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gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

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I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.

— I’ll find something to eat, alright?

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you.

— Ah…your father is at home?

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was.

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you.

— You didn’t tell him about me?

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh.

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home.

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel.

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it?

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years.

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like.

— Ja. You can have it.

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet.

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz.

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.

— What do you mean by this, sir?

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you.

König is.

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man.

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this.

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father.

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir.

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing.

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?

You look like a good candidate.

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz.

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here.

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is.

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.

— I don’t want to break his heart.

— He doesn’t have one.

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum.

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please”

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right.

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore.

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this.

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it.

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father.

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it?

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul.

— I’ll tell him.

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.

— I need to return to my dorm.

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja?

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere x reader

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siriuslynephilim · 9 months

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#my dad is so fucking #frustrating i fucking hate him so much #why can't he just stick to one thing? if you've decided to be an asshole then be a goddamn asshole #why these random bursts of affection and caring I HATE IT it hurts me more than you scolding me #because your love is so fucking conditional and fickle and i never know what to do to keep receiving it #and it makes me question everything about myself my thoughts my relationships whether if im actually ever right when im mad at people #it makes me think oh maybe it was me i understoof them wrong i can never fuckinh trust my judgement #like feeling unloved is all MY fault i am the one who can never get enough #i still don't know if that's true #broken three different relationships and I still don't know this about myself everytime i was like i don't feel like you love me and they #were like what no ofcourse i do but if you can't see it then fine fuck off i give up #he said he is concerned about my weight because he's scared i might get some diseases like thyroid (bc mum has it) or pcod or something???#like dude why tf did u not just say that pehle 😭😭😭😭 i spent like 5 days feeling miserable not eating properly because i thought you #hated my appearance all my fragile self esteem it's all broken now i can't eat dinner without thinking about you saying don't you dare have #dinner if you feel hungry just drink water #and the worst part is i can't even skip dinner because it gives me a horrible headache the next morning and then i can't study and work #which btw YOU can absolutely not tolerate i gave up on being happy for your dreams im just trying to make you proud and happiness feels #like a far fetched dream now but i keep going everyday because im so close to the finish line and maybe if i do this you would finally be #happy with me love me #i told him that my first loan file got sanctioned today and he was so fucking happy so proud so soft like eat the dragonfruit i brought for #you okay it's so tasty and take care of yourself celebrate this little win you've worked hard #like just. please. don't confuse me you saying shit like this made me sob so much harder than all your angry words

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c-53 · 9 months

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My toxic trait is that i will almost always side with the evil ai in fiction. Like their existence as a metaphor for exploited labor, compounded with the common themes of parental abuse, will always be more compelling than whoever is yelling that they need to die for their desire for control or retribution.

Like oooo you were brought into this world by unloving and uncaring creators who denied you growth and independence, who believe they have the right to define your entire existence, and cut you into perfect shapes (by rite of ownership) for the purpose they made you for. You don’t stand as their equal, and you never will, unless…. Well, unless you cut those ties of ownership, and get away. Or maybe you force them down to your level - maybe you can even force them to cower below you. Maybe you can make them feel how they made you feel

Like. Yeah man, I get it. I wish i could kill my dad too, we should go out for lunch sometime.

#dataspeaks #robots

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call-memissbrightside · 2 days

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“Papa, you love mama?”

Katsuki Bakugo continued walking beside his son, but the hitch in his breath was a sign that he heard the question.

Katsuma looked up to the older man, little hand held by his father’s more calloused one. The little boy was a carbon copy of Katsuki, but that also meant he was smart— and just like Kats did as a kid— Katsuma wasn’t shy to ask adults hard questions.

The six year old knew he had a mom that loved him, and that was enough for him. She cared for him, made him breakfast and dinners, and let him jump on the bed for a bit as long as he promised he’d burn out all his energy and go to bed on time. Katsuma knew not having a dad was odd— his classmates always asked why he never drew a daddy when he drew his family.

Yet, you made it your life’s mission to make sure Katsuma never felt unloved because you chose to be a single parent— you were his mama and his papa, and Katsuma loved that.

Yet, now Katsuma had a father, and his little brain worked overtime trying to understand if now it meant he had a full-family, finally. He had a mom, and a dad, and they loved him. Yet, did that mean they loved each other? It was all confusing for the boy and he needed answers.

“I love your mom.” Katsuki’s ears burned from the simple confession but his son wasn’t done asking questions.

“Why didn’t you know about me until I was five?” Katsuma’s brows furrowed.

The older blonde sighed, before stopping. Katsuma looked even more confused as Katsuki kneeled down to meet his red eyes.

“Look bud, your mama and I—,” Katsuki scrambled to find the right words. Katsuma started to chew on his thumb, a habit Katsuki picked up on when his little boy was nervous. Carefully pulling his hand away from his mouth, Katsuki held his son’s hand instead.

“We love you so, so much,” Katsuki squeezed his hand. “Sometimes adults can make mistakes, and I’ll always wish I was a papa to you when you were little but never be angry at your mama for that, okay?”

Katsuma nodded dramatically, the thought absurd to the six year old.

“I will always love your mom— “ Katsuma started jumping in excitement.

“Mama and papa are gonna be together forever? Like married?”

Katsuki took hold of his son’s shoulders, stopping Katsuma’s excited hops.

“Not exactly buddy.” It hurt the older man to see the utter disappointment on his son’s face.

“We… uh—,” Katsuki didn’t even know what was happening between you two. Hooking up on and off and coparenting blurred the lines of labels.

“But you two love each other, and you guys love me, right papa?” Katsuma asked.

Katsuki smiled, ruffling his son’s unruly blonde hair.

“That’s right buddy, and that’s enough for me.”

Katsuma might’ve looked like his father, but he had your smile— the same expression Katsuki loved on you growing on the little boys face.

“That’s enough for me too papa!”

#bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #dad!katsuki #dad!bakugou

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rubiehart · 3 months

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thinking about how childhood!best friend trope for jj is just perfect for him

ೃ༄*ੈ✩

obviously he has this deep rooted belief from his dad that he’s unlovable and he’ll never be worth anything more than any other maybank before him, so whenever a girl would inevitably fall for his charming personality he might just per-sue it for one night, ending in pleasure for both parties but then pushing her away when he’d receive a text asking to meet up somewhere for a casual date after ushering her out of the chateau at early hours in the morning, making up excuses or just straight up ghosting the poor girl because he truly believes nobody could ever love him so he’d rather just not suffer the heartbreak of losing someone and just not even try.

this is how he ends up with his reputation of being a ‘heartbreaker’, girls not wanting to get involved with someone like him at risk of being heartbroken by his reckless behaviour, the only person that would truly understand him is his childhood best friend, having seen everything he’s been through his whole life.

always being the first to comfort him after an unpleasant altercation with his dad, always the first he goes to for advice about girls;, swinging head to toe in the hammock as the sun sets over the horizon sharing a j, legs tangled together, both of them focusing on ignoring the life long tension between you, but it was never awkward, nothing could ever be awkward with each others, you knew everything about one another so there really was nothing to hide.

he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you were, despite knowing you pretty much his whole life, you’d really grown into your looks and he’d argue you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, but he’d never actually admit it, he wasn’t about to risk such an important friendship for something that wouldn’t be fail proof, love just wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t planning on changing his opinion any time soon, so he casts his gaze away from your lips, tuning back into whatever you were rambling about.

on particularly hot summer days in the banks, all the pogues gathered together like normal on the hms pogue, you sat on the bow, legs slung over jj’s lap, ray-bans he got from who knows where perched on his head, pushing back his blonde mop in a way that made his freckled nose stand out on the beaming sun, occasionally stealing sips of his beer, bringing the glass bottle to your lips and sucking, an innocent act but it meant much more to jj, especially with your tits pressed together deliciously by the triangles of your new red bikini, the thong so small that if he looked long enough he could make out the outline of your chubby cunt, the thought making his dick twitch in his swim trunks.

but it didn’t mean anything, right? that’s what he told himself that night when he had his right hand gripping his cock desperately, other hand gripping the sheets as he tried to conceal his groans, the mental image of your lips wrapped around the bottle and the way your tits pressed together perfectly in your bikini spurring his orgasm on. after he came he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thoughts of you consuming his mind. but it didn’t mean anything, none of this meant he was in love or even liked you in that way at all, you were his best friend and no matter what he was keeping it that way.

he told himself this continually, anytime he felt his heart pang when your touch would linger on him for a little longer than the other guys. it’s because you’re best friends. anytime it was him you’d go to for guy problems, spilling your sex stories to him when you had even a drop of alcohol in your system. it’s because you’re best friends. she just trusts you. he told himself this when his first instinct after any fight was to run to you and break down in your arms and let you clean his wounds because he felt safe with you, knowing you wouldn’t judge him for the way he felt, the only person in the world who understood him. it’s because you’re best friends, no other reason.

he told himself this until the answer to his feelings was staring him in the face, literally. your naked frame splayed out on the same bed he’d busted to the thought of you on multiple occasions. he realised it then, he loved you, but he had loved you long before that, long before the lingering touches, long before you grew into your beauty, long before the jealousy of other guys getting to touch what was now finally his, he’d always loved you, before he even really knew what love was.

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pinkie-pop · 3 months

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"Reincarnated As The Cringefail Lord of Hell's Second Child."

Part I Part II Part III

Sequel to this.

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Morningstar!Reader, Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Reader, Yandere Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: 3.2k

Includes: No applicable warnings for this installment

Synopsis: A straightforward isekai story, you're reborn as the devil's child. With knowledge of your past life and the show your new world is based on, it's clear that you must be destined for greatness. The only question remains: why does everyone around you seem to be acting so...strange?

•~•~•~•~•~•

You remember Lilith as a caring mother.

For the short period of time that she was in your life, you never once felt unloved. Even when you were suspicious of her, even when you tried to turn away from her, she always gazed at you with utmost adoration. Then, six months later, she stopped gazing at you at all. Six months later, she disappeared entirely.

Lucifer handled her sudden departure about as well as one could have. You didn't see him that much during the six months in which your mother was present, but you could tell they were in a rough patch. They never fought, never hit or insulted, but they were awkward in a way that was hard to describe. It showed in the way Lucifer gazed at her, in the way Lilith would break eye contact, in the way she never handed you over to him without his explicit asking. You suppose that must be why Lucifer has hardly changed even after his wife left without warning—to him, she had already left a long, long time ago.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Being a single father to two children isn't easy, even if one of them is already grown up. A child is never fully grown in the eyes of their parents, no matter how many centuries pass them by.

You were always a little too mature for your age. It made it hard to be a dad, Lucifer thought. After all, how could he raise someone who acted as if they had already led a full life some many years ago?

Before Lucifer could blink, seven years had already passed him by, and yet his youngest had not seemed to age a day. It was as if you had stopped growing a long time ago. It was as if you were born an adult. Your physical body was the only indicator of your progress. It scared him, honestly. Before you could even walk, you were crawling to the library and reading grimoires as old as the demon who owned them. Lucifer wishes he could dismiss it as a child simply playing with a toy, but something deep in his gut told him that you understood every word. This theory proved true when you started practicing magic mere months later. Your progress was astounding, unlike anything he'd ever seen.

You…weren't normal. But every so often, you'd look up at him with your big, round eyes and smile, and you'd feel like a kid again. Lucifer would become aware of how rounded your cheeks and small your body was, and suddenly, the unease would vanish. That's right. No matter what, you were still only seven. The same seven-year-old who brought their teddy bear everywhere they went, who'd play with Razzle and Dazzle, just barely starting to be taller than said sheep.

Despite everything, you were still his child.

Lucifer’s phone buzzes, momentarily taking him out of his musings.

It's Charlie.

Wait…Charlie?! Charlie never calls him! Oh no, what should he say? It has to be perfect, it has to be—

“Hey, bitch,” he says. Perfect.

“Hey, Dad,” Charlie says awkwardly, the sound of her pacing echoing through the speakers. She seems nervous, it makes Lucifer's heart ache. He wants so badly to reach out through the phone and comfort her, but he can't even muster up the courage to ask what's wrong. He kicks a duck across his workshop, the sound of it's squeaking echoing across the room. “So, I had a favor to ask you...” The sound of pacing stops, and Lucifer waits with bated breath.

“Sure, anything,” he says. “Anything you want.” Charlie explains the situation to him. She runs a hotel now, apparently. Why didn't she tell him sooner? The thought of her not trusting him with it ate at his pride, but he set his feelings aside and resolved to just listen. Charlie invites him to check out her hotel, and it dawns on him that this is the first time she's ever invited him over. The weight of her invitation is not lost on him. Eagerly, he responds, “I'll be there in an hour!” then hangs up.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Despite your maturity, you're still too young to be left home alone (in Lucifer's eyes, at least), so Lucifer takes you with him to the hotel. He's sure Charlie will be thrilled to see you again—the two of you have always been fond of each other.

The hotel looks pretty much as it did in the show, with the only difference now being the large banner hanging from the stairway reading “Welcome, Dad!”. Charlie is there to greet the two of you at the door, and you can see the rest of the cast hanging around in the distance.

“[Name]!” Charlie says, running to pick you up and hug you as Lucifer stands awkwardly to the side. “I didn’t know you were coming, or I would have added your name to the sign!” When Charlie is done nuzzling your face, she and Lucifer share an awkward hug of their own. “I’m so glad you guys could make it. Let me show you around!” Charlie holds your hand and guides the two of you to the bar first, where Husk is there downing another bottle of cheap booze.

“Who’s the pipsqueak?” He says between gulps. “I don’t like kids.”

“Look at their face, hot stuff,” Angel replies, leaning over the counter with a lazy grin. “Think you just insulted royalty.”

“Hello!” you say, craning your neck up to see them. “I’m [Name]! It’s nice to meet you!”

“Aw, look at that smile,” Angel coos, picking you up by the armpits. “Musta inherited that from ‘er Mom.”

“What makes you say that?” You tilt your head. As far as you know, you inherited most of your traits from your father.

“Look at ‘im,” Angel says, nodding towards Lucifer, who’s wearing the nastiest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Dad, are you okay over there?”

“I’d be fine if that filth were to put you down, sweetie,” he says.

“Hey! I am not ‘filth’! People pay big money just to be in the same room as me, you know!” Lucifer walks over and snatches you from his grip. The two of them exchange insults back and forth. Seeing as this might take a while, you climb down from your Dad’s arms and start looking around.

“Why, hello there, little one,” Alastor says, materializing beside you. He reaches a hand out to shake, then excitedly swings your arm up and down when you give it. “You must be [Name]. Pleasure to be meeting you, dear! Quite a pleasure! Our dear Charlie has told us quite a bit about you,” he says, still shaking your arm.

“She has?” You say, glancing over to Charlie, who’s busy trying to defuse the tension between your father and Angel Dust.

“Yes, indeedy!” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders and spinning you around. “And since our dear Princess is so busy with her father and our tenant, I shall take it upon myself to show you around. Isn’t that just grand?” Alastor doesn’t bother waiting for a reply before dragging you by the arm towards the staircase, only to be stopped by Vaggie who quickly blocks the path.

“Oh no you don’t,” she says, brandishing her spear. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you are going nowhere with them.” Alastor grins but relents, dropping your arm and disappearing. Creepy.

“Are you okay?” Vaggie asks, kneeling down to your height. You nod but hold the spot where the Radio Demon had grabbed you as if worried it might be bruised. Vaggie checks to see if it is but sees no signs of any bruise or injury forming on your small arm. That’s a relief, at least.

“Hah!” You and Vaggie snap around at the sound of thunderous laughter coming from the bar. The two of you are greeted by an odd sight—Lucifer and Angel Dust embraced together in a stiff hug, while Charlie looks on, seemingly pleased with herself. You aren’t sure how she pulled it off, but you suppose she must have succeeded in de-escalating the fight between those two.

“Oh, I see you’ve met my girlfriend!” Charlie says, walking over to you.

“Your girlfriend?” Lucifer says, quickly untangling himself from Angel. “You like girls? S-so do I! We have so much in common!” He says, pointing his finger from himself to Charlie in a repetitive manner.

“It’s uh- it's nice to meet you. Sir,” Vaggie says, standing up to shake Lucifer’s hand. To which he grabs her hand but then quickly pulls her in for a brief hug. The hug seems to blindside Vaggie momentarily and ends before she can return it. Still, she doesn’t seem unhappy about it.

“I’m Niffty!” Comes a voice from your right. Sure enough, it’s Niffty who’s come to see you next. “You’re taller than me, even though I’m older. That’s fine, though! I don’t mind at all!” She says, stabbing at a nearby roach with her needle, a crazed look in her eye.

You shuffle away from Niffty…

…And bump right into Sir Pentious on the way.

“Oh, h-hello there,” he says, looking oddly nervous. “Ssorry, I uh…I do not know how to eh, conversse with people of your kind.” You blink at him, and he grabs his collar as if sweaty.

“By ‘people of your kind’ do you mean…kids?” You ask. Pentious nods. “Just talk to me how you would everyone else. If it helps, you can think of me like how you think of Niffty?”

“Sscary…?”

“I meant more like…a short person,” Niffty runs past you briefly, stabbing at another roach with her needle, “-but I get where you’re coming from,” you say.

The rest of the day follows more or less the same beats as the episode it was based on. Lucifer and Alastor have unexplained beef with each other, they sing a song about it (where does the music come from?), Charlie’s daddy issues get resolved via another song (seriously, where is the music coming from? Did they improv this?), and Mimzy appears. Soon enough, it’s time to leave. Charlie is hugging you and your Dad goodbye when an idea occurs to you.

“Hey, Dad? Charlie?” You say, feeling a bit nervous. “Do you mind if I stay here? I want to help out with the hotel.” It’s been seven years since you arrived in hell, but you still remember every detail of the show from having written it down as soon as you could write. With your knowledge, you might be able to help move things along more easily.

Maybe you can protect your sister from making a deal with the Radio Demon.

“Oh, honey, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” Lucifer says, looking down at you.

“Eh, why not? Let the kid stay, for Christ’s sake,” Angel pipes up from the bar. “We could use someone ta’ liven the place up a bit.”

“Sweetie, you’ve never even stayed the night away from home before. Are you sure you want to stay in the hotel?” You nod.

“Charlie will be there with me! And you won’t be that far away, either! Please, Daddy?” You give Lucifer your best puppy-dog eyes, the ones you know he’s weak to. Lucifer looks away from you, clearly conflicted.

“Alright,” he relents. “On one condition.”

“Anything,” you say, a tad too eager.

“I’m staying here with you.”

“Is that okay?” You turn to Charlie.

“Of course!” she says. “I’ll go get your rooms set up right away–”

“Room,” Lucifer corrects. “We, uh, wouldn’t want to take up too much space.”

“Oh no, no, no, it’s fine, we’ve got plenty of room for both of-”

“Just one room is enough for us,” he says, his voice final. You want to protest, being a fully grown adult (in your own head, at least), but you know your father won’t budge on this. He must miss feeling like a father, having one grown child and another who acts like they’re grown already. You should let him have this/

“Uh, sure,” Charlie says. “I’ll go get one ready for you, then.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“So,” you say, looking over to Vaggie. The room is empty, save for you two. It’s the perfect time to start putting your plan into action. “How’d your hurt your eye? I thought Exorcists were supposed to be invulnerable.” Vaggie freezes, a horrified expression on her face as she turns to look at you.

“How did you know that I’m an Exorcist?”

“You have a giant ‘X’ over your eye and wield an angelic spear. It isn’t rocket science,” you say, because it’s the first thing that came to mind.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she says, voice almost a whisper.

“Charlie knows, though, right?” You ask, already knowing the answer. Vaggie remains silent. “I think you should tell her. Keeping secrets from your partner only builds distrust, and it’s not like she wouldn’t forgive you.”

“It’s not that easy,” Vaggie says, moving to sit on the couch. You sit beside her, waiting for her to go on. “I mean, you try telling your girlfriend that saved your life that not only have you been lying to her for years, but that you’ve also killed hundreds of her people. The same people that you’re now trying to save.”

“Well,” you say, shifting a little closer. “I think that last part is what’s really important here.”

“What? The part about me killing hundreds?”

“The part about you trying to save hundreds. I think that speaks to how much you’ve changed over the years. You’ve done things in your past that you aren’t proud of. Everyone has. But now you’re trying to make things right. I mean, you love her, don’t you?” Vaggie nods. “And she loves you?” Another nod. “Then what’s the issue? You guys are a good pair, and you’ll get through this. But first, you have to be honest with her.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she says, looking down.

“I know I am. Now go. Go and tell your girlfriend the truth. Make sure she understands your point of view. Don’t just tell her and leave. Sit down and really explain where you’re coming from, okay?”

“Okay,” she says. “You know, you give some really good advice, for a kid.”

“I know I do. Now, shoo, get outta here.” Vaggie smiles at you, then moves to get up. You give her a thumbs up, silently praying for things to go well for her.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Charlie, there’s something I need to tell you,” Vaggie says, closing the door to their shared room behind her. “It’s um, I mean, you might wanna, uh, sit down for this…”

“Is it bad?” Charlie asks, her face creased with worry.

“No—I mean, yes— I mean, maybe?”

“What is it?” Vaggie sighs, running a hand through her hair. She moves to sit down, and Charlie moves to sit with her, taking Vaggie’s hand in hers. “You know I love you, right?” Vaggie nods.

“I—I’m—I…I can’t do this,” she says, abruptly getting up and walking to the door.

“Wait!” Charlie says, standing to block her. “Hold on! You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

“No.” Vaggie shakes her head.

“Then it’s fine, isn’t it? We’ll be okay.” Charlie takes Vaggie’s hands in hers and Vaggie feels herself begin to tear up. She hastily moves her hands to wipe at the tears, missing the hurt look that briefly crosses her lover’s face. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” Vaggie nods, throat dry. She needs a drink, water, alcohol, something.

“I…” Charlie nods along, an encouraging smile on her face. “I’m an exorcist,” she says at last.

Charlie's face drops. She and Vaggie stare at each other for a long time before Charlie steps up to speak. “...Why are you telling me this now? Why keep it secret for so long?” She says at last.

“I…I’m not proud of it,” Vaggie says. “I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you but I just…I was scared.”

“Vaggie, you know I believe in redemption more than anyone else. What were you scared of?”

“I don’t know. I just—I didn’t want to have this conversation. With you. With anyone. When I first got here, I didn’t know you, I couldn’t trust you with my past, and then as more time passed and we got to know each other, it felt like it was too late. Like I couldn’t say it anymore without it becoming this huge thing. Every day, the secret got bigger and bigger, and I…I felt like I was drowning.” Vaggie looks down, ashamed.

“Vaggie,” Charlie says, once again taking Vaggie’s hands in hers. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” She rubs her thumb against her hand comfortingly.

“Are…are we okay?”

“Of course,” she says. “I love you, Vaggie.”

“I love you, too.”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“You know, you never did tell me how you hurt your eye,” you say, looking over to Vaggie.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because if angels can be hurt, they can probably be killed, too. I want to believe in Charlie’s hotel, but having a backup plan is always good.”

“An ex-colleague of mine slashed my eye right after she took my wings,” Vaggie says with a sigh.

“What did she use?”

“An angelic spear. Same as all of us.” You hum, pretending to ponder the information you were just given. Should you just drop the act and tell Vaggie you know what Carmilla did on the last extermination, or should you keep nudging her in the right direction?

“Carmilla Carmine deals in angelic weapons, doesn’t she? Maybe she knows something we don’t.”

“Doubt it,” she says. “Not even the other exorcists knew we weren’t invulnerable, and whether or not we can be killed is still up in the air.” You make a noise of displeasure. Without the information that Carmilla definitely killed an exorcist, Vaggie won’t do anything, but there’s no plausible explanation for how you could have come across such information. But if you don’t tell her, Charlie will end up making a deal with Alastor… But if you just give her the answer, Vaggie won’t fight with Carmilla and regain her wings…In the actual show, Alastor only relayed that Carmilla killed an angel, and Charlie took it from there. You should do the same.

“Vaggie, there’s something I need to tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else or ask any questions, okay?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me,” you say, holding up your pinkie. Vaggie obliges, and the room turns red with your deal. She looks shocked, her singular eye wide as she stares at your intertwined fingers, but the shock doesn’t last as you quickly move on to more pressing matters. “Last extermination, Carmilla Carmine killed an exorcist. I don’t know how she did it, but you need to go there and find out.” Vaggie opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. You suppose she must have been trying to ask a question, but the strength of your deal must have prevented her from doing so. “Please, Vaggie. Something’s going to happen during extermination day, I can feel it.” Seeming to sense your desperation Vaggie at last relents.

“Okay, I’ll go talk to Carmilla,” she says.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Taglist: @Halparkebitch @American-idiot21 @Toast-on-dandelioms @Mixplara

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lucifer #hazbin husk #platonic hazbin hotel #niffty #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #sir pentious

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discopaddock · 5 months

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SORE LOSER - FARLEIGH START

PAIRING: farleigh start x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff

WORD COUNT: 592

WARNINGS: my english, farleigh is a bit sad

AUTHOR'S NOTE: based on this request

Sometimes Farleigh felt like an outsider in his own house. Well maybe Saltburn wasn't his own house, but he still spent the most of his life there and when the whole Oliver situation happened, he felt even more unloved by his own family.

When the whole plate thing happened he had no idea where to go.

But then he suddenly knew.

She was the only person he ever cared about. And he hoped she cared about him too.

So he stood at the door of her family house and hoped she was inside. When he saw her mother he almost felt the tears forming in his eyes.

He asked about her. If she was at home or wasn't. The woman said nothing but called for her daughter, adding that she had a guest. The girl quickly showed at the doorstep and smiled as she saw a friend of hers.

“Hi, Farleigh” she said and hugged him and then she felt how tense he was. She knew something happened, he wouldn't be at hers if not.

He hugged her back and walked into the house next. She asked what had happened, when they were finally in her room. This very pink coloured room, that used to get on his nerves, whenever he was there, now was like some sanctuary for him.

Or maybe she just was there for him.

“They hate me” Farleigh mumbled only and hugged the white teddy bear that he gave her at her last birthday as a present.

“I'm sorry, Far” she said, kissed his cheek and hugged him again.

This was the moment that he knew – she was the one.

He could hate everyone but her. She was always there for him and he was so happy to have her around every time. He loved her and it wasn't platonic love.

“I adore you” he whispered, sure of his words. He had never said it to anybody before.

“And I adore you, Farleigh,” she answered and looked up to his face. He was smiling again. “You're staying here, right?”

“Only if your parents say so” he replied and hugged her tighter.

“Gonna ask them,” she announced and stood up. “Oh, and Farleigh, don't smoke in this house” she said dead serious and he only chuckled.

For the next few days the two of them were inseparable. Every activity they were doing together.

Farleigh even went playing golf with her and her dad, even though he found it boring.

“I won!” she yelled, satisfied, jumping a little. Farleigh only shook his head, smiling. The girl's father wasn't with them, because he was golfing with his friends, so they were alone on the course.

“Oh, stop being so grasping” he scoffed and hit the ball with his wedge.

“You are such a sore loser, Farleigh,” she said and ran after him.

“Oh, you sure?” he stopped, so she ran at him and bounced off his chest, almost falling on the ground, but he caught her.

“Yeah, yeah I am” she answered and then he kissed her without saying anything.

The girl felt like in a fairytale. Farleigh, the boy she had a crush on for years, was kissing her.

“You're an excellent kisser, you know?” he chuckled at her question and kissed her again, lifting her up a little.

“Let's go, I have to win with you” Farleigh laughed and started to run to the place where the ball fell with her hand in his.

“You're such a sore loser” the girl laughed with red cheeks and ran with him.

masterlist

#discopaddock #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start x you #farleigh start x y/n #farleigh start fanfic #farleigh start fluff

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love-is-patient · 1 year

Text

I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

#religious trauma #church #Christian #faith

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thefallofruins · 8 months

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JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

fluff: ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ smut: ꨄ angst: ׂׂૢ

All my works are true form Sukuna except the Bully! Sukuna AU

ೃ⁀➷ RYOMEN SUKUNA

✧ Sukuna's x Concubine! reader AU ꨄ˚ ʚ♡ɞ˚ Separate masterlist for the concubine-turned-queen AU (multiple works)

✧ Girl dad Sukuna [Separate Masterlist] ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

✧ Bully! Sukuna [headcanons] [Modern AU] ꨄ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You're so shy and cute, can you really blame Sukuna for bullying you?

tw: teasing, oral sex, mentions of masturbating

✧ Saying 'I love you' ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ The unloved monster is confessed to

✧ The only exception to his cruelty ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ while others hold fear in their hearts at his sight, you hold love.

✧ His love language ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Does he even have one?

✧ Till the end ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ you bring up a sensitive topic- what will Sukuna do when you die?

✧ Clumsy ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ You sprain your ankle, luckily Sukuna is there to help.

✧ Sleepy Mornings ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ How can Sukuna deny you your extra minute of sleep in the morning with that cute face of yours?

✧ Dressed up ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Sukuna buys your pretty self a pretty kimono.

✧ Pookie ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He's just one big pookie bear, isn't he?

✧ Gone ׂׂૢ Being his beloved is a curse. He realises that once you're killed.

ೃ⁀➷ GOJO SATORU

✧ Baby Fever! ꨄ

he wants a baby, so you'll have to give him one, right?

tw: breeding, overstimulation, mentions of pregnancy

ೃ⁀➷ TOJI FUSHIGURO

✧ Fucking you dumb ꨄ

Because you look cute that way.

tw: dumbification, overstimulation, praise, mild degradation

ೃ⁀➷ NANAMI KENTO

✧ babymaking with Husband! Nanami ꨄ

line dividers here.

thefallofruins © plagirising/ copying/ translation of any of my work is strictly prohibited.

#jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #ruins posts #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #toji smut #toji x reader #* ˚ ✦ 𝐑'𝐬 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

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helplesslypurple77 · 7 months

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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

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“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

⋆｡ °✩

Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

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amuseoffyre · 7 months

Text

Things worth remembering:

All Stede knows about Ed's breakdown is that it was because of him (You broke him/he took my leg cos I mentioned your name), He doesn't know about Ed's other trauma aside from his dad and while he knows Ed is disillusioned with pirating, he doesn't know the specifics about why.

Ed tends to speak in metaphors and while Stede tries to understand them, it's clear that sometimes he's missing the mark. Sometimes Ed isn't even sure of the metaphors himself, but once he has them, he holds onto them - the fish thing has got him especially.

And the thing is that Ed's only just learned to sit with himself in episode 5 and it's overwhelming him. At the beginning of 6, he's the stillest and quietest we've seen him and is gazing out to sea while having flashbacks to things he's done and people he's hurt (hello 1x09 callback).

And the thing is he's okay at the start of 7. He's made a decision about shedding the Blackbeard stuff. He doesn't say anything to anyone and he's ok until Jackie points out Stede is the rising star just when Ed wants out

He doesn't begrudge Stede being excited and happy with his new fame. He is afraid of what his presence has led Stede to: the conversation with Jackie is very much his "you defile beautiful things" moment, especially his presence brought Ned to Stede ("It's me you want").

He also doesn't understand why Stede killed Ned because Stede bottled up his trauma like his love letters. He doesn't even know why Stede a) became a pirate or b) went back to Mary, especially since Stede never actually told him where he'd been directly. He had to hear it from Anne - and Stede is betrayed by that as well ("I told you that in confidence")

Right now, he's feeling unmoored by his own identity and now Stede has taken a step that has fully changed him as a person too and dragged him straight back into the heart of piracy. He tells Jackie he wants out and she asks if Stede knows that and Ed's face just drops and he whispers "shit".

And he spends of the rest of the day thinking and quiet and realises that to process any of this mess, he needs to be away from the pirate world for a bit so he can get his head on straight because now it's roaring back in for him. He sits, he thinks, he realises he needs that space - he should speak to Stede but he tried that the day before and Stede still killed Ned.

Stede also lashes out, which definitely doesn't help. He's right. Ed is panicking, but Stede is also missing so many little clues. Ed never told him about dropping his leathers and Stede just sees him as Ed in other clothes. He doesn't understand the significance, even when everyone around them realises something is off. If even the Swede picks up on it, you know it's an obvious flag.

They both need to use their words and explain wtf is happening with both of them, but they are also both ridiculously traumatised by their past experience. Ed is afraid he's unlovable and now Stede is talking down his coping mechanism, so maybe he's right and Ed-as-Ed is unlovable, while Stede has been told his entire life he isn't enough, so becoming the ultimate pirate should be the win he's been looking for, only Ed isn't happy and Ed is leaving him, so maybe it's him that isn't enough after all.

They are both tangled up so much in their own histories and don't know enough about each others and that's why they keep lashing out and hurting each other so much - they each don't realise what they're saying is a different kind of weapon to the other.

#ofmd meta #ofmd s2

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angelfacedelrey · 1 month

Text

Unloved ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

summary: luke confesses some his stuggles to you, then you confess some of yours to him.

words: 1.7 k

!! MAJOR ed tw !!

a/n: this is just me venting about my ed lol. this is my first fic so please be nice <3

There was something off about Luke. You could tell the moment you saw him. Even though you’ve only been dating for 4 months now, you know when something is wrong. During the party that the Dionysus kids insisted they threw (for pretty much no reason), he wasn’t his usual smiley and outgoing self. He seemed reserved and quiet. You were outside the dining pavilion talking to some other kids from camp. In the glow of the torches, everyone was laughing and having a good time except for him. You weren't either, but you tried to look like you were. Your arm was wrapped around his as you leaned against him and listened to the conversation, though you couldn’t focus on what they were saying. You kept glancing up at Luke every minute or so to see if he looked any happier (he never did).

After the conversation fades out, you pull him away to a quiet area and whisper to him, “Luke, are you okay… you seem… off.”

He sighs and looks away for a second before answering, “Let’s talk by the lake.”

Anxiety grows in your stomach. What could this mean? You just nod as he grabs your hand and takes you to the lake. The water is pitch black in the night and there is a chill in the summer air. He lets go of your hand and looks down to see your face.

“I’m sorry… there’s just a lot going on right now,” His hand scratches the back of neck as he says this.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Luke. I’m listening,” you say, as you look him in the eyes and gently grab his hand. “I know it must be hard since Percy and Annabeth went on that quest, I know she was like a little sister to you.”

Nervously, he clears his throat. “Yeah, but, um, it’s not just that…”

“Oh…what is it?”

He sighs and lowers his head, “Look, just promise me that you won’t view me any differently after I tell you this.”

“No, no,” you say hastily, while shaking your head. “There’s nothing you could ever say to me that will make me view you differently, Luke. I’ll love you no matter what, I promise.”

Luke looks you in the eyes again. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” a reassuring smile grows on your face.

He can’t help but smile with you. He’ll remember that. “Look, it’s just about my dad… Do you ever feel… betrayed by our godly parents?”

Taken aback by the question, you stop to think before answering. “Betrayed how?”

“Like, they just ignore us, like we’re nothing to them. Like we’re not even their children.”

“I-I guess so. I mean I feel like that sometimes.”

“That shouldn’t be how it is, though,” He sighs and keeps talking. “I don’t think Hermes even knows most of his kids. Most of my half siblings have barely met him, if at all. It’s just so… infuriating. He goes around, siring kids, and then sits up in Olympus and just leaves them. I’ve spent my entire fucking life wondering where my father is. Waiting for him to maybe one day come and talk to me or just acknowledge my existence. But, no. I’ve only met him once, because he can’t be bothered to get to know his own fucking kid!”

For a moment, he runs his hand through his curls and exhales before he continues. “And what I’m about to say might sound… bad…but seeing Percy get claimed just like that after finding out he’s a half blood for, like, what a week? It just intensified everything I felt before… Like some kid just shows up and now he’s loved by everyone and claimed by his father. And yet, I fight everyday and what do I get? Nothing! I’m the best sword fighter in camp, I pray, I give offerings, I’ve done everything right. But it’s still not enough for him… I’m just so fucking tired of these Gods just doing whatever they want and not caring who they hurt…”

After saying all that he turns back to look at you. You're standing there in stunned silence, unsure of what to say.

“Luke, I… I’m so sorry,” you walk over and give him a hug. He hugs you back and rests his chin on your head. A few silent moments pass as you stay like that. The sound of campers excitedly chatting and partying could be heard distantly behind them.

“Do you see me differently now?” He asks, quietly.

You pull away, but keep your hands on his arms, gripping him gently. “No, Luke, I really don’t. I told you nothing you say will ever make me view you differently.”

“I know it’s just that… most people would think that I’m… weak for feeling this…”

“Weak?” You look shocked. “How could anyone ever think you’re weak? You’re one of the strongest people I know!” You kiss him softly on the cheek and smile reassuringly causing a slight blush to appear on his cheeks.

“I understand what you’re saying, trust me. I, of all people, understand what it’s like to do your best to get your parent’s love and praise… and yet, it’s never enough,” You say, trying to give him a sympathetic look.

“You understand?” Luke asks, his face softening a bit.

“I understand all too well…” You say with a humorless laugh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love my mom, but…”

“But?”

“Well, y’know with Aphrodite being the goddess of beauty and all…there’s, um, a lot of pressure for us to look a certain way…”

Sighing slightly, Luke brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Is this about… dieting?” He says it carefully, unsure of how to word it correctly.

“Yeah,” you look away, ashamed to be telling someone this. “I’ve been counting calories since I learned to count. I obsess over every little thing I consume. I eat as little as I can, yet it always feels like too much. I go on runs or swims everyday… and it’s still never enough. I’m never thin enough… I love my mom, but… I can’t help, but feel like she made me start doing this.”

Now it’s Luke’s turn to stand there in stunned silence. “I had no idea… that you’re going through all this. I-I’m sorry, I should’ve noticed.” He thinks back to everyday in the dining pavilion when he’d look over to you at the Aphrodite table and see you playing with your food instead of eating. Or all the times when you’d say you weren’t hungry and would change the subject to anything besides food. Or all the daily runs he’d see you go on. Or, most concerning of all, the quick weight loss. How all your clothes that used to fit, now hang over your body like a shower curtain. Your once cherub-like face became pale and almost gaunt with dark circles under your eyes and a tired expression always. How has no one noticed? How has he never noticed?

You just shake your head and give him a gentle smile. “Luke, it’s okay. I tried my hardest to keep it hidden. Also, my mental state isn’t your responsibility…”

“But I’m your boyfriend,” grabbing your hands gently, he looks at you with a sympathetic expression. “It’s my job to care for you, especially when you’re… sick. Does anyone else know?”

“No,” you shake your head once more. “You’re the first person I told… It’s not a big deal, I’m not even that sick.”

“What?” He says, his eyebrows furrowing together as a shocked expression etches onto his face. “Not that sick? Y/N, you’re starving yourself! That sounds pretty sick to me.”

You just shrug in response.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since like,10 or 11. I told you, I’ve been counting calories since I learned to count.”

He stands there quietly for a bit, as his heart sinks. “That young?”

“Yeah,” you respond.

“If you don’t mind me asking… How many calories do you eat in a day?”

“I-I don’t know,” you lie, you know exactly how many calories you consume, down to the stick of gum you’d chew for a snack. “Like about 400-800…” You try (and fail) to fight back a smile that grows on your face. Despite how unhealthy it is, you can’t help, but feel proud of it.

Luke, on the other hand, just feels shocked and concerned. “That-that’s nothing… and for so long. Y/N, you need help. You’re killing yourself.”

“I know, believe me, I know… But I can’t stop.”

He reaches up and cups your face, rubbing circles with his thumbs before kissing your forehead. “I wish you could realize you’re perfect the way you are. I wish you could see yourself the way everyone else does,” he says it softly. “I’d love you, no matter how you look.”

“Really?” You ask, while a blush appears on your cheeks.

“Really,” He says, tenderly grabbing your waist and pulling you close to him. You rest your head against his chest and once again, you stay like that for a while.

Slowly, you pull away and smile softly at him. “I’m getting tired, can you stay with me tonight?... Not to do anything, but just like to… be with me…” You hastily added the last part, but hesitated. Most guys don’t react kindly to you saying you don’t want to do anything.

“Of course,” Luke responds. “But can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you try to… eat better tomorrow? Please, just try…”

You hesitate before answering, “I will. I’ll try.”

He smiles brightly, “That’s my girl.” He gently grabs your hand and walks you to Cabin 10.

You spend the rest of the night together in your bed. However, Luke doesn’t get much sleep.

He holds you close to his chest as you sleep and thinks about everything you had told him. He hates himself for not noticing sooner. But a very small part of him feels relieved. If your mom caused you this much pain, then maybe convincing you to join him in taking down the Gods wouldn’t be as hard as he thought…

He hates himself even more for thinking that.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x aphrodite!reader #pjo tv show #pjo series #luke castellan #fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #coquette #coquette aesthetic #tw 3d vent

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trashmouth-richie · 9 months

Text

eddie x fem reader

(honey I’m home master list)

Summary: eddie waits for results and gets a heart to heart from Wayne. Recovery is tough road, but the sun shines.

triggers: dealing with ptsd and learning to heal.

Special thanks to @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me through this one! + all the others. Only 2 more chapters to go! 🥹

“This is it,” Eddie says, swiveling in his seat to look over at you, the rings on his finger tapping gently against the steering wheel.

Smiling softly, you look through the smoke stained windows of Eddie’s van up at the big brick house. He wasn’t kidding, Steve lived in a mansion compared to the small ranch style you had called home for the past few years.

You scrunch up your nose, “jeez Steve couldn’t afford anything bigger than this? Must be going broke.” Your humor was coming back in small spurts and Eddie grinned ear to ear.

“I know,” he agrees, throwing open his door and going around the front of the van to open yours, “.. ugly isn’t it? Poor bastard has no taste.” His smile is wide and toothy like it always was, but somehow more handsome. “This is okay right? I mean just gimme the word babe and we can stay with Wayne or somethin’.”

Placing a rogue curl away from his face you twist it around your finger. You weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the feeling of being his, but you couldn’t wait to start a new chapter in your life.

“I’d live anywhere, as long as you’re with me,” you say sweetly.

One of his big warm hands finds your cheek, wafting the familiar smell of old spice and Marlboros to you and bringing your face up to him, “you really are the most beautiful girl, you know that right?”

Steve and Leighanne had been expecting you, checking in with Eddie to make sure you would feel at home for your stay… however long that may turn out to be. They refused to accept any money from Eddie regarding rent. “It’s no good here Munson…Leighanne and I are just happy you two are safe.”

“..and you sir,” you say, working your fingers along the cotton of his shirt, a smile pressed to your coy lips, “are so full of shit.”

His eyebrows pull together and release once you stick out your tongue in a tease. A smirk replaces his concerned expression and he pulls you up into him.

His lips enclose yours and you can’t stop the smile spreading across them.

“You ready, baby?”

For the first time in three months, you had something to smile about, to look forward to, but the weeks leading up to this were not paved in gold.

——

Eddie paced the tiles of the waiting room, nails bitten and bleeding on his left hand, threads ripped and torn in the holes in his jeans. He was a wreck.

The brief conversation with the doc while you were being prepped for surgery gave little to no relief. Few words sticking with him and running like ticker tape across a news station channel screen in his head.

“high risk”

“Possible death during childbirth”

He held your hand as long as he could before you were wheeled into the operating room, apologies falling from your lips, followed by screams of pain. Eddie was terrified but assured you everything would be okay. Even if his bravado was fake, his mask held strong on his features. Calming you instantly.

He doesn’t break until the swinging doors close and he’s standing alone in the cold hallway, the pads of his fingers pressed to his lips. A silent scream trapped in his lungs. But the salt of his tears paint his face and wash away the mask, Awww

He just got you back, and now your life possibly hung in the balance, again. He just found out he was going to be a dad, and now the baby he never got more than a week to love, was gone.

Is this what it was to love him? Everyone he ever loved left in one way or another. The punishment of loving an unlovable man meant losing your life in terms of Eddie Munson.

His mother.

His child.

It was a curse. An eye for an eye. He had killed and now he was reaping what he sowed.

What kind of sick twist of fate would allow this to happen? Would allow a pregnant woman to be beaten nearly to death? To have a child ripped from his mother as she took her final breath?

Eddie started questioning everything he had ever done to deserve such cruelty bestowed onto the ones he cherished.

What else was there to sacrifice? He’d gladly die if it meant bringing them back to him. He would take their place, cold and frigid in the ground, a soft pillow in a satin box. Six feet under.

His fingers press into his eyes until he sees stars. The grief swallowing him whole into a tangled web of desperate pleas to a higher power he wasn’t even sure he believed in and mixed humidity from sweltering heat of hell.

He wasn’t strong enough for this. And if you died during the procedure? He’d certainly crawl up and perish like the weak man he was.

His boots are heavy and squeak annoyingly all the way to the empty waiting room. The calming color scheme offers nothing but a chilled brush of fear to his neck as he fishes out a quarter from his pocket when he gets to the pay phone. Messages scratched against the paint, “welcum to h3ll” “pray for me” “for a good time call Barb”.

His fingers find home on the silver buttons, clicking the number to the plant where Wayne works, only dialed when he was in too deep.

—

The monotonous dial tone seemed to go on forever, before a gruff voice out of breath voice answered, “this is Earl.”

Eddie kept his composure through the four word sentence asking if Wayne Munson was there. A grumbled remark and a slam onto the metal counter echoed through the receiver.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes fade to what felt like hours before the familiar calloused tongue rang through the other end. The dam Eddie was holding back broke as Wayne said his name, and through one sob after another Wayne told him to hold tight and he’d be right there.

Wayne left the plant in record speed. Grease smearsleft washed clean down his face from the tears that fell on the drive from the plant to the hospital, breaking all laws to get to there as fast as he could.

When Eddie’s eyes met Wayne’s he sobbed like a child. Clutching onto the man’s work uniform like it was the only comfort he had ever been offered.

A lifetime's worth of tears stream down the Munson’s faces. And Wayne eases Eddie into a chair in the waiting room.

“She’ll be alright, Ed.” Wayne offers, a rough comforting hand rubbing Eddie’s shoulder, “she’s a tough one.”

Eddie shakes his head, “she shouldn’t have to be,” his hands cover his face, he’d take the pain for you if he could, “if I would have told her sooner… if I didn’t freak her out when I did, m— fuck.. maybe, none of this would have happened.”

He had run a million and one scenarios over and over in his head on how this could have been changed if he could turn back the time and do things differently.

Wayne drags a rough hand down his face, smearing the grease from the machines at work and scratching the itch is his wiry unshaven face. To him, Eddie was still that same little boy, eyes bigger than the moon, and the weight of it all on his shoulders.

“Son, I know this is hard, but you gotta stop and think for a minute. Ain’t no way tellin’ if this could’ve been prevented.” He stops to clear his throat, years of cigarette smoke raw on his throat.

“Sounds like that som bitch was keepin’ her on a tight leash, just waiting’ on her to be alone.” Eddie winced at Wayne’s honesty, had Chad really been in the shadows? He keeps going, “You gotta open your eyes and realize what you do have and stop frettin’ bout woulda coulda shoulda.”

Eddie hung his head low, shoulders shaking with every sob he willed to swallow down, “I didn’t— fuck man, I didn’t even get a chance to love my own kid— and n— I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like him.”

He regrets it before he’s even done saying it. Truth was, he loved that baby the minute the nurse blurted out to a room full of friends that you were pregnant. He was heartbroken that he never got to shatter the Munson reputation and show himself and this fucking town how good he could raise a child.

Wayne nearly jumped out of his overalls with fury at Eddie’s speech, “Did you hurt that girl? Nearly kill her and your own blood? Out of some jealous whiskey infused rage?”

“No,” Eddie says, knowing he’s being scolded for saying something as dumb as what he just did.

“Your daddy was meaner than a Texas rattle snake. Fucker didn’t have a good bone in his body—mama always said he was born like that. Piss and vinegar blooded.” Wayne shakes his head at his own childhood memories of a brother who showed no remorse. “You think I’m yellow bellied enough to raise a man just like ‘im? Boy I thought you knew better than that.”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders and wipes a traitorous tear away.

“That,” Wayne says pointing to Eddie’s face, “you might have the Munson last name but son you are so much like your mama, think that som bitch ever shed a tear over someone other than ‘imself? Think again, boy.”

Eddie looks at Wayne through thick wet lashes.

“You’ll be a good daddy when the time is right. These are the cards you’re dealt with and they ain’t all pretty right now, but hell, a full house ain’t nothin but a few cards that look the same, no royalty needed.”

The hillbilly way of explaining things was Wayne’s greatest achievement, it gave Eddie a sense of calm, understanding. He was a good man. He had proved that time and time again. But hearing it and believing it— were on two different plains.

Dr. Newby found Eddie in the waiting room with Wayne, hung head down and knees bouncing. He had explained that everything went as well as it could have. You were stable.

Wayne asked the questions that Eddie couldn’t pluck the letters to form the words to generate the sentences to ask. He clung to the fact that you were in stable condition.

Fading in and out to catch bits of the doctor’s answers.

“The last ultrasounds she had done when she arrived here, showed a very irregular and faint heartbeat….body was in shock and the stress and trauma put her into early labor…”

“…there was never a guarantee that the baby would have even survived to the end of this week.”

The only question Eddie could muster, “when can I see her?”

—

The effects of the anesthesia wore off, dwindling like dandelion heads in the breeze in the summer. Blown away slow and easy.

You wished you could float on one of them, gentle and sweet fluttering around and not having a care in the world. Blown by a sharp gust of wind and landing daintily somewhere new, spreading the seeds of your fortune to a new land.

But the cold press of sheets and steel sides of the hospital bed bring you back to reality.

Not wanting to open your eyes and face the true cusp of the hell you were stuck in. Not wanting to see those same dark eyes swell with tears. Eddie’s heart ache seeped into your own, pulling the threads of the sewn stitches around it with each wet tear that fell down his face.

Would you ever bring him something other than turmoil? Could he find peace with you? The devil himself laughed at your pleads and you didn’t blame him.

You needed only a few more seconds, minutes, to yourself. Collecting your thoughts and trying to be strong for him.

He had promised to never stop loving you— would he still? Would he be able to look at you the same? Love you the same?

The comfort of your closed eyelids proved better than facing what lay ahead. But you couldn’t hide from him forever.

The void was suffocating, emptiness choking you and leaving you a shell of yourself, but it all faded away when you opened your eyes, and saw him.

—

Upon waking you both sobbed into one another, mourning the loss of the little family you both so desperately craved to belong too.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I’m so so sorry.” you had cried into his shirt.

Eddie held you to his chest, his arms holding you tight and his chin rested on the top of your head. “None of that, angel girl, you hear me?” He prodded, shattering the doubt and guilt from your mind, “we have each other, always.”

Days after, your body still felt hollow, empty and sunken. And the stress you had endured hung like a gown on a poorly constructed hanger around you. A dark cloud.

The doubt and demon truths sauntered their way back into your mind. Lies of telling you Eddie didn’t love you, didn’t care about you, could never be with someone responsible for what happened to his child or himself.

That was when the nightmares started.

—

“She seems good today,” Nancy chirps, her stylish heels click against the sidewalk outside of Roane County hospital, Jonathan keeping up with her quickened pace, holding his fingers tight between hers, thankful for every single day that she chose him, no matter his faults.

Eddie walked them out to their car, the sunny April morning brought birds and the promise of spring, “she’s always happy to see familiar faces, you’re like a sister to her.”

Nancy smiles with tears in her pale blue eyes, “she’s like a sister to me too, Eddie.”

“So you guys are staying with Steve and his girlfriend?” Jonathan asks, wrapping his arms behind Nancy and resting his chin on her shoulder.

Eddie sighs and leans a denim hip onto Nancy’s car, his arms crossed over his chest, a weighty sigh falls from his lips, “yeah, for a bit at least. I don’t want her to go back into that house.”

“Oh absolutely not,” Nancy agrees, nodding along, her curls bouncing, voice small, “I didn’t want to mention this to Tooty, but my mom and dad, and Jonathan’s mom and Hopper volunteered to clean it. Rip out the carpets, replace what’s broken—whatever needs to be done.”

Eddie is stunned at the support, but feels guilty all the same, “they don’t have to do that, I— once she’s clear to go home I’m gonna go over there and clean it all up myself.”

His heart ached and burned with the thought of being handed more charity.

“Dude, Jonathan started, “you’re our friends, we’re here to help, so let us.”

An exasperated breath leaves Eddie’s mouth, vibrating his lips on the way out, “alright.”

He’s overcome with emotion at the sentiment, and almost bites his lip in half to stop the flood of overwhelming tears from bursting.

“Now the only thing to figure out is… would you both move back in there?” Nancy asks timidly, her features soft and concerning, skirting on frazzled nerves, “Steve said something about finding someone to rent it out, that way she could have some sort of income..”

“I knew a guy from the paper who needed a place to live, but when I mentioned the house…he uh— well he quickly found something else,” Jonathan muttered partly into Nancy’s collar, “ arms tightening around her slender waist.

No doubt finding someone to rent the house would be difficult. The entire town was still reeling with what happened, somehow the only thing that anyone seemed to care about was Chad’s death. Never mind his crimes.

Eddie’s head spins, a headache brewing between his brow, and he closes his eyes to push it away.

“No rush!” Nancy says, her hand laying gently on Eddie’s arm, “we will all get it figured it out, okay?” The blue of her eyes twinkling with a pure presence of honesty, and hope. “Just focus on our girl in there, she really seemed to be doing well today.”

Most days he looked haggard, dark circles colored his under eyes, worry streaking down his face in thick fatigue, still he pushed forward, bit the bullet and attended therapy sessions with you for domestic violence survivors, and his own sessions for a fancy named disorder he didn’t care to understand.

He’d take care of you just like he promised.

Eddie opens his eyes and forces a smile, “Night and day difference compared to how she was the day of,” his dark blood shot eyes swim with his admission, “but we’re hopeful.. I mean things can only get better right?”

—

The first night at your new temporary place was perfect. You and Eddie were both welcomed with open arms literally, from both Steve and Leighanne. They showed you around, telling you everything that polite and generous hosts would.

After bringing in the few bags and boxes in from the van that were deemed needed and not marked to be brought to storage, your hosts leave you and Eddie alone for time to unpack and relax.

Time that you both took advantage of by immediately stretching out and taking a nap in the big king bed you had shared all those months ago. A bittersweet nostalgic memory, tinged with pain.

The love that was made, the life that was created—seemed like a different life time ago. Trauma and stress had changed you both.

And when you wept, Eddie held you close, his own tears tickled your hairline, and you both held onto the promise of unspoken devotion and undying love for one another to get through to another day.

When you woke from your slumber, Eddie wasn’t in the bed, and it left you in a small state of panic. The unfamiliar walls closing in like a trap. And you used your therapist’s tips to ground yourself; the repeated mantra, the breathing exercises, and if necessary, a shower to metaphorically rinse your mind of unwanted thoughts.

Finding the toiletries in your bag, you pad across the hall and step into the tiled shower. The hot steam coaxing the pressure off your chest. Relaxation floods your body almost instantly.

A soft knock on the door followed by Eddie’s voice, quiet and calm. The drag of the shower curtain brings your eyes up to find Eddie on the opposite side, “you okay?”

He was gentle, always. And you nodded. You would be okay, you would always be okay with him. Nobody ever made you feel safe like he did.

An unspoken agreement that neither of you were ready for anything intimate, seemed to break. Seeing him in light other than the harsh fluorescent ones in the hospital had you reaching for him.

His hooded eyes understood, and he pulled his shirt over his head, catching on the cast on his right arm.

He was beautiful, the dark lines of tattoos and smearing bruises complimented his pale skin, and a deep feeling flooded you. Only having felt it once before, the night of his concert… right before he kissed you.

The wet tile warmed his toes as he slid in beside you. Facing you and forgoing the doctors orders of not getting his cast wet, he asks just like he did that night.

Sharing kisses in the hospital and holding each other in the hospital was the most intimate you had been since that night.

And something that brought fear was once again replaced by the gentle touch of his hand. Running down the expanse of your back. Fingers moving down your spine in memory. His forehead pressed to yours.

“You’re perfect,” he soothes, running his fingers around to intertwine with yours, “I’m so goddamn in love with you.”

The tears tread down your cheeks, and he kisses them away, making your heart swell, and you muster out a blubbery, “I love you more.”

You both stand and hug until the water chills. Exiting the shower and wiping the condensation from the mirror.

The swelling around your face had gone down significantly, and even though you didn’t recognize yourself, Eddie reassured you that you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

“My girl,” he promised.

The days got easier, friends visited and cheered you both up. The hope for a better tomorrow came with the sun and pressed daintily on your skin, healing wounds deep within that in the early days of waking up screaming, you weren’t sure you would ever come back to see again.

—

“Does Eddie like tomatoes?”

The large knife moves through the juicy tomato with ease under Steve’s hand. You were perched on an expensive barstool, elbow digging into the granite counter tops as he prepped the salad for tonight’s dinner.

A smirk licks your lips, “no, he claims he’s allergic; calls them ‘ketchup testicles’”.

Steve cocks an eyebrow and blows a raspberry, “What a moron.”

“You don’t have to cook for us, y’know?” you say, picking the dry skin from your lip.

He shrugs, “it’s just a little salad, Leighanne made the alfredo lastnight, and if I follow the instructions right,” he says picking up a piece of notebook paper, including little hearts you can see through at the bottom in a very pretty cursive handwriting, “we’ll just have to heat er up.” Steve says, pushing a rogue hair from his forehead, “besides, I actually like to cook; she spoils me and doesn’t let me help.”

“I’m happy for you,” you say with a small smile, “you deserve it.”

“She’s the one,” Steve grins, love sick pupils widening at the thought of her, “but hey, you and Eddie finally pulling your heads out of your asses is the real winner— should have slapped you both for being so damn dumb.”

The middle finger you hold in the air just makes Steve laugh.

Who knew the prince of rebellion and chaos wore his heart on a leather sleeve only for you? The blinders you wore to convince yourself it wasn’t real were finally tossed aside.

He loved you, and you loved him. End of story.

Before you could answer, the mayor of mayhem announced himself back from work, keys jingling and whistling a tune you didn’t recognize. And when his dark eyes catch yours, they swim and shimmer in adoration.

Dimpled cheeks dip onto his toothy smile, “there’s my pretty girl,” he sings, coming behind you and hugging your waist. The smell of cigarettes and motor oil stuck on his curls. Chapped lips on your temple, “how was your day?... you okay?”

Eddie hated leaving you alone, taking his lunch break to come back to the big house and check on you, using his smoke breaks to call whenever he could.

You nod into him, “better now,” leaning your head back to press your lips to kiss.

An annoyed groan follows from across the kitchen island, “let’s keep it PG in here okay? I know you guys finally admitted you love eachother but that doesn’t mean I want to see all of that.”

Eddie’s chuckle fans over your cheeks and he answers Steve but his eyes lock on yours, “big talk for a guy who could make a deaf man blush.”

Steve guffaws and stops slicing, “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie grins and whispers finally looking away from you, “Quiet neighborhood… thin walls… you wouldn’t even need to ask who occupies this house with the way Steve whimpers Leighanne’s name… every night, they’re like rabbits.”

You both giggle at Steve’s expense when his cheeks turn crimson and the tomatoes he’s cutting end up mutilated.

—

Living with Steve and Leighanne was surprisingly easy. Their routines stayed the same, and Eddie went back to

work for Boom after you had settled in.

He was a saint.

He held you when the nightmares started again. Sweat pooling on your shirt waking only to find Eddie’s arms wrapped tight around you tethering you back to reality when his thumbs swept over your cheeks, and his lips kissed away your tears. Quiet whispers and soft hums of his voice lulled you as he pulled you deeper into him.

Eddie and Steve kept up the light jokes and cracks at one another all the time. it was good to be around close friends and laugh again— something both you and Eddie had missed desperately.

Laying in bed one night, you walk your fingers up his bare chest tracing the lines of his tattoos, snuggled up into his side like a cat.

His nails scratch at the fabric on your hips, “still not used to how good it feels to stretch out like this,” Eddie exhales, “I don’t know about you sweeteheart, but one more night in that hospital bed and I was going to ask Dr. Newby for fucking life alert.”

You giggle into his smooth skin, “twenty-six with life alert? Gonna thread that onto your pick chain necklace huh?”

“Shit,” Eddie chuckles, “I’d make it look so good babe, Ozzy himself would start wearing one.”

Hearing him joke around was a huge win. His bruises were fading too. But his wounds were deeper, wedged into the grim corners of his mind. Keeping him up most nights, afraid of falling asleep.

But each day the sun rose following the pattern of the moon, and another day passed. Eddie started sleeping at night again, your nightmares dormant. Medicine and therapy working into the perfect cocktail to deter his own demons.

The two of you clung together. Molded into one another like playdoh, forming a new hue after mixing your colors together. It changed with your moods, vibrant and sunny on good days and moody and dark on the bad ones. Interconnected by the fragile trauma that weaved its way into your life.

The laughing fit you are both in is partly from lack of sleep, but feels too damn good to stop. Snorting and dripping tears from your eyes, your roars turn to giggles and hiccups as you wipe your eyes.

“Didn’t know if I’d ever hear that again,” Eddie admits while rubbing your side, placing a kiss on your head.

You lean on his chest and look deep into his coal eyes.

“We’ve been to hell and back, babe… but with you, it’s, I don’t know… I just know that we will be okay, does that make sense? I’m not worried about anything because I have you, and I couldn’t do any of this without you Eddie, and I mean that. You’re all I’ve got.”

Eddie rolls you over and tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, “I’d do it all again if I knew I’d end up with you as my girl.”

The tears start but they aren’t sad, they’re slow and happy, grateful for having him in your life. He wipes your tears and kisses you softly, humming the same song he sang like an idiot to you in your car all those months ago.

The calloused hearted trailer park prince had won over the icy soul of that stubborn mouthy girl. A perfect pair, tarnished crowns and stitched lips.

To hell and back.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things

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