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saintrosalyn · 7 months ago

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BIRD DOG - JAILBIRD PART TWO

Part One

Description: Simon’s determined to retrieve his jailbird.

Word count: 4.5k

TW: Parolee! Reader (guys we’ve graduated to parole), stalking, reader is kept as vague as possible, sexual favors in exchange for money, groping, Ghost is a creep (graduated from perv lmao), p in v, oral (m! receiving), p in v, mention of breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, dub-con, somewhat edited.

Notes: It’s finally done! This took longer than I anticipated since I deviated from the OG plan and was a bit of a stinker to write but it's done. I hope everyone enjoys it! I’ve absolutely loved reading all the comments, asks, and reblogs. Such positive feedback is what led me to posting part two honestly. I'm currently working on the last part of JB so expect that soon💖. Feedback is always appreciated but never expected. Let me know if I missed any tags. Enjoy :)

Also I've never done a tag list before so apologies if it didn't work or I missed anyone😭. Please let me know if the link to part one doesn't work either, this is the first time I'm using Tumblr on my laptop I usually use my phone.

You got used to the slight tremor in your hands, the parting kiss alcoholism left with you, but the violent shaking as you attempted to click the lock of the hotel door closed was difficult for even you to handle. You longed to feel that familiar burn of self-destruction but the only place that would have you end up is back in prison. Parole violation. It was too soon to resort to such dramatic measures, instead you quietly paced your small room, double checking that you clicked the deadbolt shut, closing the curtains as tight as they could go, anything to try and soothe your rising anxiety.

Talking yourself away from the edge again and again until you could finally sit down on the stiff mattress. Every time you managed to calm your heart you blinked and saw that room again. You saw those pictures again.

He-Simon.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to take deep, slow, breaths.

After sleeping together, after discovering the skeleton in his closet, you swallowed the bile in your throat and kissed his jaw. He made dinner which you smiled over and forced into your mouth, every bite downed with a sip of water. The two of you went to bed, your eyes darting to that door, now left open enough you could see a glimpse of his homemade wallpaper. He kept an arm draped over you and fell asleep.

Then you left.

Barefoot, not knowing where your shoes had been placed in your need to-

Jesus Christ you had slept with the man.

You barely made it to the bathroom, puking mostly water and yellowed acid up. It made your eyes water and nose run, blowing it in a piece of toilet paper, flushing it down. There was little comfort to be found in the distance you put between you and him.

Going on foot wasn’t the brightest idea, but risking stealing Simon’s car and having him call the cops on you was foolish even for you. That and you didn’t want the man any angrier at you than you expected he was going to be. You only got so far before you found yourself on the wrong side of town. You had never been in the area before, but you knew the type. Women posted on every corner, bars on the windows, broken glass and sticky residue staining the sidewalks. It didn’t take you long to find the kind of man you needed. Trading a handjob for a bus fare, a blowjob for a new pair of shoes, and a pitiful two minutes of dry thrusting for a hotel room.

Back to your ways. Different city, different time, same person. A bird incapable of changing its tune.

You needed a real job. A record stood in your way of that, but surely there had to be something, anything, that would pay enough for you to keep a roof over your head without having to sell more of yourself.

You needed a job, but you needed space more. As much as you could get. Immigration was out, no one wanted to host a felon, and you were limited to a certain area before your parole officer got testy with you. Fuck. A big cage, that’s what you were trapped in. One you could never get free from.

Your family. Your past. Your cell. Your city. Your whole fucking life, one cage after another. Freedom a concept rather than a reality. Simon could use it against you. He knew of your limits, hell, you fucking told him yourself over a phone call before you got released. Outlined every fucking sentence of where you could and couldn’t go. He knew all of it.

Taking another deep breath you forced your body to lie on the bed, you needed to calm down. You needed to think clearly and come up with a plan. Simon was still asleep in bed, he didn’t know where you were, you were fine.

You were fine.

A good night’s sleep. That’s what you needed. Not likely with how wound tight you were. But you had to try. Anything to escape the panic squeezing your lungs.

___

It took four hours of staring blankly at a dark ceiling, on the edge of a panic attack the entire time, before your body gave in and let you sleep. It was light, but it was enough of a break in your consciousness. The sun was what woke you, shining on your eyes and causing you to squint. Your anxiety a gentle heart palpitation rather than the full blown panic it was last night, exhaustion dulling its edge.

The first thing you did was go business to business looking for a place that was hiring. Most required a resume, those you didn’t even give a second glance (as they no doubt did background checks). It took all of the day before you found a shitty pub that only asked if you were old enough to drink. With a nod of your head an apron was shoved into your hands, and you were bussing for your first shift.

The owner, a balding man who smelled like cigarettes and wore a sweat-stained wife beater, paid you cash. Enough that you were able to buy another night to cover your hotel room and not much else. You walked back to your temporary home, eyes darting to every tall man who crossed the street. For once, you were grateful Simon was such a large man. It would make him easier to spot in a crowd, the orange of a tiger’s fur stark against a green jungle.

When you returned back to your room, it was easy to explain the movement of your things. Hotels had housekeepers. You wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for your paranoid state. It wasn’t until you went to the bathroom, eager to wash away the grease and grime of the pub, that you noticed a small picture sitting face-down on the bathroom counter. Flipping it over revealed you. You, asleep in your shitty hotel bed, close-up, taken from inside.

You were barely able to flip the toilet lid up before you lost your stomach contents. Vile burning the back of your throat was nothing in comparison to the panic that burned through your veins.

He was inside your hotel room. He was inside your hotel room last night with you.

You barely managed to stand, legs shaking, leaving the bathroom you noticed other signs of his arrival. Dirty tracks that were much too large. The blinds wide-open even though you were sure you closed them before you went to sleep. A single dog tag resting underneath your pillow. It’s owner’s name mocking you.

Riley.

___

He left you more presents. Vestiges of him ever present in your life. It didn’t matter where you went, how many hotels you hopped, how many jobs you changed, he always found you. Truthfully, the both of you knew this song and dance could only go on for so long. You were low on cash and stuck orbiting around the same small area. Days bled into weeks bled into months. Fear gave way to anger. Anger that he wouldn’t leave you alone. Anger that he wouldn’t let you delude yourself into thinking you had found a safe space that he could not intrude on.

On your nth hotel, you decided you were staying. Simon be damned. He obviously had no intentions of killing you just yet, content in tormentation. That and there were only so many jobs willing to pay under-the-table. You needed to save up enough cash to prove that you had a steady place to live, a recommendation from your parole officer. This flightiness made the law suspicious at best and nervous at worst.

You found your way back to the pub, who upgraded you to server. On the wrong side of town its patrons weren’t the best. But they tipped decent enough and if they got too handsy the owner always stepped in. A few pinches on the ass were worth a steady income. You’ve given a lot more of yourself for less.

Perhaps, that was your mistake, you got too comfortable with a wild animal. So sure that your exotic pet would not bite.

The first time you saw him, you thought it was a mistake. Despite his size Simon was able to go about your life as he pleased without you catching even a glimpse of him. Hell, you knew he could stalk you without you being aware of him at all (your prison stint was proof enough of that), he just chose not to. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his behavior would escalate.

You were standing, dead on your feet after your shift working on three hours of sleep, waiting for the bus. And there he was. Across the street, large frame leaning against a wall, arms crossed. When you did a double glance, you were able to make out the tell-tale scars across his face. Then the bus came. It was a coin toss, boarding the bus. A part of you wanted to flee, figuring he could easily cross the street and board the same bus as you, but the alternative was worse. Let it pass and walk home alone. In the dark. With a predator at your heels.

No.

Better to have people around you. Safety in numbers and all that.

The next day, he did it again. And again. And again. Each time coming closer and closer. Until one day you saw his large frame coming up the steps of the bus. You practically vibrated from anxiety in your seat, unshed tears blurring your vision as you stared straight ahead. The black blur of his jacket, the soft squeak of his boots as he moved closer and closer, until he took the seat right behind you.

You didn’t move. Frozen. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Fright.

Until the bus moved and the decision was made for you. Only you couldn’t convince your muscles to move, stuck staring dead ahead. Willing the bus driving to glance in the mirror back at you. Willing the other passengers to notice how close the man behind you was sitting (close enough to feel his breath against your ear, close enough to smell the tobacco on his breath). But this was the last bus and everyone was too tired to notice. A herd of diurnal prey vs a nocturnal predator. It was clear who had the advantage.

You missed your stop. And the one after that. It wasn’t until you felt a violent shake on your shoulder that you jolted out of your trance, eyes darting up… to the bus driver.

“Las’ stop miss. Gotta’ get off.” His voice firm. How long had he been calling out to you?

Giving a jerky nod you looked behind you, but Simon was gone.

___

It didn't stop there. Not that you expected it would, but fucking forgive you for having a little hope in life. Simon took to following a few steps behind you wherever you went. Sitting behind you on the bus. Sitting in the back of the pub, nursing beer after beer. Sometimes he had another man with him. But mostly he was alone. His eyes never left you. For weeks it went on. For weeks you felt his constant presence.

The presents never stopped either. Photos of you, gifts for you (lingerie and cigarettes, the same shade of nail polish he gave you while you were in prison), things of his. He never relented. You never shook that feeling of being watched. You never could get rid of that pit of anxiety in your stomach. Exhaustion was starting to settle heavy in your bones. Give up. Give in. Give yourself to him.

The temptation was intense. You just wanted to be done with it all. Let him do what he wanted with you. At this point, even death would be better than another day of constant anxiety. (Pursuit predator exhausting his prey, closing in).

And then he was gone.

His absence was glaringly obvious on the first day, enough so that you thought for sure that you were going to die soon. Simon had reached some kind of breaking point. But you didn’t. And you didn’t see Simon.

There were no presents left for you. No signs of his stalking. No evidence that he was ever in your life at all. It was such a sudden and stark change that if it weren’t for his dog tag you would have thought you dreamed the whole thing. But he was gone.

A day passed.

Then another.

And another.

The knot in your stomach slowly unworked itself. The tension ever present in your shoulders finally loosened. Weeks passed by. Then months. A part of you still worried. In prison there were times where Simon would go silent for months, but he always came back. And he always made sure to make up for lost times. More gifts, more phone calls, longer visits. It seemed that your anxiety was slowly chipped away, yet it was also slowly building itself back up again.

But Simon stayed gone. More importantly, a date had been set for you to become a truly free woman. No parole. No restrictions. A chance to leave the country. A chance to truly be free.

A chance to slip away from Simon.

___

When a police officer knocked on your door, you had to fight back the panic.

You haven’t done anything wrong.

It wasn’t until you were sitting across from your lawyer did you truly began to realize the situation you were in. His words sounded so far away, so garbled. As if you were trapped underwater, in a fishbowl, letting the world happen around you as you tapped at the glass.

“...Do you understand the situation you’re in?...Enough drugs to get an intent to distribute…a passport…tickets to another country…”

How did you get here?

“Are you listening to me?”

You snapped back to reality, the familiar cold cuffs biting into your wrists.

“Do they have to keep these on me?”

Your lawyer let out a sigh. “Don’t worry about the damn cuffs right now.”

Easy for him to say, he wasn’t the one wearing the damn cuffs.

“They’re distracting.”

He ignored you. “They have you on video buying a plane ticket out of the country.”

You nodded. He didn’t mention the fact that your parole would’ve been up by then. Nothing wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“They found enough cocaine in your hotel room to get intent to sell. With the plane ticket, and your erratic behavior after you got out of prison, things don’t look good for you.”

“It’s not mine I-” Your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, talking so quietly, trying to hold back tears. “I swear.”

Your lawyer didn’t look convinced. “That defense won’t hold up in court.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I was able to cut a deal for you. It’s better than prison. They’ll tag you-”

Dog tags flickered in your mind. “Huh?”

“House arrest.”

“Oh.”

“You won’t be able to use a hotel, you’ll have to go back to the original residence you reported when you got out of prison.”

"What?” Alarm bells rang through your sluggish thoughts.

Your lawyer sick of you interrupting him, bulldozed on. “Listen to me. I don’t know why they’re offering this to you, but you won’t get a second chance at this. Confess your crime. They’ll confine you to your house for three years and serve parole in tandem. You’ll only serve a year of parole once you’re out.”

Three years. Three years stuck at Simon’s house. Three years with Simon.

“What happens if I don’t take it.”

“You’ll go back to prison. Given you’ve already been, they'll try for maximum. You could be looking at twenty years, ten if you’re lucky. Life on parole.”

Walk into the tiger’s den or let him continue the chase.

How did you get here?

___

They put the ankle monitor on at Simon’s house, now your house you suppose. A part of you had wanted to tell them to take you back to prison instead. But you knew the reality of your situation. Simon would just do the same thing he did before. Get videos of you, pictures of you, he could still watch you in your cell. He would still visit you. And that’s just what he would do while you were in prison, what would happen when you were released again? You were never going to be able to escape him. At least this way you would be more comfortable.

A gilded cage.

Simon talked to the officers, but he seemed to make even them nervous, as they all but ran out of the house. You watched as they shut the door behind them, alone in a room with Simon for the first time in a long time.

How did you get here?

Simon put his hand on the back of your neck, before gliding it upwards jerking your head back. Your eyes met his, and he was smiling.

“Hello, bird.”

“Simon.”

He shuddered when you called his name.

“Missed you.”

“Don’t know how, you never left me.”

He grinned, boyish and proud of himself, “Never.”

Simon kissed you then, feeling far more familiar than he should’ve for a man you’ve only had sex with once. You turned, hoping to relieve some of the pressure in your neck, Simon’s hand stayed instead wrapping around your throat. He gave an experimental squeeze, making you whimper, before he released you.

“Gonna’ be good’ fer me?” He rasped.

You thought about it for a moment, and he let you, time frozen mid-air. But you had been running for so long. And you were so tired. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Or,

Surrender.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to press your lips against his, white flag given. That’s all it took for the dam to break. Simon let out a growl and slammed you into the nearest wall, cradling your head so it didn’t bang against the wall with the force. His body caged you in as he deepened the kiss. You had forgotten just how intense it was to be so close to Simon.

He filled your senses. You breathed him in, you tasted him, you heard his soft grunts against your lips, felt the rough edge of his jeans as he ground himself against you, watched as his blonde eyelashes fluttered open until he was staring at you. Always watching. Even in these moments.

Simon’s hand gripped your ass, grinding you harder against him, moaning from the friction.

“You owe’ me somethin’ birdie. Made your fiance wait so long. Such a fuckin’ tease.” He growled in your ear before fisting your shirt in two hands, ripping it with ease. Hands squeezing your bare tits so tight you expected to find bruises tomorrow.

Confusion knitted your brows together before he shoved you to your knees and you came face to face with his crotch.

How did you get here?

Your hands shook as you undid the button on his jeans, the zipper loud in between Simon and your panting. He helped you pull his jeans down his thighs, his cock dropping out, hard and angry.

Fuck.

You had forgotten just how big the man was down below. Time distorting the memory enough you had convinced yourself that he was average and you were just desperate that night. You were wrong of course. The man was hung as a fucking horse.

It had been awhile since you gave a blowjob. The steady pay the pub provided, the tips you made, pawning a few of Simon’s gifts and you had earned enough to not necessitate them. Not that it would help in this situation. Simon was big enough that all your previous tricks were rather useless. You weren’t even sure if you could open your mouth wide enough to take him, let alone take him down your throat. Your poor poor throat.

Tentatively, you leaned forward and gave the head a gentle kiss, glancing up and meeting Simon’s eyes. Your gaze left his, feeling suddenly shy despite the situation you were in. Pre dribbled and you used the chance to rub it along his sensitive head with your thumb. You gathered as much spit on your tongue licking the underside of his cock, pushing it all the way up until it pressed against his stomach. He groaned, hand resting on the back of your head.

With his dick out of the way, you used your other hand to caress his balls before pressing soft kisses to them. You replaced your hand with your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue, using your hands to work his cock while you gave your attention elsewhere. His balls were much easier to fit in your mouth, but you could only delay the inevitable so long.

You pulled away fully, his cock falling under the weight of itself. The easy part done, now it was time for the hard part. Your gag reflex was not going to be happy. Bracing your hands against his thick thighs, feeling his muscles flex underneath your fingertips, you pressed your lips against the tip of his cock again, parting the seam of your mouth and letting him slowly slip in. Your tongue lying flat as he invaded your mouth.

Inch by overwhelming inch.

Before you had thought he was overwhelming, it was nowhere near as overwhelming as having his dick in your mouth. Gone were the lingering scents of tobacco and liquor. The outside world stripped away until just the man was left. Until only Simon’s musk filled your nose, wrinkling it as you took him a little deeper. Your jaw already ached from how wide you were stretching it.

Tired of your pace, Simon began to use your head as leverage as he pushed you further down, nails pressing crescents into his skin as you forced your body to relax. You quickly moved your hands back to the base of his length, stopping him from pushing you any further. Twisting your wrists to placate him enough to let you keep them there. Sucking to increase the pressure.

Simon moaned, hands going from gripping your head, to resting. Letting you work.

You took a deep breath through your nose as you began to work him in earnest. Swirling your tongue over the head of his cocked you began to bob faster and faster, unable to stop the lewd gurgling noises as the back of him hit your throat. His hands were at your head again, pushing himself further down your throat and back again. Setting his pace.

This wasn’t a blowjob he was fucking your throat. Using you. His dick twitched in his mouth before he pulled out, as you took in huge gulps of breath. Body hunching in on itself. You felt vulnerable like this. Kneeling in front of him, the top half of you completely nude.

You didn’t get much time to collect yourself before you were pulled to your feet, turned so that your back was pressed against his front, hands bracing against the wall.

Simon kissed your neck, hooking his hands on your pants and jerking them down. They caught on your ankle monitor but he just tore them off, seams ripping. Your underwear was torn with a satisfying rip, before you felt the tip of his bare cock pressing against your hole. He thrusted against your slit, gathering your own slick before he reached a hand down, dragging his dick back before it caught on your hole.

You couldn’t help but whine at the stretch of him, un-prepped. He didn’t stop until his hips met yours, large hands bruising. He paused, leaning his weight onto you, sighing. As if being buried to the hilt in your cunt was the reprieve he had been looking for all his life.

“Missed her’ too. Did she mis’ me?” His voice was hoarse against your ear.

“Huh?”

He removed one hand from your hip bringing it to your clit, brushing one large knuckle against it, causing your knees to buckle. Simon chuckled, easily holding your weight against him.

“Don’ worry, won’ ever leave you for this long again Birdie.”

Simon licked your cheek causing you to try and jerk away from him, before the rough pad of his finger began to circle your clit, your pussy clenching around him almost painfully, grinding his hips into yours as if trying to fuck you deeper somehow. He pulled out before snapping into you. Again and again, hand never leaving your clit.

“Simon! Simon please! Don’t stop!” You couldn’t help but cry, bucking back against him as you felt an orgasm build quickly, faster than one had ever built before.

He growled into your ear. “Ain’t ever gonna run again Bird.”

You nodded your head, trying to do everything in your power to appease him to keep doing what he was doing. To keep thrusting. To keep his hand on your clit. To lick you again. Anything. Everything. You wanted him to consume you wholly.

“Ain’t gonna run no’ more. Ain’t gonna leave the house till everyon’ knows you’re mine.”

His hand left your clit, causing you to whine in protest, cradling your stomach.

“Say it. Tell the whole fuckin’ world who you belong too.”

“You Simon! YoU! Simon! Simon please…plea-” You were babbling, until finally his hand went back to your clit.

“Don’t forget it.”

You came, cunt desperately clutching his cock, squealing as Simon didn’t even slow his thrusts. He pushed you through one orgasm onto the edge of overstimulation as he finally came with a grunt inside of you. He didn’t pull out, keeping his seed nuzzled safely near your womb.

You slumped against his arms, panting softly as the reality of your situation began to wash over you, naked except for the ankle monitor.

How did you get here?

It didn’t matter, because all roads led to Simon.

Tag list: @Sweetlike-sugarplum, @thatpersonamedrook, @aphinthestars, @misscaller06, @shushyoudontknowme, @youknowits-derea, @succubusvalentine, @sundaescreamcheese

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon is such a meanie #He's gonna give reader an ulcer fr

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falseapostle · 2 years ago

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". . . I don't want to vomit anywhere in your vicinity anyway. I don't want to be around you at all. What the hell."

#✥ take my advice . . . ✥ ➺ ic #✥ just people watching again ✥ ➺ dash #mentioned: pureposer #illness tw #vomit tw #puke tw #ask to tag

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neilissevered · 10 days ago

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Hiii! Can i req a drabble for Baku again? Maybe fluffy and comforting Baku wherein he finds reader drunk (But reader doesn’t drink so it’s unusual for reader to be that way), and he just takes care of the reader?

Yk those ones who pull up their hair when they throw up, etc. U can experiment on this one I really don’t mind but that’s the gist of it!

- Anon 🧃 (I’ll send in as this one! I’m the one who first requested for Baku ❤️)

ˋ°•*⁀➷DRUNK ON YOU!

You got drunk for the first time. Hu-Min found you, stopped you from puking in a bush, carried you like a bride, and crashed on your couch like a man with morals. Drabble, whc2, reader has long hair, accidental confession, soft and flustered Hu-min Park Hu-min (Baku) x gn! reader wc: 1k+ tw: mentions of vomiting, but it's not descriptive. masterlist

The alcohol hits harder than expected.

You can tell… but at the same time, you can’t.

The world spins lazily around you, like it’s floating just out of reach. Your body feels weightless, but your head is filled with cotton, and your ears are ringing with a dull buzz. The shot glass in your hand is warm, slick, almost melting in your grip.

You don’t drink. Everyone knows that. You know that.

And yet, here you are—slumped against the back wall of a convenience store, half-hidden behind a row of boxes, nursing your second (or was it third?) bottle of soju like it’s a lifeline.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You had other plans tonight—study a little, rest your brain, maybe even sleep early. But the week had chewed you up and spit you out, and with exams looming over your head like storm clouds, you cracked.

A bottle won’t kill me, you had thought.

Just this once.

You’d read the posts online. Those who said alcohol numbs the stress, softens the edges of a bad day, and makes things quieter, if only for a little while.

They weren’t wrong.

You feel… floaty. Unanchored. Like you’re laughing at nothing in particular—maybe at the absurdity of it all. Maybe just because it’s easier than crying.

Your phone buzzes again. For the fourth time in the last five minutes.

It's the group chat with the boys.

Bakutastic🏀: "seriously dumbass WHERE are u??" Si-genius: "you okay?" GoTank: "if you don’t reply, I’m tracking your phone. Not joking." JUNNIE💕💗🐰🐰🐰: "So…Baku ran off😭😭"

You stare at the screen, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

Always so worrisome, those three. Like they weren’t getting into fights every day.

You don’t reply. Not yet.

Right now, you just want to stay in this haze a little longer, where nothing matters, and everything feels far, far away.

Then suddenly—

A hand wrapped gently around your arm, pulling you out of the hazy fog you’d been drifting in. Before you could even process it, you were moving—

No… falling.

Straight into someone’s arms.

Warm. Steady. Familiar.

Hu-min.

He held you tightly, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time and could finally exhale. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, still a little frantic, like he’d been running. And he had searched every convenience store he knew you liked, desperate to find you.

And now he had.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. His thumbs brushed gently against your skin, tapping lightly as if trying to wake you from a dream.

“Hey,” he murmured, worry tightening his voice, “you should’ve called me if you were planning to get drunk.”

A soft scolding, but his touch never left your face.

Then, with a small, helpless huff, he pinched your already flushed cheeks.

“Idiot,” he added, quieter this time. “What if I hadn’t found you?” His voice was a lot softer than usual.

You only hummed out in response. Smiling lazily up at Hu-min as your vision came in waves. He looked funny. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist as you grinned up at him

“Join me, Hu-min.”

“Are you seriously trying to ask me out right now?”

“They say it’s best to share soju with a lover!”

“You—“

Hu-min looked away. Face turning red at your very sudden, bold attitude. Your words were slurred, and you hiccuped with each syllable, but the way you were grinning up at him like a lovesick fool made your intentions pretty clear.

You just confessed. Accidentally…

“Okay, you’re completely drunk, and I’m teasing you about this in the morning.” He huffed, fixing your messy hair and your jacket that was slipping off one shoulder.

You only laughed, almost falling further, but Hu-min already had an arm wrapped around your waist. Supporting your body with his while he walked back to your place.

Soju definitely worked with escaping your academics

Your relationship with Hu-min will, however, turn very interesting in the morning.

Hu-Min managed to get you home with surprisingly little trouble, which was impressive, considering you were leaning your entire weight against him like your legs had given up for the night. He tried to match your unsteady footsteps, but it was a lost cause. You kept wobbling unpredictably, veering into his side like a very affectionate shopping cart with one broken wheel.

Still, he held on, one arm locked tightly around your waist, the other hovering protectively in case you decided to face-plant into the sidewalk.

It was a quiet night. Just the crunch of gravel under your shoes, the soft buzz of faraway streetlights, and your off-key humming something vaguely familiar, possibly the theme song of a children’s show.

He should’ve been annoyed. Embarrassed, even. But all he could think about was the words you slurred earlier:

“They say it’s best to share soju with a lover!”

His ears were still burning.

Then—

“Hu-min. Hu-min.”

He blinked out of his thoughts. “Hm?”

“I think I need to vomit.”

“What.”

He came to a dead stop. Your apartment building was literally right there, glowing like a finish line in some twisted, drunken marathon — and you were about to throw up next to a shrub like a tragic K-drama extra?

“Hey—HEY! Keep your mouth shut!” he shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to stop you from bending over the nearest bush. “Don’t even look at that hedge!”

You groaned. “But I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not! You’re just dramatic and full of bad decisions!”

You slumped harder into him, breathing through your mouth like a medieval damsel. He muttered a string of curse words under his breath, then looked up at the second-floor balcony of your building.

The elevator was out. Of course.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he hissed to himself. Then, louder:

“Okay. This is happening.”

With a grunt, Hu-Min bent down, swept your legs up, and lifted you bridal-style into his arms. You yelped in surprise, then immediately wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Oh my god,” you giggled, voice muffled against his collarbone. “Are you finally sweeping me off my feet?”

“Shut up,” he huffed, already halfway up the stairs. “You’re literally seconds away from puking, and I’m saving your dignity. Barely.”

Your head lolled against his shoulder, but you looked up at him with that same dazed, lovestruck smile from earlier—the one that made his heart beat a little too fast.

“…You’re strong,” you murmured.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You smell nice.”

“Do NOT throw up on me.”

He made it to your apartment door in record time, panting and slightly red-faced—though whether it was from physical exertion or your constant drunk compliments, even he wasn’t sure.

When he finally set you down, gently leaning you against the wall to unlock your door, you sighed dreamily and said, “This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He snorted.

“Then your standards are tragically low.”

Finally, after some fumbling with your bag and a lot of muttering under his breath about why you carried five pens but no water, Hu-Min managed to fish out your keys. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and kicked it shut behind him, heading straight for the bathroom like a man on a mission.

He gently set you down by the sink, supporting your body with one hand while reaching for a towel with the other. Then, without a word, he grabbed your toothbrush, ran it under water, and squirted on your toothpaste like it was part of some practiced emergency routine.

You groaned and leaned forward, and he was already there, brushing your hair back from your face, gathering it in his hand like it was second nature. He held it gently but firmly, thumb stroking the back of your neck with a feather-light touch you were almost too drunk to notice.

“There,” he said softly, crouching a little to meet your eyes. “You’ll feel more sober once you rinse off.”

You blinked at him, swaying slightly as you stared at his face, all soft lines and furrowed brows and the kind of worry that couldn’t be faked. Before you could say anything else, though, you vomited into the sink, and Hu-min waited patiently for you to finish.

“You okay?”

“You’re reallyyyy good at this,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

“At holding your hair while you puke?” he laughed

You nodded slowly. “Mm-hmm. Husband material.”

He froze for half a second, toothbrush still in his hand. Then:

“Brush your teeth before you say stuff like that.”

But even as he said it, his ears turned pink again. It’s ridiculous how soft he gets with you. His voice turns down a notch, and instead of his loud and boisterous attitude, he can’t help but feel calmer and relaxed around you.

Hu-min stayed the entire time. He helped you brush your teeth and wash your face.

“C’mon, your highness,” he grumbled as he gently steered you out of the bathroom, one hand on your back. “We’ll talk in the morning, when you’re more sane, okay?”

You dropped onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes, face-first. “You’re my favorite person.”

“That’s the soju talking.”

“Nooo,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your pillow. “The soju would never lie to you.”

Hu-min laughed under his breath, but it came out more fond than amused. He pulled the blanket up over your shoulders and gently tugged your tangled hair out from under your face.

Just as he stood to leave, you cracked one eye open and reached out lazily, catching the hem of his shirt.

“…Stay?”

He froze.

A beat passed.

“…No,” he said, more gently than expected. “You’re barely sober, I'll stay at your couch." He bent down, carefully swiping away stray strands of hair from your face.

You pouted. “But my bed’s cold.”

“I’ll turn up your heater dumbass” he laughed, prying your fingers off with great care.

You flopped back dramatically, already halfway to sleep again. “You’re no fun…”

“Righttt…” he muttered, walking out, “that’s definitely the problem tonight.”

He grabbed a spare blanket from your cabinet and made his way to your couch, shaking his head to himself as he lay down, arms behind his head.

Silence filled the room, broken only by your soft breathing.

Then— “…Hu-min?”

He groaned. “Yes, your highness?”

“…Don’t forget to dream about me.”

He stared at the ceiling. Then covered his face with the blanket.

“You’re so annoying.”

But under that blanket, he was smiling like an idiot.

an: Hello again, anon! I'm sooo sorry this took a while to post! Got a bit busy! But anyway, I feel like this scenario would also apply to a platonic relationship with Hu-min! (minus the romantic stuff, ofc) He's a really caring person and would definitely want to make sure his friends are okay when black out drunk.

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hummingbird24220 · 3 months ago

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Bite by Bite | One Piece x Reade

One Piece x Reader (Hints more towards Sanji x Reader)

TW: Emotional/Physical abuse mentioned, eating disorder, puking hinted at.

—-------------------------------

The scent of freshly cooked food drifted through the air, savory and rich, curling from the galley like invisible fingers. It was mouthwatering, the kind of smell that could make anyone's stomach growl. Yours didn't. It twisted.

You stood at the edge of the deck, fingers wrapped tight around the wooden railing of the Thousand Sunny. The sea sparkled below like it didn’t know how cruel life could be. You almost envied it.

Behind you, footsteps approached—light and carefree.

"Meal time!" Luffy’s voice was unmistakable, bright as the sun. “Sanji made a mountain of food, c’mon!”

You forced a smile and turned to face him. “Yeah! I’ll be right there,” you said, injecting some fake excitement into your tone.

Luffy beamed and bounded off without a second thought, yelling for the others. You stood there a moment longer, inhaling deeply through your nose, then exhaling slow. Okay. You can do this.

The dining room was loud. Chatter bounced from wall to wall—Zoro snarking at Usopp, Nami rolling her eyes, Chopper giggling. Sanji set down a plate in front of you with a flourish.

“For you, mon chéri,” he said with a wink.

You nodded stiffly. “Thanks.”

It looked good. Smelled incredible. You picked up your fork and stared at the food like it had insulted you personally. Everyone was busy, no one looking directly at you. That helped.

You cut a small piece. Just a bite. Just one. Then you can relax. You slid the food into your mouth and chewed, slow, deliberate, like you were trying not to wake a sleeping beast in your chest.

“Not hungry?” Robin’s gentle voice cut through the noise.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-move.

“Oh—uh, no, I am. Just eating slow today.” You smiled too wide. “Trying to savor it.”

She tilted her head, dark eyes unreadable. “That’s wise.” She didn’t push. She never did.

But the weight of that one glance lingered.

You managed to get through half the plate, then tapped your fork against the edge like you were finished. No one noticed, except Sanji—of course he noticed.

He frowned subtly but didn’t say anything. You were thankful for that.

You excused yourself early, claiming you were tired. Once in the bathroom, you braced your hands against the sink, breathing hard.

Sometimes it was easier to just not eat. At least then, you didn’t feel the war happening in your gut—guilt, fear, the echo of words that still rattled around your head from childhood.

"You don't deserve that." "Stop eating like a pig." "You're just being dramatic."

You splashed water on your face, cold and sharp. A reset.

You weren’t in that house anymore. You were on a ship with people who laughed with their whole hearts, who fought for each other like it was breathing, who welcomed you like you were someone worth knowing.

Still. The habits clung like barnacles.

Later that night, you sat on the deck alone again, knees tucked to your chest. The stars scattered across the sky like spilled sugar.

You didn’t hear Zoro approach. He leaned against the railing beside you, arms crossed.

“You didn’t eat much,” he said without looking at you.

You winced. “Noticed that, huh?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

You glanced over, expecting judgment. There was none—just quiet observation.

You sighed, head resting on your arms. “It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” He paused. “You don’t have to explain. But we notice. We care.”

Those two words—we care—struck harder than you expected.

You nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Zoro looked at you again. “Just don’t starve yourself, okay? You’re part of the crew now.”

And somehow, that meant everything.

—----

The Sunny rocked gently beneath you, the sound of waves like a lullaby for the heart. But even with the ocean’s calm, your mind was far from quiet. Sleep didn’t come easy on nights like this—not when your chest felt heavy, not when the past clawed its way to the surface.

You sat on the observation deck wrapped in a blanket, knees hugged close, watching the stars again. They were a strange comfort. Distant. Untouchable. Safe.

Chopper had given you a mug of warm tea earlier, pressed it into your hands with a sleepy smile. “You don’t have to drink it if you’re not feeling good. Just... I dunno. Thought it might help.” He scurried off before you could say much, his little hooves clacking against the wood.

He always knew when you weren’t okay. They all were starting to figure you out, piece by piece.

You took a sip. Warmth spread through your hands, but your chest still ached. And then—without meaning to—you let the memories come.

You were little again.

Your legs stuck out from the kitchen chair, socks mismatched, face sticky with jam. Your mom leaned over the stove humming a soft tune, flipping something on the skillet with practiced grace.

“There’s my sweet dumpling,” she cooed, turning around and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You excited for pancakes today?”

You nodded enthusiastically, chubby cheeks puffed with excitement. Your mom made the best pancakes—soft and golden, with just the right amount of vanilla in the batter.

She reminded you a little of Sanji, now that you thought about it. The way she cooked like it was a love language. The way she fed people to show she cared. The way she made you feel like you mattered… at least, when it was just the two of you.

But then the door slammed.

Your little body flinched automatically, fingers tightening around the table edge.

He was home.

Your dad’s voice was gruff and loud, already irritated. “What the hell are you feeding her now?”

“She’s just a kid,” your mom said gently, but firm. “She’s hungry. Let her eat.”

“She’s always hungry,” he spat. His eyes landed on you like you were something offensive. “Look at her. No self-control. No wonder she’s so fat.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

You shrank in your seat, appetite gone instantly. Tears burned your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You knew better. Crying just made it worse.

“She’s beautiful,” your mother said, tone tight. “And strong.”

“She’s weak,” he growled. “And disgusting.”

You barely tasted the pancakes after that. And from then on… you started pushing food around more than eating it.

The wind picked up, tugging at your blanket as your eyes blinked back to the present.

The tea had gone lukewarm. You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

A soft thud behind you startled you. You wiped your face quickly and turned to find Sanji standing there, hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his fingers. He didn't look surprised to see you here. Maybe he'd been watching from the shadows a while.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice low.

You shook your head. “Too many thoughts.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, then let it trail out into the night air. “Want company?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

He sat beside you, close enough to feel his warmth. Neither of you spoke for a bit, just listening to the creaking of the ship, the waves lapping at the hull.

“You ever had someone tell you eating made you unlovable?” you asked suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Sanji didn’t answer right away. He set the cigarette down in the little tray beside him and looked straight ahead.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But… I was starved. Literally. There were days where the hunger made me hallucinate. I thought if I didn’t eat, I’d disappear.”

You turned toward him slowly.

“I guess we’ve both had food turned into a weapon,” he added softly. “But I got lucky. Zeff… he saved me. Taught me that cooking could be kindness. That feeding someone is like saying ‘I want you to live.’”

You swallowed hard.

“I had a mom,” you whispered. “She was like that. She made everything with love. Pancakes, soup, even sandwiches. But my dad…”

Sanji waited.

“…He made me feel like eating made me disgusting. Like my body made me unworthy of love.”

Sanji’s jaw tightened. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned. “He was wrong.”

You looked down, fingers tightening around your mug.

“Can’t seem to unlearn it,” you admitted. “Even when I want to eat… I can’t always finish. Or I feel sick after. Or I punish myself later.”

Sanji shifted, turning toward you. “You don’t have to unlearn it alone.”

You blinked.

“I’ll cook for you,” he said. “Not to make you eat. But to remind you you’re allowed to. You don’t have to earn it. You’re already worth it.”

The tears came again, this time without shame.

Sanji smiled softly and nudged the mug in your hands. “Start with tea. One sip at a time. Bite by bite.”

And so, under the stars and beside the ship’s cook, you took another sip of the tea.

Warm. Real. Safe.

—----

The scent of breakfast filled the galley again, just like every morning. Warm, rich, comforting. Today it was egg sandwiches, seared potatoes, and a side of something sweet you couldn’t quite name—but it smelled like cinnamon and safety.

You sat at the table with the others, hands folded politely, eyes locked on your plate.

They didn’t rush you. Not a single one.

Luffy was elbow-deep in his fourth sandwich, cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. Nami was sipping coffee and scanning the latest map updates. Usopp and Franky were arguing over who could eat more, Chopper giggling at their antics. Robin offered you a quiet smile now and then, her eyes kind and patient.

And Sanji? He didn’t even look at you after placing your plate down. Just hummed to himself at the stove, but you noticed the toast was cut in perfect triangles, the food arranged just the way you liked.

You were trying. Really.

You managed a bite. Chewed it. Swallowed. The taste was good. Really good. But your chest still squeezed a little, like eating was something you had to survive, not enjoy.

That’s when Chopper spoke, his voice unusually serious.

“Can I ask you something?”

You blinked and looked up. Everyone else quieted. Even Luffy paused mid-bite.

Your heart skipped. “Sure?”

Chopper twiddled his hooves nervously. “I don’t mean to upset you… I’ve just… We’ve all noticed that… you don’t eat much. Or sometimes you eat and then disappear for a long time after. And I’m a doctor, and I—I’m supposed to notice these things, but more than that—we’re your friends. We’re worried.”

His voice cracked slightly at the end, big eyes wide with honest concern.

No one laughed. No one rolled their eyes.

They all just looked at you with the kind of care that made your throat close up.

You set your fork down slowly.

“It’s not about your cooking,” you said first, glancing at Sanji.

“I know,” he said quietly. No ego. Just truth.

You looked at Chopper, then the rest of them. “I… I had a dad who made food feel like punishment.”

They all stilled.

“I was a chubby kid. Always hungry, always happy to be in the kitchen with my mom. She loved feeding people. She was like Sanji—she made food with love, made it feel like a hug.” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. “But my dad... he hated how I looked. He’d mock me, insult me in front of everyone. Call me names. Sometimes he’d take my plate away and tell me I didn’t deserve it.”

Robin’s hands folded gently in front of her. Nami’s face had gone pale. Luffy frowned—an expression that, on him, meant real anger.

You kept going, even though your voice cracked.

“I started… hating food. Then hating myself for wanting it. I’d try to eat, and then feel disgusting after. I still do, sometimes. I know it’s not rational, but those words—they stick. Even now, when I’m safe. When I know no one here would ever hurt me like that.”

Your hands trembled in your lap.

Chopper crawled up beside you without hesitation and took your hand in his small hoof.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered. “And I’m really glad you told us.”

“I didn’t want to make it awkward,” you said, a shaky laugh escaping. “Didn’t want to ruin mealtime.”

“You didn’t,” Nami said, voice soft but strong. “You being here with us—that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t care if you eat slow,” Luffy added. “Or even if you just want to sit with us. I like having you here.”

Zoro gave a grunt that meant agreement. Usopp nodded with a tiny smile.

Sanji finally turned around, leaning on the counter. “What they said. I’ll always cook for you. Even if it’s just a bite. Even if you just look at it.”

Tears fell silently down your cheeks, but this time… they didn’t burn. They felt like release.

Robin passed you a handkerchief with a small smile. “Progress isn’t always a straight line.”

You wiped your face and picked up your fork again. This time, when you took another bite, your hands didn’t shake as much.

You weren’t alone anymore. And here—on this ship, with this crew—you had a seat at the table.

Always.

—---

It started with something small.

A sliced apple.

You found it on the edge of the counter that morning, already peeled and cut into neat, perfect little wedges, with a tiny skewer shaped like a dolphin stuck in the center. No note. No big deal. Just there.

You almost didn’t touch it.

But your stomach gave a quiet nudge, and your heart whispered try, so you did. One piece. Then another.

You didn’t finish the whole thing, but that wasn’t the point.

Later that day, Luffy came bounding past you on the deck, yelling something about meat and fishing and adventure. He skidded to a stop when he saw you sitting with a book in your lap.

“Hey! Want to come with me? I’m fishing!” he grinned, eyes sparkling.

You hesitated. “Uh… I don’t really fish.”

“Cool,” he said, already grabbing your wrist, pulling you along. “You don’t have to. Just hang out.”

You expected him to chatter the whole time. But instead, he sat on the edge of the ship with his fishing pole, legs swinging off the side, and just existed next to you. Quiet. Peaceful.

You didn’t say anything either. Just watched the water. At some point, he passed you a small, wrapped rice ball from his pocket with a shrug.

“Sanji made extras.”

You held it for a moment.

“You don’t have to eat it now,” Luffy said simply. “Or ever. It’s just there.”

You didn’t eat it right away. But you kept it with you. That felt like something.

In the afternoon, Nami called you to help her organize the pantry.

It was cramped and warm, and there were a hundred jars of dried herbs and spices you didn’t know the names of.

“I figured you might want to help with something to distract you a bit,” she said offhandedly, balancing a box on her hip.

You paused. “You’re subtle.”

She smirked. “I’m effective.”

She didn’t talk about your eating. Didn’t ask how you were doing. But she handed you little tasks, gave you praise when you got something right, and let you take breaks when you needed to. It felt… normal. Easy.

At one point, she nudged a small jar toward you and said, “Smell this. It always makes me hungry.”

You sniffed the spice and wrinkled your nose. “Smells like Christmas.”

“Exactly,” she said with a little grin. “Even smells can heal.”

Zoro didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at you when you sat near him later during his training session.

But he shifted his position slightly, just enough to let you sit where the wind would hit your face. It was cooler there. Quieter.

And when he finished his sets, he offered you his water bottle without a word. You took it. Drank a few sips.

He nodded, like that meant something.

And maybe it did.

That evening, you were sitting at the table again. The galley smelled amazing, like roasted vegetables and seasoned meat, with hints of lemon and garlic.

Sanji set a plate in front of you. But this time, it was smaller than the others. The portions were perfectly bite-sized, simple, not too much.

You looked up.

His expression was calm. “I figured we’d try something new,” he said lightly. “You finish that, I’ll make you dessert.”

You smiled. “That’s cheating.”

He gave a wink. “Only if it works.”

You ate slowly. And yeah—you finished the plate. Every bite. Not because you forced yourself.

But because you wanted to.

That night, tucked into your hammock, you stared at the ceiling and thought about all the little things. The apple. The rice ball. The wind. The spice jar. The smaller plate.

They hadn’t made a big deal out of anything.

They didn’t hover. Didn’t pressure.

They just adjusted.

To you.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt something bloom in your chest that wasn’t fear or guilt or self-hatred.

It was something soft.

It was something safe.

Maybe even… healing.

—-

You didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because of anxiety this time—but because your mind wouldn’t stop racing. A restless, buzzing kind of energy had taken hold. Not dread. Something else. Something like... purpose.

They’d given so much without asking for anything in return. A gentle silence. A smaller plate. A seat at the table. Space to breathe.

And you wanted to say thank you.

But words never felt like enough.

So you crept into the galley before sunrise, the ship still wrapped in a hush, the sky outside soft and pink with early light. Sanji would usually be in here by now, but he’d had a late night fixing up extra preserves for Nami. You had a window.

And you had a plan.

You started with what you knew.

Your mom’s pancake recipe—light, fluffy, with a hint of vanilla and orange zest. You used the griddle with care, browning the edges just right, flipping with the same kind of love you’d watched your mother pour into every meal she made.

Then came roasted vegetables, seasoned with cracked pepper, thyme, and a drizzle of olive oil. Fresh fruit, sliced neatly and chilled. You even made a honey-sweet sauce for dipping.

And finally, a savory frittata packed with herbs and cheese, because Sanji once said breakfast should feel like a gift.

You wiped your hands on your apron and took a long breath. The kitchen was warm. You hadn’t felt this alive in years.

When Sanji walked in, he froze in the doorway.

The galley smelled like a dream. His cigarette drooped slightly from his mouth.

“What the—?” he blinked, stepping closer. “Did you—?”

“Yeah,” you said, nerves starting to rise. “I just—thought maybe… I could cook. Just once. As a thank you. For everything.”

Sanji looked like he was trying not to cry. Or explode from pride.

“Well, damn,” he murmured, eyes scanning the table. “Looks like I’ve got competition.”

You smiled sheepishly. “I know it’s your domain. I hope that’s okay.”

He grinned and clapped a hand to your shoulder. “You’re part of this crew. You can set the kitchen on fire and I’d still say thank you for trying.” He paused. “But this—this is art.”

By the time the rest of the crew rolled in—some sleepy-eyed, some hungry and loud—the galley had been transformed.

Luffy paused in the doorway, nose twitching, eyes wide. “Whaaaat is that smell?!”

“Breakfast,” Sanji announced proudly. “Courtesy of our brilliant chef-for-the-day.”

You stood there awkwardly as they all looked at you, faces lighting up with surprise and curiosity.

“You made all this?” Chopper squeaked.

You nodded, suddenly shy. “I… wanted to thank you. For being patient with me. For not pushing. For just… being kind.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow, already sitting down. “Well, I’m not gonna complain.”

“I didn’t know you could cook like this,” Usopp said, piling fruit on his plate.

Nami popped a slice of frittata in her mouth and made an impressed sound. “Okay, what the hell. This is better than half the cafés I’ve been to.”

Luffy stuffed three pancakes into his mouth and tried to say something, which you think was “You’re amazing,” but it came out as muffled chaos.

Robin, sitting quietly, took one bite and smiled like she’d just read her favorite line in a book. “Delicious. And filled with care.”

Your chest warmed.

You watched them eat—not with dread, not with envy—but with pride. You fed them. You made something. You gave back.

It felt like reclaiming something stolen from you.

Sanji leaned beside you as the crew kept eating, elbow resting on the counter.

“So…” he said, voice low. “Feel good?”

You looked around the room—at laughter, and crumbs, and second helpings—and smiled.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “It feels like love.”

He gave a soft hum. “That’s what food is, when it’s done right.”

And for the first time in a long, long time, you believed that.

#Luffy #Sanji #Zoro #X reader #Reader insert #Tony tony chopper #Fem reader #One piece #Usopp #Nami #Nico robin #One-shot #sanji x reader

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onesiesdaydream · 2 months ago

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Whiskey Eyes I Chuuya Nakahara x Reader (Part 2)

Part 1 I Part 2

Summary: Chuuya stumbles home piss-drunk in the dead of night. Safe to say, you were both in for a really long night.

A/N: Sorry for having to make this two parts, it exceeded Tumblr's character limit per post so I had to split it :/

TW: Mentions of puking and hangovers.

MASTERLIST

You woke to the sound of retching.

The kind that echoed sharply against bathroom tile—all hollow force and regret. You blinked against the pale light creeping in through the blinds and instinctively reached for the other side of the bed. Empty. Cold.

Another gag. A muffled curse.

You were on your feet before your toes even registered the chill of the floor on your bare feet.

The bathroom door was half-shut, dull light spilling into the hallway. You pushed it open slowly and found him hunched over the toilet, shirtless, knees pressed to the cold tile, one trembling hand braced against the wall. He hadn’t noticed you yet—too focused on breathing between waves of nausea.

You knelt beside him, gathering his damp hair away from his face before tying it back in a loose bun. His skin was clammy. The sharp tang of bile and stale whiskey clung to the air.

“Hey,” you murmured. “You’re alright. Just let it pass.”

He groaned, eyes fluttering open just enough to glance at you—bloodshot and heavy with shame.

“I’m fine,” he rasped.

You rolled your eyes, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “If you were fine, I wouldn’t be finding you on the bathroom floor at 7 AM.”

He let out a sound caught between a cough and a miserable laugh, resting his forehead on his arm. “You didn’t have to get up.”

“You think I’m gonna let you die of alcohol poisoning alone in the bathroom?” Your tone was light, but your fingers were gentle as they traced slow circles between his shoulder blades.

Another groan. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. “I don’t even remember coming home.”

“You hit on the toaster and gave me a bottle cap like it was a wedding ring.”

A weak laugh escaped him, barely more than an exhale. “Romantic. Bet I was real smooth.”

“Like sandpaper,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours. “But at least you remembered where home was.”

You reached for the washcloth draped over the sink, soaked it in cold water, and pressed it to the back of his neck. He shuddered, then slumped against you with a defeated sigh.

For a while, the only sounds were his ragged breaths and the drip of the faucet. You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and steady, anchoring him.

Then, quietly, he spoke again

“I hate this part,” he mumbled. “Waking up and knowing you had to deal with me like that.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just reached for the mouthwash in the cabinet and handed it to him once he’d leaned back.

He took it with a shaky grip, swished, spat, then let his head thud against the toilet. He gave a breathy, miserable laugh and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. For always putting this bullshit on you.”

“You didn’t put anything on me,” you said, watching as he swished another shot of the mouthwash and spat. “I’d rather have you home and hungover than not at all.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed.

You stayed by his side as the silence settled again, your fingers never leaving his hair. It was the kind of quiet that carried weight—not tension, but something softer. Something full of the unspoken.

You stayed like that for a while, tucked into the quiet hush of the morning, the kind that only existed before the world woke up—before traffic, before sunlight fully reached the floor, before the weight of the day settled in. You didn’t rush him. Just held his hand and let him exist exactly as he was—messy, hungover, but still him.

Eventually, he shifted, just enough to press a kiss to the side of your head. It was barely more than a whisper of warmth, but it was real.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your temple. “For staying. For not hating me when I’m like this.”

You turned your head to meet his tired gaze, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I love you, even when you’re like this,” you said. “And when you’re not.”

He shifted, just enough to rest his head against your shoulder, the curve of his body leaning into yours with quiet trust. His breath was warm against your neck, still unsteady but slowing, like the worst of the storm had passed.

“You know I don’t mean to make it hard,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

“I know,” you whispered, your hand finding his and giving it a light squeeze. “You just do, anyway.”

That earned you the tiniest smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, tilting his head enough to look at you. His eyes were still red, still tired—but clearer now. “Dinner. A real one. No whiskey. Just one bottle of wine. Flowers, maybe. You deserve flowers.”

You laughed softly, pressing your forehead to his. “You don’t have to buy me flowers. Just… come home safe and sober next time. And maybe don’t flirt with the toaster.”

He chuckled—a real one this time, hoarse but genuine. “Deal.”

You helped him up slowly, easing him toward the sink. He rinsed his face while you grabbed a clean towel which he patted gently against his cheeks.

“C’mon,” you said, guiding him out of the bathroom. “Let’s get you back in bed before the hangover decides to fight round two.”

He let you lead him, head bowed, one arm slung around your waist for balance. And when you finally got him settled again—new shirt, water and bucket by the bed, the morning sun stretching golden across the floor—he pulled you in close and tucked his face into your neck.

“Don’t go so far,” he whispered, already half-asleep.

You smiled into his hair, your hand resting over his heart.

“Not a chance.”

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nameless-jamie · 5 months ago

Note

Hi, could you write a fic where the team gets food poisoning? Maybe Rupert did something to change their catering before a big match or Shandy comes back with a vengeance. And now PA has to take care of the whole Richmond team?

Thanks

Drabble - Everyone's PA

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, mentions of puking and food poisoning

A/N: Hi I changed the context a little and made it a vengeance from West Ham in general hope its still good. Thank you for the request!

In all her time as Jamie Tartt’s PA, Y/N had dealt with her fair share of absolute disasters. She had smoothed over last-minute schedule changes, tracked down missing passports, and even fished Jamie’s car keys out of the fridge once when he was convinced someone had stolen them. But this? This was something else entirely.

The AFC Richmond locker room looked like the aftermath of a battlefield. Players were sprawled across benches, the floor, and, in some cases, curled up in the fetal position near the walls, groaning in pure misery. Others were fighting for dominance over the toilets. The air was thick with suffering, the kind only brought on by the worst kind of intestinal betrayal.

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N stood at the entrance, arms crossed, surveying the wreckage with a mixture of horror and resignation. “What the hell happened in here?”

Colin, who was lying flat on his back with one arm dramatically thrown over his forehead, barely cracked open one eye to look at her. “This is it. This is how we die.”

From the other side of the room, Sam let out a pathetic whimper, his forehead pressed against a bench as he clutched his stomach. “I have never known pain like this.”

“Don't let my mum find out I went out like this,” Isaac mumbled from his position near the showers, face pale and eyes vacant as if he had already accepted his fate.

The sound of someone retching echoed from the bathrooms. Y/N grimaced. “Oh my God. Could someone please tell me what happened?”

Jamie, the only one still upright—though he was leaning against the wall for dear life—lifted his head just enough to look at her, his face pale and sweaty. “It was the food,” he croaked, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking took too much effort.

She stared at him. “What food?”

“The Chinese stuff,” he murmured, wincing slightly as he shifted his weight. “West Ham sent over food. Said it was a gift to congratulate us on the win. Every one of us ate it.”

Y/N blinked. Then blinked again.

And then she let out a slow, measured breath through her nose, rubbing her temples as she processed just how monumentally stupid that was.

“You’re telling me,” she said, her voice eerily calm, “that you all decided to eat a massive amount of free food from West Ham—a team that hates Richmond—without even checking where it came from? From your fucking rival.”

Jamie hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “...Yeah? Maybe they wanted to be friends or somethin'.”

She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, you absolute idiots.”

“Oi,” Jamie pouted, though it lacked his usual energy. “How were we supposed to know it was dodgy?”

“I don’t know, Jamie. Maybe because it came from West Ham? Or maybe because this particular restaurant is literally known for having health code violations? Did that not set off any alarm bells for you? Could've googled it.”

Jamie blinked at her, then turned his head slightly to where Dani Rojas was curled up in a ball, moaning weakly in Spanish.

“…Fair point,” Jamie admitted.

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. “So, let me get this straight. All of you ate it?”

“Not Will,” Dani mumbled, barely lifting his head.

Y/N turned her gaze to the one person in the room who seemed completely fine. Will, the kitman, stood off to the side, sipping a juice box, looking mildly concerned but otherwise unaffected.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you fine?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t trust free food.”

Jamie let out a weak, pitiful groan. “Wish I didn’t.”

Y/N groaned, shaking her head. “This is unbelievable.” She turned back to Jamie, crossing her arms. “Can you at least help me sort this mess out?”

Jamie, bless him, made a valiant effort to push off the wall and stand on his own, attempting to look capable and useful. The moment he took a step forward, however, his legs wobbled, and he immediately stumbled, barely catching himself before he hit the floor.

Y/N sighed. “Right. So I’m on my own.”

She cracked her knuckles, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.

For the next three hours, Y/N played nurse to a whole Premier League team. Will did help her a little...

She handed out water bottles and electrolyte tablets like she was running a triage unit. She forced them to sip ginger tea and chew on dry crackers to keep something in their stomachs. She confiscated Jan Maas’ gym bag when he attempted to head for a workout, claiming he could “sweat out the poison.”

“That is not how food poisoning works, Jan.”

"In the Netherland's we heal like this, pain is the best medicine."

"Fuckin' hellllll...."

She physically wrestled Jamie’s phone out of his hands when he attempted to tweet, “West Ham is full of ops. This means war.”

“I will delete your whole account, Tartt.”

"The people want to know how Jamie Tartt is doin' and he's doin' pretty shit right now, love. Literally."

At one point, Ted came in and tried to help, but his version of helping consisted mostly of telling food-related motivational stories about resilience and the importance of trusting one’s gut—while an entire team of men clutched their stomachs in agony. She had to politely but firmly push him out of the room.

By the time the worst of it had passed, she was exhausted.

She flopped onto the worn-out couch in the locker room, sighing deeply as she finally allowed herself to relax.

Jamie, looking only marginally less like death, shuffled over and unceremoniously plopped his head onto her lap.

She glanced down at him, raising an eyebrow. “You reek.”

“ 'M still fit, though,” he murmured, voice raspy from hours of misery.

She let out a dry laugh. “Debatable.”

Jamie smirked up at her, eyes twinkling with something just a little softer than his usual cockiness. “I know you think so, love.”

She rolled her eyes but ran her fingers through his messy hair anyway, smoothing it away from his forehead.

Jamie sighed contently, melting against her like a cat in a sunbeam. “Dunno what we’d do without you.”

Y/N huffed. “Probably die.”

Jamie hummed. “Yeah. But like… in a funny way, yeah?”

She groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned sleepily. “And yet, here you are, takin’ care of me and my whole team.”

She flicked his forehead. “Shut up and sleep.”

Jamie let out a soft chuckle but obeyed, closing his eyes as he relaxed against her.

Y/N sighed, staring down at him, then looking around at the absolute chaos that had unfolded in the last few hours.

This was her life.

And, God help her, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

By the time the worst of the food poisoning had passed, most of the team had either passed out from sheer exhaustion or been picked up by loved ones. Isaac’s mum had come to get him (which was both adorable and terrifying), Sam had been whisked away by Simi, and Dani had somehow mustered enough energy to call an Uber before dramatically collapsing into the backseat.

That just left Jamie.

Jamie, who was currently draped across one of the benches, looking like he’d just survived a near-death experience. He had one arm lazily slung over his stomach, his head lolling to the side as he gave Y/N his best sad, pathetic, I-need-you-to-feel-bad-for-me eyes.

“Everyone’s gone,” she pointed out, pulling on her coat. “You should probably call an Uber to take you home. Maybe Keeley or Roy can come get you.”

She was hoping he liked that idea because she wouldn't let this pukey striker in her car.

Jamie let out a long, pitiful sigh, blinking up at her as if she’d just suggested he attempt to walk to his house on broken legs. “Can’t. Keeley’s in Ibiza, Roy would never get me, you know me mums in Manchester and I basically pay you to take care of me, soooo.”

She frowned and asked him innocently. “What about one of the lads?”

Jamie groaned. “They’re all just as fucked as me, babe. Most of them are already gone.”

He wasn’t wrong.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to deal with him personally.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “You could just—”

Before she could even suggest getting an Uber again, Jamie turned the full force of his kicked-puppy expression on her.

“Please?” he murmured, voice hoarse and pitiful.

And damn him, because he knew she couldn’t say no to him when he looked like that.

Y/N let out a long, suffering groan. “Fine. Get your sorry pretty ass up. You're lucky I get paid for this.”

Getting Jamie into the car was an ordeal.

First, he claimed he was too weak to stand, so she had to practically drag him out of the locker room. Then, once they were in the car, he decided that sitting upright was too much effort, so he slouched down in the passenger seat, legs sprawled, head leaning against the window like some tragic poet contemplating the meaning of life.

“You’re so dramatic,” she muttered, pulling out of the parking lot.

Jamie cracked one eye open. “You love it.”

She shot him a glare. “I tolerate it.”

He grinned, but it was lazy, barely-there—like even teasing her was taking too much energy.

For the first few minutes, it was quiet. Peaceful, even. Y/N started to think maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad.

And then Jamie groaned.

“Ugh, my stomach hurts,” he whined, shifting in his seat.

Y/N tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah, Jamie, that’s what happens when you eat poisoned food.”

“D’you think it’s real food poisoning? Or just, like… West Ham curse poisoning?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s real food poisoning, you idiot.”

Jamie hummed, clearly unconvinced.

A beat of silence. Then—

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Y/N immediately slammed on the brakes, sending Jamie lurching forward with an undignified squawk.

“Oh my God,” she hissed. “Do not throw up in my car.”

Jamie groaned dramatically, leaning his forehead against the window. “Pull overrrr.”

She swerved into the first available parking lot, barely getting the car into park before Jamie threw open the door and stumbled out.

Y/N sighed, leaning her head against the steering wheel as she listened to him retching into the bushes.

This was, officially, the worst night of her life.

After a few minutes, Jamie crawled back into the car, looking even paler than before, but at least he wasn’t actively vomiting anymore.

She handed him a water bottle. “Drink.”

Jamie took it, sipped it weakly, then let out a tired sigh, leaning his head back against the seat. “You’re a saint, y’know that?”

She snorted. “More like an idiot for agreeing to this.”

Jamie cracked a small smile. “Still. Thanks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, simply pulling back onto the road.

By the time they got to Jamie’s house, he was half-asleep, mumbling incoherent nonsense about chickens and West Ham’s bad vibes. She had to help him inside, guiding him toward the couch as he slumped against her like a deadweight.

“Alright,” she muttered, helping him lie down. “You’re home. You’re alive. My job here is done.”

But before she could pull away, Jamie grabbed her wrist, blinking up at her blearily.

“Stay?” he murmured.

Y/N hesitated. “Jamie…”

“Just till I fall asleep,” he mumbled, already halfway there. “Promise.”

She sighed, looking down at him—his tired face, his messy hair, the way he still managed to look stupidly attractive even while on the brink of death.

She was so going to regret this.

But still, she sat down beside him.

Jamie hummed in contentment, shifting slightly so his head rested against her thigh. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, soft and steady.

Y/N leaned her head back against the couch, sighing deeply.

Maybe she was an idiot for always putting up with Jamie Tartt’s nonsense.

But as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair, she figured it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #afc richmond #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #sam obisanya #Jamie Tartt x PA

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caldella · 26 days ago

Text

HB S3 Crack Theory: What if its Focus on Addiction is as Much About Loona as it is Stolas?

AKA: We want Stolas and Loona to bond, and this would be a way to have that while HB breaks our hearts as usual. A very long almost 3k post, and a theory based on little show clues which might be very wrong but won't escape my brain.

TW: Alcoholism, binge drinking. CW: Vomiting

So I've had this theory floating around in my head since the HB team said that S3 will focus on family and addiction. I'll admit it is very much a crack theory, so don't @ me that it seems like I'm basing this off really meager clues. I'm aware! That's kind of how crack theories are.

Theory:

Stolas does indeed have an alcohol problem, but Loona has a more concealed, more consistent one and will be the individual in the Stolitz family who actually needs support. Stolas will surprisingly be the one to discover it and get her to open up about it.

Why Do I Think Loona Might Have an Alcohol Problem?

Because HB as a series has a habit of hiding information in small, unaddressed details that have more meaning when you watch them back later. And I've noticed a few things across the two seasons that might be hints...

HINT 1: Past History According to the snotty Hellhound in Queen Bee, Loona has already been puke drunk at parties before, to an extent of being shamed for it. She's already a distant outsider, and it looks like her destructive form of partying made her a laughing stock to some of the Hellhounds. It's also uncertain if her dialogue about being reminded was just trying to distance herself from this asshole, or if she was literally blackout drunk at the previous party and didn't remember it at all.

HINT 2: Brushing Off Self-Destructive Behavior Loona had no concerns with Blitzø chugging the keg of Beezlejuice (which concerned even Bee) and went into denial that he was self-destructing at the party. This could have been just her assuming he was fine all the time - Blitzø always presented himself as bulletproof to the team. It also could've been her usual standoffish attitude, or her trying not to leave the party because she was finally fitting in. OR it could be because she really didn't see a problem with him going this hard, because she's done it before.

HINT 3: Handling Drunks Despite having no current friends and a very loner lifestyle in Queen Bee, she was pretty knowledgeable with how to handle someone extremely drunk. Her previous party experience might've been a one-time thing, or might've been a situation she found herself in more than we knew.

HINT 3: Hiding Alcohol/Casual Day Drinking EDITING IN THIS ONE IN THANK YOU @blitzwhore !!! At the beginning of Ozzie's, Loona was drinking on the job while reading a magazine featuring an article from Verosika, on how binge drinking was sexy.

There was also bottle of booze in Mastermind. This is the one that started the theory for me (because I totally forgot about the Ozzie's one). Loona had a bottle of alcohol hidden in her work desk. She specifically had it in a spot that no one else checks. That drawer was unchecked enough that she had the I.M.P. photo in there where Blitzø wouldn't scribble out his own face. There was no reason for her to have a bottle there unless she planned to drink during the workday (apparently AGAIN, as has now been pointed out to me), maybe when the rest of the crew was out on a mission and wouldn't notice.

HINT 4: Coping with Stress Via Alcohol After the Sinsmas battle, Loona was eager to turn the rest of the Sinsmas celebration to drinking. This could just be her trying to engage in the Sinsmas Hellhound gluttony, or could be a coping method she uses for stress on the regular.

NOT A HINT, BUT HONORABLE MENTION: The concept of Loona being hungover at inappropriate times was an idea they were toying with way back in the pilot episode. The pilot is not canon, and it might be a character trait they decided to scrap. I can't call it a hint. But I can present it as something that was a possibility for her from the start.

If Loona Does Have an Alcohol Problem, Why Wouldn't Blitzø Notice?

There are a few potential reasons:

ROSE-TINTED GLASSES Blitzø insists at basically every turn that Loona is perfect just how she is. He overlooks serious personality flaws and lets her get away with mouthing off to M&M frequently. This love was probably critical to her trusting him as an adoptive father, but it also means he's turned a very blind eye to her genuine faults.

PRIVACY Blitzø is a great and supportive father. He loves Loona unconditionally and wants to be involved in her life. But when he's not slathering her with physical affection and praise, he actually gives her a lot of space. This has probably been critical to her developing trust, but there are entire parts of her life he and the audience never see. We've never seen the inside of her bedroom, which to me is an indication that Blitzø rarely, if ever does either. She's able to go off to Bee's party with little more than a note on her door - no text or anything about where it is - and he doesn't question it. And again, her workspace is respected so much that she has that unscribbled photo of the I.M.P. crew in the top drawer.

Blitzø may have stalked M&M throughout S1 but always gave Loona explicit privacy throughout both seasons. If she has been concealing any problems, it would be a lot easier to do than people realize.

(Personal note, I bring the room and the drawer up because of experience with a close person in my life who hid their alcoholism this way. They would drink at night, hidden in their room, and store alcohol in their closet where it wouldn't be discovered.)

MORE OBVIOUS VS. HIDDEN ADDICTION It'd be dumb to skip over Blitzø's experience with loved ones and addiction. Cash, Barbie, Verosika: he's been around it plenty. But from our limited audience view, these addictions were more obvious. Cash was shown to be drunk and slurring from his first appearance, and Verosika was also drinking in hers. Barbie went straight from rehab to selling drugs from the human world as "honest work." Their addictions/relationship with drugs all show up regularly in their everyday lives.

However, Blitzø in The Circus didn't notice that Stolas had been literally gulping absinthe up until they were face-to-face. He was surprised to see Stolas binge drinking the same way in Apology Tour, as if it was his first time seeing it.

He's also had a long streak of convincing himself other people in his life were 'fine.' Until Apology Tour, it was easier for him to engage with Stolas believing that he couldn't be physically/emotionally hurt. He convinced himself that his shitty breakup tactic with Verosika was excusable until she forced him to realize how much it hurt. While he's been good at hiding his own struggles and self-hatred, he's not been good at recognizing when other people were doing the same.

If Blitzø Wouldn't Notice Loona Had a Problem, Why Would Stolas?

TAKING OVER HER SPACE In taking over Loona's job at I.M.P., Stolas is now using the desk and anything else she previously had. If there's more alcohol stashed, he will run into it. He's also sharing the apartment with her and Blitzø. If there are spaces that have quietly become "Loona's" over the years that Blitzø doesn't touch, he won't realize it. Stolas is also accustomed to everything he does being judged and unaccustomed to taking up space; I'd envision he'd want nondescript places to store items like his diary/smut journal. If Loona had any more alcohol stashed away in places Blitzø doesn't use, it's quite possible Stolas will discover it by accident.

FIRST-HAND EXPERIENCE If Stolas discovers alcohol being hidden around the office or apartment, he'll probably figure out pretty quickly what's going on. He himself is working with a binge drinking problem and knows the signs.

Stolas not only knows what it looks like to have private struggles, but he knows what it looks like when someone is hiding them. He hid his abuse, his depression, and possibly his binge drinking from everyone, even Via, for a good 17-18 years. He's accustomed to being overlooked and concealing personal issues so loved ones don't have to deal with them. He also has very recent experience on how that mentality does more damage in the long run.

Wouldn't Stolas Also Need Help With His Drinking?

Maybe. Recovery is a very individual process based on a person and what options are available to them. With Stolas, his drinking will likely be something he actively struggles not to slide into for a long time, if not forever. But it's uncertain whether or not he will continue the binge drinking. It is obvious going back over episodes that Stolas has an individual drink in hand frequently, so he might have a problem with daily consumption. But his binging seems to only come up specifically as a coping method. He starts by portioning with a single glass/cup and transfers to chugging the glass or a whole bottle when his stress reaches a tipping point. He's accustomed to not being part of 'the fun' and coping with emotional pain while no one else bothers to notice.

However, it seems like he already went between Mastermind and Sinsmas without alcohol. Going cold turkey while also going without his powers or his anti-depressants must have been one fucking combo, but the bottom line is he's likely been sober for weeks or a month as of the end of S2. And when Loona brings out the drinks at the Sinsmas party, he silently excuses himself out of the room. Given his emotional state, he likely knew he would end up binge drinking, so he left to avoid the temptation.

None of this means he's 'over' his alcohol problem or will never fall back to it or need help. Actually, one alternate I'd considered is if HE would try to hide alcohol somewhere and discover Loona's already being hidden. But either way, he's shown awareness that he doesn't want to binge around Blitzø and the I.M.P. crew. Loona turns to alcohol to de-stress in this moment, but Stolas knows it will make him worse and avoids it. Whether or not Stolas will need help in the form of counseling or rehab, he's taken the first steps of recognizing his problem and removing himself from situations that trigger it.

If Stolas Figures Out Loona Has an Alcohol Problem, Wouldn't He Tell Blitzø First?

I really don't think so.

Blitzø is Loona's father, but again, Stolas knows what it's like to conceal issues and how frighteningly vulnerable it makes someone to potentially have them. He's also lived for a good 18 years with Stella, where he had to walk on eggshells and word himself carefully to avoid her anger. His personality approaches situations with scripted wording and attempts to be as unassuming as possible. After the post-Ozzie's conflict with Blitzø, he sent texts trying to talk about what went down, only to back off and assure Blitzø that he was just worried when Blitzø brushed it off. He doesn't like to press issues or make decisions for someone.

He's also used to choices he makes 'for the better' blowing up in his face: the trip to Loo Loo Land, the Full Moon situation, the divorce, the accidental hurt he caused Via, etc. He wouldn't trust himself to make choices for Loona. I'm sure he would want her to tell Blitzø, if his opinion comes up. But if anyone in the Stolitz family would be able to quietly, unassumingly discuss this with her without her feeling like she was being judged or pressured, it would be Stolas. Loona tends to close off at the first sign of judgement or pressure.

And I think Loona would be nervous admitting her problem to Blitzø.

Why Would Loona Be Afraid to Tell Blitzø?

Again, Blitzø is a great father. Despite Loona's anger issues and distant personality, his affections never wavered, and it's clear by the end of S2 the trust between them is basically unbreakable. Blitzø has experience with loved ones having addiction problems and even them needing rehab. He would know the obvious signs of addiction and the treatment process, and he'd want Loona to get better. So, why would Loona hesitate to get him involved?

BLIND AFFECTION Blitzø's unwavering love for Loona might make her uncomfortable opening up about this with him, out of fear that he might blame himself for missing it. She pushed him away a lot in the first season/early S2, but she's always felt she could act however she wanted and they'd be fine. But this is a serious problem, and he could think he failed as a father by missing it and blindly believing in how 'perfect' she was. Loona might have an attitude, but she does love Blitzø. And she's afraid of being abandoned, even if she logically knows Blitzø would never actually abandon her. She could be afraid of being the daughter who failed Blitzø despite his unconditional love, and she wouldn't want him to feel like he let her down that severely.

OVERPROTECTIVE Despite the privacy he gives Loona, Blitzø is prone to overreacting and treating her as younger than her age. If she did have a serious problem like alcoholism, Blitzø would potentially blow his reaction out of her comfort zone and try to enforce drastic steps that she would resist. She has trust and some defiance issues, which would make it difficult to be open to counseling/outside help. She would likely need gentle reassurance to go forward. "Gentle" is something Blitzø is capable of, but not when he's panicked about his precious Looney-Tooney.

And I absolutely can't see Loona doing inpatient rehab, which Blitzø might jump to since his ex-girlfriend and sister went that route. Rehab facilities feel too similar to her isolation at the adoption facility and could dredge up old trauma. We saw how difficult it was just to get her to the hospital for her Hellbies shot. Adult Loona is only as functional as she is because Blitzø gave her a stable home life for the last 5 years. I think a rehab facility would feel like being locked away again: literally the worst thing for her.

PREVIOUS TREATMENT OF ALCOHOLISM Spring Broken was the first time we saw Blitzø interacting with someone facing alcoholism. And it just so happened to be his ex, who he had an antagonistic relationship with. In multiple parts of the episode, he used Verosika's drinking as an insult and shamed her for leaving rehab. If this stuck with Loona, she'd be afraid to open up. Blitzø would never approach her this way, but she could fear that he'd pressure her into rehab until she was "better enough," despite inpatient care being a nightmare for her specific forms of trauma.

Why Would Loona Potentially Discuss This with Stolas?

Again, Stolas has experience trying to word things more gently and privately. And he's typically a follower, not a decision maker. If Stolas discovered that Loona had a drinking problem, his first step wouldn't be to plan what needed done. He would likely ask her what she thought she needed for help. Whether or not they brought the problem to Blitzø would be up to her. Again, he concealed his own abuse and mental health issues for years. He would want her to open up to Blitzø about it, but he doesn't have any room to demand it or decide to tell Blitzø on his own.

Drinking is also a specific issue he's struggling with, and I think he would be willing to divulge that to her, so she doesn't feel so alone. Their backgrounds are drastically different, and hers has more in common with Blitzø's, but she and Stolas have similarities. Both of them know what it's like to grow up friendless, the odd one singled out at events, the subject of derision among their entire social class. If Loona took up drinking to cope with her lasting stress or trauma, Stolas would understand it personally. He also knows firsthand how important Blitzø has been to becoming a better person after that, and how Loona would be afraid of hurting him.

Also, Stolas would likely feel invested in helping. He's probably going into S3 struggling with a feeling of uselessness: he's lost most anything he feels gives worth to anyone else. He doesn't know how to function in normal working reality and probably feels like a complete failure and dead weight. But this is a situation where he might not be useless: where his specific cheering-on-from-the-sidelines support would be exactly what was needed. As stated, he knows the longterm damage that comes from burying personal problems too long. He would not want Blitzø's daughter to go down that route.

It would also be a parallel to Seeing Stars and the end of Sinsmas: Stolas reassuring Loona to keep trying would be a reflection of Blitzø convincing him to keep trying with Via. It would be a reflection of how Loona herself reassured Octavia that Stolas was trying, too. Stolas is someone Loona would be able to open up to without judgement, without drastic emotional responses, and knowing he wouldn't divulge the information to anyone without her permission. Stolitz family bonding, but in that uniquely heartbreaking Helluva Boss way.

Conclusion:

This is just a crack theory and based on admittedly not huge evidence. This could be making a mountain out of a molehill. I'm an expert at reading too much into things. But at least now it's out of my brain! Time will tell what comes for Season 3.

#helluva boss #helluva boss loona #fan theory #crack theory #crack treated seriously #tw: alcohol #tw: alcholism #tw: vomit #cw vomit #cw alcoholism #cw alcohol #tw: addiction #tw: drugs #How TF did I get 2900 words out of this

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pinkponyglitter · 11 months ago

Note

hii Are you accepting requests? If so could you do an Amelia Shepherd and Reader where they are going to have a baby?

Thank you ❤️

You need a new pet name | Amelia Shepherd x reader

notes; god, i’m so so sorry!! i’ve been inactive here for more than a year and honestly a lot of things changed, but i think it’s time to get back here! thanks for the request though!! it’s not that great, and definitely not a lot of Amelia here (i really suck at pregnancy topic, but i’m also scared of pregnancy, so i think that’s fair). this is not read proof, so if you noticed any mistakes; no you didn’t.

tags; established relationship, bisexual amelia x lesbian reader, use of pet names, pregnancy

tw; mentions of vomiting

summary; you’ve been trying for some time now, but the fate wasn’t quite on your side… or maybe it was?

words count; 1.3k

It’s been going great.

Maybe not amazing, definitely not ideal, but it was still yours and you could live with that.

Except you wanted more.

”What’s the point in trying again, baby,” you asked, plopping yourself down on the couch, “it’s not going to work anyway.”

“You don’t know, anything can happen.” Amelia sat down right next to you, wrapping her arm around your waist.

Bullshit.

You simply rolled your eyes at her words, she was always saying that. Anything can happen and you should be quiet, until you actually try. But you tried.

“We’ve been trying. I know that Naomi and Addison said that we have a good chance, but maybe they were wrong,” you shrugged. She started tracing small circles on your waist with her thumb and you leaned into her touch. “Maybe we should try other options,” you added, except you didn’t want to try anything else. At least not now.

“We still have two tries, love,” she mumbled, nuzzling her head into your neck and leaving there soft, hot kisses. “We can try other options, if you’re sure you don’t want to try anymore.”

That’s the thing, you wanted to. You were just busted that previous attempts had been big disappointing failures.

So you kept quiet and bit your lip.

“No, I think we should try again,” you said softly, and looked at Amelia who was still snuggled against your side. “Who knows, this will be our third attempt. They always say; the third time’s the charm, right?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The morning was slow, weirdly slow. Sure yeah, Amelia was still snuggled against your side, trapping you in her firm embrace. You were tired and that wouldn’t have been weird, but you could’ve sworn you had a fever.

Great, fucking great.

“Love, you need to let me go. I need to get up,” you mumbled to the brunette who was still holding you tight. She only groaned at your words.

“No you don’t,” she mumbled back. You rolled your eyes. “You rolled your eyes, didn’t ya?” She asked, almost chuckling. “Alright, go, but please get back as soon as you can.”

“Yeah, I will,” you said and got up from the bed, almost too fast. Or maybe it was too fast, because you almost fell down on the bed again.

That is definitely weird, you should call in sick today.

So you did, you called in sick and checked your temperature. You definitely had a fever, and honestly thinking about food made you feel even worse. You ran down the stairs and decided to make yourself a cup of tea.

Tea is great, tea won’t make you throw up.

“You were supposed to get back to bed,” she said, her voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

“I’m just not feeling too well today,” you shrugged and started to make yourself tea. “I have a fever and well, even thinking about food makes me nauseous.”

“You’re staying home, right?” She asked and turned on the coffee machine, when she started actually making it you almost puked. “Woah, that bad?” You only nodded.

It was indeed that bad. Coffee never made you nauseous, the smell of the coffee never made you sick either. You took your cup and moved to the living room excusing yourself to her.

The last thing you needed was to throw up. Especially in the kitchen.

The rest of the morning was rather peaceful, although you had to dismiss Amelia without a goodbye kiss. You just simply wished her good day at work, and reminded her to text you while she can.

You didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t really have a choice.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

In the evening you called Addison, you knew she was busy, but definitely less busy than most of your friends. Gotta love having doctors as friends. She answered almost immediately.

“Hey sweetheart, what’s up? You’re pregnant already?” She was excited, screw that, she was practically singing into your ear. You almost wanted to slap her through the phone. Too bad she was in LA, because you definitely would do that if you could.

“No, I’m sick, alone, tired, miserable and I need company,” you mumbled, fidgeting with a corner of the blanket you've been wrapped in.

“Amelia isn’t home yet?” She asked, you could hear Jake and Henry in the background.

“No, she’s not. She was pulled into emergency surgery.” You hated that part of her job, because it was unpredictable. Even though you loved her and you admired her work, you still liked to complain a bit.

Complaining doesn’t hurt anyone, does it?

“Well, alright then. I guess I can keep you company for a bit,” she started and probably moved to another room. The sounds of Jake and Henry’s bantering went quiet. “Are you sure you’re sick?”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your eyebrows. You had a fever, you were nauseous and tired. Of course you were sick.

“You know… Sometimes you feel like that when you’re pregnant. Early pregnancy symptoms,” she clarified.

Don’t play with me, please don’t play with me.

“Addison… It’s really not funny,” you rubbed your face with your hands, but you shifted anxiously on the couch.

“You can check, you know.” Of course she would say that, but you didn’t really want to. It was still early.

“Isn’t it too early to check?” You furrowed your eyebrows, now that she said that… Maybe she wasn’t wrong?

“Maybe, but it doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

No it doesn’t.

You bit your lip and considered your options. You could try and be extremely disappointed. Or you could just forget about it and check when it was actually time.

But you always were a bit impatient.

“I’ll check, but it’ll be your fault if I’m disappointed,” you joked. Half joked.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so anxious. You knew it wasn’t exactly the time to check, and you probably would just disappoint yourself, but you couldn’t help it.

Your hands were shaking, Addison was just rambling about Henry’s school fair. She really wasn’t a fan of those, but it was her son after all, and he quite frankly liked it.

“Alright, now we wait,” you said, maybe to her, maybe to yourself. You weren’t entirely sure.

Addison continued rambling, you’ve never been so grateful for her talent for that. You ran your hand through your hair and looked into the mirror, but quickly looked away. Eyes on the test, as it would disappear if you weren’t looking.

When the timer went off you almost fell down to your knees.

You were so anxious, but when you picked up this tiny piece of plastic, your jaw almost hit the floor.

“Oh my gracious God,” you mumbled, looking at two lines dumbfounded.

You were pregnant.

“Your what?” Addison pulled you out of this weird state. You actually thought it was a dream, a joke or just a defective test.

But when you picked up the second and the third test. You started crying.

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” She asked again, clearly feeling confused and definitely concerned.

“Oh my god, Addison… I’m pregnant,” you gasped, still looking at the tests. You really thought it would just disappear if you looked away. “I’m pregnant,” you repeated.

“Are you serious?” You didn’t know if you were. Maybe you were crazy and just imagined the whole thing. Maybe your fever was so high that you hallucinated the whole thing.

“I think so.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Babe, I’m home!” You heard Amelia’s voice. You twitched anxiously.

“In the bathroom!” You yelled back, you couldn’t move. You were just leaning against the counter, and staring at the three pieces of plastic.

You were really pregnant.

“Baby… Are you okay? Why didn’t you text me back? You weren’t throwing up, were yo–“ she stopped in the doorway.

The brunette just stepped closer and looked down at the counter. You finally moved your head and looked at her.

“You need a new pet name for me,” you rasped.

And well, this is basically how the two became a three.

#greys anatomy #amelia shepherd #amelia shepherd x reader #addison montgomery #greys anatomy fic #tumblr writers #writing #greys anatomy x reader #amelia shepherd x you #ᝰ.ᐟ one shots #ᝰ.ᐟ requests

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deathbyday · 7 months ago

Text

-'⁠🫧*⁠.⁠✧ mouthwashing ✧.⁠*⁠🫧'⁠ -

EAT. EAT. EAT. EAT. EAT. EAT. EAT.

Daisuke x implied F!Reader

TW: hallucinating, weapons, death, puke, cannibalism

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Written By: DeathByDay

(Also written on Mobile)

0 HOURS UNTIL JUDGEMENT

Seeing your loved one’s face sliced by the hands of yourself made you sick. You felt saliva gargle in your throat, triggering you to puke on the ground, droplets falling onto your jumper.

You were lucky enough to turn your body, leaning down before letting out the gruesome sound, followed by the liquid. You gasped, staring at the scene in shock. Tears flooded your eyes, rolling down your cheeks and onto the pile of puke.

Your breathing quickened, the tears swallowing your vision. Everything was blurry. You regretted what you had done, but it was necessary. He needed to go, otherwise he would’ve just suffered. Just like Curly.

Your eyes widen more, remembering the man in bandages who laid in the medical room. You instantly gained the strength to stand, ignoring the calls of Swansea behind you.

You ran to the room, your legs shaking as you walked inside. You lifted your hand, hiding the poor black haired woman from your view, settling your eyes on Curly. There he sat, his eye right on you.

Stepping over Anya, you placed your free hand on the side of the medical bed, staring down on him. You looked crazy. Sweat pooling over your forehead, hair matted and sticking out of place. Not to mention the tears, eyes widened and all.

You didn’t say anything, instead lifting the bandaged man in your arms. Although he was only flesh and bones, his body weight was still fairly heavy. You struggled to carry him, grunting as you stepped out of the room.

You needed to get Curly out of there and fast. You couldn’t let Jimmy get to him, knowing what he was capable of. You were too dumb to realize it before. It only took a friend and lover to figure everything out.

As you walked, you stared ahead of you, feeling Curly’s eye watch your every move. “It’s going to be okay.” You repeat to yourself, eyes darting around the hallway. You couldn’t let the brunette man know where you were.

Suddenly, you paused. You glanced down at Curly before grinning, relief washing over your features. “W-..Wait here.” You muttered, setting him down. His body laid flat on the hard metal ground, pain itching his body.

You ran back into the medical room, lowering your body to the bed before pulling out a briefcase. Your memory was a bit faded, but you could still recall the code to get inside.

You accidentally stumbled upon Anya in the medical room one day, who slid a briefcase into a little compartment in the bed. You wouldn’t let her leave until she would tell you the code, complaining that you may need it for safety.

In an instant, you rolled the correct numbers on the lock, hearing a click of the case before it slightly opened the latch. You fully open it to see the same gun that the woman had told you about.

After grabbing the weapon and making sure it was loaded, you ran back towards Curly, seeing him in the same position as before. Your grin softened, shoving the gun into your back pocket before picking up the man once again.

Making your way through the halls, you ended up finding the brunette you really didn’t want to see in the halls beside utility. He held Swansea’s axe in his hand, glaring at you from the other side of the hallway.

You couldn’t take out the gun without dropping Curly first. And you certainly didn’t want to risk his life. So, you stood still, frozen in fear and hesitation. You were almost to the Cryostasis pods. Why did he have to come out now..?

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jimmy cut you off with a chuckle. “Are you that fucking stupid?” His voice was quiet, but you could still hear him clearly. His tone was harsh, almost as an attempt to make you scared.

And it worked a little too well. Almost immediately, you forgot all your fears and held Curly up with one arm, his unbalanced legs barely touching the ground. Your arm wrapped over his chest, holding his upper body.

You grab the gun out of your back pocket, pointing it at the brunette. Yet, he didn’t drop his act. In fact, he got closer, taking light steps towards your figure.

“Go away!” You shout, backing away from the manYou choked back a sob, not ready to kill another person in the span of under a day. “I said go away!” You scream once again. Curly watched the scene in front of him, not know what to think.

Your poor, pathetic self couldn’t shoot the damn guy, yet that same guy was ready to axe your head off with no hesitation. If he could, he would’ve just taken that gun from your hand and shoot him himself.

But, that was only if he still had arms. He could’ve protected you, helping you get away from this whole thing. But that’s not how this story goes. Before his mind could go any further, your voice pulled him out.

“Please, just go!” You shout at the man who now stood a few feet away from you. Suddenly, you felt a slight breeze hit your shoulder. You choked back a sob, taking your eyes off Jimmy and adverting them to the side, wondering what hit you.

You heard an older man’s voice in your right ear, being muffled for a moment before shouting at you. You recognized that voice as Swansea’s.

“Shoot that bastard!” He would cry. “C’mon, just do it!” As he plead with you, your mind suddenly went blank. You couldn’t focus on anything but his voice.

Your breathing became faster, the weapon shaking in your hand, your palm getting sweaty from the pressure. You stepped back once more, finally hitting the metal wall behind you. As the voice of Swansea would continue, you finally pulled the trigger.

Jimmy fell back, the bullet landing in between his eyes. You stood there, staring at him as blood oozed out of his head. You fought the urge to puke once again, glancing down at Curly.

The voice of Swansea finally stopped, your mind becoming fuzzy. Your vision became a blur.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” You whisper, lowering yourself to the ground, knees to the floor. You cradled his head to your chest, wrapping your arms around his fleshed body. Relief washed through your veins, realizing the man who rose up for hell was finally gone.

He was on the ground, a bullet in his head. He was dead. You were free, but not for long. You didn’t have any food left, not even mouthwash. You sighed, taking one last glance at Curly before lifting him up into your arms.

You step around the body of Jimmy, not bearing a single eye down towards him. You turn to walk into the utility room, ready to end this nightmare. You groan, struggling to open the Cryostasis pod’s door. After a few seconds, you finally got it open.

You widen it with your foot before setting the wounded man in the compartment, leaning forward to do so. You unwrap your arms from him, staring into his one eye as you shut the door. You then turn to the small screen to the side, hesitating before pressing the freeze button.

You heard muffled cries from Curly, causing you to lift your head to him. You watch as the window becomes blurry, his figure fading from your vision. The cries suddenly stop, making you aware that he was gone.

Your hands formed fists before you left the utility room, guilt spreading in your blood like jelly. Your legs shook as you walked back into the lounge area, the air heavy.

The people you cared about were gone. You murdered one of them, the other gone on their own. The monster who started this paid for it, but the guilt couldn’t just be washed away with water.

Tears flooded for eyes for what seems to be the tenth time that day as you dropped to the ground, curling in on yourself. You wrap your arms around yourself, forehead hitting the floor.

Opening your mouth, you screamed. It was raspy, full of emotion. It hurt, but you couldn’t stop. You felt that familiar touch on your shoulder, causing you to scream louder, this time with words.

“No, don’t touch me!” You cried, attempting to shake the hand off. But it wouldn’t let go. You continued to cry, your body trembling from the weight of the hand. “Stop it, go away!” But it wouldn’t. It felt so real.. like someone was really behind you.

The weight of the hand became heavier as if it was trying to cause you pain. You shook your head, tightly shutting your eyes. “It’s okay.” Someone spoke in your ear, attempting to ease your mind.

You recognized that voice as soon as your ears registered it. You opened your eyes, glancing towards the side where the voice came from. There, you saw it. A brunette haired man who had an axe through his face. The same brunette who held a special connection to you.

You stared in shock for a few moments, trying to process what was happening. “Daisuke..?” You whisper, releasing your tight hold on yourself. Your fingers swept the metal ground, cold as ice. Your boyfriend only grinned, causing you to instantly embrace him.

As soon as you did so, he disappeared. Your eyes widened, staring at your hands in disbelief as they sat in your lap. You turned your head back towards the real Daisuke’s body, seeing it still lie on the floor.

“No..” You muttered, your body turning around before you crawl towards him. After a few moments, you sat in front of him, staring at his axe’d face. This time, you were too exhausted to puke or even cry.

You just stared, your breath at a normal pace for the first time in ages. You felt your body become weaker due to starvation. You haven’t drunken the mouthwash for a while now, making your stomach rumble, begging for something.

You glanced over his figure, disgust flowing through your body. You knew what you were about to do. He was dead. He wouldn’t feel it. He’d probably want you to eat him if it meant for your survival. You took a deep breath in before leaning over his forearm.

You held it in your hands, fingers grazing his skin. You opened your mouth before lowering your teeth, biting into his flesh. You softly groaned, closing your eyes. You tried to imagine his skin as meat. After all, it technically is.

But it wouldn’t work. You pulled on his skin, taking a small chunk of it off. You chew, ignoring the way your stomach twisted. After a few seconds you finally swallow, the taste of metal sitting on your tongue.

You lifted your head, staring at the corner of the ceiling. Red liquid spilt out of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. You let out a soft giggle, a bit embarrassed as if the crew was actually beside you, watching you eat Daisuke’s skin.

“I-..I’m sorry.” You chuckle, leaning your upper body on your boyfriend. Your forehead rests on his chest, wishing that his heartbeat was still there. “I don’t know what I just did, but ‘m sorry..” You stumble on your words like a drunk person.

“I’m so, so.. sorry, my sweet b-..” Cutting yourself off, you let out a small whine. You weren’t yourself. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your brows turn upwards, tears falling down your cheeks, replacing the dried ones. They drop onto Daisuke’s clothed chest as you snuffle, tightening your grip on his arm. “What the fuck did I do..?!”

Cries spill out from your mouth, gradually getting louder as time passes on. Your body slowly shuts down, feeling the coldness of Daisuke’s arm in the grasp of your fingers. Blood spills out of your mouth, dripping onto his chest.

Your cries slowly calm, feeling the deprivation of sleep take a toll on you. One hand let go of his arm, wrapping your own around his torso. Your breath settled, eyes finally shutting after fighting to stay open for too long.

“I’m sorry..”

______

Those were the last words uttered from your mouth. The beating of your heart slowly withered away, skin decaying as you stayed in your spot beside Daisuke, barely moving.

There was no point in trying to survive anymore. There was no point in trying to escape the aching pain that laid upon you. You had given up. You knew it would end up with you dying in the end, but you never thought it would happen like this.

Your stomach continued to twist in knots as if it were begging you to eat something. But you couldn’t. You were too weak at this point. Licking your chapped lips, you stared at Daisuke.

You imagined he was still there, smiling beside you with his arms wrapped around your waist. But his touch was cold. One that was one warm and loving, now turned rough and cold.

Each day you opened your eyes, it got harder to do so. Day, after day, after day, you were just hoping you suddenly fell limp, heart finally stopping it’s rhythm. After staring at your boyfriend’s body for a few minutes, your eyes felt heavy.

You didn’t fight back this time. As soon as you shut them, the pain stopped. It was like it was never there to begin with. Your heartbeat slowed, your fingers gently curling around your palm.

You felt free for the first time in ages. Free at last, your lover beside you. The only person who understood you. Your body fell limp, letting out one last breath.

If someone were to tell you this is how you would die as you were boarding the space freighter, you would’ve chuckled before they finished their sentence.

You’ve heard many horror stories about people dying in space. Either due to suicidal thoughts or because of their idiotic behavior. You didn’t know which category you fell into, though.

It wasn’t like that mattered anyway. You were free. You were gone from the shitty hellhole called Tulpar.

Maybe in another life, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe you were living in a mansion with a loving husband. But, not in this universe.

Sometimes, stories don’t have an happy ending. Sometimes you just have to accept your fate, and that’s okay. You did what you could, and that’s what matters.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

authors note

thank you all for supporting this story throughout the past month or two. it means so much knowing i’ve gotten many people to see my work.

this fanfic has come to an end. but, there may be a few one shots aside this, showing more of interactions between the reader and the crew.

but again, thank you all. i appreciate each and every one of you. goodbye for now<3

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cayleeuhithinknott · 5 months ago

Text

chris is an absolute ass when you’re sick.

tw: mentions of vomit, chris being a dick

pairing: mean!chris & sensitive!brat!reader

you should have seen it coming.

chris had been side-eyeing you all day, like he was just waiting for you to admit you were being dramatic. he had that smug, knowing look—like he knew you were full of shit, and he was just waiting for you to slip up so he could rub it in your face.

but you weren’t being dramatic. your stomach hurt, and you felt weak, and every little movement made the nausea worse. you had spent most of the day curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, trying to pretend like it wasn’t as bad as it was. but chris was too observant for that.

“why do you keep making that face?” he asked from his spot across the room, barely looking up from his phone.

you frowned. “what face?”

“that little…pathetic pout thing,” he said, squinting at you. “you look like a kicked puppy.”

you huffed, clutching your stomach. “i don’t feel good, chris.”

he snorted. “yeah? or are you just being a baby?”

you glared at him, curling up tighter. “i am not being a baby.”

“mhmm.” he leaned back, resting his head against the couch. “so if i tell you to get up and make me something to eat, you’d do it?”

you whined at the thought of moving, and chris immediately smirked.

“thought so,” he muttered, shaking his head.

you rolled onto your side, facing away from him. “you’re such an asshole.”

“and you’re so stubborn,” he shot back, nudging your foot with his. “maybe if you admitted you felt like shit earlier, i wouldn’t have to sit here and bully you into taking care of yourself.”

“you don’t have to bully me,” you grumbled, voice muffled by the blanket.

“oh, angel,” he sighed dramatically. “of course i do.”

you groaned, curling in on yourself as another wave of nausea hit. chris watched you for a second before rolling his eyes and standing up.

“alright, where’s the medicine?”

you blinked up at him. “huh?”

he scoffed. “what, you thought i was just gonna watch you suffer?”

you blinked again. “i mean…yeah?”

he groaned. “jesus. you really think i’m that mean?”

you nodded.

he clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “unbelievable.” then, muttering something under his breath, he wandered off toward the kitchen. you heard him rummaging through the cabinets, muttering to himself, before he came back with a bottle of medicine and a glass of water.

“take this,” he said, handing it to you.

you hesitated. “what if i throw up?”

“then you throw up,” he deadpanned. “but if you don’t take it, you’re just gonna keep whining, and i can only take so much of that, angel.”

you pouted up at him, but he just stared back, unimpressed. finally, you took the medicine, swallowing it down with a sip of water.

“good girl,” he muttered, reaching down to brush some hair out of your face.

you blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden gentleness.

he sighed, sitting back down beside you. “y’know, for someone so delicate, you’re real bad at taking care of yourself.”

“not delicate,” you mumbled.

“right,” he drawled. “you’re so tough, puking your guts out over there.”

“haven’t puked yet,” you said weakly.

he smirked. “so if i show you a video of me eating raw oysters right now, you won’t throw up?”

you groaned, clutching your stomach. “what the fuck…chris, please.”

he snickered, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you against him. “fine.”

you sighed, melting into him as he rubbed slow circles into your back.

“you’re a pain in my ass,” he muttered.

“i know,” you whispered.

he exhaled through his nose, resting his chin on your head.

“you scared me a little, y’know?”

your stomach flipped—probably not in a sick way this time.

“really?” you murmured.

“yeah,” he admitted, voice softer now. “you looked bad earlier.”

“you made fun of me,” you pointed out.

he huffed. “i always make fun of you.”

you smiled a little. “true.”

he squeezed your waist. “just—next time, don’t be so damn stubborn. if you feel like shit, say you feel like shit.”

“okay,” you whispered.

he exhaled again. “good. now go to sleep before i change my mind and go back to making fun of you.”

you let out a small giggle, curling up against him. and this time, chris didn’t complain.

a/n: i know i made him an asshole but like😞😞

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @slctsblogana @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses

#cayleeuhithinknott #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #triplets #sturniolo fanfic #fanfic #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #fluff #sick #𝜗𝜚 cayleeuhithinknott sensitive!brat!reader au

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shewroteaworld · 1 year ago

Text

The Aftermath

Premise: You're nearly killed on the job. Aaron is there to help you through the aftermath.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: descriptions of canon-typical violence, brief mention of ableism, survivor's guilt

Word count: approx. 1,000

The fraying threads of his throw blanket are the only things keeping you from crying. You pick at the red tassels, rolling them between your fingers over and over again. It’s a desperate Hail Mary. You’ve officially come unglued. You’re too shaken to do anything productive, like baking or taking a drive, without snapping into reality and breaking down. But the silence of nothingness is also too painfully loud. So you’re frozen, like an invalid, rhythmically stroking this fucking blanket because if you don’t, you’ll be there.

You’ll see the gun perfectly pointed at the inches between your eyebrows. You’ll see his smirk, the way he smiled, as his partner tightened the binds around your wrists, the warmth of your own blood dripping down your fingertips as the gun inched closer and closer and closer. You’ll watch as he and his smirk take over your field of vision as the carbon steel of the gun barrel brushes your forehead. He moves into kiss you– the fucking freak– before a shot rings out, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ve heard your own death– as if your spirit you weren’t sure you believed in left your body and you’re observing your last moments in an astral projection.

But you were listening to his death. The barrel of the gun fell away 100 times faster than it came as the unsub succumbed to the bullet through his temple. You screamed as you thrashed against the wooden pole, like a child screaming for a lifeguard. More shots rang out and you heard from roughly two yards behind you the crack of his accomplice's body smacking against the concrete.

It was over.

“Are you okay?” You flinch and whip around to the source of the hand that had the audacity to touch you. It was Aaron. You snap back into the present, and the coil in you relaxes. You force it back into its spiral before you come undone.

You allow yourself a moment to take in his face: the shadow of the deep set of his eyes and his signature tense brow. Your eyes disobediently drift to his torso and your breath hitches. You recall collapsing against it. You recall how the air in you and the room disappeared as you sobbed. You recall how he gently cupped your shoulder blade as you fell to pieces on his shoulder.

You recall how something in you froze when the paramedic touched your shoulder. How the fear choked you.

You can’t breathe.

Aaron’s suddenly kneeling before you. “Are you okay?”

You scratch your head. Your eyes burn. “I’m…” You rub the tassels between your fingers. “I’m losing it.” You whisper.

“You’re not losing it.”

“How would you know?” You ask genuinely.

“I know you.” He says gently. He pauses. “What you’re feeling is normal and right. It would be worrying if you weren’t affected by what happened.”

“Of course I’m affected by what happened.” It spills out of you before you can block it along with a few rogue tears.

He reaches for the coffee table and grabs a tissue. He offers it to you. You smear your cheeks dry.

“We can talk about it." He says. "I’m here to listen or talk with you if it will help.”

You were silent when the medics checked you over. You were silent on the jet ride. Aaron let you exist in your silence even when you both knew you would have to puke up the intimate details for an incidence report for the FBI that would be scrutinized by higher-ups and mental health officials. The most violating moments of your career, from start to finish, would be under the detective lights of anyone with the authority. It would be immortalized in some database. The most terrifying experience of your life couldn’t even just be yours.

You both knew that, even if he couldn’t know how much it terrified you to your bones– how violated you felt– to have your life like that on display to whomever it may concern. But he allowed you to cling to your safety blanket all the same.

But now you were off the jet and not in prying eyes. And though, over the course of your blissful yet short love affair, you knew he would not go away quite as easily. You suspected he wouldn’t pry; it wasn’t in his nature. But he would make it clear how open he was. And knowing you, and feeling the emotions bubbling against the lid of the pot you’d trapped them in, you felt like you had two options. And you didn’t like either.

“I don’t…” You swallow. “I’m upset.”

He gently grabs your hand like he’s cupping a fragile thing. When you don’t jerk, he squeezes it. The knot begins to unfurl and before you can register it, more tears stream down.

“I feel like I should’ve been ready for this, but I’m not.” You admit.

“Being held hostage?” He asks gently.

You sniffle. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job. Your job is to solve crimes. That was not another job responsibility. That was a traumatic experience.”

You sob. He cups your wet cheeks.

“I’m here.” He says. “I’m right here.”

“How can I go back to work after this?”

“You don’t have to bounce back.” He assures.

“I feel…I feel…I can’t put it into words.” You wipe your face in frustration.

“Is trying to explain it helping or hurting?”

You sniffle, mucus uncomfortably coating your throat. “I think it will help if I…stop being so hard on myself.” You confess. “It’s just…I feel so frozen. I still feel frozen.”

“It’s normal to feel that way directly following something like this." He says gently.

You shake your head. “No, I’m not talking about the aftermath. I’m talking about during. When I was tied there.” You swallow thickly. “When he had me.”

“I couldn’t breathe.” You continue, grateful he gave you a moment of silence to pull your thoughts together. “I was…helpless. At their mercy and I…I...”

You squeeze the blanket in a white knuckle grip. “How could they do that to me? How could that happen to me? How can…how can I feel this way?”

His eyebrow furrows. “What do you mean?” You know he can feel the guilt radiating off of you.

“He killed those other young women. Mutilated them. Violated them. I was the lucky one, wasn’t I?” your voice cracks.

“No. No one is lucky in a situation like this. Your pain is valid and doesn’t take anything away from his other victims.”

“I feel helpless.”

“It’s okay to feel helpless.”

Something in you jumps at his response. “What do you mean?” You sniffle.

He bites his tongue. You see that furrow in his expression– like he’s weighing his approach. “Your life was in grave danger. The pain won’t go away; your mind and body need time to heal. And I swear I will take care of you as long as you need. You have all the time in the world to recuperate.”

“What about–”

“You don’t need to worry about work right now. All I want you to do is worry about you.”

Your lip can’t help but quirk upwards. “Pot meet kettle.”

He smiles. “Pot meet kettle.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you. I’m here for you.”

“I love you too.”

He hugs you, his arms warming you through the cover of the throw blanket. You’re can't comprehend how you will heal from this. But in his arms, you know you won't be walking alone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Grateful for you <3

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