lift, checking for any signs of life. There were none, so you made your way to the bathroom. Huge black marble monolith slabs were carved in a semicircle, a nautilus that curled around the four separate shower heads, all ready to pour their steaming water down your naked body.

You stripped, stepping into the stream, letting yourself pretend that you lived in this sort of luxury for a moment. A soft lather of soap and a little shampoo later and you were clean. The single-use toothbrush and paste was in the hidden drawer that no guest would ever notice, so you stole an extra set, scrubbing yourself to a minty shine.

A pair of black satin robes hung in the closet, so you stole one, tying it around your waist, fully aware that one stiff breeze and the loose-fitting garment would fly right off of you. The soft fabric lay against your skin in the most sensual way, barely touching you and yet making you feel touched.

You explored the hotel room a bit, avoiding Mr. Price’s suitcase like it would bite you. The kitchen came stocked with ice buckets of champagne, so you helped yourself to one, pouring a glass and lounging by the window, wondering how long you’d have to wait for your date.

Fortunately for you, only an hour had passed and you heard the elevator ding. Out from the dark lift came the man himself… bleeding from his lip.

“John! What happened?” You put down your wine and rushed over to him.

He held you back, waving you off like it was nothing,

“Don’t worry, love. Just a bit of a scuffle, tha’s all.”

“But —”

“Seriously,” he grabbed you by your arms and looked you up and down, enjoying the wide opening of the robe as it revealed your body to him, “You should see the other bloke. Let me get cleaned up. Pour me one of those, would’ya?”

Before you could protest, he ducked into the bathroom, out of your reach. You were left standing there, worried and a little concerned for your own wellbeing. You didn’t actually know this man at all, and here you were, lamb to the slaughter, eager and bleating happily.

While he was in the bath, you decided to do a little research. You searched up his name, and you were finding almost no hits, until you stumbled upon a mugshot.

There he was… the notorious mob boss, ruler of the English underground arms dealing circuit, enforcer and racketeering extraordinaire. And here you were, nearly naked in his room with not so much as a penknife within reach. This guy had been in the armed forces, special forces, black ops — the works. He retired and fell into the armed security world, making a name for himself by pushing out the competition by any means necessary. His father had maintained ties to the dark underground, and now John had taken over the family business, doing shady deals for the government and crime organizations alike. All of it was hearsay, of course, and none of the charges had ever landed a single hit… but you knew the truth.

John Price was the most dangerous man in the world; Liverpool’s crime arena was just a quiet little hobby for a man like him. If he wanted to, he could make you disappear like a magician behind a mirror. Gone without a trace.

What would you do? Would you run? Where would you go? How would you explain your sudden exit? Food poisoning?

Before you could even begin to formulate a plan, John was out of the shower. He looked incredible. His hulking, heavy form was steaming from the hot water, and his hairy chest was uncovered. He’d slipped into a pair of running shorts and nothing else, so his brutal body was on display for you. He was covered in scars, and he was heavyset, but his largeness was from his strength. His core was bulky and strong, and when he moved, you could see the tight muscles rolling around beneath the skin like a snake ready to strike.

He turned to you, but even though he wore a smile at first, the moment he made eye contact, his face fell. Somehow, he knew that you knew.

He sighed,

“What did you see?”

He rushed over to his suitcase but found it still locked, looking back to you quizzically. You didn’t move, you didn’t dare. John stepped over to you slowly, deliberately, almost as if he was ready for another fight.

You turned your phone towards him and showed him his own mugshot.

“Thought you said you weren’t famous,” you whispered. Your voice sounded so small and far away, you almost felt like you hadn’t spoken the words.

He smiled bitterly, tossing his towel on a nearby chair and sat beside you on the bed,

“Cat’s out of the bag, then?”

“Yeah,” you looked down at your phone, unable to look him in the eye.

“Go on,” he waved his hand at you, motioning toward the door, “Get out.”

You didn’t move. You should have. Every fiber in your being was telling you to make a break for it. Now was your chance. And yet… you stayed. It was silent for a long while. You could feel his gaze raking over you, hot and heavy. His breaths rumbled in his chest.

“Go!” He spat, “No one’s keeping you prisoner here, girl. That’s me, alright, and the newspapers don’t even know the bloody half of it. Just go.”

You reacted to his volume, shirking back a bit, but you still didn’t stand. You looked at him then, searching for the kindness you thought you saw on the patio just hours before, checking to see if it was still there, if it was even real.

When you met his eyes, his fury was masking a very real pain. He was angry, sure, but the ache of being cast out was apparent, even though you were the one doing the leaving, and you just wanted that bit of brightness back again.

John studied you, watching your every movement, trying to determine what you were thinking but coming up short. He stood right in front of you, his hips inches from your face, and he asked,

“What are you waitin’ on, love?”

A strong thumb lifted your chin, raising your jaw up to look at him again, and he used his enormous hand to grab your face, keeping you there under his will.

“I know you’re afraid of me,” he commented softly, “I can feel it.”

“So?” You replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

His voice was bitter and mocking, and as he leaned forward, you could smell his clean, warm skin,

“You wanna play with the big bad wolf, hm? See if I bite?”

He grabbed you a little too tightly, trying to scare you. It worked, but you tried not to show it. Instead, you decided to place both of your hands at his hips, your palms flat against his warm belly, feeling the dark hair that formed a faithful trail, guiding your eyes down to his waistband.

It was his turn to be surprised. You felt his breathing catch as you moved your hands up along his ribcage, rubbing gentle circles into his skin, petting him like a skittish hound, expecting him to snap.

Letting go of your face, he grabbed your wrist, and just as you thought he was going to stop you, he took your hand and placed it on his chest, stretching your arm all the way up from where you were sat, making you extend your spine as you reached up to him. Your fingers traced the fur that lay flat against his pectorals, and finally, you plucked at his nipples, not allowing there to be any question as to your intentions.

The tip of his wide finger dipped into the silken collar of your robe, swirling around your neck and following it down to the swell of your breast. He didn’t find your peak, but he didn’t seem to care to. He was just exploring.

Suddenly, John moved faster than you could even begin to understand what was happening. He had reached under you, lifting you, and then tossed you back down on the bed. You lay, sprawled, trying to catch your bearings, and then you were covered by his huge form, his wide body casting shadows over your vision, cloaking you in his own private darkness.

His mouth was on you like a hot flame, licking and burning and biting and sucking wherever he wanted to, eager to taste every inch of your skin, the imperfections of a wrinkle or a freckle seemed to go fully unnoticed as he devoured you, sucking you down like his last meal.

You were overwhelmed by the pleasure he was stoking inside of you, and you let a small mewling sound escape from your lips that caught his attention.

“Mm,” he climbed up your body so that you were face to face, “Enjoying your walk on the dark side, love? Think you’re tainted by me now? Or maybe that’s what you wanted, is it? Something naughty, just for a night?”

You didn’t understand his negativity, nor the self-deprecation, so you tried to protest,

“No, I —”

“It’s alright. I’ll show you how to be a bad girl. I’ll teach you, love. C’mere.”

His voice was smoldering and sticky, clinging to your ears with some of that same bitterness from before. But, you didn’t have time to worry about that. He was standing by the bedside again, and he grabbed your arms, making your head and shoulders hang part way off of the mattress. You were left staring at his thick thighs and scarred knees, worried about what he was up to.

Then, all became clear. He had dropped his running shorts, and the fattest cock you’d ever seen hung down, shining with drool, ready to be fed into your mouth.

Your eyes went wide, and although you reached your hand out to try and brace against his legs, it was no use. He supported your head from underneath and bent himself over until the tip of his swollen cockhead touched your lips, the gleaming precome sticking to you like gloss.

Unwilling to be frightened by his aggression, you opened your mouth for him, laving your tongue across his turgid flesh, allowing him to press himself inside of you.

His cock was slick on the head but dry on his shaft, so you did your best to wet him, licking and sucking as he pumped himself in and out, already nearing the back of your throat and not even halfway sheathed.

When he nudged your soft palate, making you gag a bit, you made a noise. You tried steadying him with your hand, and he grunted, grabbing both of your arms by the wrist, holding them above your face, clutched to his hip. Then, he continued to fuck your face, ignoring your writhing gasps for breath.

Your throat tightened around him, but you tried to stay calm. You’d never taken anyone this deep before, but you stilled yourself, ignoring the urge to panic, and you made a point to swallow, feeling your throat squeeze around his head. You could taste him as he painted the back of your throat, salty and sweet at the same time.

That made him moan, and you felt like you’d won some sort of battle. If he was trying to frighten you, it was going to take more than just a little rough sex.

“Mm, fuck… Maybe you are a naughty little girl, aye?”

You hummed, making sure you could feel the vibrations travel through his girth.

He removed himself fully, taking a trail of your own drool with him, gasping from the pleasure of your mouth.

“Fuck, I need to taste you,” he muttered darkly, crawling over you and settling himself between your legs.

You tried to lift yourself back onto the bed, but he kept you hanging there, pinning you down with his strong arm, pressing into your belly with his hand to prevent you from sitting up. Finally, after feeling him kiss and nip at your thighs, teasing you mercilessly, you felt the warm, wet slip of his tongue as it fell between your lips, tasting your throbbing pussy for the first time.

The robe was half-off, and only the tie around your waist was even providing any coverage, and you realized that as he began to eat you, he was yanking off your clothes as well, ripping through the knot of the robe to free you from the fabric.

Now, his mouth moved deeper, and you felt him seal his lips to your pussy, messily drinking you in. As he fucked you with his tongue, his mouth and jaw were strong enough to rock your body up and down on the soft bed, making it seem as if he were actually using his smooth wet muscle as a writhing cock, thrusting it up into you and reaching deep into your hole.

The scruff of his beard was enough to make you want to come, much less the power that he ate you with. Every deep, curling lick sent sparks into your core, making your pussy drip with eager stickiness. It was hungry for that fat, uncut cock, forcing you to imagine how delightful it would be when he popped his giant head into your pink flesh.

You were keening for him. Well, it wasn’t exactly for him, per se. The noises you were making were coming from your throat against your will. If you didn’t scream, you’d pass the hell out, you were sure of it.

“Fuck, that’s it, love. Get loud for me. Ungh… you taste… mmfh… so damn sweet,” he was ruthless, speaking between long suckles from his mouth, commanding you from below.

You wished you could see him, but all you could see from your hanging position was the giant window, looking out across the sparkling city. So, you called out to him, your voice thick with want, with need,

“John…”

That was all it took. He tugged your hips down until he was above you again, prowling over you like some sort of beast, all snarling unbridled lust and appetite. As soon as he was in position — and your body knew he was in position — everything stopped. He stopped.

John looked down at you and became… different. The flirty bloke from the patio was back, and he smiled at you. You smiled back, out of breath and already drunk with hunger, but that was all he needed. He kissed you deeply, making you taste your own musk, and as his soft lips slid over yours, you felt the pressure of his huge cock at your hole, pressing through your folds to reach your hot, soaked center.

You gasped through his kiss, both of you moaning in the same timbre as you felt his heavy dick fit into you for the first time, a sparkling desire swirling within you as every delicious inch of him buried itself in you. He began to thrust himself up into your aching slit, fucking you on half of his length, and then using your own sticky fluid to slip himself the rest of the way in.

“Bloody hell, this fuckin’ pussy… fuck me,” he groaned, wrenching his eyes shut from the pleasure.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking your praise.

“You’re fucking huge,” you didn’t mean to sound so concerned, but there was a part of you that was.

He sat back on his heels, taking some of the pressure away, staring down at your body lecherously, savoring your tits and fondling them in his hands,

“Alright, love?”

“You feel so good,” you insisted, wrapping your hands around his arms as he enjoyed your body.

“Tell me again,” he said, grunting again as he fucked his cock deeper inside of you, reaching a new end before dragging himself all the way back out just so he could start the journey again. He upped his tempo, pounding into you with his weight, the loud smack of his body against yours beating into you like a drum.

“Tell. Me. Again,” he growled his warning, snarling down at you, pinching your nipple to punish you for your silence.

You were gasping for breath. He was so deep now, you could feel the pressure of it in your belly. Between sharp intakes of air, you hissed,

“You… feel.. so… fucking… good…”

“That’s my girl,” he bent over you again and that familiar pressure returned. His cock was too big, and yet you took it anyway. Your body was panic and pleasure all at the same time, and he had you pinned down for the ride of your life.

You weren’t sure how many hours passed that night. He seemed to have the stamina of a much younger man, and every time you dozed off, you’d wake up again to fingers or tongue or cock playing inside of your folds, coaxing you to open yourself up to him. You were happy to oblige, but you were properly fuck drunk. If someone asked you for the alphabet, you weren’t positive you trusted your answer. But, when John Price asked you to open your mouth or your legs for him, you were the top scholar.

A golden, creamy dawn was rising up over the docks as you stared out the window. John’s hand was rubbing your bare back in long, relaxing strokes, and he was leaving soft, lazy kisses down your spine. You knew you were a mess. Your hair was tangled; you’d thrown it up into a messy bun on the second runthrough, done with trying to pretend to be a pristine hot girl. Your body was covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and red welts from a delightful slap on the ass or two were painted across you like little tattoos to commemorate your coupling.

“You alright, love?” He checked in on you.

He’d been checking in all night. For all his ruthlessness, he never crossed a line, and he never forgot to make sure you were safe. Sometime in the wee hours, he’d even made you drink a bottle of water and eat some fruit to hydrate, teasing you with grapes like some sort of earthly Baccus.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Looks like it’s time for me to get out of your hair. Not sure I should be seen by the public in my current state.”

“You have work, or…” John looked confused.

You thought about lying to him for a moment. It would hurt so much less for you to just break it off now in the soft dawn glow rather than a painful goodbye over cold breakfast. But, you didn’t.

“No, just… don’t wanna fool myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.”

Your truth hung there in the air for a moment, but before he could open his mouth to reply, you heard the elevator ding.

You turned to look at it, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled you off the bed and forced you to the floor. It was so fast that you didn’t even realize what he’d done until your nose was in the carpet. Then, you heard a sharp, snapping pop of something hitting the bed.

You watched in horror as John’s hand reached under the mattress and pulled out a small pistol. He held it like a professional, calm and trained, and shot twice. Then, it was quiet again.

He helped you to your feet, and he was telling you something, but your brain wasn’t registering his words. What had happened? Why were there bullet holes in the mattress? Who had he shot?

Then, you saw it. A man’s body was laying across the door of the elevator. Wanting to descend, the elevator’s alarm wailed, beeping and beeping.

John grabbed your jaw and made you listen to him,

“We have to go. Now. Get your clothes on. Now. Now.”

“Okay…” You couldn’t move. It was so hard to even lift your arms. They felt like solid lead. You just wanted to sink back to the floor. Maybe if you could just…

“Hey! Now!”

He shoved your clothes into your hands and you started to put them on, doing your best not to look at the elevator. John was packing a black bag, half-dressed himself, and checking the windows over and over, looking for something in the streets below.

“There’s no time, c’mon, love.”

You felt his hand cover yours as he led you to the elevator. You watched him ruthlessly kick the body away from the doors and push you inside. Once you were in, the doors closed and you rode in silence with him. You could only hear your heart in your ears.

“...to my car. Stay close to me.”

“Okay…” It was all you could say. No other words even dared to come to mind.

“Hey,” he held your face in his as the floor numbers dropped to the teens, “You’re alright. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay.”

The doors opened, and you found it extremely weird that the lobby was empty. There were no workers, no guests, not even a custodian. It was just a big, silent cavern in what was usually a lively casino.

He was leading you out to the parking garage, and just as you stepped into the concrete enclave, you heard the screech of tires round the corner. John stood in front of you and gripped the gun in his hand, but he didn’t move away.

The car stopped in front of you, and you braced yourself, hiding behind your lover as much as you could.

“Get in, boss! They’re right bloody behind us. Soap, shove over,” a man’s voice came from the car. He was in the driver’s seat, and he was wearing a ballcap with the Union Jack emblazoned on the top. In his passenger seat was a man in a black balaclava, and in the back was a bright-eyed man with a mohawk who you guessed had to be Soap.

“C’mon, love,” John shoved you inside just as a black SUV rounded the same corner, the engine roaring when it saw Price’s car.

Gunshots rang out, and you knew some of them had hit the car. You worried for John, but he stood straight up, aiming carefully for the driver, and fired his gun. As if you were in some sort of action movie, the SUV careened off-course and slammed into several parked cars. Men began to pour from it, armed to the teeth.

John jumped in beside you and made you kneel in the floorboards, holding his body over yours protectively.

“How’d they find out? Gaz!” John yelled at the driver, shouting his name when he saw another SUV approaching from the side.

Gaz swerved, narrowly missing being rammed, and sped off down the highway, trying to run from his pursuers.

“No idea, mate, but they think it was us who tore up the warf. Banno’s man must’ve turned snitch. Only explanation.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the masked man sighed, rolling down his window to fire shots at the SUV chasing you down.

“Who’s the bonnie hen, boss?” Soap peered down at you before turning his attention back on the car chase.

“Uh… she’s…” John tried to explain, but you realized that you never even told him your real name, “I dunno.”

“You dinnae ken?” Soap’s brows knitted together.

“Soap! Shut up and shoot, mate,” Gaz turned his attention back on the fight.

“Well,” the masked man grumbled loudly, “She’s stuck with us all the way to Hadrian’s Wall. Heading to Katie’s house. No place else is safe.”

“Aye, good call,” John agreed.

Finally, after leaving the city, your pursuers turned back around and left you to your escape. John helped you back into the seat and checked you for injuries.

“John… I’m…” Your voice shook with fear, and you felt all of that stress tumbling down into your chest, turning into shock and tears.

“Shh, it’s alright, love. I’ve gotcha. I’m… I’m sorry. Should’ve known better.”

“Better?” You whispered as he held you to his chest.

“Aye. Thought I could be a normal man for a night. Hit on the hot bird at the bar, go to a fuckin’ party. But, nothing’s normal right now. I’ve put you in this mess, and I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have a reply, not one that made any sense, and as he held you, you watched the English countryside come into view. Rolling green hills still wet with their dew made everything that had just happened to you seem so far away, but you could smell the gunpowder on his hands as he pet your cheek, and you knew that nothing could be further from the truth.

341 notes · View notes

devilmayfamily · 1 year

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Price is papa, yes. But he is also male wife

Before meeting Price, you were used to having to take care of yourself and doing all the cleaning and cooking around the house when you did live with other people. Upon meeting Price, you were fully prepared to do the same thing for him but mans surprises you.

When you go to do the laundry, you find the man already putting away and ironing clothes. Trying to cook dinner? Nope! That man is in the kitchen already or has ordered your favorite takeout.

At first, you thought it was him still trying to court you but now 4 years into your relationship, he was still doing all these things around the house.

He's in the military and you're not? Don't worry bout dinner honey cuz he made sure to have meal plans curated for short periods away or has takeout on its way every Friday night when he's gone for long periods of time. When he comes back, he is all over you and making sure you don't have to do a thing. He's cooking, cleaning, and cuddling.

You're both in the military? DO. NOT. DO. SHIT. And he means that in the most loving way possible. That man is doing anything and everything he can for you no matter if you can do it on your own or not. 141 will say he's whipped or a simp but John Price is completely ok with that. He loves his wonderful partner and would do anything for them.

And if ever there is a universe or timeline that you're in the military and he's not? He is on that shit night and day. Cooking, cleaning, and making sure that everything is done so that when you come home, there is nothing for you to worry about other than receiving all the love he has for you.

John Price is the dad of 141 but he is the wife of his significant other.

#cod task force 141 #cod mw #cod mw22 #cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #call of duty price #mw2 #mw2 2022 #call of duty mw22 #mw2022 #modern warfare 2 #john price #captain john price #price x reader #john price x reader #price is male wife #i love my military wife john price

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deathbecomesthem · 5 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.

---

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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navybrat817 · 1 year

Note

I’m just gonna drop a little gift here…

LOOK AT HIM SO FUCKING GORGEOUS AND HOT AND 😩😩😩😩😩

Ok love you byeeeee✌🏻

LOOK AT HIM. I say nothing is perfect and then he comes along. And are we getting a glimpse inside of Smartie's mind?

Daddy? Sorry.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: Over 760 Warnings: Discussion of Bucky being d-addy. Hehe.

A/N: Stud and Smartie nonsense. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

"You know what I don't get? The 'Daddy? Sorry.' thing," you told Natasha as you waited for Bucky to join you at the cafe for lunch. It was a beautiful day to sit outside. "Is it bad that I don't get it?"

"Not bad," Natasha replied, cocking an eyebrow at you and not questioning the out of the blue topic. "But what exactly are you not getting?"

"I guess calling a guy 'Daddy'," you shrugged, adding air quotes for good measure. "I've never done it."

"So, you haven't called Bucky 'Daddy'?" she smirked.

“No, I haven’t. I just said I haven’t called anyone that,” you said, holding your chin high when her expression didn’t change.

If there was one thing you appreciated about Natasha, she never made you feel dumb or embarrassed for any candid discussions you had with her. Even when she teased you, it was all in good fun. Bucky liked that the two of you became friends, though he preferred to be your main confidant. You felt the same way about him.

“But he isn’t just anyone.”

“I know,” you smiled, glancing around to see if he arrived yet. “He’s special.”

My future husband. I just know it.

“And you’re special to him, too. Can’t have Stud without Smartie,” the redhead said as you smiled more. It was nice to hear that. “Okay. In your mind, how would you describe a Daddy?”

You snorted a bit because you couldn’t believe this was where the conversation went. Well, you brought it up. You should’ve known your friend would ask questions. She did have a way of getting people to talk.

“Besides handsome?” you asked, getting a nod in agreement. You had to think about it before you continued. “I guess someone protective and maybe a bit dominant? Not in a controlling way, but in a ‘I want to take care of you’ kind of way.”

Bucky was the most protective person you knew. It wasn’t just physically standing up for you if he felt the need to step in and defend you. He cared about your mental well-being and feelings. And while he didn’t mind you taking the lead, he was very much the more dominant of the two of you. No matter what, you knew you were his number one priority in and out of bed.

“Go on,” she urged, taking a sip as she kept her neutral gaze on you.

A small smile touched your lips as you adjusted the hoodie you were wearing. It was Bucky’s, of course. “And I guess it can be playful and affectionate, like I want to tease him. Can you imagine if I called him that in front of everyone?” you asked, giggling as you pictured a couple of expressions he might give you from hearing the nickname. “But it’s also vulnerable, in a way, because it might sound awkward if I say it and he may not like it. What matters is that I trusted him enough to say it though and he might like it.”

I trust him to tell me the truth.

“Why do you think he’d like it?”

You looked at her without an ounce of shame. “Because it's that extra bit of assurance that I’m his.”

But it also says he’s mine, right?

Natasha gave you a rare wide smile. “Sounds like you understand it just fine.”

As if he sensed the two of you were discussing him, Bucky came into view. If your friend heard you whimper, she kindly didn’t call you out on it. Maybe she was used to you gazing at Bucky Barnes like he was a work of art that you had the privilege to touch.

Your brain tried to tell your eyes to quit looking at him like a creep, but you didn’t blink. You just stared at your man and tried not to drool as you took in his tight blue sweater and pulled back hair. His stance and size screamed “power” and you suddenly wished he’d bend you over the table and take you right there. There was also a softness about him that made you want to burrow in his arms and never leave.

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry. OH. I fucking get it now. Is this a new kink unlocked? Wait, is it a kink?

“Call him ‘Daddy’ and I’ll pay for lunch,” Natasha offered as Bucky spotted you both and headed to the table.

“That’s a conversation for Daddy and I to have first,” you joked.

And knowing Bucky, he’d be happy with whatever you called him.

How do we think he'd react? Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ KoFi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #roommate!bucky barnes #roommate!bucky barnes x reader #stud and smartie #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes ficlet #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #beefy roommate au #roommate au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sparklesannie

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valsdelulucorner · 1 month

Text

More Asmo head cannons<3

Ok, so this will be more selfcare head cannons with you then other things, hope you guys dont mind<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He 100% buys one of those "make your own facemasks" makers and is surprisingly good at making them, making everyone envious as theirs always falls apart. He always helps you with making yours so you two just enjoy some wine and facemasks while the others struggle with theirs

I love to think that he does those "Trying out every brand social media suggests to me" things and joins you in on them. He does sometimes records these hauls to devil gram but when he's not recording, he loves to experiment them with you. He can tell which ones will make him break out or not so he just put them into a "Give someone else" pile and will slap your hand if you try and reach for them. He will not allow himself to see his darling use just cheep crap like that, i think its best to listen to him. The man knows his stuff

After a long day at rad and having to deal with every day to day shenanigans, he has a bath when he gets home. If you look tired and stressed after the day, he will invite you to join him. If you do, he will help you with your hair and back while you guys enjoy the warm water and each others company. If you don't, he wont really bother you much, maybe reminding you to relax and have a bath when you have time

100% the type of guy to sit with you on his or your bed, face masks on both of your faces while you both drop the dirtiest gossip to each other. He will literally be telling you that one of his friends almost became a father but found out his girl was cheating while doing your nails, stoned face while he goes into deep detail about what happened while you sit there shocked. Loves hearing you gossip about people up in the human world, names and all. He will never meet these people so its fun that you get to name drop, gasping and tuning in while you reveal shit about people from the human world

Loves spa days with you, its always relaxing and he gets a cute buddy to talk with. If his brothers see you two relaxing together, they will basically alert everyone and they will have to join aswell. He's annoyed that his time with you got interrupted by his brothers barreling into his room and joining you both, but is quite amused while he watches things unravel.

Will smugly sit with you on his bed, you both in face masks and holding drinks while his brothers squabble and get confused about the sheer amount of skin care he has. Will make them relace every single one they touched, just out of spite<3

If you have acne and or acne scars, he will use this as a excuse to have a skincare day with you. Will sit you down in either his or your room and just start using products that suit your skin perfectly. If your skin is sensitive and will break out with stronger products, he will use a lot more softer and more organic products that will try and help with your acne. I feel like hes the type of person to not like the feeling of acne so he will use a soft brush and gently use that to spread out the products, its not that he doesn't absolutely adore you, i just have that feeling he is very particular with textures

This man loves the look but hates the feel of velvet, you can not argue with me on this one. He will wear it if its the only thing that suits his outfit but he will be so uncomfortable with it on

Will love to do a clothes swap with you, trying on your clothes while you try on his. He wouldn't normally wear the type of clothes you wear so its such a nice change to see him in something else. "Oh MC darling! These are so comfy, though I think you could use abit more colour" "Oh I just have to borrow this from you sometime hunny"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I absolutely love asmo, hes such a amazing character<3

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luceafarul-de-dimineata · 2 months

Note

ngl kinda curious what happens if mc gets shipped with one of the nobles more often than the kings instead?

You know the AO3 ship popularity chart? Let's say they did one of those for the "child of Solomon" fandom.

Mod Jjok: The most popular ship with Mc for this month is... Mc x Sitri! With over 20k words in the longest running fanfiction on the ship reaching peak popularity in the middle of the month!

Dantalian: Sitri? Isn't that his majesty Satan's blood bag?

Glasylabolas: It turns out he has a name.

Paimon: I think this must be mistakeeeeen. I just recently wrote in collaboration with Astaroth a 25k words fanfic about Mc x Satan

Eligos: Oh, I mass-reported that one. I would apologise about that, but demons can't lie

Paimon: You're so sillyyyyy

Paimon: You just lost cuteness session priveledgessss

Eligos: :'(

Eligos: It was for the greater good of Tartaros

Bimet: Very noble of you, Eligos

Dantalian: Bimet! You fucking bitch, where's my MC body pillow????

Eligos: @Dantalian please take this in private we don't vibe with this negative energy here

Dantalian: Speak for yourself, I vibe with it!

Gamigin: Guys, what happened????? I was asleep, it's like 5 AM in here.

Gamigin: HOLY FUCK

Gamigin: How did Sitri of all people win????

Paimon: I mean, he's not that baaaaaaad

Gamigin: 20k words isn't even that long! How?!

Gamigin: I think we all have to come together to break the two up

Gamigin: Sitri is a common enemy and we shall stop him!

Dantalian: I'm sharpening my knife as we speak.

Gamigin: His Majesty Lucifer said I'm not allowed to leave Paradise Lost :'(

Dantalian: And?

Gamigin: And ... what?

Dantalian: He's not your dad! Even if he was, you don't have to listen to him. Do you think I listen to everything his majesty Asmodeus tells me to do? No. He may be my dad and my king, but I am in control of my own future.

Glasylabolas: Preach brother, preach

Gamigin: But I don't want to go against Lucifer's orders

Dantalian: Pussy

Glasylabolas: Pussy

Dantalian: First! Suck it old man!

Gamigin: Wait, doesn't Paimon live in the same country as Sitri?????

Gamigin: @Paimon, dearest, could you please kill Sitri for us? At least tranquillise him or something. Make sure he doesn't move anymore.

Paimon: I'm not murdering Sitri over thisssss

Paimon: I'll just ask him if it's true he's dating Mccccc

Dantalian: I think we should vote on Sitri's fate

Glasylabolas: Absolutely. I am for democracy.

Dantalian: Knife or gun death?

Glasylabolas: I prefere knife. Gun's make everything messier. How am I supposed to get arroused by a pile of guts?

Dantalian: Ask Ronové or Phenix and they'll tell you

Dantalian: I once saw Ronové remove an angel's intenstines and fucking them

Eligos: That's why nobody wants to visit Abaddon.

Dantalian: In his defence, it was kind of hot

Glasylabolas: I can imagine

Glasylabolas: I should call Ronové again...

Dantalian: He charges for one night stands now cause Abaddon lost its health care recently

Gamigin: Yeah, Morax told me about how you started getting curious about his eye hole.

Dantalian: I don't even blame Ronové for that one. I'm also curious what happens if you cum down someone's eye socket.

Paimon: Ok guyssssss

Paimon: I talked with himmmm

Paimon: It turns out that he just had a lot of black tea recently and wrote 20k words in a dayyyyy

Paimon: And a lot of people read it because Asteroth recomended it on his bloggggg

Dantalian: ah, yeah, shipping

Dantalian: Asmodeus x Mc for the win

Eligos: In your dreams

Dantalian: Yes. I do dream about that often.

Dantalian: I don't even know why y'all care so much for Mc's sex life

Dantalian: Having sex with only one partner is boring

Gamigin: Keep your shitty opinions to yourself.

Dantalian: Only if you make me

Eligos: I'm going to mass report it

Gamigin: I already did <3

Sitri: All of you are so mean

[Mod Jjok stopped comments on this post]

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb gamigin #whb paimon #whb eligos #whb glasylabolas #whb dantalian #whb bimet #whb sitri #shipper au

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fcthots · 9 months

Note

thinking abt wearing jason's initial on a necklace but in a taylor swift kind of way

-🕷️

THIS THIS THIS CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT

I WANT TO WEAR HIS INITIAL ON A CHAIN ROUND MY NECK CHAIN ROUND MY NECK NOT BC HE OWNS ME BUT CAUSE HE REALLY KNOWS ME WHICH IS MORE THAN THEY CAN SAY-

ANYWAy

Here's the thing about the fucking press, since the moment they found out Jason was alive, they've never let him breathe. Your relationship went public against your will only two months after he was declared legally alive. Since then the opinion on your relationship had fluctuated. Sometimes there were fan accounts and other times you were sent death threats. Jason did what he could, but he couldn't stop everything.

The worst that happened was when you went with some friends. It was just dinner on a balcony at a nice restaurant. Jason had gone to some concert with one of his siblings. To be honest, you were too drunk to remember which. You were out with three friends two of you were drunk. The birthday boy doesn’t like to drink, but he gave the ok for everyone else. One other friend stayed sober and offered to be the designated driver.

You're solidly drunk. Drunk enough to actually be excited to take pictures. Drunk enough to be laughing the whole time. Drunk enough to try to call your cat on the phone.

Either way, you're singing happy birthday while your friends are taking pictures so you lean over to kiss the birthday boy's cheek and tell him "HappsyBirthay!" He laughs and thanks you. It's a good time. Your other drunk friend kisses him on the other cheek and takes a picture of it on his phone. It's cute. It's fun. But it is 11:30 pm and time to go home.

You're about to get in the designated driver's car when he asks for your address. You don’t invite people over much, what with Jason having to go on patrol and bloody bats dropping in. You're also drunk enough to not know your address. "That's a relly diffisult queshion. Do you know the answer?" You look over to the birthday boy; he's been to your apartment a few times to have lunch and feed the cat.

He looks over at the designated driver. "I don’t know the address, but I know to get there... Don't worry about it. I'll take her home."

"We goin home?"

He laughs. "Yeah."

"Holy shit! Is Jason gunna be there?" He puts his arm around your waist to guide you into his car so you don’t fall.

"I don’t know. You said he was going out tonight, but I don’t know if he's back yet." He laughs again and waves goodbye to your other friends before he buckles himself into the driver's seat.

The car ride home is mostly quiet. You're half asleep, and it's not long until your friend is pulling into the parking garage. He taps your shoulder and asks for your key. You don’t know where it is. He asks for your phone. You hand it over, and he asks Siri to call Jason.

Jason picks up after half a ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, man. It's me. We're in the parking garage and your wonderful girlfriend is too drunk to find her keys. Any chance you're home."

You hear Jason's voice ask something about articles, news, and pictures before you fall asleep again.

A few minutes pass and someone's calling your name and unbuckling your seatbelt. You look over and see Jason leaning over you.

"J'son!"

"Hey, sweetheart."

"I missd you." He grabs your bag off the floor.

"I missed you too. Hey can you give me your phone?"

You nod your head and hand him the phone.

"I'm gonna pick you up. Ready?"

"Yeah!" He lifts you up while you shout "Weeeee!"

He closes the car with his shoe and turns toward your friend. "Thanks, man. Happy Birthday. Sorry about everything."

"'s no problem. Take care of her. Bye."

You don’t remember much of the elevator ride up or getting in pajamas or getting in bed. But you remember waking up. That wasn't fun.

Jason makes you breakfast, and that in itself isn't out of the ordinary at all, but he's acting weird. Every time you ask for your phone he says "I'll give it to you in a minute."

You can't take it anymore. "Jay, just tell me what happened. You're killing me. Did I post anything dumb while drunk again?"

"No." He sighs and grabs your phone out his pocket before opening up an article. You take your phone from him and read the headline. You feel sick.

"Jason Todd and Girlfriend Broke Up! Finally She's Gone"

You take a bite of eggs off Jason's plate and keep reading.

"Here's the evidence:

"nobody's heard from the couple for months, not even so much as an instagram post from the once vocal couple

"Todd was seen last night at a concert singing his heart out to breakup songs, images below

"and most damning of all: the now would-be ex-girlfriend was spotted last night getting cozy and leaving with new man, exclusive photos below!"

You scroll and see zoomed in photos of you kissing your friend's cheek and getting into his car. You bang your forehead into the counter repeatedly. Jason puts his hand over the spot you're hitting your head against. You look to him and he looks apologetic.

"I'd prefer if you didn’t read the rest. I don’t think Vicki Vale likes you very much. I'm having Bruce sue the company right now."

You try to hit your head into the table again and he grabs your cheek to stop you. He leaves his hand there. This time, you look apologetic.

"I'm sorry. It just makes me upset when people think I don’t love you or that you don’t love me." You meet his eyes and he's smiling.

"I had an idea."

He pulls two small boxes from his pockets and you stop yourself from making a comment about the size of men's pockets. Before you have the time to freak out, questioning what's in the boxes, he opens them. They're necklaces with the initials of your first names. He takes the one with your initial and puts it around his neck. The chain on his is longer than the other one.

"Obviously you don’t have to, I just had a feeling you might want to. I'm not trying to put a brand on you-"

You cut him off with a kiss.

"I'm never taking it off."

#saph’s love letters #jason todd #saph’s thots #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #🕷️ anon #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #Jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader fluff #I stopped beta-ing my stuff at some point. I apologize. I just hate reading my own stuff

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heartsfourdazai · 5 months

Note

hey how are you? I'm sorry to make this personal request but it's my current situation and I wanted to console myself with this in the arms of chuuya x reader

I would like to make a chuuya request with a s/o who went on a trip with her family to the beach, but her family is toxic and usually does things to humiliate her, talk about her body, etc. She pretends she doesn't care about it but it causes her several crises.

when your family is toxic, but you don't show that you care to him

chuuya :3

warnings: mention of a toxic relationships, reader uses she/her, insecurities, mention of body shame, mention of nudity, overall border-line fluff

a/n: hmmm, did i write away from the topic a little bit? maybe, and for that, i'm sorry!!! I did try to get all the components you have asked for anon; also, i'm sorry you're going through all of that! im here to talk if needed.

OKAY FIRST OF ALL-

this man is not having you lying to his face.

no. no. no. NO!

he's sees right through you, anything you say that you may think is believing-

*CHUCK IT OUT THE DAMN WINDOW!!*

but not in a mean way :3

erm anyways.

he never really cared that you rarely mentioned your family, until he asked if he could ever meet your parents.

you know, because since you two are dating- he just thought it would be respectful. on his part, at least.

you tried your best to change subjects, but he would catch on quickly and ask if anything wrong between you and your parents.

"hmm, ohno- we just argue sometimes- but that's just life; people argue and people fight- it's normal!"

now, your not wrong? but you seemed to be hiding something about your family to him.

he's literally in the mafia; if you tell him that they're fucking murders on the run and you don't want anyone to know about it- who the hell is chuuya going to tell, mori?? 💀💀

thats not the case, but that's all what chuuya thinks.

you told him a couple of days later you and your family are going on vacation, and he was happy for you.

you needed the break.

you work too hard at your job, and you deserve a vacation.

he would help you pack because none of your relatives helped? that's okay, he'll get you everything you need.

with a kiss on your lips he watched as you entered your parents car and off to your vacation...what he didn't expect was you coming home two days earlier then you said you would be.

"sweetheart, your back?" he would hug you, but you wouldn't hug back they way you usually do.

you dropped your bags on the floor of his doorstep with the door wide open..the time was currently 1:06am and chuuya was in PJ bottoms and a black t-shirt..his hair was tied in a small ponytail.

you hid your face in his neck as he hugged your8 tightly, expecting you to hug back.

you just stood there, arms draped by your sides and your suitcase on the ground.

he couldn't help but smell your hair, then kissed it as he rubs your back as he spoke; "babe, have you showered?"

you shake your head, still not responsive verbally.

he takes you inside his home, taking your bags in with you as he sat you down on the stairs steps; combing his fingers through your greasy hair.

he looked at your face; it was dry and your eyes were dark and your eyelids were purple.

he took your hand and kissed each of your knuckles as he saw tears fall from your eyes, however your face stayed the same.

"could i bathe you?" he would ask, and as he waited for your response, you nod.

gently, he would lift you from the steps and carry you to the bathroom.

he sat you down on the sink and started to run the water to a warm temperature for you to bathe in.

once he filled the tub with water and added a bath bomb of his own, he slowly turns to you and softly smiles; now standing in front of you.

"i'm going to undress you now, is that ok-"

before he could move you grabbed his wrist and looked at him. you seemed scared to show him your body as you tried to close your body together.

he gave you a sad frown, kissing your arm, up yo your shoulder.

"sweetheart, i have seen your naked multiple times, and i've had no problem with what i see; it's almost as if i have a gift from heaven itself.."

you stared into his blue eyes, thinking about what to do in the heat of the moment.

you guided his hand to the collar of your shirt, and nod slowly...allowing him to undress you.

in a way to make you comfortable, he would kiss your bare skin each time he would remove a piece of clothing from your body...

once your body was bare,, he would lift you up and gently play you in the tub and rub your shoulders.

couple of minutes went by, and chuuya had just dumped a handful of shampoo in his hand and started to message your skull with it.

"i take your vacation wasn't so...memorable?.."

he would ask softly, his eyes widening when he heats your soft sniffles.

"i'm'so sorry, my'love..." he would lean down and kiss your shoulders as you hide your face in your knees and sob.

chuuya would just rinse your hair after conditioner and held your body in his arms as you sobbed and sobbed for possibly 20 minutes.

as your crying settled, he would ask you what happened and if you would want to talk about it he would drain the water and help you change, of course leaving you if you would prefer to do it on your own.

sit on the bed, cuddled close together and talking about your family.

you would say how much they take you for granted, and talk about behind your back. your mother would body shame you, saying you eat either too much or too little.

your father would always make fun of your clothing choses and when your out, he would say your too fat for that bathing suit, or you could never fit in that dress unless you start caring about yourself.

both of them would also mention how much chuuya deserved better then to be with a sad, disappointed girl like you-

chuuya would cut your ranting off by kissing you on the lips for about a couple of minutes, a break for breathing if course, and would tell you no matter what your parents tell you, they're just jealous from what an amazing, beautiful women you have become ❤️

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pathetichimbos · 8 months

Text

childhood best friends AU but every out of towner sees the reader and Thomas and assumes that Thomas is the one they should be scared of when in reality almost everyone in town has gotten their ass beat by the reader for being mean to him aka Thomas has scary dog privileges

>>>tw: canon typical insults; aka use of r-slur - also not a tw but f!reader ok thank ily bye<<<

---

It's secret to no one. It's no surprise, no new revelation.

It's common knowledge, something no one even bothers to mention, like how the Browns got their money from a hospital scandal, or the Miller's daughter is on drugs. Just another unspoken rule, like how you shouldn't go to the desolate dirt road just outside of town after 9 o'clock, or into the woods around the farm land when the thing no one sees starts screaming into the night.

Or at least, it's common knowledge in town. So, it really couldn't be his fault, could it?

He was new, just some common Joe that had transferred over from a couple towns over to work at the slaughterhouse when demands got high.

He managed to make friendly with the older generation still running the factory and got along with almost all of the younger men that had joined straight out of high school.

He caught on quick to the unspoken social hierarchy around town, already having a similar one in his own hometown.

He knew who to stick with, and he knew who to avoid, but the one thing he didn't know, the one unspoken rule he didn't catch onto, is that no one bullies Thomas Hewitt.

He had never met him, not formally. He heard his name in passing, and it only took one look at the towering masked man to figure out who he was, and even less time to realize that he didn't want to meet him.

No one spoke to him, and he didn't speak to anyone. He was avoided, and feared. It was easy to see why.

Not only did Thomas look like he could snap a grown man in half with his bare hands, but he was quiet, and weird, nobody seemed to like him. And what better way to get on everyone's good side than by targeting the person no one liked?

So, he starts talking about Thomas behind his back. It's easy, and most people will join in after checking the corners and making sure he's no where in sight.

Damn, He thinks, People must really be afraid of him.

And that leads to another thought. Another very stupid, soon to be regretted, thought.

Let's see how tough this guy really is.

So, one day, in the late afternoon of the scorching Texas Summer, while everyone from the first shift is heading out, back to their respective houses, he sees an opportunity.

There sits Thomas, all alone, on a bench in front of the factory. He seems to be lost in thought, staring at the ground while he apparently waits. For what, the man doesn't care enough to think about.

He stops in his tracks, tapping the arm of one of his buddies, and gestures to Thomas, who either hasn't noticed them, or simply hasn't acknowledged the group.

"Look at this guy," He smirks, his voice well loud enough for Thomas to hear, "He waitin' on his Mommy to come pick him up or some shit?"

The other guy doesn't really react, seemingly uncomfortable with his joke.

"Don't tell me that retard done gave whatever the hell he has." He comments on the man's silence, failing to read the room completely.

Thomas shifts in his seat, letting out a discouraged sigh as he continues looking at the ground, this time looking farther away from the group, his fists clenching in his lap, flexing in frustration.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" He shoves his friend in the arm a bit, looking between him and Thomas, "Or you afraid that freak's gonna get a hold of it?"

"Drop it, man..." He waves him off.

"Why should I? He ain't gonna do shit--"

"Tommy!" He hears you before he sees you, looking over just in time to catch glimpse of you happily jogging over to Thomas, "You waited for me!"

Thomas seems to relax at your presence, nodding as he stands to his full height.

"How was your day?" You ask, standing on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck.

He meets you halfway, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Tommy you stink." There's a playfulness in your voice as you scrunch your face, hit with the stench of the slaughterhouse that will most definitely linger on your clothes.

He lets out a small chuckle as the two of you pull away, looking down at you.

The man is stunned, completely caught off guard by the sight of someone like you even associating with a man like Thomas.

"Holy shit," He looks back to his buddies, "Who the hell is that?"

"That's Thomas'." His friend simply replies, already knowing what's going through the man's head. He doesn't seem to catch the underlying warning that came with those words.

"What is someone like her doing with something like him?"

"I'm tellin' you man, drop it. She ain't worth the trouble."

"Oh, yea? What's that big freak gonna do? Stop me?"

Finally having enough with his antics, the other men dismiss him, heading back to their own vehicles to head home after a hard day's work.

He, however, takes it upon himself to saunter his way over to your side.

"Well, hey there, Missy..." He starts, clearly ignoring the way Thomas' hands are currently resting on your hips, and yours on his chest, "What's got you so far out this way?"

You blink for a few seconds, looking at the guy is disbelief. Was he really asking why you're here?

"...To walk home with my husband." You deadpan, not missing the way Thomas' grip tightens on you, or the small growl that escapes him.

"Husband?" He raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of you, "Come on, girl, you don't really expect me to believe you actually married a thing like him." He paints his last word with disgust.

It's your turn to raise your eyebrows, tilting your head as you look at him, "A 'thing'?"

"Well, yea..." He seems caught off guard by your reaction, "Don't tell me you actually like him?"

You let out a sigh, your hand tapping Thomas' chest once as you look back up at him, "Thomas, baby, can you go inside and call Charlie? I think I'd like to get a ride today instead of walking."

He gives you a knowing look, shaking his head a bit.

"No, no, it'll be fine, I promise. Just go call him for me please?"

Thomas looks between you and the man, and pulls away with a sigh, walking back into the slaughterhouse.

Now even more confused, the man watches Thomas walk away, completely bewildered by what just happened. Was he missing something, or did he just get really, really lucky?

"Let me ask you something," You catch his attention, your hand coming up to brush over his hair briefly, "...Did your Mama ever teach you manners?"

Thomas isn't even surprised when he comes back outside to find the man sprawled on the ground, crying out as you stand bent over him, his ear caught between your fingers.

"Don't you know it's rude to call people names?" You ask him sternly, "Do you want me to call you names? Is that what you want? Do you want me to start calling you names too?"

"Let me go, you stupid bitch!" He yells, gripping at your wrist, each move he makes only twisting his ear harder in your grip.

You push down a little more, rubbing his face in the dirt, "That's not what I asked."

"No, no, I don't want you to call me names--!"

"Exactly! So what made you think it was okay to start calling him names? Did you think it was funny?"

"Y-Yes, I thought it was funny--!

"Do you think this is funny?"

"No!"

"Say you're sorry."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just let me go--!"

"Like you mean it."

"I'm sorry--!"

A hand on your shoulder catches your attention as you look up, seeing Thomas giving you a deadpan look.

"Okay..." You sigh, letting the man's ear go and standing up straight.

"Oh, you fucking bitch..." He clings to his burning ear, pushing himself up.

"Did you call Charlie?" You ignore him, turning back to Thomas.

He nods, looking back to the man still seething on the ground.

"Ok, let's walk up the road til we see him." You take his hand, pulling his attention back to you.

He nods again, giving your hand a squeeze as you start walking away, continuing on with your day as if nothing had happened.

After all, it's common knowledge, right?

#BAM assault charge #just a silly little drabble #in a silly little mood #*almost rips mans ear off*#*giggles*#youre so silly teehee #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you

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