#tw: mentions of food insecurity.

[mad-hunts]

oh. well, i suppose it's headcanon time once more, because i have way too many ideas regarding barton haha — so this may be a bit of a shorter one, but i believe it's equally as important as the one's i've posted thus far, because it really says something about how barton interacts with the world and how his brain works. but let me just start by saying that although barton does appear to have a relatively healthy relationship with food... he does occasionally hoard it, like, subconsciously as a result of the part of his childhood that he spent with wesley ( his biological father ). and this is because he was very much suffering from food insecurity while he was with his bio father. this is because wesley had lost his job as a forester whenever barton was around the age of five due to him missing too many days of work, not only because of how much his bloodthirst was taking over his life, but barton's life as well. he was forcing barton to go along with him on the super twisted ' hunting trips ' that i have talked about before that he unfortunately had to learn to endure with him ( which of course, in actuality, he never should've been forced to do ) about three times a week at one point and so that didn't really leave much time for wesley to attend work as much as he should've been.

and from there, wesley struggled a lot with finding a new job + providing for barton and him, so whenever he had access to food, barton would hoard it underneath his bed or in someplace where he knew that he knew he'd be able to find it because he wasn't sure when he'd be able to eat again. which is... very sad to think about, to say the least. thus, i think in more ways than one, meeting winslow at eight years old was probably the best thing for barton. winslow not only had a stable job, after all, but was a significant improvement in regards to how good of a father figure he was to him. i feel as if he never quite got over this insecurity, however, and that's why he sometimes still does it even till this day; especially since, although barton is NOT a good father overall, there is one thing that he's done right in regard to them and that is making sure that they were always put first in regards to getting to eat something. so hoarding food for him is also kind of a ' safety measure ' in a way as well because he has always been of the mindset that him being hungry is less important than them being hungry because of what wesley put him through as a child.

but yeah, that's just another one of my two-cents about barton's situation and how his mind as a whole works. he will quite literally sacrifice something like that for his children one second, though the next, he is liable to do something that makes it seem like he doesn't care about them at all... which admittedly makes him kind of confusing BUT i think there is reasoning behind this and one of those being that he can definitely feel cognitive empathy towards people, but actually putting himself in their shoes? it's much more difficult for him and sometimes nearly impossible because of how skewed his mind is. i shall expand more upon that another time, however, and what the term actually entails. i hope this didn't bum y'all out too bad but i promise you that i'll try to post more ( semi?? yeah, perhaps that ) fluffy things in the future.

[touchlikethesun]

oh my god how did i only put it together now that luo binghe cooks for the people he loves as a response to the trauma of food insecurity he experienced as a child. like from binghe’s perspective, his adoptive mother died of starvation because he wasn’t able to find food for her in time. no doubt this is seared in his mind no doubt conscious or not he’s always making sure there’s enough food for the people he loves. like no freaking wonder he’s so freaking cagey and protective over the meals he makes for shen qingqiu omg 1 + 1 = 2

[giggly-squiggily]

Oh wow, thank you so much! I would like to request zenitsu with a s/o who has body image issues, If that’s ok. I remembered that they’re all buff, not just inosuke (which would be really funny if he was the only ripped one) but it just made me hyper-aware of my own body, even though I’ve been told my weight is fine. Once again thank you very very much and have a very happy holidays! -🎄

Heyo friend! My deepest apologies, I've been meaning to write this for the longest time but wanted to wait until I was in a good mental health space to do it. I can relate to this issue as well; especially the hyper fixation part. It's not an easy journey to work through, and I wish I could say something that makes everything easier- but all I can really say is you're not alone feeling this way, and that no matter how your body looks, it's valid the way it is. <3

(And 100% agree- we need more squishy slayers! I get their training leads to them having more buff bodies but I want squish! I want pudgy bellies and thick thighs dang it!) I hope I did your prompt justice friend <3

((Not gonna tag list peeps this one due to the content warnings below))

CW: Body image issues, self worth issues, mentions of eating disorders, insecurity, food, angst, hurt/comfort

It shouldn’t bother you so much.

Inosuke was always shirtless- saying something about clothes dulling his senses. There weren’t any rules against him going without, and if it really did affect his combat skills, it was better this way.

Still, it didn’t make you feel any better, pressing your arms tighter against your stomach as you watched him stretch. His build was so muscular and toned- his body giving him the extra ‘oomph’ he needed to perform the moves he does. It was what you deemed to be the ideal body type for the Demon Corps.

And you…well. Weren't that.

Your body was fine, according to Lady Kocho. Everything worked as it should, and you were able to keep up with the boys during training and whatnot. Things were on a smooth track, as she put it.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel...less, seeing not just Inosuke, but both Tanjiro and Zenitsu so ripped. They were developing hard muscles as visual evidence of their efforts. When they took their shirts off, you could tell just by looking at them they were Corp members.

You pressed more firmly against the soft parts of your torso, something cold and unpleasant setting in your gut as you came to the realization that even if you worked your absolute hardest, it's never likely you'll never look like them.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Tanjiro’s voice made you gasp and look up, finding his concerned eyes. “You look like you’re gonna throw up- is your stomach hurting?”

“Maybe they ate too much.” Inosuke piped up. It was such a meaningless comment, but it still felt like a dagger in your heart.

“Inosuke, hush.” Tanjiro scowled, but the damage was already done.

“That’s probably it! I just overate.” You put on what you hoped to be a smile as you straightened up, arms still guarding your stomach. “I’m gonna go see if Miss Kocho has medicine- bye!” You twisted so hard dust puffed around your feet, racing into the manor as Tanjiro called after you. Thankfully no one was following- it felt like permission to let the tears fall.

On your way in, you didn’t see Zenitsu watching you.

~~~

“Maybe I should cut back..” You murmured softly, slumped away in a spare room as you wiped your tear stained cheeks. You likely looked a mess- eyes puffy and face hot. It was a miracle no one came by to hear you sobbing alone. “Will that help me look like them?”

As if fate hated you, your stomach growled. You pushed your hand against it with a bitter thought. “Don’t even start. I need to do this.”

“Do what, exactly?” You yelped when you heard a voice, looking up to find Zenitsu. In his hands he had an assortment of things- a box of tissues, two ice cubes in a cup, and…

Oh no. “I’m not..” You began, only for your stomach to growl at the sight of the onigiri. Zenitsu raised a brow.

“You are.” He chided, coming over and sitting down. After offering the tissues to clean up with, he handed you the cup of ice. “These are good for swollen eyes. I know- I cry all the time.” He smiled, puffing some when you let out a weak giggle.

“I guess you’d know all the tricks to things like this.” You took the ice, wincing some at the chill. “Thanks, Zen.”

“Hm.” The blonde nodded, watching you circle your eyes with the chilly cubes. “How’s your stomach?”

“Huh?” You dropped a cube, watching it bounce away. “My what?”

He stared at you. You felt your face get hot. “Shoot…you knew that was a lie, huh?”

“I am your partner, (Y/N).” He reminded gently, frowning when you dipped your head. “Do you wanna talk about it? You’ve been looking so down recently- I want to help if I can.”

“I don’t think you could.” You sank further, hating how your stomach began to really hurt. Zenitsu, noticing this, offered you the rice balls.

“I don’t want them.” You shook your head.

“Your stomach hurts cause you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“I can skip meals.”

“That’s not safe.”

“So what? If it means I can finally look like a proper slayer, I’ll do it!” You snapped, voice raising. Then you fell silent as you realized what you just said. Zenitsu blinked at you a few times.

“...What?” He stared, watching you tear up. “(Y/N)...”

“S-Sorry. That didn’t- I didn’t want to say that..” You sniffed, hating how close to tears you were today. “Just forget about it. I’m being stupid.”

Zenitsu stared at you before putting down the rice balls, scooting closer and reaching out. “(Y/N)..” You leaned away, and he let his hand fall back to his lap. “Are you starving yourself?”

“No…I just thought about it.” You confessed, unable to look at him. “I overeat, so I thought if I stopped eating lunch, maybe all this extra fat would go away.” You looked down at your stomach, tearing up again. “Then I’ll look like you guys. I’ll have muscles. I'll finally look like a real slayer..."

Zenitsu was quiet for a bit, seemingly stunned silent. Then he turned so he was facing you properly. “(Y/N), can I have your hand?”

You peeked at him, watching as he tugged up his shirt. “Why..”

“Please?” He asked again, eyes serious. You decided to give in and let him take your hand. He brought it to his torso, pushing it against his stomach. “Can you feel it?”

“I..” You didn’t really know what you were feeling. It felt like a body- warm beneath your touch. The whole thing was a bit embarrassing- your face heated up again at the thought of somebody walking in on you. “Zen, I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

“Sure you do. It’s my squish.” He nodded proudly, watching you blink in confusion. “Even when I gained all these muscles you’ve mentioned, I’m still soft. You have muscles too. They might not as visible, but they're there."

He was in fact soft. You pressed in, something oddly satisfying about the gesture. Zenitsu jerked and doubled over with a giggle, making you smile. “S-Sehee? I’m squishy. We all are.”

“But Inosuke..”

“Inosuke’s squishy too. He might not look it, but he is.” He released your hand, opting to hold it gently within his own. “Just because you’re not crazy ripped with no squish doesn’t make you any less of a Slayer. You don’t need your muscles to show to prove your worth. You've already done that just by being you. You're courageous, smart, kind.."

You felt your eyes water again, this time for a new reason. “Zen..”

"Really attractive." He winked, making you snort through your tears. “You're perfect the way you are. Forget about skipping meals, okay? It’s dangerous. What if you pass out mid-breathing technique with a demon? I don't-I can't lose you.” Zenitsu pulled the onigiri out, bringing it to your lips. “You eat fine- don't change for the sake of visuals."

Your stomach growled again, and you finally took a bite. The rice was seasoned and fluffy, and the filling was your favorite. You almost cried again at the taste. “Thank you..”

“Eat first. Thank me later.” Zenitsu smiled as you carried on eating, reaching out and grabbing a thermos. You didn’t see him with it earlier- he must have had it stashed away. “I brought tea too. No, I didn’t brew it- I wasn’t gonna make you feel worse.”

You nearly choked on your food as you laughed, smiling behind your fist as Zenitsu poured a cup for you. “Hohohow coohohnsiderate!"

“Yeah, I'm like that sometimes.” He grinned, relaxing as you sipped your tea. “I love you too much to let you die my attempts at making tea."

“New breathing technique unlocked- poison tea. Quick, let's go tell Lady Kocho.” You giggled, watching him start to smile. Before long, the two of you were laughing freely, falling into each other as you laughed yourselves breathless.

You are truly grateful to have someone like him in your life.

Thanks for reading!

[mjsensei259]

I can't explain it but writing and posting my Molten Freddy fic, which has a lot of themes of food insecurity in the first few chapters, which is a huge PTSD trigger of mine. It has been so fucking therapeutic.

I can't bring myself or be comfortable with the idea of him being in actual "pain" from it but it's still just so relieving to project it in fiction and get it out of my system.

I've written about it before but I've never posted it and for some reason posting it now is even more impactful.

TL;DR: Trauma dumping on characters is a great coping mechanism.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Imagine Lunar hiding injured Blood Moon in the theater. Lunar learns to make sweets with blood in them so nobody questions him taking stuff like cupcakes and cookies and candy into the theater.

Eventually he graduates to making full meals with it like soup and lasagna and pizza and Blood Moon is just absolutely spoiled now being able to eat all these new things with their favorite ingredient.

Blood Moon is slowly getting a bit chubbier and more self-conscious of eating so much. Yet Lunar is very reassuring telling them they need to sustain themselves and their nanobots would be working overtime and burning up to fix themselves if they didn’t make sure they have enough reserves to sustain them and eating gives them those reserves.

Not to mention Lunar absolutely loves snuggling into Blood Moon’s belly like a cat to sleep and Blood Moon is such a snuggle cuddle partner now that they’re being spoiled and loved on. The Blood Moons are incredibly self-conscious and nervous of how their body is pudgy and now soft and a bit chubby.

Lunar regularly finds them staring in the mirror and squeezing at their new slightly chubby belly and pinching it and poking it. Lunar will shift into his avatar form and hug them right from behind and squeeze their insecurities away while assuring them they look fine and a bit of extra Blood Moon to snuggle and hug and love is nothing to be ashamed of.

Lunar is terrified for a minute when Moon eats a blood brownie and he says it tastes good. Lunar has to lie and say it’s just extra chocolate chips as the secret ingredient and KC surfaces and smiles at him because he just knows what that brownie had in it and he thinks Lunar has developed a taste for blood meanwhile Moon is none the wiser that the brownie had blood.

[angelsdean]

thinking abt dinner table silences....thinking abt dean and sam being used to being on their own more than being with john and developing little meal-time routines. eating in front of the motel room tv, laughing and talking and making little jokes (in part because dean is trying to distract sam from noticing how little they're actually eating). and then john comes back and suddenly they have to sit at the table (i feel like john would insist on arbitrary rules like that) and no one talks. or, john talks at them. and the boys are both tense, eating too fast to get the meal over with. or eating too fast because it's their first proper meal in weeks. dean especially, since he's been skimping out on meals and giving sam larger portions. and john barks at dean to slow down, he'll make himself sick, and dean tries, but his stomach is already cramping and he spends the night feeling awful and he feels guilty when he throws it all up later and sometimes dean thinks it's just easier when john's away. yea it's harder for him, more work for him, but at least they have a bit of peace and laughter instead of this eggshell tension

[dddemigirl]

Not knowing where your next meal is gonna be or if you can even afford all of the food you put in your cart is scary and exhausting, I miss being a kid and not having to worry about that stuff because school and my parents provided me food. That’s saying a lot because my childhood fuckin sucked, like yeah I had a lot of opportunities that many didn’t have since my parents had good jobs when I was growing up + I’m white BUT my dad was more abusive to me during my childhood & school was traumatizing as a neurodivergent, disabled & undiagnosed autistic child. Despite those struggles & privileges I’d go back in a heartbeat. I don’t miss school though. At all. Anyway. I can’t get food stamps because I live with my parents which means I’m not living on my own & paying rent. My parents seem to barely eat. It’s bizarre. Meanwhile my girlfriend and I are always hungry it feels like. My low blood sugar problems don’t help. If my blood sugar dropped low enough I could die. That’s certainly scary and it feels awful when my sugar gets low so I should eat every few hours or so. A part time job meant I had money but I was feeding myself and my girlfriend so by the end of the week or so I’d used up all my paycheck on gas and food. A full time job made me want to die. Not having time for myself & being too exhausted during my days off to want to do things sucked. I know it’s normal unfortunately to hate your job or whatever but is feeling like you want to unalive yourself normal? I can’t do what I really want to do which is take art commissions because I don’t have a big following and people don’t want to pay for my art. I can’t stream gaming or drawing because again, I don’t have a big following to be able to live off of that. Same with being a YouTuber.

[oranjank]

we gotta stop it with the whole starving artist/university student/young hardworking person thing. going without food as a working and growing person is not thrifty or virtuous or a sign of moral purity. it is actually quite dangerous and should not be expected as "part of the grind" or what the fuck ever. same goes for chronic insomnia in the name of "getting shit done". you will never be a machine no matter how many energy drinks and mgs of adderall you slam to cope with your immense workload. being an emaciated go-getter is a seductive idea and certainly seems cost-effective in the face of food insecurity and time poverty but it is a false god. break its altar.

[rhyssands]

oct 26 - just once

prompt: campfire rating: m wordcount: 1,144 characters: Underfell Sans | Red, Underfell Papyrus | Edge warnings: starvation, homelessness, mentioned underage prostitution prompt from this post, read it on ao3 here

——

The alleyway is cold.

Of course it's fucking cold.

Sans presses closer to the little pile of trash, shielding it from the occasional gust of wind with his body as he tries his damndest to get it to ignite. Be easier if he had a lighter, or matches, but all he's got is a knife and some flint. Could probably scorch it with a blaster just enough to catch it, but it's more likely he'd blow the whole damn pile to kingdom-fuck-you-come.

"Sans?" Papyrus's small, quiet voice asks from beneath the meager shelter he managed to put together.

Kid's about ten, too young for any of this shit, but he's learned well to stay quiet and stay hidden even when Sans is out in the open like this. Still, unfortunately he's probably fucking freezing in that little hidey-hole, hence his current endeavor. If he can just get this shit to fucking light, then his kid brother won't freeze to death tonight.

"What?" He asks, maybe too roughly.

Papyrus knows well enough not to flinch when he gets bitey, of course. The kid doesn't even bat a metaphorical eyelash at the forceful tone. He just watches him in silence until Sans actually looks up at him. "Can I try?"

Unfortunately, Papyrus does need to pick up some survival skills of his own at some point. Sans resents that deeply. Still, it's the truth, and there's no point in fighting it — he huffs in annoyance and jerks his head to motion the kid out of his hiding place.

Read the rest on AO3!

[thecouncilofidiots]

...

Oh...

That isn't normal?

'M sorry y'all're going through this

I really wish my mom was normal.

I got food for myself because I was starving and only eat once a day

and then my mom proceeds to just UGHHH

"I bought you something yesterday and you never had a nerve to ask me if I wanted something!? you only think about yourself"

you can ask me to buy you something without guilt tripping me :)

[mad-hunts]

♡ + food

OOH, thank you so much for the ask, @crimeclean! this is honestly a prompt that i was kind of hoping to get because i've been looking for an excuse to talk about this. so, allow me to tell you about one food that barton has had an aversion to over the years and for... honestly, a very unfortunate (to say the least), but also a good reason. and this is mushrooms. now i have talked about this a bit a while ago, but whenever barton was still with his bio father, wesley mathis; he went through a period of having to feel food insecurity and hoarding food. this was due to the fact that wesley had lost his job as a forester at one point, which caused them both to struggle a lot with having enough to eat. and one day, as sad as this may sound, barton had ran out of the food that he stockpiled for a day where wesley wasn't able to feed either of them. so the choice was either to go out to try to find something to eat or simply ruminate in his hunger / try to make it go away by sleeping. however, barton was just SO hungry this day that he was literally having pains and as a result, because they lived out in the woods at the time — a six or seven year old barton went out to see if he could find something to eat amongst the wilderness.

and barton had found morel mushrooms, a species that is known to grow in new jersey that isn't toxic when eaten cooked, BUT is when eaten raw. and he had eaten a good amount of them so the onset of symptoms he got from eating them arrived pretty quickly. they are known to cause gastrointestinal issues especially in large amounts and have even killed some people who didn't have the knowledge that you can't eat them uncooked. as a result, barton had to be hospitalized and after that, he didn't even want to look at mushrooms for years. even now, he doesn't really like eating them because of the fact that they caused him to have a quite traumatic experience as a kid, but if they're being cooked by someone as a part of a dish and barton KNOWS that this person doesn't have a toxic type of mushroom... he'll eat them. though about 9 times out of 10, if someone actually offers him the choice to eat something without them, he will gladly take that.

[la-princessaa]

This is kind of a "probably better as an actual diary entry" post, but for some reason I write better when I'm posting on social media? I don't lose steam as fast, lol. So, if this sees the light of day, ayo. If not, then I hope that this can be a turning point. I hope I look back at this and am reminded that I am... Thought of and loved in ways my brain may choose to ignore too often.

I have not been doing well lately, I think that's just been my general statement for the last... Year and a half. Big life changes, general growing, current circumstances, etc etc. I've lost a tremendous amount of confidence in myself. I have not been treating myself well. Lately, it has been awful. I was better for a couple of months, and then I wasn't. I was okay. And then I got sick and couldn't really eat. And then I relapsed. I don't feel particularly like spelling it out, but I'm sure the jist is there. And now I can only really go a couple of weeks of feeling better.

I do not have confidence. Everything I do isn't for me, it's for people around me. I need to please my boyfriend so I can keep him, in many different contexts, or else. Which, is extremely untrue, as a disclaimer. He's told me many, many, many times that this is not the case. It's just hard trying to unlearn previous relationships where no matter what I did, I was never enough. Couple that in with learning that some things are just so easy to do now! and you've got yourself a one-way ticket to fucking up a lot of things. And it's been bad lately. I tell myself I have to try and get better, so I can be a better person for those who care about me because I love them and they don't deserve to be treated this way. They deserve to have things they tell me remembered, to have a functioning conversation partner, to have someone that won't internally cling to the ceiling at the words "where do you wanna eat?" or intentionally him and haw about where to eat in the hopes that they'll just pick something so i don't have to because I don't want to be a monetary inconvenience or have to figure out what I want to eat, which is two paths. Yadda yadda. To have someone that isn't afraid to take up space emotionally. I'm petrified of taking up space. Of inconveniencing people. Of having an outward opinion. Of being a person.

Lately, it has been bad. A few days of being better, and then I go back. "Nobody cares" thoughts are creeping in. Within the last week, I've bawled my eyes out 4-5 times because it's all just been so much and I don't care if this kills me, maybe it's better it does. I see the people who are supposed to care about me and I shrug them off. People make innocent comments and suddenly I'm arched and hissing like a cat, how dare you say that? Are you saying I'm not this thing? You're saying you'd like me to change, is that it? And then I'm meek and crying. Of course they're saying that, that's what they want me to be. Okay. Okay. I can do that for you. Just don't leave. Please. I'm so sensitive, it's awful, even for me because I know they don't mean comments like that. I don't want them to feel like they have to carefully watch every single word they say, but suddenly I'm exploding and hurting and they don't even know why. They couldn't even have prevented it.

I don't know how to ask for help. I don't know how to say help, I want to be nothing so people will love me. Help, I don't know how to have an opinion anymore. Help, I'll put up with anything. Help, I want to be a skeleton. Like, I thought about it the other day and I realized that I'm a prime target to be abused. I'm so grateful I'm with the man I am right now because holy shit. I'd be in dangerous territory if I wasn't. It's still a terrifying thought.

Anyway. This is half the point of this word salad. I needed to get everything I'm too afraid to say to people into the world because if I'm too quiet, I will die. Either metaphorically, or I will be leaving the people I love most with holes in their hearts. I've never typed that out, or said it. But now I'm finally really thinking about it, and I know I don't want to do that. I do not want to leave my sister, my boyfriend, my parents, my friends, my family, with one of the saddest stories in the world to tell. I do not want to be an "I had" person. Some days I think I do. But I realize that I don't want that, deep down. I don't want my sister to have to say "I had a sister, but she's gone now" or "when my sister was alive". I don't want that for her. I don't want to promise a future with my boyfriend and then be like, haha, sike. I don't want my parents to have to bury their daughter.

All because my sister bought me a cinnamoroll lip gloss. All because my cousin bought me the zero sugar strawberries and cream Dr Pepper. Because my boyfriend told me on Friday "do you want ice cream? I just wanna take you out somewhere" and a ton of other nice things alongside listening to me when I brought something up to him. It's the way my sister hugs me and the way I see her now. How beautiful and happy she looks. I don't want to steal that from her. It's the note that I put up from my best friend that tells me I'm loved. It's the crown on my shelf from my other best friend because she "thought I deserved one". It's the Christmas gifts from my long gone great grandma that all say "love you" on them and one calls me darling. It's the way my dad calls me by my special nickname and asks me if I wanna eat with him and my mom. It's the way my mom tells me about the movies she watches.

I want this to mark recovery. I want this to mark getting better. Currently, I'm not doing super great still. I'd like to do something unsavory because I still have this nagging thought that I should just make life easy for everyone else and be a prop in their lives. Either someone who does nothing but upkeeps the house, takes care of the dogs and then lays in their room and rots in their free time, or someone that'll make sex easy. You can do whatever you want, it's fine! I'll just weep and harm myself about it later. But it's fine if I hurt if you're happy. (Hard opposite of what the person I have sex with wants, disclaimer.)

I want to upend my entire life, right now. I want to lay and wallow and waste away. But I don't want my loved ones to be hurt more. And I just gotta keep that going until I'm on more even footing and can do things for me. I hope that after today, that voice will be a little bit quieter. I hope that I'll look at my lip gloss, and his stupid, sweet little cinnamoroll face and know that my sister saw him and thought of me. I don't want to make him a painful memory. He's too cute for that.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Route To Sin - Eddie Munson

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: eddie decides to go on a roadtrip with you to visit your sister in vegas, when you stop at a themed motel on the way, things quickly take a filthy turn.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: my first eddie munson fic!! i’ve loved this man for two years, i just finally decided to put it on paper lol, please let me know what y’all think!!

TW: dom!eddie, slight brat tamer!eddie, reader has a sister, drug use (weed), food mention, marriage talk, dacryphilia, breeding kink, daddy kink, bathtub sex, oral fixation, unprotected sex (don’t do this), creampie, cowgirl, mirror sex, degradation (brat, whore), porn mention, spanking mention, pet names (doll, babydoll, sweet girl, sweetheart, angel), hair pulling, fem + afab reader, reader gets slightly insecure at the end

Rating: R, 18+

——

A waft of earthy smoke billowed from the open driver’s side window, the familiar smell pulling Eddie’s attention back to the van. You knelt on the bench seat, body stretched across the expanse of the front cab to rest your folded arms against the edge of the window frame, silently watching your boyfriend pump gas. The last of the joint you’d been passing back and forth dangled limply between your pointer and middle finger, careful to avoid dropping the simmering butt and accidentally lighting the whole place up.

“If you keep blowin’ that roach shit my way I’m gonna leave you here.” That signature sarcasm rang heavy in his tone, canines peeking out from under his top lip with the smile he flashed at you.

He shut the fuel door, grabbing the roach out of your hand before snubbing it out against the heel of his boot and tossing it into the ashtray on top of the nearest trash can.

“I gotta go in to pay, do you want anything?” He fumbled with his wallet, pulling the wad of crumpled bills out of the worn leather.

“Get me a slice?” You asked, tilting your head toward the neon in the window that read ‘Pizza: Hot To Go’ in blinking red letters. He nodded, hitting a light jog into the convenience store, wallet chain slapping against his thigh with every step.

When you suggested a roadtrip to visit your sister in Nevada, you hadn’t fully taken into account how long you’d need to be in the van. Hawkins to Vegas wasn’t exactly a short trip, two thousand miles to be exact, and as much as you loved spending time with Eddie, the old, worn out seat of his van was starting to make your tailbone ache. Being 16 hours into a 28 hour drive had you feeling more stressed out than usual, you definitely needed to sleep in a real bed tonight if you hoped to get any relief before your big weekend in Sin City.

Eddie came bounding across the cracked pavement, pizza box in hand and you perked up, his goofy smile illuminated by the final sliver of dusk and the dingy glow of the old gas station sign above.

“I got a whole pie, Rick wasn’t fuckin around when he said that new stuff would make you feel like you’re starving.” He yanked open the door, the metal creaking loudly on its rusty hinge. You took the box from him, setting it on the bench between you as he hoisted himself into the driver’s seat, starting up the van to continue your journey.

“Eddie, can we stop at a motel tonight?” You asked, opening the box to lift a piece of pizza out, folding it down the center and bringing it to his face.

“M’not sure if there’s anything on the way, but we can stop if we see something, doll.” He turned his head, keeping his eyes on the road through his peripheral as he took a bite from the slice in your hand.

‘Welcome Home (Sanitarium)’ by Metallica blared through the speakers either side of the van’s tape deck, vibrations from the heavy bass flowing through the vehicle and melding with the warm haze your high pulled over your mind, your body relaxing into the stained upholstery of the seat. You kicked your bare legs up onto the dashboard, white lacquered toenails pulling Eddie’s eyes off the road briefly. His gaze shifted down to your ankle, then your calf, then landing on your plush thigh, your soft skin peeking out from under your short pajama shorts.

“Eddie, there!” You pointed toward the sign glowing overhead through the dirty windshield, reading ‘Heart’s Desire Motel’ in faded letters atop a large metal heart. His attention was quickly pulled away from your soft skin, pulling the van off the highway and into the small parking lot. The place was quaint, baby pink paint peeling from the siding, with an old ‘vacancy’ sign blinking in the window of the front office. You pulled your sandals on and jumped out of the van, slipping Eddie’s jacket over your shoulders to shield your bare arms from the chill in the night air. Eddie followed quickly behind, catching up to you with ease as you reached the front door.

A small bell rang when you pulled open the office door, the only source of light in the small room being a desk lamp situated behind the front counter. You waited for a moment, hearing a ‘be right with you!’ called from an adjoining space.

“How can I help ya darlin?” A sweet older woman emerged from a back storage space, setting some paperwork down and taking her place behind the counter.

“Can we get a room for the night?” You asked cheerily, excited to finally lay down on something that wasn’t a blanket in the back of Eddie’s van. She smiled and nodded, flipping through the room log book, and you took the opportunity to glance at your surroundings. The walls were the same light pink as the exterior, with heart and cupid motifs scattered across them to really hone in on the theming. The kitchy aesthetic was endearing, a reminder of the bygone honeymoon resorts of the 60’s.

“All our double twin rooms are booked for the night so we only have single queen rooms available, is that alright?” She looked between you and Eddie, knowing her question may as well have been rhetorical.

“That’s actually preferred, it’s our wedding night.” Eddie lied to the woman, a shiteating grin stretched across his face when you turned back to him and shoved his shoulder.

“Well in that case I’ll put you up in our honeymoon suite! It’s not much different from our standard rooms, but there’s a heart shaped tub for you two lovebirds to enjoy.” Her face lit up with the sweetest smile and your heart melted, guilt sitting low in your chest knowing it was a lie. You didn’t have the heart to tell her or question why she’d believed it given the way the two of you were dressed, but you shrugged it off, just happy to be able to finally relax.

You took the key from her as Eddie handed her the cash to pay for the room, twirling it between your fingers, a red keychain etched with the same logo as the overhead sign on one side and the room number above a small heart on the other. Eddie shoved his wallet back into his pocket, his arm wrapping around your waist to usher you out of the main office, calling out a ‘thank you’ as you left.

“What the fuck was that?” You grabbed your bag from the back of the van, shooting him a death glare only to be met with that ridiculous smirk he so loved to taunt you with.

“What, you don’t wanna be my bride?” He faux pouted, dark waves falling in his face as you reached for his bag. You over-exaggeratedly rolled your eyes, starting to walk toward the room.

“Guess it’s the atmosphere of this place getting to me, babydoll.” He slammed the door of the van, jogging to catch up with you as you started putting the key in the door lock. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment from how that little nickname made your heart want to burst out of your chest, Eddie always knew exactly how to push your buttons in the best way and this was no exception.

The sight that greeted you beyond the door was like something out of a 70’s porno, wood paneled walls framing crimson velour window trimmings, a matching velvet comforter sprawled across the queen bed. Two poorly painted angels sat perched atop the heart shaped headboard, like prying eyes seeing every depraved act carried out on the altar below. Sure enough, at the far end of the suite was a heart shaped jacuzzi tub, tiled steps leading up and mirrors lining the walls of the corner it was tucked into.

You dropped your bag on top of the mahogany dresser across from the bed, and as you turned on your heel to shut the door behind Eddie, you couldn’t help but burst into a small fit of laughter at the cross hanging above the door frame. The idea that anything happening in this sex den was god-honoring was definitely scoff-worthy.

“What d'ya say we put that thing to use? My back is killing me and I bet those jets would feel killer.” Eddie’s fingertips dug firm indents into the flesh of your hip, a not-so-subtle indication of what his intentions were for the night.

“Whatever you want, daddy.” You winked, taking a step forward until his large hand gripped your forearm.

“What did you just call me?” He questioned, brow quirked in curiosity.

“It’s our wedding night, remember? Don’t you wanna start a family?” Your tone was playful but truthfully something about this place was stirring a feeling so raw inside of you that you weren’t kidding in the slightest.

“If you keep that up you won’t be able to walk in the morning.” Eddie released his grip, slapping your ass as you walked away to turn on the faucet for the tub.

“Won’t need to anyway, I’ll be sitting in your shitty van for 12 more hours.” You knew exactly how to push his buttons, and insulting any of his women (his guitar, his van, and you) was the quickest way to do so.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.” He half-snapped at you, digging through his duffle bag in an ill-fated attempt to stop himself from watching the way you wiggled your ass while you bent over the side of the tub, watching the waterline rise.

“What are you gonna do, spank me?” You found yourself deliberately arching your back toward to accentuate the curve of your ass, hoping with every fiber of your being he’d stop what he was doing and manhandle you a little.

“Only if you don’t stop with the bratty attitude.” He glanced over at you and immediately dropped the shirt he was pretending to fold back into his bag, finally giving up on his resistance and approaching you from behind, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your bare thighs. His fingers slipped into the waistband of your pj shorts and underwear, roughly yanking them down to expose your ass.

“Gotta get you outta these if we’re gonna take that bath.” His tone had returned to that lighthearted sarcasm that you loved to hate, and you almost let yourself sink back against him. Instead, you stood upright again, taking the hem of his tattered Iron Maiden shirt in your grip and lifting it up his torso until he pulled it the rest of the way over his head.

Just as he reached to do the same to your tank top, you turned away and reached for the tap again, putting a stop to the stream of running water. He gripped your waist, pulling you back against him before pulling your tank over your head, leaving you fully naked.

“Get in.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver up your spine that had goosebumps rising over your skin. Maybe it was your residual high, or the lovesick atmosphere of your surroundings, but everything felt heightened, your skin more sensitive, his presence behind you more intimidating, his voice more intoxicating.

You ascended the short step and sunk into the bath, the water level rising to not quite cover your chest as you laid back into the left arch of the heart. Eddie watched your every move, eyes glued to your hips to drink in the way your form shifted with every step. He made quick work of removing his jeans, letting the stiff denim pool at his feet as he watched you settle in, your gaze drifting to the waistband of his plaid boxers. He pulled them down at an almost agonizing slow pace, exposing inch after inch of his semi-hard shaft to your waiting eyes until his cock sprung free, the sheer weight of him causing his length to slap against his upper thighs.

You absentmindedly pressed your thighs together, trying to dull the ache between them to no avail. You never truly got used to seeing him fully naked, blushing like a naive virgin every time you had the privilege of seeing him like this. The muscles of his thigh flexed as he took the step up to level with the lip of the tub, towering over you before sinking into the water beside you. He was an Adonis, all toned muscle under a tender layer of plush tissue that made for the perfect sleeping partner, strong and comforting all the same.

“Come here, doll.” He patted his thigh, the water swaying with the movement alongside the low hum of his voice. You rose to your knees, floating to the other side of the tub and straddling his lap, your core sitting dangerously close to his cock. His hands found your hips, calloused fingertips digging into your soft skin with a squeeze before gliding up your sides, his thumbs ghosting over the sides of your breasts almost teasingly while he admired the way water droplets dripped down over your nipples.

“Always so gorgeous.” He groaned, strong hands finally encompassing your breasts, kneading tender flesh as his rough palms gave your stiff peaks the friction they desperately craved.

His touch lit a fire within you, and as much as the way that he looked at you with such admiration made your heart melt, your need was becoming more and more unbearable by the second. You shifted forward, rubbing your folds over the length of his shaft with a hunger, desperate for stimulation.

Before you knew it he had dropped his grip from your chest, threading a hand into your hair to yank your head softly back, drawing a gasp from your throat.

“Did I tell you you could move?” He questioned, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrow. He couldn’t help his sarcastic nature, it just came so naturally to him, and knowing that he had such an immense effect on you gave him the ego boost of the century. You shook your head as much as you could given the grip he held on your tresses, and choked out a soft ‘no’ in response before clearing your throat.

“I-I think I deserve some relief after being in the van all day.” You tried to put up a fight, not quite done riling him up, but your tone was quickly losing all conviction and Eddie could see you slipping further into desperation.

“You don’t deserve anything, you’ve been a pampered little passenger princess for 16 hours while I’ve done all of the work to get us here.” He yanked your hair back even further, craning your neck to look up at the baby pink popcorn ceiling. The sting in your scalp brought tears to your eyes, the liquid breaching your waterline leaving dark mascara trails down your cheeks in its wake.

“You’re being awfully bratty, doll, where’d my sweet girl go?” He cooed, free hand cupping your cheek as he loosened his grip ever so slightly to allow you to look at him.

“I’m sorry Eddie, I’m just so sore.” You sniffled, tears still falling from the shame the disappointment in his tone made you feel.

“Don’t cry baby, just need you to listen, okay?” He dropped his grip on your hair, both hands cupping your face, looking lovingly into your glazed eyes. You could feel his cock growing beneath you, the sight of dark makeup running down your tear stained face serving as the perfect aphrodisiac. He adored seeing you all messy like this, his perfect angel looking like a filthy whore, only for his eyes to see.

“Think we can both get some relief tonight if you’re good, can you be good for me?” You frantically nodded your head. “Yes, I promise!” Your enthusiasm made him laugh low in the back of his throat, that goofy smile returning to his face.

“Need you to use your words and tell me what you want, can you do that?” His tone held sickly sweet condescension and you could feel yourself slipping into that mind numbing headspace, wishing he could just slip into your mind for a moment and see all the dirty things you wanted him to do to you.

“Need you inside, please.” Your words came out barely above a whisper and he knew he wouldn’t get too much more out of you before you devolved into a mewling mess, too lost in your own mind to articulate your thoughts, but he couldn’t help but play with you a little longer.

“Inside where, sweetheart? Here?” He mused, bringing his free hand to your mouth, pointer and middle fingers prodding at your parted lips. You quickly took them in, sucking softly on his digits as you shook your head no, oral fixation too strong to pass up the opportunity to have any part of him in your mouth.

“If that’s not what you want then you need to tell me, don’t be greedy.” He pulled his fingers from your lips with a pop, his tone falling an octave. Your eyes widened, nodding in acknowledgment, willing to do anything to please him at this point.

“I-I need you down here, please.” You took his wrist in your shaky hand, guiding him down to dip into the warm water, lifting your hips slightly so his hand could fit in the tight space between your bodies, pressing his fingertips to the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. You stopped, releasing his wrist, not wanting to break any unknown rule and let him take the reins from there. He brought the heel of his palm up to rut firmly against your clit, drawing quiet whimpers as you did your best to stay still.

“What do you want here, doll? My fingers, or something else?” He teased, dipping two of his fingers inside only up to the first knuckle, the slight stimulation almost torturous as he scissored his fingers inside, stretching open the first inch of your cunt.

“God, something else, please.” You sighed, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What then?” He stopped his movements, withdrawing his hand and you groaned from the lack of friction.

“Your cock, Eddie, please just let me ride you.” You swore you were trying to be good, but you were starting to feel like you’d lose your mind if you didn’t get the stimulation you were in desperate need of and you didn’t care how impatient you sounded.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” He laughed, his hands gripping your hips to guide you up just enough for his cock to stand upright in the water, the tip bumping against your weeping cunt. “Whenever you’re ready, babydoll. You want it so bad, you’re gonna do the work.”

You took his hint, bringing your hand beneath you to grip his member, finally sinking slowly down onto him until you could feel him in your stomach, the all too anticipated stretch making you cry out in relief after his teasing. He groaned, running a hand through his curls as he settled back against the edge of the tub, watching you start to slowly grind your hips, just feeling how full he made you feel.

After a few minutes you lifted your hips once more, starting a steady pace bouncing on his lap, the head of his cock rubbing against the tender patch of nerves deep inside your cunt, velvety walls engulfing him with every movement. The water surrounding you started to roll like waves, splashing against the sides of the tub, threatening to spill out onto the tile surrounding it. You took notice, slowly your movements to lessen the potential mess, and Eddie sighed.

“We’ll clean it up later baby, just let go.” He reassured you, secretly just as desperate as you were to get off. He didn’t care about a little clean up, let alone wiping some water off the floor.

You were hesitant but returned to your previous pace, angling your hips back to really allow his cock to hit the sensitive place inside you, euphoria slowly building in your core. Your gaze slowly shifted from his face and when you caught the sight of yourself in the mirrors surrounding the tub you gasped, the lewd image of your makeup stained face and your tits bouncing with every movement of your hips was something almost pornographic, really living up to the atmosphere of the room.

Eddie caught where your eyes had shifted to and groaned, throwing his head back to properly watch you get off to your own reflection.

“Look at yourself, bouncing on my cock like a desperate whore, making such a mess.” His hand came down to press against your lower stomach, his thumb rubbing quick circles over your clit until you were a moaning mess, your thighs burning with the almost brutal pace you were now maintaining.

“Want you to make me a daddy.” He moaned, his breaths becoming more labored. His statement broke you from your trance, your gaze falling back to his as you searched his eyes for any hint of sarcasm, but you found none, he wasn’t kidding.

“Can I knock you up, babydoll?” He reiterated the sentiment, increasing the pressure on your clit and feeling you pulse around him, your orgasm dangerously close.

“I need an answer before you or I can cum sweetheart.” He was panting, straining to prevent himself from finishing, and you did everything you could to pull yourself together enough to answer.

“Yes, Eddie, please!” You maimed, tears threatening your waterline from how close you were to the edge.

“Say it.” He groaned, locking eyes with you one last time.

“Please cum inside me daddy, please!” You cried out, tipping over the edge with one last slam of your hips, pleasure rolling over you in tandem with the waves of the water around you, your walls contracting over and over around him until his warmth spread throughout your cunt. You wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly against you until the aftershocks stopped wracking your body, relaxing on his lap.

“You okay angel?” His voice was strained but sweet as ever, always concerned about your wellbeing above anything else.

“Yeah.” You mumbled, smiling silently against his neck.

Once you were fully recovered, you raised off of him, both of you wincing at the loss momentarily before sinking under the now lukewarm water for one final rinse. You began to step out, Eddie right behind you to grab your waist when your foot almost slipped out from under you because of the slick tile.

“Careful babydoll, don’t want you to slip.” He held you firm as you stepped down, making sure you were safe on the ground level before following you out, handing you one of the fresh towels from the pile next to the tub. He wiped up the excess water off the ground as you dried yourself off, and you didn’t know if it was the cold air or the rational part of your brain turning back on, but something started to eat at you as you watched your boyfriend dry himself off.

“Is it okay that I called you that?” The worry in your voice almost made Eddie’s heart break into a million pieces, and he quickly wrapped the towel around his hips before taking you into his arms.

“I loved it, babydoll, I promise I would tell you if I didn’t.” He smoothed your hair away from your face, giving you a kiss on the forehead.

“How about we put on our pajamas and turn on a movie.” He smiled down at you, waiting for your approving nod before going to your bags on the dresser and pulling out your second pair of pj’s. He helped you into them before pulling on his own old band shirt and fresh boxers and crawling into the gaudy bed with you, cuddling up to watch whatever cheesy horror flick was airing on late night tv.

——

tags: @xxbimbobunnyxx @your-nightmaredoll

also tagging: @babygorewhore @taintandviolent @littlexdeaths @eddiesxangel @bimbotrashcan bc i thought you might be interested, please message me if you’d like me to remove you

please message me or send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in future eddie fics!!

[missxnsuppxrt]

Time to talk about Ingrid’s relationship with food. This is your trigger warning. If you have issues with food discussion, child neglect recovery or eating disorders DO NOT READ THIS.

Ingrid’s relationship with food has always been super complicated for her because, remember, for a good chunk of her childhood she was severely malnourished and was basically in survival mode 24/7. Like, I’m talking she was rarely fed more than twice a week if the orphanage caretakers remembered and weren’t trying to punish Ingrid for being Roma. Even when Ingrid was fed, she often gave some of her own food to kids who weren’t coping as well as she was or who were sick. Kids died in Romania’s orphanages often during the Ceaușsécu regime. They were severely overcrowded and underfunded, and the funds they did get were usually mismanaged. So, obviously Ingrid had an obsession with food. Imagine when you've been you’re hungriest, and it’s like that all the time. Food is literally all you can think about. You dream about it, fantasize about it. Also take into account the fact that the adults in Ingrid’s life weren’t reliable and often very abusive. Studies show that a lack of consistency or feeling of safety with adult caregivers even as an infant can lead to long term food preoccupation.

So, when Ingrid was adopted, her food insecurity was very, very obvious. She gained a ton of weight too. She was a really bad binge eater. She would eat until she got sick. After all, she wasn’t sure when her next meal would come. She hoarded food in her room. You could look in drawers and find plastic baggies of week old mashed potatoes. She’d eat half a cookie at school and keep the other half in her backpack pockets. Her pillow crunched when she laid on it because she’d keep chip bags under them. She was also always super worried about mealtimes. If her moms were even five minutes off on having dinner, lunch or breakfast ready, she’d have panic attacks and her hoarding would get way way worse. To help this, her moms were told by her therapist to give her a drawer full of snacks she could have whenever she wanted. They promised it would never be empty so she’d always have something to eat. Ingrid would often go check the drawer multiple times a day even if she didn’t get food out of it. It really helped with her hoarding, and eventually she stopped hiding food around the house and being obsessed with food.

One issue Ingrid sometimes struggles with is food defensiveness. As a child, Ingrid got extremely upset when people wanted food off her plate. When she ate, she often hunched over her food. Her moms called it “golluming”. She would literally act like Gollum with how she held her food or plates/bowls close to her chest and hunkered over them. It took a lot of work to stop that. She actually got in trouble in school because a kid tried to take some food off her tray and she throat punched her. If her moms or a waiter/ess tried to take her plate, she would literally yell. Present day Ingrid still gets this way sometimes. Usually it’s on really bad pain days or when she’s in a bad mood or having a bad day overall. She’ll get upset if people eat her food or want to try something on her plate. Like if her significant other took a French fry, she’d probably start a whole ass fight over it with tears and everything. She’ll also hunch over her food at those times. Usually, she’s more than happy to give some of her food or offer bits off her plate, and of course, once that bad time passes, she feels like an asshole, but during it, it’s insanely upsetting.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

an unhealthy obsession

Online boyfriend x afab!reader

A/n: this was rushed, sorry y'all 😞🌺

tw: noncon, drugging, somnophilia, identity fraud, mentioned cheating, online relationship, kidnapping, mention of masturbation

��you met Xavier exactly a year and a half ago. A friend Introduced you, with you both quickly hitting it off. He was so charismatic and friendly! He made you feel good inside. Becoming mutuals, you were chatting everyday. (After confirming he was a real person and who he said he was)

💊 but little did you know he was lying about everything. All the pictures he sent? Edited. His calls and voice recordings? Distorted to where you can't recognize it. He was highly insecure, thinking that if you knew who he really was you'd turn your nose in disgust

💉he wasn't actually Xavier. He was an ex boyfriend you used to have in highschool, freshman year. You knew most relationships at that age never lasted long, but you couldn't help and feel hurt when you walked in on him messing around with some girl. You forgot his name...

💊 he regretted what he did. He really did! But he knew you wouldn't give him another chance so easily. So he was left to pretend to be someone else, just to hear your laugh. See your face through pictures. He couldn't get you out of his head! His parents were never there for him, but you were. You were always there. Loving and coddling him. He'd be damned to let that go so easily

💉it took a while to get your friend to introduce him, and every bone in his body to not jump and squeal in joy when you both finally "met". But now that you've been dating for a while, you want to meet up.. that's not good. He can keep making excuses for so long until you get tired

💊 so he does anything to pacify you. Sending you money, gifts, flowers. All while stroking himself to hearing your excited rambles on call. How many times has he shamelessly masturbated to your voice? He couldn't count. You were just too sexy!

💉 his resolve lasted only 5 more months until he finally agreed to meet you. His heart beating with anxiety as he waited in the cafe. Wearing sunglasses, a facemask and a hoodie. Brushing it off as him being shy you sat next to him and quickly started talking. As if you weren't uneasy by his (lack of) appearance. God how he adored you.

💊 you went on multiple dates after that, trying to convince him to take off the mask and glasses but he was stubborn. 'Till he got a grand idea. Inviting you to his house was the biggest blessing for him, and the biggest nightmare for you. Setting up a fancy dinner in his living room, whipping up your favorite dish and drink. Crushing fertility and sleeping pills in the food

💉clueless you trusted him blindly, giving him a kiss on the cheek and smiling fondly at the romantic setting. He pulled out a chair for you to sit down, and pushed it back in once you did. Still wearing his glasses and face mask, but at this point you didn't mind it as much

💊 he watched you eat quietly, chit chatting as he could feel all the blood rush to his cock in anticipation of his dubious plan. You started to feel drowsy and apologized halfway to finishing your food, your cup empty as you went to the sofa and fell ontop of it. Barely conscious

💉he grinned, taking off his glasses and mask, picking you up easily and shakily Snaking a hand down to tug off your clothes. worming his tongue in-between your lips, Hungrily lapping at your saliva while plopping you onto the bed.

💊 he ripped off his shirt, grabbing a bottle of lube and shoving the tip into your hole. Squirting it inside as he teased your genitals. Pulling the bottle away, he quickly replaced it with his dick's tip. Shoving it in and letting out a satisfied groan, bottoming out inside your slippery insides.

💉 he wasted no time In pounding into you, holding your hips flushed against his as he was determined to breed your tight pussy. Bending down a bit to suckle on your breasts, biting and nibbling anywhere he could reach. He went all night, until he physically couldn't give you anymore of his sperm.

💊 flopping ontop of you, he kissed your unconscious form tenderly, caressing your tummy with a loving smile. When you'd wake up, you'd definitely remember your ex boyfriend, Damien.

"so pretty.. now you can't leave me, because soon We'll have a baby on the way~ you wouldn't mind living in the forest where no one can find you right? Hah, ofcourse you don't.."

[pedrospatch]

softness

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. (TW) PREGNANCY. mentions of premature birth, minor descriptions of childbirth, mentions of birth weight, it is implied that reader is breastfeeding her baby, semi accurate medical journal research, girldad! Joel, mentions of scars (Joel), mentions of insecurities and anxieties, if i missed anything, please let me know! NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER. no physical description of child except for her hair color/type. very minimal editing.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i had this outline sitting in my drafts and i decided to finally just write it out and post it. it ain’t much, but it’s honest work. it is part of the safe and sound universe.

She’d made her entrance into the world early.

About four or five weeks, the commune’s doctor thinks.

Without ultrasounds, it’d been a guessing game.

And a fucking terrifying guessing game at that.

For several months, all you could do was hope.

Hope for a smooth pregnancy.

Hope for a safe labor and delivery.

Hope for a strong, healthy baby.

When you went into labor earlier than the doctor had predicted you would, all of your hopes shattered, the pieces falling around you like shards of broken glass you couldn’t put back together even if you tried.

“No! No, it’s too soon! It’s too fucking soon!” you’d cried out, the sheer panic setting in and seeping into your bones as a warm, clear liquid dripped down the insides of your legs and pooled around your bare feet. You had been in the kitchen making Ellie breakfast and packing her lunch for school—one second you’re standing there in front of the food pantry debating with yourself on what vegetable to throw into the kid’s lunch bag with her sandwich and the next you’re calling out for help as an intense pressure nestled itself between your hips. It wasn’t until you heard a faint popping sound and then felt the gush of fluid between your thighs that you’d realized what was happening. An unmistakable first sign of labor, you’d experienced your water breaking. “This can’t be happening, it’s not time yet!”

Joel, who by some stroke of sheer stupid luck had the morning off from patrol duty, instructed Ellie to run upstairs and gather some clean clothes along with a pair of boots and the warmest coat you owned that still fit. November had brought along the first snowfall of the season—the frigid temperatures outside were anything but kind and the clinic was on the opposite side of the commune, a fifteen minute walk he wished you didn’t have to make in your condition. “I know this is real fuckin’ scary darlin’ but y’need to stay calm. I need you to stay as calm as possible. Y’think that you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

He’d been just as terrified, but he masked it well.

On the outside, he kept a calm, collected composure for your sake and for Ellie’s too, shoved aside his own fears so he could be the support you both needed, act as the glue that held yours and his little family unit together should anything were to happen. But on the inside, he was scared shitless, to say the least. He couldn’t be certain he would have the strength to hold himself together if something went wrong, if he lost you—or his unborn child.

Admittedly, it had taken him a few months to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again at this stage in his life. The thought of him changing diapers at his age was one he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around—but the moment he felt that first little flutter of movement one night as you lay curled up against his side fast asleep, something shifted. That night, he had stayed wide awake, his large hand splayed over your belly in hopes he would feel that little flutter again.

“Joel, I’m really fucking scared. What if it’s too early—”

“Baby, look at me.” He reached up and gently took your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he coaxed your gaze to meet his own. “S’gonna be okay,” he’d assured you, softly. “If this is happenin’ now, it’s because she’s ready, alright?”

For a split second, that panic had ceased.

“She?”

Confused, Joel’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“You just referred to the baby as a she, Joel.”

“I did?”

“Yeah—just now.” You’d stared at him with curiosity and took a step back, cradling your belly in both of your hands. “Do you think we’re having a girl?”

Sheepishly, he had shaken his head at you.

“No, I just—m’sorry. I ain’t all too sure why I said that.”

He truly, honestly hadn’t.

It’d slipped before he could even think about it.

But his accidental slip had been right.

After thirteen hours of grueling labor in Jackson’s small clinic, you’d given birth to a little girl, the sound of her loud wailing filling the whole room like a sweet melody eliciting a sob of joy from you and a shaky sigh of relief from Joel.

“Holy shit, she’s here! She’s actually fucking here,” Ellie breathed, her eyes going wide. Her arms were still wrapped around one of your legs—despite you warning the teenager about what she would see, it hadn’t stopped her from volunteering her assistance in the childbirth process. She watched on in a mix of both fascination and disgust as Dr. Porter, a woman in her sixties who served as Jackson’s sole physician, lifted the infant and immediately placed her onto your bare chest to clean her off. “This has gotta be the grossest, most amazing fucking thing I have ever fucking seen in my life.” Gently, she set your leg down onto the bed before walking around it to stand beside Joel. His hand was stroking your hair, his dark eyes trained on his crying newborn daughter. It was the perfect moment for Ellie to run her mouth and tease, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Joel? I’d think you’re a lot fucking tougher than that, old man.”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered under his breath, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his side. He almost couldn’t believe this was now his life—a life he would have never even known if he hadn’t flinched twenty years ago when he had pulled the trigger.

Though she’d been born a few weeks prematurely, Rosemary Miller was deemed to be healthy—a tad underweight, but nothing to be worried about just yet, according to Jackie, the commune’s nurse. At about four pounds, eleven ounces, Rosemary was the tiniest thing you’d ever seen and somehow even tinier when Joel would cradle her in the palms of his large hands. Despite the fact that you’d been reassured that the baby’s low birth weight was nothing to be alarmed about, you and Joel had been advised it was best if you didn’t take her home until she gained a few more ounces and tipped the a scale at what the books state is a normal birth weight of five pounds, eight ounces.

“We just would feel better if she were here at the clinic where we can closely monitor her weight,” Jackie had said upon seeing the crestfallen look on your face. “Besides, you tore a little and you need time to heal as well, you know.”

Left with very little choice, you’d agreed to it.

“I’m losing it,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you stare up at the drab, gray ceiling. It’s been three days since you had given birth and all you want to do is take your daughter home. In an effort to lift your spirits, Maria had tried to warm the place up and make it feel more comfortable for you. She had swapped out the rough, scratchy bedsheet the clinic provided for you with a soft, knitted blanket she had made herself. She also took it upon herself to pack you a bag with your own clothes, a couple of books to read, and your favorite polaroids of Joel and Ellie. While it had been incredibly sweet of her to do for you, you still wanted out of that clinic sooner rather than later. “I miss our house. I miss our bed. I miss our kid.”

Joel, who’s sitting in an old, worn leather armchair tucked over in a corner of your room next to the frosted window, raises an eyebrow at you and then juts his chin towards Rosemary, who is swaddled up and sleeping soundly in the plastic bassinet beside your bed.

“Our kid���s right there, darlin’.”

You lift your head off your pillow and glare at him.

“I’m talking about Ellie, Joel.”

He chuckles and leans forward in his chair. Next to him sits a brown stuffed bunny rabbit—Ellie had traded a precious comic book for it and gifted it to the baby the same afternoon she was born. 

“She’s been comin’ to visit every day after school.”

“It’s not the same,” you pout, shaking your head.

Joel sighs and glances at the cot that he had been sleeping on for the last few days—truth be told, he misses the house too. His back certainly misses the bed. “It ain’t the same,” he agrees, tiredly. His face is worn with exhaustion. Despite you insisting that he go home and get some proper rest, he’s too stubborn to listen and only leaves the clinic to take a shower and change his clothes—and to check on Ellie, who’s got a bad habit of not doing her homework unless you or Joel nag her to get it done. “M’real sorry, darlin’. But you heard what they said. Baby’s gotta gain a little more weight before we can take her home.”

Even from where he’s sitting, he can see your eyes glaze over with tears of frustration. Since the baby was born, you’ve been very sensitive, more so than when you’d been pregnant—something he didn’t think was even possible.

“If she keeps on eatin’ the way she’s eatin’ we’ll be home by the end of the week,” Joel adds in an effort to cheer you up. “Besides, you need to heal before we make that long walk across town and back to the house, sweetheart. S’not like I can just pull up the fuckin’ minivan and drive you girls home like back in the day, y’know?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Ew, Joel. We would not have a fucking minivan.” Dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you can’t help but laugh at the thought of Joel Miller behind the wheel of one of those things. Then, you realize how endearing it would be to watch as he’s loading up Rosemary’s car seat into the van, the muscles of his broad back flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled on the straps to make sure it was safe and secure. You’d climb into the backseat with her and on the way home, you would ask Joel to swing through the nearest burger joint drive through because you’re fucking starving and in need of a proper meal after being subjected to boring, bland hospital food. You shoot him a small smile. “On second thought, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Maybe we would.”

Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call, careful not to be too loud.

Dr. Porter walks into the room.

She had been a primary care physician prior to the world ending, according to Maria, who a couple of months ago had given birth to her son while under Dr. Porter’s care. Maria had assured you that, even though the woman never trained in obstetrics, she always went above and beyond for all the mothers to be in the commune. She dedicated her spare time to studying, lost herself in medical books she found on the shelves of the town’s library—kind of like the one that’s currently tucked underneath her arm.

“Hi there mama,” she greets, her eyes shining brightly behind her coke-bottle glasses. Wearing jeans and a sweater, she doesn’t quite look the part—maybe she’d worn a white coat once in her life, but now it was only the old, silver metal stethoscope she had draped around her neck that gave her profession away. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m okay,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”

Over in his corner, Joel can’t help but snort.

Ignoring him, you add, “Bleeding’s slowing down.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dr. Porter tells you. “And how about this sweet little girl?” She smiles and makes her way over to the bassinet, keeping her voice low. “She eating well?”

“She is. Her last feed was about two hours ago.”

“How’s she sleeping?”

“Like a rock.”

“And you’ve been doing skin to skin as well?”

You nod. “Yes, before and after her feedings.”

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Porter beams at you with pride. “Keep it up and do it as often as possible. There are a ton of benefits of doing skin to skin with her. It’s one of the most incredible things that a mother can do for her baby. Actually—” She pauses for a moment and pulls the book out from under her arm. “I have been doing a bit of research and as it turns out, there are also benefits if dad does skin to skin with baby as well.”

Joel stiffens slightly in his chair. “S’cuse me?”

“I found this book in the library. It talks about all of the benefits of fathers doing skin to skin with their newborn. It was written some time in the nineties and studies were still being conducted, but I really believe they were onto something.” She hands you the book. “For being preterm, Rosemary’s healthy, but it doesn’t do any harm to try whatever you can to make sure that she builds up that immune system and stays healthy, especially now that winter’s here.” Flashing you a smile, she informs you, “I went ahead and folded the pages for you and made some notes. There’s a few benefits in it for Joel as well. Could be worth a try.”

After telling you she’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you and to weigh the baby, Dr. Porter excuses herself from your room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Curiously, you open the book to the first page that she’d folded for you and start reading the first passage out loud.

“Ongoing studies have found skin to skin between father and child have similar benefits to those that come from skin to skin between mother and child. It regulates the baby's body temperature, blood sugar, and stress levels.” You pause and look over at Joel, who appears thoroughly unimpressed. “It also helps to regulate the baby’s heart rate and breathing rate. Joel, this is incredible! I think you should—”

“No.”

Joel winces. He doesn’t mean to sound so curt.

Your face falls. “Why not?”

“That’s for mothers,” he grumbles. “Y’know, for feedin’ the baby.”

“It’s for much more than just that.” You shake your head and flip over to the next page, scanning both the text as well as Dr. Porter’s notes. “It says here that it also helps the baby pick up their father’s natural scent and promotes bonding.”

“Sweetheart, I can bond with her just fine with my fuckin’ shirt on, there ain’t no need for me to—what in the world are you doin’?” Perturbed, Joel watches you as you take a handful of your blanket, throwing it off yourself. He jumps up to his feet the second he realizes that you’re about to get out of bed. “Don’t—”

“Oh relax, Joel. I should be moving more anyway,” you say, wincing as you sit up and swing both legs over the side of the bed. It isn’t so much pain as it is discomfort—everything had been shoved up and out of place for months, after all. As soon as you stand, Joel’s there at your side, one hand on your arm and the other on your back, trying to guide you back onto the bed. You lightly swat him away with your hand. “Joel, stop fussing over me! I’m fine!”

“Baby, y’need to lie down right now—”

“Take off your shirt.”

His hands fall away from you and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt and go sit down in the chair.”

The blood drains from his face and he pales. 

It’s not that Joel doesn’t want to do it. He does.

He’ll do anything if it’s for his daughter’s benefit.

Still.

The idea of laying his innocent little baby girl on him without his shirt on—it’s uncomfortable. His chest and stomach are littered with several scars. Rough, raised patches of skin that serve as reminders of a brutal past he doesn’t want her finding out about, not for as long as he can fucking help it.

Rosemary deserves to be wrapped up in softness.

The softness of your smooth, blemish free skin.

The softness of the blankets you’d knitted for her.

The softness of the stuffed bunny Ellie had given her.

Joel?

He isn’t soft.

Nothing about him is soft.

Even holding her in his hands for the first time had been something of a battle. Hands that once snapped necks and slit throats didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and innocent.

“This sounds really promising, Joel.” Slowly, you make your way over to the plastic bassinet, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs. With your back to him, you carefully begin to unswaddle the baby. You try not to wake her as you peel off her warm, knitted onesie and matching socks, leaving her in nothing but her teeny, tiny cloth diaper. Gingerly, you pick her up and turn around to face him. “If Dr. Porter thinks we should try it, then it’s for a good reason, don’t you think so?”

Joel swallows harshly.

“What is it?”

“S���just that I—I’ve got scars everywhere, y’know?”

Your expression instantly softens for him. “Joel, you’re her daddy,” you remind him, gently. “She’s not going to care about things like that.” Pausing, it suddenly occurs to you that it’s not just about his scars. It’s about something else, something that runs so much deeper for Joel. He’d done what he had done in order to survive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t live with the shame—the guilt and the regret. Rosemary begins to fuss awake and you lightly bounce her in your arms as you assure him, “She isn’t going to care about your past or what you’ve done. Her love for you is going to be as unconditional as yours is for her. She’s going to love you no matter what, Joel. I can promise you that.”

His jaw clenches and his lips press into a tight line.

Rosemary starts to cry—she’s cold, no doubt.

The old heater in the clinic hardly runs.

And when it does, it breaks down.

“Joel, please,” you beg over her wails. “Just try it? For me? For her?”

Sighing in defeat, Joel shrugs out of his jacket and he tosses it aside. With trembling fingers, he begins to unbutton his green flannel shirt—his long sleeved thermal henley comes off next and then he takes off the cotton t-shirt he wears underneath for an added layer of warmth during the winter season. As he stands there shirtless, he shivers and his flesh erupts with goosebumps. “Wait,” he mutters as he watches you take a step forward. He drags the armchair away from the window. He then sits down, his heart racing and the anxiety flaring as he gives you a subtle nod of his head. “Okay.”

You walk over to him and place her on his bare chest.

The second he feels Rosie’s soft skin on his, there’s a shift.

It’s similar to the one he felt when he first felt her move in your belly.

He calms and his heart slows—his nerves dissipate. 

And Rosemary stops crying.

She scrunches, curls up on his chest, and yawns.

Grimacing, you lean over and pick up his flannel shirt. “Here,” you say, draping it over them as a makeshift blanket. “How’s that feel?”

“Think she likes it, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his fingers delicately brushing over her soft tufts of dark brown hair. His touch causes the newborn’s lip to curl and he catches a glimpse of the prominent dimple in her left cheek—the same dimple Sarah had inherited from him, Rosemary had inherited too. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, he still smiles as she peers up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi, Rosie Posie. S’me, babygirl. Your daddy.”

Rolling your lip between your teeth, you stifle a giggle.

“What?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at you.

“She’s not the only one who seems to like it.”

Joel chuckles, admitting, “S’pretty relaxin’.” He presses his nose into his daughter’s curls and inhales deeply, relishing in the warm, sweet milky scent of her. After a minute, his smile falters slightly. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really believe it?”

Your brow furrows. “Believe what?”

“That she’s gonna love me no matter what.”

“Of course I do.”

“How can you be so sure ‘bout it?”

Carefully, you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and press a gentle kiss against his right temple, your lips brushing over his scar. “Because I just am, Joel.”

Somehow, he believes it—he believes you.

Joel tilts his head back, puckering his lips.

Grinning, you give him a chaste kiss before standing. “I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before her next feed,” you tell him, padding back over to the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay with her for a while, just the two of you?”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” he murmurs, gingerly stroking Rosemary’s silky cheek with his finger. “Yeah. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, babygirl?”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎