#and even when only using a tiny amount it tastes disgusting

[corbinite]

Creatine HCL is not a product that should exist. I mean like from a market value perspective. It offers no benefits over regular creatine monohydrate other than it dissolves in water easier which is mildly convenient i guess, and the tradeoff is it literally tastes like vomit and can give you acid reflux. It literally just has no reason to exist

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 

   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 

   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 

   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 

   Live. 

   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 

   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 

   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 

   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 

   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 

   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 

   And that something is Joel.

   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 

   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 

   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 

   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 

   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 

   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 

   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 

   It’s too fucking much.

   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 

   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 

   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 

   Holy shit. 

   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 

   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 

   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 

   You could get lost in here.

   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 

   He’s warm. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 

   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 

   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 

   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 

   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 

   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 

   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

   “Really,” he nods with a smile.

   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 

   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 

   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 

   “I used to. A long time ago.”

   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 

   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 

   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 

   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 

   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 

   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 

   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 

   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 

   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 

   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 

   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 

   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 

   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 

   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 

   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 

   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 

   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 

   You can do this. Fight the fear. 

   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 

   You can do this. 

   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 

   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 

   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 

   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 

   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 

   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

   “I’ll take you back.”

   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 

   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 

   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 

   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 

   He thinks you’re important. 

   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 

   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 

   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 

   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

   “Is he still…”

   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 

   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  

   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 

   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 

   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 

   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 

   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 

   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 

   The parking lot…

   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 

   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 

   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 

   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 

   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

   “Joel… I…”

   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 

   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 

   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 

   You’re pathetic.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 

   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. 

   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 

   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 

   Warm. He’s so warm.

   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 

   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

   “Mhm,” you hum back.

   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 

   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 

   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 

   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 

   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 

   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 

   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 

   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 

   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 

   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

   You’re so brave. He called you brave.

   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 

   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 

   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

   “Okay,” you whisper.

   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

   You can do this. 

   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

   “Always.”

   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 

   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 

   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 

   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 

   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 

   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 

   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 

   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 

   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 

   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 

   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 

   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 

   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  

   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 

   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 

   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 

   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 

   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 

   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 

   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 

   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 

   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 

   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 

   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 

   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

   He’s proud of you.

   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 

   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 

   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 

   It looks better on you. 

   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 

   He gave you his flannel.

   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 

   “Ice cream?”

   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

   “Whatever for?” you giggle.

   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

   “Well, yes. But…”

   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 

   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 

   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 

   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

   “I’d love some ice cream.”

   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 

   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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[crying-fantasies]

Sex toys

Masterlist

Featuring IDW1! Acid Storm, smut/fluff, use of a dildo, mentioned use of lube/gel and bondage tape, use of mass displacement mods, humping, slight overstimulation, penetration, feelings of love (the Decepticons need so much love, damn), Acid and reader are in a long relationship.

As with any other Decepticon, he was shown and taught how disgusting organics are, pesky little things most of the time, feeling themselves the center of the universe, he has seen firsthand many of these organics mutilate their planet as they pleased even before the Decepticons did anything, he has seen them take advantage of the Autobots more than once.

Organics were, also, curious things, how they worked without machinery? They were an enigma in themselves, some ran away from his acid rain and others opened their strange intakes to have a sip, he missed those organics dearly even when he could not show it, how they so eagerly asked for more acid rain, smiling at him with hope, without words and struggling to over one the language barrier, asking for more to give their young and their strange-looking crops, happily cooing around him, but all burned down to bits when the cyberformation of the planet ended, the only one that shared his covered sadness was Thundercracker, no words were said and they only transmitted a very uncomfortable silent moment looking after the last remains of a whole civilization.

Then Earth came, and humans appeared, Acid Storm was appalled by the unsettling similarities at the start and the end of the war.

Tiny servos they called hands, liquid optics they referred to as eyes, their helm was somewhat hard but covered by tiny wires that came in different colors called hair.

Acid Storm came to like your tiny hands, your liquid eyes, and your hard head with fuzzy hair that stood up when he was happy to see you.

He was usually happy to see you, as it seemed.

Inquisitive human, curious enough to get close to him, nosy enough to talk freely once he let you near, took a while to notice your courting gifts, it was inconceivable! Still, he had heard of other cybertronians, the rumors of how intense organics loved, how much they could offer, a little encounter here and some things made this topic highly talked about among the already retired Decepticon soldiers.

Very same Decepticon soldiers, showing an immense amount of hate towards any organics but maybe having an organic paramour hidden somewhere, maybe some liked the exotic sense of most weird-looking organics, but Acid Storm put his shanix on most liking humans over others since, well, they looked a lot more like cybertronians.

They had an array pretty similar to cybertronians, he could give real testimony on it, but he could never say a word about your intimacy, and if anyone tried to get it out of him he would make acid fall on those fraggers.

Your array is pretty, he very much likes it, the taste of it and the incredible stretch your port can give to take him, that piece of meat at the top, very sensitive, how eager your hand is to squish with plush force over the inner and exterior nodes of his valve, every trace of your fingers in the sensitive mesh of his spike, probing the give of it with your curiosity, making him see light with an embarrassing amount of transfluid, making him feel giddy at the way you look back at him, equally satisfied, the way feelings show in your eyes, he can see himself showered by an intense amount of love he has never felt in his long life, making him close his optics to stop the overheating of his spark. Makes it easier given how similar you two are, more than once he has found you reading something on your phone, is impossible for him to feign discretion when his digit tries to reach between your legs, barely touching the fabric of your shorts, Acid is pouting, looking rather bored while outlining the silhouette of what he wants and he knows that is inside your clothing, comfortably resting inside your plush body.

Bored, or more like attempting to seem uninterested, you understand pretty well he is still pondering on what lies on your last online shopping cart.

Takes a moment for him to finally collect his words and let his interest be known, “Does it bring you pleasure?”, his optics still focused over your shorts seem to realize what is happening under it, or at least offer him an idea of what it is.

“Can you tell?”

Acid takes a moment, still drawing circles over the cover, “It's heating”, if he focuses his digit’s sensors over it, he can catch on the vibration, on the tremor of the flesh and the collection of electricity in your receptors, makes his glossa gulp down in the overflowing oral solvent, “you're getting charged up, your receptors are cramped”, he pushes under your port, your spine curves a little by the extra stimuli, your little toe fingers curl, legs prettily close around his digit, dragging it more to you, if Acid Storm could breathe he could have long ago lost any breath since the moment he noticed the faint buzz coming from your port.

“Left me sore yesterday”, you make a note to put your camera on next time, feigning to be reading something to get another good shot of his face plate, the way his red optics alight a little more and give some kind of blush over his metallic face, “believe it or not, this helps me”.

His face of confusion should have been another pretty addition to your collection, likely asking himself how can the thing inside your port help, he can't even cover the curiosity, the jealousy over that thing to be inside right now when it could be him.

Taking pity on him you finally let go of his digit, explaining your case, “helps to still feel the tingle and be ready for more”.

You give him a few seconds, one to hear you, the next to catch on it, having a treat by the way his wings perk up and his faceplate gains color once again by the radiance of his optics, the next one he is eagerly pushing his whole servo over your hips, “will you take it out then?”

Oh boy, “why would I?”, your legs open as much as they can, Acid Storm takes a moment to bask in the incredible flexibility of your body compared to his, even when you have said time and time again something about doing horrible bad at gymnastics or whatever, he still charges up ominously when you do your lazy exhibitions of flexibility.

He can feel the thing inside you, still vibrating, now reminding him of the most savage mods some crazy Decepticons used, he has never seen it but he has heard wild tales of mechs falling apart by whatever Deadlock had in his moded array.

To believe his intended had one too, apparently detachable too as he sees how you finally take it out by the soul-crushing whimper he gives at the prospective of you still using it when he wants in, he takes a double take to notice how such a big thing could enter you, just to be reminded that, hey, that vibrating mode is still little compared to his own spike.

“Okay, just let me take a few things”, you move over to your little nightstand, hardly ignoring the way he pretends over the dildo, a complacent smile on him as he mass displaced and took place over your bed, Acid Storm once again perks when he notices the tape on your hands.

“What’s that for?”

You rip the tape, looking at his spike already pressurized and the cute black mesh underside of it, knowing how full it makes you feel, “wanna have a taste?” you let him take the dildo, he is the curious one at least once now, holding it, examining it over and over as it still is drenched in the gel and you, he feels your hand hold on his spike, pumping slowly while he lets his helm push against your head, humming in pleasure as you push over his nodes, guiding him into your port, tip missing the entrance by an overeager strut.

Acid Storm mumbles a profanity in vosian followed by an apology for the overstimulation he inflicted on your quivering flesh, holding your hips flush to him as he tried to stop his movement, failing, takes him a moment to finally answer your question, “yes, love”, he can feel the give of his valve around the dildo, the pushing of his hips as the dildo enters, he is soon to just assault you if you don't stop with your unnecessary questions of “is it okay for you?” or “want me to stop?”, holding onto you not because it hurts, but because he can catch your smell, he can feel your skin and the little hairs under his digit tips, dragging them over the meat of your hips, all its overwhelms him more than the insipid vibration inside his valve port, if anything, he prefers your fingers to push over them than a false spike not connected to you but to the tape you use to keep it inside his valve.

Lips kiss his derma, making him overload right there, but holding on for longer as he finally catches the tip of his spike on the entrance of your port, your hand guiding him inside, making him hold to you for dear life.

.

Acid Storm is so pretty but so overlooked, he is a decent mech and he is so humble, maybe one day I’ll make more for him.

@tf-kinktober2024

[drinksss]

Hi Quinn! Do we have your permission to make psychedelics with fly agaric at home?

I live in the fuck of nowhere, but I do have lots of forests around me. All the drugs in my country are illegal, so the possibility of making a drug of my own (with a poisonous mushroom nonetheless) is very exciting to me.

If the answer is no? I'll understand. But if you actually don't mind, can you please share a way of safely making the powder? And how much of it should be used?

Thank you in advance! Love your art.

Thank you! and YES OF COURSE!

though do note that fly agaric is psychoactive not psychedelic, and the difference is psychedelic substances primarily alter perception, often inducing vivid sensory experiences; while psychoactive substances affect the brain and behavior more broadly, including mood, cognition, and mental states, without necessarily inducing intense perceptual changes. so like you can get hallucinations, but it's not as guaranteed as with psychedelics.

BUT ASIDE FROM THAT it's pretty easy to make amanita muscaria into a powder! You'll need quite a lot of the caps but if there's a lot in the forests you should be good. One serving is 4.5 grams (~4 medium sized caps), to get any of the fun effects you'll need at least two, usually five servings.

Before grinding them up when you have the caps, make sure to wash them in cold water (DON'T BOIL!!! that will reduce their effects), and leave them out to dry for at least week (you can leave them out for more though honestly it's no big deal). You can use a drying rack or honestly just leave them out in a ziploc bag or on a paper towel or whatever in a sunny spot.

After drying them the ibotenic acid becomes a lot more tolerable for the digestion. All mushrooms have some level of mycotoxins, it just depends on how much, and the human body can tolerate a Surprising Amount of them. The reason so many people have died eating fly agaric is because they eat them STRAIGHT OUT OF THE GROUND! when the ibotenic acid is MOST POTENT! After drying for a week it's pretty safe.

So then they are ready to be ground up. I use a pestle and mortar to grind them into a fine powder but honestly if you have a food processor that would probably work (like a blender or something). If you want you could make it into a paste by adding a little water or milk probably. The only thing stopping you from eating it post-drying is the flavor; amanita muscaria on its own tastes like ACTUAL SHIT!!! would not recommend eating it like this.

Some people add the powder (or even the caps) to a soup and eat it with other ingredients, and if you're a skilled cook you can probably make the flavor work really well! However I can't, so I like to bake the powder into bread or muffins or cake or cookies etc. Some people make it into gummies but I have found that VERY DIFFICULT because the amount of powder you need in a tiny little gummy COMPLETELY ruins the flavor- at that point it become dogshit flavored gelatin! DISGUSTING! I don't know how the big manufacturers do it.

You COULD put the powder in little capsules, tablets, or pills but I don't know how to do this (I should look into it). That's probably the most efficient way to do it.

I know the Sámi people of Northern Europe tend to brew it into a tea by submerging the caps in water the way you would with tea bags and just drinking it straight after 10-30 minutes. You COULD do this... but I don't think this would taste very good.

Also sidenote turns out reindeer eat amanita muscaria in the wild well ain't that crazy.

[lovesickonmybed]

bad idea right? | (2/?)

chapter one | chapter three | series masterlist

eddie munson x OC | word count - 3831

summary | a game of truth or dare has consequences.

warnings | swearing, underage drinking, smoking, mentions of drug use, mentions of sex, sexual harassment, a bit of bullying, and depression.

a/n | i fucked with the timeline a little so billy and max had moved to hawkins a few months earlier because I need him for the story. listen to bad idea right? by olivia rodrigo and g.i.n.a.s.f.s. by fall out boy while you read this btw.

God fucking dammit. My night was awful to begin with, hell I didn’t even want to be here in the first place, but now it’s even worse. Eddie fucking Munson is here, and he looks hot, like really hot. I swear to god if I was more drunk I would probably already be on him. Sure he hates me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still think he’s hot. After our falling out I was hoping I’d hate him, that he’d suddenly turn ugly in my mind, but nope, he just gets hotter and hotter. And tonight it’s like he’s the only guy I’ve ever seen. Every guy I’ve ever hooked up with or ever even found attractive all exit my brain as soon as my eyes land on him. He’s sitting on a boulder with his long curly hair tied back into a bun, he’s attempting to light his cigarette. What strikes me as odd is that he’s completely alone, usually Ronnie or Dougie is with him but they’re nowhere to be seen. I down my drink and look away from him, if I keep looking at him I’m going to go over there and it will not end well. 

To distract myself I go over to one of the coolers and try to find something that won’t taste awful, I take a while to find anything. I smile to myself when I find a mini bottle of Malibu and a coke. I grab them and stand up and turn around, immediately running into somebody. They grab me by my shoulders to steady me. We meet each other's eyes and my face goes red and my mouth goes dry. Of course the person I’ve just run into is Eddie. He removes his hands from me with a disgusted look. “I-I-I’m…s-sorry…” I mumble before running off to go find somewhere to hide from him.

I duck behind a rock and open the tiny bottle of Malibu, I chug the entire thing and then chase it down my coke. “Goddammit!” I whisper/yell to myself. I know I look insane as I claw at my skin, breathing heavily, trying to self soothe and calm down. When I’m finally calm I’m left with crescent-shaped indents on my legs from my nails. I wonder what Eddie thought when he came face to face with me like that. I mean I can probably guess from the look on his face that he was annoyed and disgusted. I get lost in my own thoughts, panicking and overthinking the interaction when Carol plops herself down next to me.

“Are you alright? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” Carol isn’t really concerned about if I’m okay, she’s more concerned with how it would look if somebody in her friend group puked at a party from drinking too much, I’m already on thin ice for the amount of ass I’m showing tonight.

“I’m fine. Fuck. I just-” I don’t sound fine, I don’t sound calm. She can tell I’m upset.

“You just what?” She asks in an annoyed tone. 

“I just ran into Eddie…like literally, physically ran into him…w-who invited him?” I ask.

“Oh, Tommy did. Apparently Eddie is like dealing now or whatever and we needed a weed hook-up for tonight. We didn’t think you’d care. It’s not like you and that freak are friends anymore anyway,” She explains. Right now I’d love nothing more than to punch her in the face. 

My friends are assholes, I’m aware of that. But that doesn’t mean I’ve succumbed to it too, she knows I hate when any of them call him a freak or insult him. I hate when they do it to any of the Hellfire kids, I always try to get them to back down and it always ends with her berating me the entire time she drives me home about how if I don’t shut my mouth then I’ll end up back with them. Then she so graciously reminds me I won’t just be back with them, I’ll be lower than them, because if she drops me then not even Hellfire will want anything to do with me thanks to my betrayal. She wasn’t always such a bitch to me. When this all started her and Tina actually enjoyed having me around. They were kind to me; they took me shopping, and we’d have movie nights, now something has shifted. It’s like they’re aware of who I used to be, it’s like it matters to them now that they used to dump trash on me or make fun of me for my appearance. They heavily monitor every move I make, if I step out of line even the slightest then they remind me of where I could be. Eddie was right about them.

“When did he start dealing? I never thought he’d end up like that…” The Eddie Munson I knew was terrified to turn out like his father. His dad was pretty much never home, Eddie would always be at Wayne’s because his dad was out somewhere in another state usually in lockup or getting into some kind of trouble. He’d always come back with a story and a kind smile that charmed everyone into forgiving him for being the worst dad of the year. 

“Are you kidding? We all knew he’d end up like that, Viv. He’s a Munson, they’re all worthless low-lives!” Carol says. 

My hand curls into a fist and I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. I’m one drink away from beating her ass, “Watch your mouth, Carol.” 

She looks at me bewildered, “Why don’t you watch your mouth, Vivian? Defending a loser like that won’t get you far. I’m sure you like fucked him or whatever before you left his loser ass but that doesn’t mean you need to defend him anymore. Spending your time defending a reject like him won’t get you anything good, especially not from him. Just in case you forgot, he hates your guts. If you don’t want to spend the rest of your senior year as a loner then you’ll let me say whatever the fuck I want about him.” 

I go quiet. I hate that I go quiet but her threats are real and I’d rather be with people I hate than be alone. Carol smiles at my silence, “I’m glad we had this talk. Why don’t you go buy something off him to calm down?” She chuckles to herself and walks off to go find Tommy.

I fish my carton of cigarettes out of my pocket and light one up. My hands are shaking with anxiety and anger as I bring it up to my lips. I look around at everyone else who’s here, I’m jealous of them all as they talk with friends, flirt with crushes, and just enjoy their time here. I haven’t had a close friend or anyone to confide in for a long time, even at these parties my friends won’t hang out with me anymore. I honestly don’t know why I show up, I go to parties to be ignored and drink in a corner until I’m stumbling home and trying not to cry. That’s how tonight will go as well. I’ll get into the car of whatever sober girl I can find, because I’m not making the mistake of getting into a car with a guy again, and make small talk as she drives me home. I’ll stumble into my bedroom, cry when I take off my makeup, end up in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts and crawl into bed to cry some more until I can finally fall asleep. It’s not ideal but I guess it could be worse. 

I see Tina flirting with Billy and I shake my head in disgust. He’s the worst thing to roll into Hawkins. Every time I see any of my friends with him I just start distancing myself more and more, I can’t take it. He’s an asshole, a creep, a goddamned racist sack of shit and I want nothing to do with him. I don’t get what any of these girls see in him. Why do they throw themselves at that asshole when there’s so many better options? 

I get up to find another drink so I have something to occupy myself, this time I make sure Eddie is nowhere in the area when I do so. I see there’s only shitty beers left but at this point I’ll take whatever. When I’m going back to my hiding area I’m grabbed by Vicki Carmicheal, she’s one of Billy's groupies. “Vivi! You look bored, come play truth or dare with us!” She drags me off to a group of about 15 people and I let her. What more do I have to lose tonight? I’m sitting between Vicki and Tina as the game starts. I’m zoned out for a lot of it, people are just making others admit their crushes or making them do vaguely embarrassing bullshit. Finally somebody asks me the dreaded question. 

“Vivian, truth or dare?” Heather Holloway is the one who asks, she’s another one of Billy's loyal little groupies, sweet girl but her taste in men is abysmal. 

“Uh, dare I guess,” I say as I take a sip of my beer.

Heather giggles, “I dare you to strip and take a nice little swim.”

I’m looking at her like I could kill her, “Seriously? That’s what you’ve come up with? If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve asked…” I get dirty looks from quite a few people for that comment but I couldn't care less.

“Don’t be a baby, do it.”

I glare at her and begrudgingly head towards the nearby dock, everyone in the group follows me, which of course gets others to follow out of curiosity. I get to the end of the dock and debate if I’m really gonna do this; I finish my drink and decide that I have nothing to lose. It’ll probably piss Carol off to no end as well and I love nothing more than seeing her mad. I start by putting up my hair, next I take off my shirt. I’m wearing a red lacy bra underneath it. I hear some asshole yell, “Take it off!” and roll my eyes. I take off my shorts next, I’m wearing a pair of leopard print panties underneath, they’re one of my favorite pairs. I kick off my shoes and peel off my socks before taking a deep breath and jumping in. The water is cold but not cold enough to where I freeze up and can’t swim. I resurface and look at everyone on the dock. Carol looks pissed but everyone else has a smile on their face. 

“Is no one gonna join me?” I joke.

“Hell no! I heard they found a body in there, you’re crazy!” Tina exclaims.

“It’s just water,” I say before swimming off.

The water feels nice, I’ve always felt calmer in water. When I was a kid, I’d go to the community pool and sit at the bottom for as long as my lungs would allow me. There was something so peaceful about it. I decide to get out and get redressed; I swim back over to the dock where I see Billy Hargrove standing smugly, his arms crossed as he looks down at me.

“Quite a show you put on there, sweetheart,” He says, clearly trying to sound seductive.

“Mhm,” I say uninterestedly, “Mind helping me up onto the dock?”

He reaches down and helps lift me out of the water, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close to him. I put my hand on his chest to keep some distance. I don’t want him to think I’m into any of this. 

“Thanks, Hargrove,” I pull away from him and look down at where I swore I had left my clothes, but of course, they’re not there. I look around with a confused look and then turn to Billy.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” I ask angrily, I’m freezing cold and in just my underwear with like half of Hawkins High staring at my body.

“You don’t really need them, do you, sweetheart? I mean with a body like that, why cover it up?” He teases, he reaches out to touch me and I take a step back. 

I cross my arms over my chest to cover it up, “I’m serious. Where. The. Fuck. Are my clothes?” I’m giving him my meanest glare.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you,” He smirks.

“In your fucking dreams. Just tell me where they are!” I’m yelling now and causing a scene. Carol is gonna murder me. 

“You know what, princess? With an attitude like that I don’t think I will…unless you wanna make it up to daddy,” He says.

I damn near slap him across his smug face, but before I can get the chance somebody is coming to my aid. I see Eddie snatching my clothes out of somebody's hands, some asshole football player I can’t bother to remember the name of, and gulp as I watch him walk up to me. He doesn’t say a word as he hands me my clothes, I feel pathetic as I take a minute to even look him in the eyes, “T-Thanks.” I redress quickly.

He just nods in response. He goes to leave but Billy is seeing red and wants a fight. He grabs Eddie by his jacket, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going freak?” My eyes go wide, maybe I want a fight too. 

“Billy shut the f-” I’m cut off by Eddie pushing Billy into the lake. Everyone gasps and Eddie goes running, since I’m technically involved in this and don’t plan on having my ass handed to me by Billy Hargrove I take off as well. 

I run as fast as I can to the road. I didn’t drive here because I don’t even have a car so it looks like I’m walking, or well, running home tonight. When I reach the road, I take a minute to catch my breath. That’s when a van pulls up beside me. The window rolls down and for a minute I think I’m about to become a missing person. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but get in,” Eddie says.

My eyes go wide and for a minute I’m frozen in place with my mouth hanging open.

“Hey! Unless you want Hargrove’s little groupies to tear you apart I’d suggest getting in.”

I nod and run over to the passenger side and hop in, I’m quick to get buckled so we can get the fuck out of here. He notices me shivering, “There’s a uh, a blanket in the back. You look cold and this piece of shit doesn’t have heat or air conditioning.” 

“T-Thanks,” I reach into the back and grab the blanket. I recognize it from Wayne's trailer, it’s the one I always used at movie nights. I smile as I remember the time we had watched The Hill Have Eyes, and I pretended to be scared of the cannibals so I could cuddle up next to Eddie. I wrap the blanket around myself and nuzzle my face into the warmth. 

We ride in silence for about 5 minutes before I realize I don’t even know where he’s taking me, “Hey um, where are we going?” I ask. I take a minute to take in his appearance, he looks so much different from when we were friends. He’s been growing out his hair, it reaches his shoulders and curls beautifully. The dark circles he already had under his eyes are even worse now, but he doesn’t look bad. He looks even better than when I knew him.

He rolls his eyes, “I’m taking you home, obviously.” There’s the snarky response I expected. He’s hot even when he’s mean to me. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry…” I reply softly.

“Where did you think I was gonna take you? Did your shiny little friends corrupt you into believing I’m a virgin sacrificing satanist or something?” He asks sarcastically. 

“Definitely not. You couldn’t sacrifice me anyway, you need a virgin, remember? If you sacrificed me it’d probably fuck up whatever you’re doing, turn into a monster or something,” I joke.

I see him smile and butterflies fill my stomach. 

“Sorry I forgot you gave your virginity to Tommy fucking Hagan,” he says dryly. I struck a nerve and now I feel like I could throw up, guilt is clawing in my throat.

“You gave yours to Nicole Summers so I guess we’re fucking even, huh?” I reply angrily.

The rest of the ride is silent, and he speeds up to get to my apartment quicker, we’re there in no time thanks to all the traffic laws he’s broken along the way. “Out,” he says when he pulls up outside of my apartment building. His voice is stern and commanding.

“Thanks for the ride…and for standing up for me,” I say.

“Don’t expect it to happen again, now get out,” He says coldly.

“Fucking fine then!” I hop out of the van, “I’ll walk next time.” I slam the van door and start trudging to my apartment.

“There won’t be a next time! You owe me for this, by the way!” He yells.

“Yeah sure, whatever!” I walk faster up the stairs and go into my apartment. 

My mom is already in bed asleep. I come in quietly and tiptoe to my bathroom. I strip off all my clothes and turn on the shower; I take off my makeup while I wait for it to heat up. I slip my hand under the water to check the temperature, it’s perfect. I step in and sigh happily as I feel the warm water wash over my body. I wash my hair twice because I don’t trust whatever the hell is in the water at the lake. When I get out I wrap a black towel around my body and a blue one in my hair. I do my skin care and hair routines; it helps calm me down before bed. I know that tonight it’ll be pretty impossible for me to get to sleep, most nights I’m up for a while and I know tonight it’ll be even worse. I put on a band t-shirt and a pair of black and gray striped panties before getting into bed. I know the shirt will come off before I go to sleep, I can’t stand the feeling of wearing a shirt when I try to sleep.

I get under the covers and turn on my radio, sometimes listening to music before bed helps me clear my thoughts, but not tonight. Tonight the music just soundtracks my thoughts about Eddie and what happened. I wonder what he thought when he saw me at the cooler, and then what he thought when he saw me stripping in front of everyone and jumping into the lake. I wonder if he liked what he saw, or he was still just disgusted by the mere thought of me. I wonder why he helped me. He didn’t have to, he could’ve just left or completely ignored the entire situation but he intervened. He stole my clothes back from some jock and pushed Billy fucking Hargrove into the lake. He’s on two peoples shitlists now all because he helped me out. It makes no sense; he looked at me with disgust when he saw me at the cooler so why help? And why offer me a ride home? God, I just don’t get it, men are so fucking confusing. There’s a reason I limit them to one night and then pretty much force them to swear it into secrecy that we had ever had sex. It’s not that I’m ashamed that I’ve slept with who I have, well besides Tommy, that’s like the biggest regret I think I’ve ever had. I just know what’ll happen if everyone knows who I’m sleeping with, when you’re in Carol and Tommy’s circle everybody is obsessed with who you’re fucking. Everyone loves the drama of getting to label someone a slut or getting to come up with bullshit rumors about your relationship. But if nobody knows shit about your love or sex life, then you can kind of avoid it.

It’s not just my circle whose relationships and hookups get picked apart. Shockingly Eddie’s love and sex life is considered a fun topic to many people. Everyone knows me and Eddie used to be best friends so when he started dating a girl who was practically my clone everyone was quick to spread rumors he was only dating her because she looked like me. I can’t lie, she could’ve been my twin. She had the same hair and eye color as me; she had my lips and my eyes; she was like me but prettier and it pissed me off. 

I saw them together once at a party; she was dancing on him and he looked at her like she was the only girl in the world, the strobe lights in the room illuminating their faces. It drove a stake through my heart as soon as I saw it. I remember running into the kitchen and taking a shot, and then another. I was quick to find a guy to hook up with; I hoped it would take my mind off Eddie. I had even let him give me hickeys hoping Eddie would notice and be jealous, but that guy couldn’t even make me cum so I got absolutely nothing out of it. I should’ve been over Eddie by then, and I should be over him by now, but he clings to my mind constantly like a parasite. 

I’ve heard the stories about Eddie, sleeping with a few girls here and there, stumbling into short-lived relationships with some of them. My luck is just as bad. Every guy I’ve been with can’t seem to give me what I’m looking for, but then again, I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just know it’s not whatever a drunk bathroom hookup or a blind date has given me. I’m sick of how I’ve felt since me and Eddie stopped being friends. Some nights it gets so bad I almost pick up the phone. I have his number memorized for years, and I doubt I’ll ever forget it. When I’m drunk, I have to fight back every urge to call him. I know that if I do, he’d either slam the phone down as soon as my voice hits his ears, or maybe he’d cuss me out, tell me everything that’s wrong with me as if I haven’t spent my nights listing off every flaw for years. The emptiness aches through my body like a sickness. It’s an ache that alcohol or pills can’t fix. I don’t know if anything ever will.

[postmoderntongues]

I’m prolly going to make a donation post for my friend soon because she’s stranded in a for-profit shelter that literally provides slave labor to the DOL offices in exchange for a bed and she had no fridge or stove and her roommates steal and she is relapsing really bad into disordered eating because she has an avoidant disorder related to her autism that makes most cooked food taste disgusting especially microwaved food so she’s literally starving I just have to get permission to share her PayPal and I’ll make the post but she’s a non drug user (other than occasionally weed which she uses medicinally and her prescribed sleeping pills which were stolen her first night there), she’s a young mother of 2 children who she’s trying to find stable living for so they can be a family again, she’s a human trafficking survivor and a dv survivor and is disabled (autism, BPD, and a digestive condition) she had a job until she was laid off due to seasonal cutbacks and nobody will hire her because her autism impacts her speech so people at interviews think she’s dumb because she speaks slowly and has a little bit of a processing lag (she is actually HIGHLY intelligent but struggles with memory and communication). I know there’s no way that online charity is going to get her housed or get her kids back but anything you could spare just so she could get a nutritious meal would help just so she has a little bit of hope to survive through until the next day. She doesn’t want to go back to sex work and wants to write a memoir about her time being trafficked but unless she has at least one good meal a day she’s going to have no energy to tell her story. She also has serious allergies to pesticides and certain preservatives so she has to buy organic produce but literally even if it is $2 so she can go buy an apple she needs any help she can get. All who donate will receive a free ebook of her memoir when it is released. Also block the tags if you do not want to see this post because once I get her PayPal I will be reblogging it daily I don’t mean to spam it is just so important that she gets help. Will be reblogging with her PayPal when she gives me the link. Like I said anything at all helps, her entire family turned their back on her because she didn’t go to college (she has a learning disability and academia is not set up to accommodate autistic people but they just care about appearances) her mother abandoned her in favor of her partner and her father is a delusional cokehead boomer who thinks she can “pull herself up by the bootstraps” she’s been homeless for almost 5 years not and just finally got a bed in a shelter and it is a for profit shelter so they are trying to charge her $700 a month to stay there (either that or work 20 hours a week unpaid at a government office which means she wouldn’t have an opportunity to look for paying work) this whole situation is so shameful and horrific she escaped so much only to be left with the clothes on her back and a garbage bag full of belongings in a horrible living situation some fruit or a muffin or some iced coffee would totally change her day so like I said even if it is a tiny amount it makes a difference. This is America when you have a disability.

[engelfeather]

Fangs and fur: chapter 2

Whilst Xavier was sleeping peacefully in his little, sad hole, the giant began to awaken from his slumber.

His name was Angel.

Despite that name sounding as if he'd be a blessing to those that met him, it was clear he acted nowhere near how an Angel should behave.. not that he was one to begin with.

Slowly opening his, still tired, eyes. As his eyes adjusted to the surrounding light, he realised he was laying on the floor... again. The first thing he began to feel, after he woke up, was pain. His head ached, as if someone used a bat to hit him several times.

Groaning from displeasure, he tried to get up. With how shaky his arms were, he had to be careful not to slump back to the ground. He still felt tired, from what though? ...

[ Not again.. ]

Sitting up, he placed a hand on his pounding head. Trying to soothe the pain that way, somehow. The night beforehand was nothing, but a blur to him. The only thing he remembered was the smell of fresh blood and vague screams howling through his ears, trying their best to remind him of what had happened the previous night. Yet, despite his mind rattling with the lost memories, he still couldn't figure out what that had all been about.

[ One of those nights again. ]

He thought to himself, sighing. What was the point in remembering, he already knew what happened, even if he couldn't put together what exactly occured. Understanding the devastation he had caused to the world's outside of his own, the only thing he could muster up in response was a small pout. He had killed them... Again. Tormented them with his disgusting presence. He didn't know what exactly he had left behind to ensure his existence in their world. To make it, that his actions had an actual effect and didn't just get reversed with his exit of their realm. But he couldn't change that now, could he? Instead of breaking down, showing remorse and feeling terrible for his crimes against humanity, he simply accepted it. Accepting it as if everything was fine..

[ Oh.. How cruel I am. ]

He thought to himself.

[ Not even caring about the death, destruction and devastation I had caused... right? ]

A pang of guilt gripped his heart. Trickling its way into every corner of his giant body.Even if he knew deep down, that what he had done to those poor innocent people was wrong, his mind simply blocked out the emotions that stirred up. What did he care? They were tiny, little playthings. Nothing more, but fragile creatures, that shouldn't carry any importance to him. It wasn't his fault they couldn't handle it, when he played rough.

A small smile formed as he thought about that. The guilt in him had washed away as quickly as it came. Shaking his head to get rid of any other thoughts, he got up on his legs. Standing there, he realised just how dirty his white pelt was. Making him shiver out of disgust. Oh how grossed out he was with himself. He hated being dirty, causing him to have the urge to rip out every inch of his fur, until he couldn't feel a single bit of . . . anything on his body. Luckily he contained himself. That would just cause a bigger mess. Instead, he began brushing off any of the dust on his clothes and body, causing small amounts of debris to fall to the ground. As they hit the floor, they broke into tinier pieces. He chuckled, reminding him of just how how frail their buildings were. Like a kid he felt, kicking them down with ease. Oh what fun he felt doing so and who could stop him? No one.

Licking away the remaining blood that covered his teeth, he savoured the last remnants of those he had previously slaughtered. Despite enjoying the taste of humans, due to the lack of memory of his rampage, he couldn't even enjoy all of his victims crimson gold. What a waste..After relishing the aftertaste of blood, his next instinct was to take a long, hot shower to wash away all of the filth that covered his body. Pushing away the bottles laying around with his feet, he marched straight to the bathroom. Having already placed some clothing in there for him to wear the previous day. He was reminded of the gig he was booked for, for the evening, by some rich snob family.

[ Ugh, most of them were just annoying, stuck-up, little brats, who thought they were better than everyone else. When in reality they barely even grasped how normal social interactions worked. ]

He thought, grunting. Usually he enjoyed taunting them with his jokes, that was part of his job after all, however this time was a bit different. Truthfully, he had no desire to go, he'd much rather lay down in bed and sleep the whole day. It felt as if he didn't rest at all at night. After all that was the case. He hadn't slept, no, instead he ran around like a mad man in a tiny city with even tinier inhabitants. Creepy looking ones at that. Ergh their fleshy bodies only really served as good food. He couldn't imagine ever living without his precious fur that kept him all warm and snuggly.

Entering the bathroom, he took off his dirty clothes and threw them in the washing machine. Well at least he tried, as it was almost filled to the brim with dirty clothing. Sighing, he recognised he'd have to wash his clothes soon, otherwise he wouldn't be left with any clean ones.. whatever, the washing machine wasn't full to the point he couldn't close it, so that would be an issue for his future self. Squeezing his clothing into the washing machine, he quickly closed the lid straight after, preventing any of his attire from falling out. There was already enough mess in his home, he didn't need to create another. Even if it felt as if that was the only thing he was good at.

[ This is stupid.. I should just incinerate them and get new ones.. less work for me. ]

Trying his best not to let those thoughts overtake his emotions, he quickly hopped into the shower and turned it on. Sitting down on the ground, he let the water pour down like a rainshower. As much as he disliked the feeling of being soaked, the feeling of warmth encasing him slowly calmed him down. Sitting there like a wet mop, leaning against the wall, he hugged his knees and stared blankly at the ceiling.

However the sound of the water raining down onto the floor reminded him of tiny tippy taps the humans would make. Shoes hitting the ground, as they ran away from him. Hundreds, thousands, heck millions of hopeful souls desperate to survive. Their instinct telling them to flee. To run away from this abomination of a creature... Him.

Gripping his knees tightly, his claws dug deep into his flesh, almost piercing his skin. Slowly the noise of the shower faded into the background, drowned out by his thoughts. The only thing audible to him was his own breathing. It was slow... hollow. . . empty. That's how he felt. Empty. Letting the drops of water trickle down his fur, he didn't even notice that some of those beads of water were tears that ran down his cheeks. Numb to his surroundings, he was trapped in his own mind, struggling to grasp what he had done. Despite telling himself over and over that it didn't matter, that the lives he took were nothing in the grand scheme of things..the lump of guilt in his throat remained. Growling at his own feelings, he tried to swallow his emotions back down. Letting them grow the pile of doubts and guilt.

Locking it back behind the vault that trapped his heart.

This would be an issue future him would have to deal with.

(Previous chapter:)

[builder051]

We'll settle for the field goal, thanks.

Iron Man

______________

Tony hears Pepper knock gently on the bedroom door. Maybe he doesn't exactly hear it; his ears are bogged down, and the left one feels achy and bulgy with possible infection.

He thinks he smells her perfume. But no, Tony's nose is clogged with inordinate amounts of yellow and green and terrible.

A rustle of papers. A clipboard being tucked under an arm.

Then, faintly, "Tony?" The doorknob clicks as it turns. The noise may as well be that of the guillotine meeting his spinal column in some fucked up slow-motion replay of his beheading.

Tony's head remains on his shoulders. His mouth connects to his throat, which connects to his stomach, and everything in his upper digestive tract sloshes as he makes the attempt to roll over and rasp, "Yeah, come in."

It's pointless to speak, for Jarvis wouldn't let anyone else into the room. Even paramedics would receive 'access denied.' Unless Pepper approved them beforehand.

The door opens, and Pepper stands just over the threshold to ensure it closes quietly. It's probably meant to be a kind gesture. Sympathetic, maybe. But all Tony feels is sickly anxiety. What happened to that guillotine?

The mattress only dips a centimeter or so when Pepper sits down at Tony's side. It's memory foam, made from sustainably cultivated bamboo. With carbon offsets for the shipping as well. It's a nice bed. Pepper probably didn't mean to turn it into a pirate ship. Tony's sinuses tingle. Deep pressure forms behind his eyes and nose. His jaw feels disengaged; like it might be hanging back in Malibu. Malibu? Is that south or north of New York? Miami. That sounds much more plausible.

"'M either gonna sneeze or puke," Tony warns, holding his hand up to keep Pepper at arm's length. "Where's the thing? The square...?"

"What, that?" Pepper juts her chin toward the Rubik's cube on the bedside table.

"Huh?" Tony tries to follow along. "That? Nah. Toss it. I got snot fingerprints all over it..." He swallows hard to head off the preemptive cough that's bound to lead to an episode of retching. "The that."

Tony points at the slightly squashed tissue box nestled in the blankets around his knees. "Something's gonna give here..."

"Hmmm." Pepper obliges. She pulls three sheets from the box and hands them to Tony.

"...nks..." Most of his word is lost as he tries to blow his nose. Plenty flows out, turning the tissues to a crumpled, soggy mess, but Tony's forehead throbs something awful as fresh mucous shifts to replace the clear space. "Dammit."

"Here." Pepper takes the disgusting wad away with two fingers, lobs it into the trash bin near the closet, and pulls a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer from her pocket.

"What?" Tony asks her crossly. "Did you just come in here to rub it in that I'm all germy?"

"Your're the one who threatened to put me in quarantine last time the bots dusted the ceiling fan," Pepper counters. "And no, I came in here to tell you that city works denied your architectural proposal. We have to redo the blueprints."

Geez. They couldn't have waited to vote or stamp or sign the document or whatever they do until after Tony's done being sick? His annoyance with the situation immediately doubles. Is multiplied by the power of 10. Expands exponentially. He wonders if he could use a bicycle pump to measure the PSI inside his own head.

"Fuck," Tony mutters. "Why?"

"Well." Pepper lets out a gentle sigh. "Do you want the long or the short of it?"

"Just, uh." Tony sniffs, and tangible goo backs up into his throat. He gulps, trying not to taste the salty sourness, and says, "Make it make sense?"

"Ok." Pepper nods. She rifles through her papers until she finds a map to scale, showing the foundation of Stark Tower and the adjacent buildings and roads. "So," she continues, pointing to a blank space, "You wanted to build here."

"Yeah..."

"Well, it turns out you only own half the lot. The other half belongs to the building next door."

"So we buy them out, right?" That's a logical conclusion, isn't it? Not some messed up fever dream?

"They're unwilling to sell." Pepper's voice is measured and stable.

"Oh, come on..." Tony rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it.

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do about that." Pepper presses her lips together.

"Ok..." Tony breathes in and out, trying to ignore the wavering snuffle of semi-solid snot rocks in his nasal cavities. There has to be a plan B. "So we build smaller."

Pepper smiles sweetly, in the way one does when giving up the argument with a 3-year-old as to whether Pluto is a dog or a planet. "Unfortunately, the entire plan has been rejected. There's...not going to be any opportunity to build."

Tony's head is swimming. He feels like he might throw up, if not because of mucous disagreeing with stomach acid, then definitely as the first punch of an impending temper tantrum. "I still don't get it..."

"There's a water main that cuts directly across the property," Pepper explains.

"Dig it up and move it." Tony massages the space between his eyebrows. There's a terrible knot there, as if marionette strings operating the rest of his body have gone nonfunctional due to extremely questionable tangles.

"Tony," Pepper's definitely exasperated. "Are you aware that you're practically inches from two different housing projects?" She takes a breath. "We are not cutting off people's water so you can build a home gym!"

"Well--" Tony realizes he doesn't have a good answer, and he decides not to stress his vocal cords, lest something else slip out of place too.

"You don't even work out, Tony." Pepper's gone desperate and quiet. "I mean, you have the boxing ring and everything already." She pauses, and they stare each other down for a moment. Then Pepper asks, "What is this even about? Why are you even thinking of remodeling?"

Tony's mind is still a few steps back in the conversation. "They can tap a water line, right? Construction people?" He squints down at the map, which, unhelpfully, doesn't show underground plumbing. "Gyms need showers and stuff."

"Are you even listening?" Pepper asks.

"Yes." Tony locks his eyes on hers again.

Pepper retrieves another tissue and takes it upon herself to catch the drip shivering at the end of Tony's nose.

"We could tap it and make, uh... an outdoor fountain." Tony's grasping at straws. Even he knows that idea's half-baked at best.

"No structures," Pepper says. "They've outlined it pretty clearly in the rejection letter..." She looks at her clipboard, preparing to show Tony the words in writing.

"No, I don't want to see." Tony wriggles farther away from her in the bed. "Every part of me is drenched in something or other. Smeared fingerprints. It's gonna be a no."

"Ok." Pepper sighs again. "Then could you just... maybe, believe me?"

Tony's instinct is to strike her down again. But every ounce of his body and mind are screaming at him. Just let it go. She's right. Deal with tomorrow when tomorrow comes. And god fuck it, snot's running nose to lip faster than a 100 meter dash.

"Give me some more of those..." Tony waves a hand toward the tissues.

Pepper holds up the box. Tony grabs and grabs until he's only snatching at air. He mops up what he can, then says, " Hey, Jarv. Do we have more of these?"

A faint red light appears as Jarvis scans the room to clear up what Tony's referring to. "Ah," the AI says. "I will place a rush order to the Cost Co."

"Fuck." Tony breathes carefully, trying not to dislodge anything else. "And how long is that gonna take?"

"Approximately 1 hour and 34 minutes, sir."

"I'm screwed..."

Pepper pats Tony's hand. "Oh, you'll make it." She grins. "Ever heard of a hand towel?"

"I-- oh..." Yes, she's right. Pepper wins that one, fair and square.

A new thought strikes Tony, rather like missing a catch and getting the box of spaghetti straight to the face. "What about a crossfit yard?"

Pepper pops her head out of the ensuite and comes back to the bed, a clean hand towel gripped to her chest. "A what now?"

"Crossfit," Tony repeats. "You don't have to build anything. Just get, like, some tires. Ropes, maybe."

Pepper looks dumbfounded. "You've never done crossfit in your life."

Tony shrugs. "Thor seems like the kind of guy who likes crossfit..."

"I think you're getting way too ahead of yourself." Pepper motions for Tony to roll onto his back, then begins to carefully sponge sweat and grime off his face.

"Or pour some concrete. Make a basketball court."

"Tony-"

"To invite the neighbors."

"And double cross them to trick them into selling you the other half of the lot?" Pepper raises her eyebrows. "That's maniacal. That's low, Tony. That's... very wrong."

"You're not listening now." Tony fumbles for a corner of the hand towel and blows his nose with a staggered, groaning sound. "What kind of apartment kid doesn't like to play basketball?"

Pepper's expression softens. "You're still getting way ahead of yourself."

"Next time you video chat with the real estate person, scope out everything within two blocks. I wanna do a playground--" Tony gags on his own spit. Pepper relinquishes the towel so he can cover his face. Tony's abdominal muscles scream as he lifts himself up to sitting and leans forward at the waist.

Actual vomit would be easier. Tony hacks until he can barely breathe, then winces as he tries to extricate a slug of mucous from the roof of his mouth. He wraps a finger in the towel and goes in for a manual scraping.

Pepper looks worried, like he might've gone out of his mind and started a new diet of terry cloth and Egyptian cotton. But a moment later, when Tony lowers his hand and reveals something like the decomposed body of a clam surrounded by a faint smear of pinkish blood, her face turns to relief.

"I'm glad you're getting that out of your system." Pepper takes the towel away and folds it, yuck in the center and the outside mostly clean.

"But could you--" Tony breathes.

"No. No business meetings or building plans until you're 98.6 and no longer flinging boogers." Pepper's put her foot down. For the third time now, Tony sees the logic in respecting that.

He can't help himself, though. "But--"

"Call me if you need your nose wiped again." Pepper smiles as she stands up. "Or if you barf. Or if you reset all your passwords in your sleep."

"Mm." Tony groans. "I don't do that. Any of that. Right?"

Pepper lets out a breath. Shakes her head. Then. "Nope. Not ever."

[cpirits]

(( HC EDWARD ELRIC

1) Edward doesn’t like loud noises or surprises. Since he is blind he finds them highly upsetting and will likely cry upon hearing something and become almost hysterical.

2) He uses a regular cane around his apartment (a wooden one with a rubber grip for his hand). And a white cane when he goes out.

3) He hates bright lights as they cause him motion sickness + he can no longer ride in a vehicle more than 30 minutes without getting carsick.

4) Ed can read braile but refuses with almost the utmost disgust.

5) He had nightmares about the crash and often thinks Winry is in the apartment with him. He’ll sometimes talk at her and start crying.

6) The only music he can handle is soft ambient tones– even then there isn’t enoughfor him to enjoy so he often sits in silence.

7) He’s not fully in the dark, but can still see blobs of color and distinguish night and day.

8) Edward doesn’t like sour food – his sense of smell and taste are used more so they are more sensitive.

9) Sometimes his skin breaks out into a rash if he’s outside to long with any skin exposed so he often goes out in a long coat and hat.

10) He wears his hair in a loose pony tail to avoid severe headaches in the evenings.

11) His eyes are now a milky gold color. Small slivers of glass could never be removed near his iris.

12) On some occasions his extremities become numb if he undergoes a significant amount of stress.

13) His body holds many tiny scars from the glass and slight burns from the car fire. Every time he showers he has to stop in the middle for a quiet second to shiver and then moan from the pain.

14) He carries a tiny picture of Winry in his wallet and always lays it on the pillow next to his head after kissing it before he falls asleep.

15) He’s actually lactose intolerant. It developed later in life and drinking Milk makes him violently ill.

16) Ed has a bit of a talent with whittling, since Alchemy is no more since the Gate was shut for good. He likes to make hearts and dogs.

17) He loves a good head massage.

18) He hates the sound of his own voice, so he doesn’t speak unless it’s needed.

19) His hands are weak due to his fighting when younger. The joints have lost their movement, and his ligaments have become very strained. He’s often found rubbing them.

20) Ed’s favorite things to do are to take walks round the apartment building, and to sit with the window open listening to the city sounds at night.

[peterparkersnose]

Merry (Din)mas

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, din is grumpy but whats new, small sexual reference ? 

a/n happy holidays!

summary Din learns and celebrates about Christmas. 

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 3 mins 41 seconds

“And the issue is…?”

“There is no issue. I just don’t think we should spend our time focusing on the old holidays.”

Din sat at the lousy refresher table feeding Grogu. You stood on top of one of the chairs, balancing your best and attempting to stick a branch with some leaves from the ceiling.

“That’s not gonna stick,” he sighed, taking a bite of his food. “Yes it wi-”

The branch fell on the floor in front of the chair.

A tiny smirk arose on his face.

Annoyance rose on yours. “I’m just trying to give him the natural experience of a holiday as a child,” you argued, hand reached out towards Grogu.

“He doesn’t understand, do you?” Din asked the baby. He was half asleep in his makeshift high chair after finishing his meal. “My point,” he said, finishing the argument.

The next morning Din woke up early to the sounds of brush and grunts from the kitchen.

He opened the door from his chamber and found you wrestling a tree you seemed to have chopped down and dragged into the Crest.

“Maker Y/N, what is this?” he sighed, his hand rubbing his temples. “Christmas…tree,” you struggled, pushing branches down to reach the stem of the tree.

“It needs to go back outside.”

“But Din!”

“Back. Outside.”

“It’s Christmas!”

“I don’t give a womp rats ass what it is. The outdoor belongs outdoor and it will stay outdoors.” he demanded, pointing towards the open hatch.

You sighed, defeated. Maybe Christmas was an old holiday for a reason.

“It’s too early for this shit,” Din mumbled, slumping back into his chambers.

When he awoke, he was met with the scent of what seemed like bread- only sweeter.

When he rose from his chambers once again, he was met with the blasphemous sounds of what seemed like sirens.

“Turn it off!” he yelled, planting his hands over his ears.

He saw your confused face sitting at the table with Grogu once the music stopped. “What in the worlds was that?” he asked. “Christmas music. From a long time ago, the traditional stuff.” you shrugged, stirring a spoon in one of the pots.

Din looked at the colorful paste you had in your hands. It seemed like red goo.

“Oh, come on Din. Just sit with us,” you begged, kicking out the chair opposite from you.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Why is he red?” Din sighed, looking at Grogu thoroughly for the first time that day.

He had the red goo all over his hands, various places on his face, and somehow the tip of one of his ears.

“What even is that?” he asked, carefully swiping a bit off of Grogu’s forehead.

“Taste it,” you smirked, amused at his disgust. “Taste it?” Din replied, his nose was crinkled at the meer suggestion.

You swiped your finger in the bowl and sucked a hefty amount of it off your finger. That totally unintentionally turned Din on.

His eyes seemed to pop out of his head. “It’s only frosting,” you teased. The makeshift cooker beeped. You turned around, excitedly taking the sweet smelling things out.

“Christmas cookies.” you said, carefully placing them on a plate.

Grogu extended his tiny hand and began to levitate a cookie off the plate.

“No, not for Grogu. Too hot.” you said, catching the cookie mid air. You dropped it back on the plate quickly.

“Did you see the rest of the ship?” you asked eagerly. “Please tell me there isn’t some magic rabbit sitting in my living room ready to spread Christmas joy.” Din said, crossing his arms.

“That’s easter, wrong holiday. Come on,” you sighed, scooping Grogu up. The apron you had on wiped him clean on your way to the living space.

Grogu cooed as the two of you entered the room. A much smaller tree sat in the corner, decorative lights covered it. “And Grogu helped, didn’t you?” you asked, tickling the child ever so slightly.

Tiny decorative balls hung off the tree. “He’s gonna have a field day with those,” Din muttered. “Already did,”

The cardboard box near the trash was filled with broken bulbs. “And we’re not going to do that again, are we?” you asked the baby. He just whined and looked up at you with his sweet eyes.

“What’s that?” Din asked, referring to the tiny box on the ground. “That is your gift,” you smiled, sitting next to the tree with Grogu in your lap.

“A gift?” he asked, joining you. “I was going to save it for the solstice, but…”

You handed him the wrapped gift. “Open it,”

He carefully tore away the paper and revealed a small box. He opened the lid.

A tiny brooch sat upon white fluff paper. It was a skull, similar to the Mandalorian crest he often wore. This one had three sparkly stones engraved in it, one for each of you.

His lip began to quiver as he stared silently at the beautiful gift. “Do you like it?” you asked, patiently waiting for his response. The silence made you suddenly doubt your gift choice.

“It’s… beautiful,” he said, completely touched by the gift.

“One for me, you, and Grogu. Isn’t that right, buddy? I let him pick the color out.” you smiled down, looking at the baby now grabbing for stray pieces of your hair.

“This is just…”

Din was at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to tell you that this is the first gift he’s ever gotten. Or at least remembered getting. And it was perfect.

“Are you okay?” you asked, reaching over touching his shoulder. He lifted his head from looking at the box in his lap. A smile was on his face as his glossy eyes met yours.

“Don’t cry,” you said, embracing him in front of the tree.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he whimpered, wiping a stray tear away.

Grogu quickly jumped in his lap next to the gift.

“Besides you two.” Din smiled, patting Grogu’s little head as he admired you on his side. 

tag list: @dani5216 @uwiuwi @alohastyles-x @samanthacookieone @maddieinnit0 @alexxavicry

[bokutoslittlebird]

Nice and Clean

Sakusa Kiyoomi x sister!reader

Warnings: incest, f. and m. oral receiving, implied cum eating, “cunny check”, college AU, this might be a little gross sorry, cockwarming, praise

Coming home from classes and into the warm arms of your brother is always one of the best parts of your day. He’ll make you take a shower after a day of running around campus in late Spring, sweat showing on your t-shirt. It makes you self conscious, knowing he could probably smell the sweat on your body even though you just went from class to class. He always smelled nice, even after volleyball practice, but you were never so blessed with that ability.

“Welcome back. Long day?” He asks, kissing the top of your head. You nod, sighing as you inhale his scent. It may just be cleaning products to others, but he smells comforting. “Were you good?”

“Of course, nii-chan! I’d never go against the rules,” you giggle, feeling his hand ghost up your back. As soon as it reaches your mid back, he pulls away and gestures his head to the side. Towards the bedroom. It’s time.

“Gotta make sure you’re still nice and clean for me, okay?” He murmurs against your skin. You never tell him no, understanding his concern for you extended to making sure you were scratched up after falling all the way to his special cunny checks.

You just wish he’d let you shower first.

The way Kiyoomi eagerly presses his lips to your sticky skin, going down your stomach to your shorts, has shivers running up your spine. He’s almost too good at this part, you think, as he uses his teeth to take them off, snapping the band against your skin with a smile on his face. Once on your thighs, he uses his hands to guide them the rest of the way, taking your panties off with them. Glistening with your arousal of him simply touching you, he can finally see your sweet, sweet cunt. Completely untouched since he parted from you this morning.

He’ll never admit it, but Kiyoomi loves the way you smell when you get home. You always think you smell bad, but you smell normal to him. After sweating all day and probably imagining the way his tongue flicked against your clit, he loves burying his face in between your legs. The way you wiggled and squirmed as he barely breathes on your pussy, soft whines as you wait in anticipation and anxiety for him to complete his little procedure. He enjoys this the most.

With his nose nudging against your skin, you feel your face get hot as he just blows air on your folds, spreading them apart with his fingers. Shimmering strands connect them, telling him you were probably thinking about him on the way back to the apartment. It brings a smile to his face, the fact you always are eager for him as he is for you. Pressing his lips into your cunt, he lets his tongue flick against the sensitive skin, feeling you jump under him. Strong hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, ready to keep you down as he dives in.

As his lips wrap around your little clit, moaning as he lets his tongue wander around your clenching hole, you find yourself easily approaching the first orgasm of the night. It’s the way he can feel your legs tense under his palm, the way your hands move from his locks to the bedsheets, the breathless moans that has him sucking harshly and moving his tongue up and down, nose rubbing against skin. He’s helping you hurl towards your orgasm, the pleasure filling you in a moment as your back arches and Kiyoomi feels your essence coat his face. Slurping up any excess, he hums in approval as he removes himself from you.

“As expected. My sweet sister still tastes as sweet as she did this morning. C’mon baby, time for a bath,” he coos, moving to pick you up bridal style. Instinctively, you curl against his chest.

In the bath, Kiyoomi spends a good amount of time washing your body. He always does, letting soapy hands wander over your curves and your chest, occasionally tweaking your nipples when you least expect it. If his hands wander down too far, you always pay him back by squeezing down on his cock. Hearing him groan always has you clenching some more, but it keeps him from getting too handsy with you. Once he’s lathered you up and has covered every inch of your skin, he makes sure you do the same to him. Facing his broad chest, you make sure to give him some sweet kisses as your fingers run over his skin, rubbing out any tense muscles you find. It’s one of your favorite parts of the day, just hearing him sigh and groan in satisfaction as you tend to his tense shoulders.

Once you’re both completely clean, rinsed and dried, that’s when the real fun begins. As a treat for helping him clean up, you get to pleasure him before feeling his cock inside you once more. The left over tingling feeling of him being inside you has you eagerly clambering to your knees, begging to suck on his cock. A soft chuckle fills your ears as Kiyoomi unties the towel from his waist, his cock already hard as it usually is for you.

You remember the way he likes you to do it. Despite his outward disgust for most things, he absolutely loves when you get him all messy with your mouth. A glob of spit on his tip, watching it drop down his shaft only for you to catch it with your tongue, licking back up to the tip as you make eye contact. With lidded eyes, he keeps them locked on yours, his large hand patting your head as he silently encourages you to continue. Suckling on his tip, you finally put half of him in your mouth, tongue swirling around the bit inside as drool covers the rest of him. Your hands pump the excess of him, coated in your own saliva as you pop off of him, licking up his shaft once more as you swirl around the tip. Putting him in your mouth, you go all the way down as you try to not gag around him, bobbing your head as your throat constricts around his girth.

It only takes a few bobs of your head to have Kiyoomi moaning, fingers digging into your scalp as he explodes in your mouth. Sticky cum oozes down your throat as you guzzle every drop from him, licking the length of his cock while he comes down from his high. Loudly licking your lips, you giggle at his flushed face. “You look so perverted nii-chan. You like your little sister sucking on your cock that much?”

“I love everything my sweet little sister does,” he huffs, catching his breath. You crawl up onto his lap, your freshly cleaned cunt rubbing against his soft cock, dripping with want. He presses a firm kiss against your lips, rougher than his previous kisses as he digs his fingers into your ass, massaging the flesh. “Lay down on the bed,”

You obey his order, your head firmly against the pillows as he crawls between your legs. With his cock hard again, he rubs it on your folds, lathering it in your juices. It’s only for a few seconds, though, as he’s soon lining himself up and pushing into your tiny cunt. He’s so big that he always has to make sure you’re comfortable before he continues much farther, sweet murmurs of how good you feel around him while you adjust. Tears bead on your eyelashes as he gently rocks into you, spreading your gummy walls as he fills you up completely.

“You look so pretty under me like this. Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Your nii-san’s got you, it’s okay,” he coos, fingers rubbing soothing circles in your hips as he finally gets himself all the way into you. It’s always a struggle getting in there, he hates seeing you cry because of him. But the reward in the end is having your legs on his shoulders as he pounds you into the mattress.

“Big! Omi— ‘s too much!” You scream, nails digging into the flesh of his neck as he drills himself into your cunt. Loud and wet squelches echo around the room as he consistently pumps his cock into you, keeping you bent as your legs dangle over his shoulders and his arms cage you in the position. His grunts are easily overpowered by your pleas and screams, your juices being louder as his balls slam down against your ass. It’s an overwhelming sensation, feeling his cock fill you out so well and his feral attempt to fuck you senseless, that you find yourself coming undone on his cock once more.

With a loud grunt, Kiyoomi moves his mouth to your neck, teeth latching on as you yelp, nails moving down to his biceps as your teeth grit together. You’re quickly hurling towards another orgasm, Kiyoomi picking up his pace as he comes closer to his own release. When his teeth dig in a little harshly do you clamp down around him, mewling as your back arches. It’s all he needed to push over the edge, an almost growl from his throat as he pushes into you once more time, removing his head from your neck to watch you cum.

It’s a beautiful sight, the way your eyes roll back and your tongue lolls out, tears streaming down your face from pleasure as your walls gush around him. It has him spilling his load into your awaiting walls, filling you up even more as he ruts into your sensitive cunt. He loves seeing you completely full of him, it warms his heart when he knows you’ll do everything in your power to keep his cum inside you until the next morning, when he wakes you up with his tongue prodding your cunt to see if he can taste himself in you. Nothing can ever compare to how much he loves you.

Author’s Note: cunt/cunny checks are very cliche for incest fics I know but if it isn’t broken don’t try to fix it aka I like it

[nerdnag]

Actually, I'd like to expand a little on this. Because I used to be REALLY sensitive and picky about food.

My partner and I have lived together for 11 years at this point, and in the first few years, he really struggled to find diverse food that I would eat while also getting to enjoy food for himself. (He's always been the one to cook most between the two of us, because he enjoys cooking, and I mostly find it stressful and difficult.) He loves food, all sorts of food, and I was regularly saying no to things I hadn't tried before or that I had tried but found scary or otherwise unappetizing. This kind of food struggle is common for autistic people, though at the time I didn't know I was autistic.

Anyway, my partner took on a mission to try to help me become more comfortable with various types of food. He never lied to me about what we were eating (unless I asked him not to tell me, in order to trick my brain), but he started to every now and again add little ingredients into his cooking that I normally wouldn't want to eat. Just tiny amounts, and nothing that would ruin the entire meal for me if I decided I didn't like it, but also not entirely separate. He also started trying to sell new meal ideas to me in as appetizing ways as he could, and describing to me not only what the cooking process consisted of but also how different parts of the meal would taste, what textures there would be, etc. And he often made use of things he knew I liked and shifted them in slight ways to incorporate new things.

I was very difficult at first; very reluctant and negative. To be brutally honest, I was often mad at him for trying to make me eat things when he knew I didn't want to. (Let's not argue over whether he was wrong to do this or not; I'll just say that I'm grateful today that he did.) If he asked me beforehand if he could try to make something new, I would usually say no. So sometimes he did in fact wait to tell me until it was too late (until he'd already started cooking, for example). At times, I forced myself to try things just because I didn't want to make him sad after he'd made an effort for me. There were many failed attempts, but there were also some small steps forward.

And then somewhere along the way, things started shifting in how I viewed things, and a lot of progress happened in a very short amount of time. It was almost like new pathways were formed in my brain. I started noticing that certain textures that I had used to find scary or disgusting, were suddenly very tasty - for almost the exact reason that I'd found them scary before. Olives? Used to taste foul; now that "foul" taste is part of why I like them. Mushrooms? Same thing, but with texture. Mushroom texture uses to be my Nemesis, but now it's one of my favorites (both bc of the texture and bc of the nice earthy taste).

Eventually, I was even brave enough to try sushi for the first time. It was REALLY scary, and I actively had to fight the signals my brain sent out about "RAW FISH SLIMY THREADY FLACCID UNCOOKED FISH CORPSE AAAAAAH". But when I came out the other end... I suddenly had a new favorite meal. After that, other things kept unlocking in a similar fashion.

Today, I'd like to say that I can eat everything and enjoy most things. There are very few meals my partner isn't allowed to make for me and very few ingredients that are no-no's. And for things that I still find very scary, I have a few tricks up my sleeve that I can use to make it a little bit easier.

The first trick is to try and "shift the extreme to the other end". This means that I take the thing that scares me (for example, slimy texture) and try to tell myself that the sliminess is the good part. This may sound weird, and like it wouldn't work, but it actually does work for me most of the time. (It also works with very spicy things. This is going to sound REALLY bad and weird, but with spicy food I often tell myself that "the pain is the point", and weirdly enough, that makes me able to enjoy the spice.) I used this trick yesterday, for example when I was served octopus, and I successfully managed to convince myself that the texture of the suction plugs was the point of why I would enjoy it (and that it was no worse than mushroom, which it honestly wasn't).

Failing that first trick, and if it still feels impossible to make myself enjoy it, I just try to get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. The way I do this is by holding my breath as I eat and chewing as little as I can, and if possible, try to muddle the taste/texture by eating something along with it that isn't scary. This trick works better for small individual parts of a meal, and is hard to use on full meals (because of how long it needs to go on). Also, it's not possible to fully evade the scariness; some taste and texture will inevitably come through. But it was this trick that I used for the few pieces of sushi yesterday that I just couldn't trick myself into enjoying. One of them was fish liver and the other was oyster. These were special cases for me because they are so deeply connected to Brain Ideas About Fish Parts that I just can't get over it. Maybe someday I will, but I haven't reached that point yet. (I should add though that the oyster wasn't quite as bad as I had feared taste-wise, and I could recognize that the fish liver was very well prepared and seasoned, but I still never want to eat it again.) When my brain is playing tricks on me like this, I honestly think the best thing to do is to try to avoid the truth of what I'm eating. I might have enjoyed fish liver if someone had said it was just normal fish meat. But that's difficult in a setting where the point is to be served food directly by the chef, and they make a thing out of telling you exactly what you're eating.

I also have a mini-trick that I used A LOT yesterday, and that was to have someone else (in this case, my partner) try the food first and then have them describe to me what it's like, so at least I'll know what to expect. As a huge bonus, this is a socially acceptable thing to do and thus something I can do in public, because it's not weird to ask someone what they think of what they just ate and ask them to describe what it was like.

In many ways, last night's dinner was like an ultimate challenge for me after many years of slowly learning to appreciate "scary" food. Because what better challenge than to be served some of the scariest things I've ever heard of, by the chef himself, in public, with no option to simply refuse (and definitely no option to react in disgust)? And that is why I'm so proud of myself for not only getting through it without making a scene or feeling sick, but also for actually enjoying many things that I had been too scared to try before.

I have been very brave today!! To celebrate an anniversary my partner and I had dinner at a fancy sushi restaurant where every piece was served one at a time by the chef (omakase). Lots of scary textures and my brain playing tricks on me but I did it!! And most of it was amazingly delicious 🙌

[rabcantswim]

james was the first marauder regulus met.

he was in his first year, james in his second.

it wasn't at the platform, nor in the train to hogwarts or at the sorting ceremony. they met near the courtyard. and sometimes he recalled the moment as serendipity. but sometimes it was a cruel curse.

regulus was a victim of the unpredictable moving staircase and now had been late to his first transfiguration class. he rushed through the arcade with books in his hands and almost stepped on his robes a thousand times, he wasn't used to the flowy fabric around his ankles.

he had been taunted by nightmares in his sleep all night. it wasn't unusual, he had struggled with sleepless nights and night terrors his whole life. he'd already been exhausted by those endless moving stairs and heavy books to carry. tired was a normal state for him.

regulus had been trying his very best to be good all week. every time he saw sirius along with his friends he took the first turn to avoid contact with his older brother. he had received plenty of letters reminding him what his mother had instilled in his mind all summer. he tried to obey her the best he could even against his own excitement and curiosity.

after what he'd heard from sirius when he came back from hogwarts he couldn't wait to meet his brother's friends. he made a point of remembering their names. that was before his mother forbid him to even acknowledge his brother's presence at school.

and then suddenly two older gryffindor students came around the corner and regulus tensed. they were at least fifteen and looked incredibly bored until they noticed the tiny slytherin first year. regulus had the same amount of pride written all over his face they had to jinx out of a different kid last year.

"oi, pipsqueak!"

their red and gold ties felt like gags in regulus's throat, not allowing him to say even the faintest hello. he prepared himself to walk past them, head held high as he was taught and told to all his life. but that was a wrong move to make.

regulus's hands flew to his back with aggressive force and were tied by a rope conjured from thin air by one of the boys. the brown-haired one with crooked teeth. the blond boy next to him with a pimple so big regulus could see it whilst they were meters apart laughed as regulus's books hit the ground.

"looks like we caught ourselves a tiny lost snake andrew." the blond said.

"let me go!" regulus demanded not ready to renounce and start yelling just yet.

"little prince thinks he can tell us what to do, does he?" smirked the other. "you are after all new here. so let me enlighten you, hm?"

the brown-haired student squeezed regulus's shoulder and bent forward to look him in the eye. his grip was rough, it meant to leave bruises. regulus flinched away which solved nothing because he had been forcefully pulled back even closer than he stood before.

"with us - gryffindors and slytherins - it's only a question of who gets to strike first. you're the other black aren't you?"

regulus hated how the boy's hot breath fanned his face but he hated being called that even more. he scrunched his nose in disgust which seemed to be enough of a confirmation.

"yeah, i can smell privileged gits from the dungeons anytime. you'll get a new taste of what it means today."

"if you don't let me go right this second you'll regret it!" regulus spoke again hoping his voice didn't tremble as much as his hands did.

pin-drop silence. both andrew and the blond had been able to only blink, very slowly. regulus resentfully thought they were so dim they had the capacity to do only one thing at a time. then they howled with laughter which would hopefully be loud enough to alert school staff. and someone did indeed emerge from the same corner.

"oi!" his voice was not much more grown-up than regulus's. "what you two chavs think you doing?"

andrew's eyes suddenly grew much hungrier when he looked at the boy. he had a smug smirk on his face as the boy said "don't you want someone more your size to fight? a first-year is lame even for you."

"potter, you fucken prick! you'll wish you had taken a different route to class." without hesitation he ran from regulus, chasing after the next best target who had taken off as well with a mischievous smile.

the blond stood in place confused. "but andrew! what about him?"

"push him!"

the blond nudged regulus and he fell and hit his soon-to-be bruised shoulder. then he tried to catch up with andrew. what was left of them were heavy thumps and distorted shouts.

the wind picked up and brushed through regulus's neatly short hair as he wiggled his hands on the ground. he didn't expect to get out of this one that easily but to be fair, he wasn't out of the woods just yet. the knot was tied very tight, he could not release his hands no matter how hard he tried to pull on the ropes. standing up was also almost impossible just as Andrew had predicted.

"are you alright?" a voice near him said out of a sudden and regulus's soul almost left his body.

"who-who's there?" he whipped his head in every direction.

a hand appeared from thin air and pushed something which behaved sort of like a piece of fabric to the side. a head poked out and looked down at regulus. full of wild dark hair coming across their face which is a mellow shade of golden brown, with subtle sunkissed freckles on their nose and light hazel eyes with obnoxiously thick eyelashes for someone who regulus presumes is a boy. he shoots him a grin and regulus notices a slightly crooked bottom tooth.

"oh..." the boy's smile fell as he looked at regulus's green and silver tie. regulus took a sharp breath and prepared to fend for himself again. "you're sirius's brother aren't you?"

the boy stuck his right hand into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out a wand. regulus shuffled his feet to get away even though it wasn't much help.

what if he starts screaming in pain from the spell and shows that he's weak? he's not supposed to do that. not according to the letters from mother. he can't fall out of line especially not in his first week. she'd be disappointed and he'd get punished when he got home for christmas break for sure. and he couldn't handle it like sirius. he felt tears already sting his eyes and tried to blink them away.

the boy lowered his wand with a surprisingly guilty expression and knelt down. "i won't hex you. promise. if you sit up i'll set you free."

using a very careful diffindo the ropes loosened up. regulus rubbed his wrists. he didn't dare to look in the eyes of the boy. this close he would undeniably notice regulus's tears.

the following silence was a space for thanks which never left regulus's mouth. instead, he gathered his brand new books which had now been damaged by the fall. regulus felt humiliated, crawling on his knees like a toddler for his toys, he kept trampling on his robes with them.

he stood up as gracefully as he could and realized he's half a head smaller than the boy who by some coincidence knows his brother. his savior didn't feel the need to wear his tie or robes today so regulus had no idea how to act towards the boy in a grey knitted v-neck jumper.

"how come you know him?" regulus asked. "my brother."

"he's only my best friend of course," he exclaimed with that confidence only children can muster and stuck his hand out, a playful grin back on his face. "james potter is the name."

so this is james potter. thought regulus. and it wasn't the only thought he had. james's name appeared in many if not all of sirius's stories from school. he was - according to sirius - the absolutely best at flying in their lessons. he gave a very animated description of how james caught their friend peter on their first lesson and how they sneaked out at night to teach another friend, remus, quidditch. james had no competition when he hopped onto a broom.

in the ten months, they had gone to school together they lived through various adventures, great and small. and before walburga gave regulus a lesson about how a correct representation of their family should look like, he thought sirius and james were wicked. he thought james was the coolest and hoped he'd get to have a fittingly spectacular introduction to him. but he didn't and it didn't matter because he wasn't allowed to befriend such people as james potter.

blood traitors were the worst of all. they weren't wizards like regulus or his ancestors, no no. they were ungrateful, spiteful, hideous, ill-mannered, thick-headed people. but one was standing right in front of regulus, trying to shake his hand and he was anything but that, especially not hideous, regulus thought and internally smacked himself for thinking about it.

regulus stood there with books in his hands, staring doe-eyed at james. there was no other life than the two of them near. no one would know he shook hands with a blood traitor and a gryffindor. so he did. mother always scolded him for having a weak grip. he tried his best to squeeze james's hand properly.

"you're reginald?" james asked mid-handshake.

"regulus."

"oh, sorry. so reggie."

regulus didn't like to be called that. his mother hated this nickname, it made her son sound like he was a muggle yokel. but for some inexplicable reason, it came out of james potters mouth not derogatorily but rather naturally. he decided to let it slide just this once.

james raised his left hand and added another book on top of regulus's pile. "this was still on the ground."

it was a leather-bound journal he had gotten from his cousin andromeda for his eleventh birthday. he hadn't skipped a single daily entrance since he came to hogwarts. in james's hands, it made regulus uneasy but he couldn't have read any of it this quick. besides that, he had noticed a large leather bracelet with something shiny on it. it hugged james's left wrist and poked out of the unbuttoned cuffs of his white shirt.

"why did you help me?" regulus asked.

"now knowing you're sirius's baby brother i'm glad i helped. he would be distraught if you got hurt."

"but you didn't know that before. why would you help then?" said regulus.

james took a second to ponder his answer.

"i do what i think is right." james said.

and if a butterfly can flap its wings thousands of miles away and help to create a hurricane, james potter could help to create a completely different fate for regulus black by saying seven words.

this was the sentence that stuck with regulus his whole life and guided him through his choices. each time he tried to choose the one which would make james proud of him. although the word tried is rather important to keep in mind.

"i don't usually leg it from andrew and gryffin so quick, but i really didn't feel like sitting in detention today, it's too sunny for that don't you agree? anyway," james went on keeping a light one-sided smirk on his face. "i swear, three classes with the head of our house in transfiguration and you will learn how to handle these dim-wits!"

james couldn't help but notice regulus staring at his left hand as he energetically gestured. he realized he had been looking at his bracelet and remembering the horrors he's heard from sirius he guessed regulus might feel like it's not his place to ask about it. james easily took off his buckle bracelet and handed it to regulus.

"you want to look at it?"

it took the younger boy a few seconds to think. it was normal to him but not to james who had been making his decisions based on first instinct.

regulus accepted the bracelet. its heaviness surprised him. the shiny thing catching his attention turned out to be a sumptuous golden head of a lion with one eye filled with a tiny red gem. the other one had obviously fallen out since there was an empty hole instead of the gem. a half-blind lion.

"it was my mum's. when i got my acceptance letter she let me choose a bracelet for good luck."

james grew curious of regulus. he's met shy kids before, first-years especially but that wasn't the word he'd describe regulus with. he would have rather used reserved, thoughtful or mysterious.

besides his thoughtfulness, he looked rather unwell. sickly pale face, dark eyebags under grey eyes with a constant frown, and black hair which he had known could be so curly, vibrant, and lively has it not been cut too short and choppy as if someone had not cared about him enough to do a good job.

regulus seemed to be in his head way more than a regular eleven-year-old thrust upon the magical school of witchcraft and wizardry. james's curiosity quickly developed into interest because whatever was happening inside regulus black's mind must have been impeccable compared to reality. remus, james thought hopefully, he's a bit like remus. maybe they'll get along.

"you want it?" james asked and regulus looked up and blinked. "i don't have any siblings so sirius says i'm not used to sharing and that i'm avaricious. but if you like it you can have it. i'm going to stick it up to your brother! james potter can share! the boys don't have to help me understand how to."

"but you said it belongs to your mother."

"it did. but she gave it to me. and now it's yours." said james and fastened the lion bracelet to regulus's left wrist.

regulus stood stiff as he watched sun rays fall on the one-eyed golden lion. "you shouldn't have given it to me. you'll be punished." his voice quavered a bit and regulus pinched himself in his thigh through trousers. being worried about a blood traitor's fate, such a thing would get him punished.

"what?" james scrunched his nose in confusion. "my mum would never punish me for giving someone a gift. besides that, it was a good luck charm and i've had the best of it with finding friends. and if all goes well even a pretty girl." he stuck a hand through his already messy hair and made it even more disheveled.

"well, then you should take it and give it to the pretty girl. shouldn't you gift jewelry to people you fancy?" regulus said as he struggled with the buckle. if he was caught wearing something like that... he didn't want to think of the consequences.

"well that might be true," james scratched his head. "but lily doesn't like it. she called it garish once."

that had been the main reason why james wasn't reluctant over giving it up. regulus had realized that much much later though.

"you think it can do it again?" regulus asked in a hushed tone.

"do what?"

"do good again? like... bring amazing adventures and friends?"

regulus prayed james wouldn't think he's a sissy for asking for reassurance. and although james potter had enough confidence in himself for doing that all on his own - creating phenomenal adventures, making wonderful friends, and attracting pretty girls - he understood what regulus really asked him about. what sirius's brother needed right now.

james had an ego the size of the hogwarts castle but he had the heart to match it. appease was thankfully something he excelled at alongside transfiguration and quidditch.

"i know it can. it will bring you all that and a pretty girl. the bracelet has done it once hasn't it?" james winked at regulus and strode next to him. "maybe it will even protect you from such wankers as andrew and gryffin."

regulus had no idea what a wanker was but considering it had been used to describe his bullies it couldn't have been flattering.

"you know, here at hogwarts you can start a new life without your parents."

"i don't want a new life." said regulus grudgingly.

"that's fine too," said james while throwing a hand over regulus's shoulder. "you can keep yours. you'll just be allowed to live it more like you."

regulus stared at him, again, taking all of his vim and vigor in and trying to make his peace with the fact that this is the most sincere conversation they'll ever get to have.

he broke the silence with a new question. "shouldn't you be at a lesson as well?"

"nobody likes a clever clog reggie." james retorted.

regulus allowed james to call him that. but only this once.

[mianavs]

No Escape

You wanted to start a new life but your old one wasn’t done with you just yet

Osamu x runaway!reader

a piece i wrote for @sugawara-sweetheart​ ‘s decadence collab 

a/n: heavily inspired by my time working at a restaurant minus the hot boss bit. using Kobe as the location of Miya Onigiri 

tw: smut, assault, implied imprisonment

wc: 1.8k+

It’s only been three months since you ran away to Kobe but you’re already settling comfortably into your new life.

The studio you’re renting is tiny and the faint smell of mildew doesn’t leave no matter how much baking soda and vinegar you use to clean the walls and floors—you can’t stand the smell of bleach. Nevertheless, it’s warm and inviting after a long day at work when all you want to do is collapse on your bed to give your weary legs a break. Most importantly, it’s your home and no one is there to lock you in while taking away the key.

Your work is hands-down the best thing about your life. There is no where you’d rather be than in a hot kitchen with sweat dripping down your face as you chop ingredients, sauté vegetables, and plate your creations. It all started with a home economics class in high school that led you into accepting a scholarship to a culinary school that you attended for a year before your life was turned upside down by—

“Y/N! The order! Is it done?”

Your head snaps up to find your boss Osamu Miya drumming his fingers on the counter as he stares you down, thick brows knitted together. You suck in a breath and dart your eyes down to the three onigiri that have yet to be coated with Furikake seasoning. Swiftly, you press the seasoning onto the rice balls before handing the plate over to your boss.

“Done!”

Osamu looks up from the plate and lets his eyes linger on you before nodding wordlessly and taking the food to the customer. It’s a busy Friday evening and you’re understaffed again so Osamu’s waiting tables while you’re working the kitchen along with two other cooks. The orders pile up on the line and adrenaline courses through your veins as you dart around the kitchen gathering ingredients and dodging your coworkers.

Shifts like these drain all your energy and by the time the clock hits 10pm, your legs feel as if they’ll fall off at any moment. Still, you don’t mind the hectic rushes during the day because they keep you from revisiting the painful memories you keep buried away in the darkest recesses of your mind.

Cleaning up after a long busy shift is the hardest part about working at a restaurant like Onigiri Miya. The building is old and the unwelcome critters like to come out at night, so Osamu is quite anal about storing ingredients and cleaning.

It’s not that you hate cleaning but obsessive cleanliness makes your blood run cold and your throat close up until you can’t breathe. It takes you back to that pristine home that became your own personal hell.

You’re scrubbing the outside of the huge metal rice cooker when one of your coworkers lets out a yelp which is followed by the sound of splashing water. The acrid fumes of bleach assault your nose and you look down to see your shoes covered with the cleaning agent.

The scrub sponge slips from your hand as a wave of nausea sweeps over you. Bile rises up your throat and you grip onto the nearby wall to get on your feet before staggering to the bathroom.

The flickering lights of the dingy bathroom distort your vision further but you make a beeline to the sink regardless. You turn on the hot water and pump a ridiculous amount of soap before frantically rubbing your hands together until your skin is red and raw. Your heart hammers inside your heaving chest and hot tears blur your vision as the voice that haunts your nightmares rings in your ears.

Filthy

Dirty

Gross

You’ll never be clean without me

You nearly jump out of your skin when a heavy hand lands on your shoulder. Every muscle in your body tenses painfully and a single thought echoes in your head like a mantra.

He found me

He found me

He found me

But it isn’t him. It’s Osamu forcing you to face him as his fingers dig into your shoulders. Suddenly, you can breathe again and you deflate like a balloon.

“You’re okay, Y/N. I got you.” His rich voice never fails to calm you down during your panic attacks and you wonder how you ever got so lucky to have him as a boss and—

He pulls you to him, pressing his lips against yours in an abrupt kiss. He coaxes you to submit with every languid stroke of his tongue, every touch that burns through your clothes, every groan that rumbles in his chest. Your body always resists him at first and you wonder if it’s due to the wounds of your past that still feel fresh or the inappropriateness of your relationship because Osamu is your boss. Those thoughts eventually melt away along with your resistance and you open up to him in more ways than one.

It’s your first time at his flat but you don’t see much of it because he has you against his front door as soon as you cross the threshold. His lips latch on to your sensitive neck, swiping his teeth against your skin and littering it with marks. It isn’t until his hand buries itself inside your undone pants that your lustful haze dampens.

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your protest falls on deaf ears as Osamu palms your throbbing clit and pushes two long digits into your needy cunt. A jolt of pleasure runs through your body and you grasp at his shoulders, hair, and back while he pumps his fingers at a fast but steady pace.

From your previous trysts at the restaurant, Osamu already knows his way around the fleshy walls of your cunt and aims toward that spot that has you coming undone in minutes. You’re keening and holding on to him for dear life when your release washes over you and covers his entire hand and wrist. Like clockwork, shame and terror take root and a cruel husky voice embedded in your memory resurfaces.

Dirty

That one word is all it takes for you to unlatch yourself from Osamu and glance at the mess you’ve made. You’re trembling like a leaf waiting for a heavy hand to send you across the floor or for harsh fingers to grip your hair to throw you like a ragdoll, but Osamu isn’t him so he brings his two fingers to his mouth and licks them clean; his eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

That single action is what breaks down any lingering walls that still stood between you and your boss and you rush at him planting a hungry kiss on his lips, savoring the taste of your cum still on them. He matches your fervent kiss and leads you to his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in your wake.

You end up on his lap with his cock buried inside your messy cunt and you see stars with every upward thrust of his hips. He latches his mouth onto a nipple and suckles on it until it’s red and throbbing before switching to the other.

“S-Samu! Ah-”

He bites down on your nipple and it’s the explosion of pain that drives you over the edge—the way your body was trained to do. Your fleshy walls convulse around his cock and cum gushes out of you coating your conjoined bodies.

“Fuck-”

Osamu curses and buries his teeth into your shoulder as hot spurts of semen shoot into your womb and fill you up to the brim. The two of you cling onto each other as the aftershocks of your orgasms subside. There’s a stinging pain coming from your breast and shoulder and you know without looking that he’s drawn blood.

But you’re used to it and at least Osamu doesn’t kick you off him and call you a filthy whore.

He eventually pulls you into bed with him but the itching need to clean yourself overwhelms you.

“We should clean ourselves up.” You suggest, pushing against his chest to no avail.

“Later,” he mumbles and tightens his hold until there’s no space between you. “How about you stay the night?”

It’s posed as a question but it’s more like a statement especially since he has no intention of letting you go. There’s a foreboding tightness in your chest but Osamu presses a loving kiss on the top of your head and you forget all about it.

You wake up to the sound of male voices but a husky voice stands out from the others. It’s a voice you know all too well because it haunts you night and day. Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s in the bedroom conversing with two other people and your heart shatters when you hear Osamu. You keep your eyes closed praying that they leave the room so you can figure something out but the conversation suddenly stops.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.”

A cold hand sweeps a strand of your hair to the side and the nauseating smell of hand sanitizer has bile rising up your throat.

In a bout of madness, you launch a pillow at Kiyoomi Sakusa and make a break for the door. You take a couple of steps before two pairs of hands stop you. It’s Osamu and a man who looks just like him who hold you down while you struggle against them like a wild animal.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LET ME GO! LET M-”

Sakusa’s hand goes up and then there’s a loud crack followed by throbbing pain on the side of your face. Even with your blurry vision you can still make out the disgust on Sakusa’s face as he watches you cough up blood.

“It doesn’t matter how loud you are. No one will come for you.”

He crouches down in front of you and his lips twitch in amusement as you struggle against Osamu and his twin brother. Cold black eyes examine your face before his hand digs into his pocket and takes out a handkerchief.

“I thought I lost you forever, Y/N. Thankfully, Miya introduced me to his brother who just so happened to know a certain girl from Tokyo with a mysterious past.” He wipes the blood off your face and watches the fight in your eyes die out with every word he utters.

“You don’t know how worried I was when I came home and you weren’t in your room.”

Your stomach lurches when he brings his face to your head and inhales your scent the way he always did since your high school days when you didn’t think anything of it. You curse the day you ever decided to befriend Sakusa.

“You’ll have to be punished, of course, but I promised Osamu I wouldn’t be too harsh with you. After all, you’ll belong to the three of us now.”

As if on cue, Osamu presses a wet kiss on your cheek and memories of last night cause hot angry tears to stream down your face. You were foolish to trust Osamu but even more foolish to think you could ever escape you captor.

[study-coffee-chicago]

Drunk Face (A Halstead brothers + Halstead sister! Imagine)

"Bye Y/N," Jay started as he grabbed his last duffle bag from beside the kitchen table. "Make good choices. Don't do anything stupid. Will's on shift tonight, but best believe I will find service if I get a call from him saying you got brought into Med or from a fellow cop saying that you got picked up."

"Jay, relax. I'll be fine. This isn't my first weekend staying home alone by myself," you said.

"Yes, but it's the first time you'll be home alone for the weekend when you're 21. That's what I worry about."

"Who says I didn't drink when I was home alone before I was 21?"

"Excuse me?" Jay asked, setting his duffle back down on the floor.

"I'm kidding. I wouldn't try that with you as my brother. If it was just Will, maybe."

"Nice to know I'm the stricter one."

"Jay, babe," Hailey asked as she walked back into the apartment, "you ready?"

"Yeah, just telling Y/N to make good choices," he replied as he picked up his bag once more.

"No, he just doesn't trust me, that's what this is, Hailey," you said.

"Jay, be nice to Y/N. She's a good kid. She'll be fine," Hailey said and brushed her arm up against Jay.

"She's 21."

"Pretty sure she only drinks seltzers. It's hard to get drunk super fast off of those unless you shotgun them."

"What's that?"

"Nothing!" they both exclaimed.

"Okay, okay. I'll just google it." Jay opened the door and let Hailey out first and then followed her out. "Have fun! Use protection!" you yelled before you closed the door.

"My God," Jay laughed. "You've been spending way too much time with Adam."

"Leave! Make smart choices!" Then, you closed the door behind them for a weekend by yourself.

A few hours later you got home from the liquor store with your premade mango Jose Cuervo margarita. First, you grabbed a lemon-y kind of beer from the mini-fridge where Jay kept all the alcohol. You drank that with your dinner. Then, you turned on your favorite tv show and poured yourself a glass of that mango margarita.

***

God, you didn't even feel that drunk. You had drank a can of that beer and two and a half glasses of that mango margarita...which was about 1/2-2/3 of the bottle...and it was a big bottle.

You walked upstairs to go to the bathroom. You were a little buzzed, but not as bad as one time when you drank a margarita and three white claws. And, you drank those fast and you just fell asleep with a dopey, drunk smile on your face. You were hungover the next day, but you were just tired; you'd never thrown up from drinking before. You just kept your buzz going for a bit.

But, when you sat on the toilet and started going to the bathroom, you felt sweat start to bead on your face. "Aw, shit," you muttered.

You took a deep breath and stood up to wash your hands. As you were standing up, you started to get hot and your stomach started to hurt. The world seemed to spin a bit, too. So, after you washed your hands, you just laid down on the fluffy, light blue rug of the bathroom, breathing in and out slowly and occasionally groaning in pain.

Eventually, you decided to stand up, grab some water, and made your way to your room. Since you were already in your pajamas, you just went right to bed, after all, it was after midnight.

You laid in bed and tried to get the pain in your stomach to stop by changing positions and jamming your knee into your stomach.

Bad plan.

You felt the familiar feeling of a lump rising in your throat. But, you were so tired and buzzed that you hoped this wouldn't happen.

But, then it did, all the alcohol came up and out of your mouth, leaving you with the stale taste of margarita in your mouth and vomit all over your shirt and bedsheets.

God, you thought of just falling asleep right there. But, that was disgusting.

So, you grabbed your phone and made your way to the bathroom. You were still sweating, practically panting at this point while you leaned over the toilet, just trying to keep it down.

This was hell.

This had never happened before...and you had drank the same amount before.

Something was wrong.

Maybe it was the fact you just started a new acne medication a week ago. Yeah, that was probably it. It had to be that, it just had to be.

You heaved and then puked again.

Once you were finished, you grabbed your phone from the bathroom counter. You couldn't call Will. He was on shift and if he had to come, he'd most definitely tell Jay and then he'd never let you stay home alone overnight again.

So, you chose a different number: Kim Burgess.

"C'mon...pick up..." you muttered.

"Hello?"

Shit, that wasn't Kim. It was Adam. Had you called the wrong number? Were they sleeping together? You knew they were basically together, but to find out in this kind of way was kind of weird. Were they--

"Y/N? Hello?" Adam asked again.

"Y/N's calling?" you heard Kim say in the background.

You felt the familiar lump in your throat and puked again.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Are you there?" Adam asked frantically.

"Put it on speaker," you heard Kim say.

"Y/N, you're on speaker. What's going on?"

You wiped your mouth. "I- I drank too much and I'm on a new acne medication and I'm throwing up and I can't call Will because he's working and I don't know what to do," you rushed out before you could puke again. "Can you come over?"

"We'll be right there. Hang tight, kid," Adam said. "Me and Kim are on our way."

"You need us to stay on the phone, Y/N?" Kim asked.

"No, I- I should be fine until you get here."

"Okay, we'll be there soon."

One of the two hung up the phone and you started to feel hot again, but your stomach didn't hurt. And, even though laying on the rug of your bathroom with alcohol-smelling vomit on your shirt wasn't the best idea, you did it anyway because you were so tired.

***

"He's gotta be the stupidest person alive to put his spare key above his door. That's where everyone puts it. Dumbass," Adam said to Kim as they stood outside your apartment door.

"Adam, just open the damn door," Kim told him.

Adam reached the key and unlocked the door. "Alexa, play Drunk Face by Machine Gun Kelly," Adam joked.

"Adam! Not the time!"

Kim started walking around the apartment, trying to find you. "Y/N, where are you? It's Kim and Adam, no one's broken in. It's just us. We're here to help."

"Kim," Adam whispered. He nodded his head towards the bathroom door.

Kim threw herself to the floor and looked through the tiny crack. "She's in there. She's laying down."

Adam immediately went to open the door.

"Shit," he said when he saw you lying there with your eyes closed, vomit all on your shirt.

"Mhm, don't tell Will and Jay," you groaned.

"Oh thank God, she's conscious," Adam said.

"Y/N, can you stand up so we can get you out of these clothes? Maybe take a shower?" Kim suggested.

"Tired," you told her.

"I know, I know you're tired. But we have to get you out of these clothes before you can go to bed," Kim said. You groaned again. "How about Adam goes and grabs you a new shirt and then I help you into the shower. How does that sound?"

"Okay."

"Adam?"

"On it."

When Adam went to your room, he was immediately hit by the smell of vomit. You had planned on washing your sheets once you had cleaned yourself up, but you felt so bad, that you had just left it and figured you'd get to it when you finally got yourself up and out of the bathroom.

He quickly rifled through your dresser and found a t-shirt. Then, he went back upstairs to find the door closed, so he quickly knocked on it.

Kim had helped you take your shirt off and had thrown it in the sink. You were currently standing up, back facing her, as you waited for Adam to come back with your clean t-shirt.

"Babe, I grabbed the shirt. She okay in there?" Adam asked.

"Just about to take a shower," Kim answered. "Hand it to me when I open the door."

Kim opened the door and Adam handed her the shirt and then she handed it to you.

"Am I good to leave here, Y/N? Or do you need help?" Kim asked.

"I'll be fine," you told her. "But please don't tell Jay or Will."

"Y/N, you got drunk and went over your limits everyone does it. It's—"

"Please," you begged.

"Just, take a shower. We'll figure this out later."

"Okay."

Then, Kim left the bathroom and you took a shower.

"She puked on her bed," Adam said.

"She doesn't want us to tell Jay or Will," Kim said at the same time.

"Okay, wait," Adam started, "say yours again."

"She doesn't want us to tell Jay or Will," Kim said.

"Why not? Everyone does it at least once when they first start out drinking."

"I don't know. Maybe she didn't want to disappoint them?"

"Could be. So, do we tell them or not?"

"I mean, she asked us not to, and I don't think we should. She trusts us enough to call us, so I think we shouldn't break that trust."

"I guess you're right. But, we have another problem."

"And what's that?" Kim asked.

"She tossed her cookies on her sheets."

"Shit, okay," Kim sighed.

"Hey, thanks for coming," you said as you walked out of the bathroom five minutes later in clean pajamas. It's not like you had to wash your hair or anything, just your body.

"You're welcome," Kim said. She pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table and sat down. "Honey, Adam saw your sheets when he walked into your room to grab you a shirt. Do you need any help with that?"

"No, I was gonna clean it up and then I puked and I got hot and then I took a shower and—"

"Y/N, it's okay. We know you're exhausted because you just got all sick. So, how about you strip your bed and throw your sheets in the washer and me and Adam will make your bed. How's that sound?"

You nodded. "Thank you guys so much. And, you guys can take the margarita mix if you want. I never wanna taste that stuff again."

"Don't mind if we do."

"Adam!" Kim smacked him on the chest.

"What? Free alcohol."

"God, you're a college kid in a thirty-year-old's body."

"That's right. Now, let's get this college kid to bed."

***

"Ruz, where'd you get this?" Kevin asked when he saw the leftover margarita on Adam's desk that he brought to share with the unit.

"Oh, Y/N gave it to us when me and Kim went over to help her Friday night when she got shitfaced and puked all over," Adam answered casually.

Kim smacked his chest. "Adam!" She glanced over at Jay who was making his way over to them, an angry expression on his face.

"Y/N got shitfaced this weekend?" Jay asked as he crossed his arms over his chest and gave Adam a stern look.

"Well, it wasn't really shitfaced because she was still fully conscious and lucid. She was a bit buzzed, and she puked."

"And you know this how?"

"Jay," Kim started, "she did the right thing. She didn't know what to do, so she called an adult."

"She called both of you?" Jay asked.

"Well, uh, she called me but Adam picked up since we were at my apartment..." Kim trailed off.

"Gotcha," Jay said. "Well, I'm glad you helped her. Thanks for that. But me and Will will definitely be having a conversation with her tonight."

***

"So, how was Wisconsin?" you asked as you, Jay, and Will sat down to eat some paninis you and Jay had cooked up later that night.

"It was great," Jay answered.

"What'd you do?"

"Went on the boat, slept in, jumped off in the lake, Hailey made cinnamon rolls, the usual," Jay answered.

"Do you two remember when you guys had me jump off in the middle of the lake without a life jacket?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah," Will laughed. "We had our asses handed to us by Mom after that."

"We gonna jump off, Will?" Eight-year-old you asked your oldest brother who had just come home from college for summer break.

"Duh," Jay replied. "That's the best part, silly!"

"Yes! That's so much fun!" You grabbed your little life jacket and Jay helped you into the boat because sometimes you'd get scared you'd fall into the water in the space between the boat and the dock.

"When can I drive the boat?" you asked as you sat down next to Jay and Will sat in the captain's chair and started backing the boat out.

"When you're eighteen," Will answered.

"But that's ten years!" you protested. "That's too long!"

"It'll go by fast," Jay promised.

"No, it won't." Jay just laughed at your remark.

Ten minutes later, you were out in the middle of the lake and Will was dropping anchor while Jay set up the ladder.

Once that was all set, Jay jumped off the boat without a life jacket. You followed him, but with a life jacket of course. After a few jumps, you took your life jacket off while you took a sip of your red kool-aid. You didn't have to wear your life jacket unless you were in the water. The boys were currently standing on the boat about to jump off again, but they started whispering amongst the two of them.

"Hey, Y/N," Jay started, "What do you think about jumping off the boat without a life jacket?"

"So, like you Will? Like big kids?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

"Exactly. Will would be in the water and I'd be up here and you'd just jump to him."

"I dunno. Mom and Dad always told me to wear my life jacket when I jump off. I don't wanna get in trouble."

"You won't."

Will jumped in the water and swam a bit further away than usual so you had room to jump in. "C'mon, Y/N! You've taken swimming lessons, you can do it!" he encouraged.

"I- I dunno, Will. How deep is it?"

"Um," he faltered. "Maybe ten of me?"

There's no way you'd be able to touch that!

"You'll be fine," Jay reassured. "Will will be right there. But, you gotta swim to him."

"He won't catch me? But, what if the water monsters get me and pull me under?"

"There's no water monsters," Jay told you.

But, if the water was as deep as Jay said it was, then how does he know?

"I changed my mind," you said quickly. "I want my life jacket back."

"Y/N, you'll be fine," Jay told you.

"No!" you wailed and reached for your life jacket, but Jay grabbed it and threw it in the water to Will.

"If you want it, you have to get it from Will," he told you."

"No!" your lip started to tremble and tears started to form in your eyes. "You get it!"

"Nope, it's yours. You get it."

"But you threw it!"

"And I'm gonna throw you in!"

You tried to run away, but it was too late. And, where would you go? You were on a boat after all.

"J--" You tried to yell, but you were already flying through the air and into the lake without a life jacket.

You hated the feeling of falling into the water without getting pulled back up immediately because of your life jacket. You had swallowed water, too so that wasn't helpful. You kicked your little legs as hard as you could to get back above the water, and when you did, you coughed and sputtered, trying to get the water out of your mouth and take in some much-needed air.

"Shit, Jay!" you heard Will yell as he quickly swam over to you with your life jacket and grabbed you by the waist. "Why'd you do that?" Then, he turned his attention to you. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe. I've got you. I've got you."

He set one hand on your back as you started climbing the ladder and then climbed up after you. Then, he shoved Jay in the water.

"What the hell, man?" Jay exclaimed when he broke the surface.

"Dude, I didn't know you were gonna throw her in! Mom's gonna kill you!"

"No, she's gonna kill us! You just swam there and let it happen!"

"You didn't jump off the boat without a parent there for a long time after that," Jay stated.

"And for good reason! I could've drowned!" you argued.

"Will was there. He would've gotten you."

"That's not the point! And I'm pretty sure that's the same logic Mom used when she took your car keys away from you for the rest of the summer and didn't let Will's girlfriend stay over when she was visiting him."

You ate your food for a bit and then Jay turned to you. "So, Y/N, we need to talk."

You gulped. There's no way Adam and Kim told him what happened! They promised!

"About what?" you asked.

"About you getting drunk on Friday night and calling Kim and Adam because you got sick," Jay explained.

"I don't know what you're--"

"Cut the bullshit. Adam told us in the bullpen today. So, I suggest you explain what happened."

So, you explained because you knew not to argue with Jay when he used that tone.

"Y/N, do you know about proofs on alcohol?" Jay asked.

"No, what are those?"

"It's the amount of alcohol in a drink. For example, seltzers typically have 3-5% alcohol in them, but margaritas like the one you apparently bought that Adam has now, has about 19% alcohol."

You widened your eyes. "So, I can't just go on how many glasses I'm drinking?"

"No way. Why do you think shots come in tiny glasses? Because they have lots of alcohol in a small volume."

"Oh, oops. Sorry."

"Y/N," Will started, "This isn't an oops thing. You could've seriously died from that if you kept drinking." You furrowed your eyebrows. "There's this thing called alcohol poisoning. It's when you drink too much alcohol in a short amount of time, so your body can't filter it in your liver fast enough. And, you just got on a new acne medication, so that's also filtered in your liver. Because of this, your liver's working overtime, which could be why you didn't feel super drunk but still threw up."

"Oh, okay." You knew you sounded dismissive, but you were embarrassed about what you'd done.

"Don't you get that this was dangerous?" Jay asked. "You could've died if you kept going!"

"Jay--"

"No, she needs to know this, Will. If you kept drinking, then you could've gotten seriously sick and had to go to the hospital! That's why bartenders cut people off: so they don't get sick because people can die from alcohol poisoning!"

"I'm sorry, okay! I'm embarrassed because I didn't think I even had that much and I didn't even know what a proof was!"

Jay's eyes softened. "Y/N, we're just trying to protect you. Why do you think we told you all that stuff about not leaving your drink unattended at a bar or watching the bartender make your drink and not just taking it from someone? It's because we're trying to keep you safe, Short Stack."

You nodded. "You're right. I really am sorry. And, you don't have to worry about me drinking a lot until I'm off that medication...or ever really."

Will chuckled. "Yeah, we figured as much."

A/N: I threw a few requests together and this is what I came up with. I wrote this in a day btw. (Also, I did get drunk like this once and I'm pretty sure it was because of the combination of the acne medication and the alcohol. Always drink responsibly and only drink if you're of the legal drinking age.) Anyway, thanks for reading and please reblog/like and comment and tell me what you think! As, always, just tell me if you want to be added to my taglist and I'll add you!

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies@brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07 @thexplosivegirl @dreamingwithlens @xoxmariaxox @onechicago18 @iamasimpingh0e @i-like-sparkly-things @herecomesthewriterwitch

[batsandbugs]

A Kiss With a Fist

AN: Hey everyone another fic coming at you! This is for the Maribat Drabble Exchange hosted by @eat0crow I’m so excited to be participating! My fic was for @pixiebuggiewrites​ who wanted a Daminette soulmate fic. Sorry I couldn’t squeeze anybody else in here it was already getting pretty long! I hope you all enjoy! You can also read it here on ao3! (Pictures are NOT mine)

Damian stormed away from the hotel, aggressively zipping his coat. He didn’t care where he was going, only that it was away from here.

He didn’t want to be in Paris. He didn’t want to watch out for incompetent amateurs. He didn’t want to ‘control your anger, Damian’. He wanted to be sent home.

The calm night taunted him, the Parisian streets were too bight and too clean, resembling nothing like his dark city. He missed patrolling, he missed his animals, hell, a part of him (a small, barely negligible part he would never admit to) even missed his siblings. But no, he was stuck here, under his father’s orders until the situation in Paris drew to a conclusion.

Considering it took five years for outside help to be even called in, he had no clue how long the mission would last. He still hadn’t met the so-called-heroes of Paris, but the research he conducted showed they were ill-trained, undisciplined, and relying on so much luck it was a fucking miracle their city wasn’t a smoking ruin by now.

He sighed, sticking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He regretted not grabbing his gloves in his storm out. He’d been so irritated at his father that even though the man was on the other side of a screen, half-way across an ocean, Damian needed to physically leave to calm his anger. It left him little time to grab essentials for a chilly winter night like a hat, or gloves. He considered himself lucky for remembering to grab a coat at all.

He wandered for a solid hour, the cold sinking into his bones chilling the raging inferno that always seemed to bubble inside him. By the time he no longer wanted to scream at anyone, he was sufficiently lost, considering he hadn’t taken his phone with him either.

Coming to rest on a bridge he took a seat on a small bench. He puffed a warm breath of air into his chilly hands rubbing them together. Nighttime in Paris was so… different compared to Gotham. While big cities never truly slept, this was positively peaceful in comparison to what he was used to. He hadn’t even heard a single sound of ruckus or distress, which seemed strange considering the city was currently besieged by a magical butterfly terrorist.

Damian inwardly scoffed. Butterfly terrorist. True, being a Gothamite meant no room to judge, but he found it hard to think of a stranger string of words.

He sighed; Damian didn’t even know what his father wanted him to do here. Sure, he knew French and was a proficient fighter, but what could that even lend to the situation? They needed a detective, and, as much as he hated to admit it, Drake would have been the better option in that department. Unfortunately, he was off-world. Grayson was dealing with a problem in Hong Kong with Cass. Brown was paired with the rest of the Sirens taking care of Gotham along with Batman, and Todd…

Well, even he recognized what an awful choice Todd would be against a villain who literally used strong negative emotions as his weapon of choice. Damian had a temper; Todd was a ticking-time-bomb.

A high-pitched screech cut through the night air, before being noticeably muffled. Damian was on his feet and running before he even mentally acknowledged it. The thud of his boots on the cobblestone bridge sent small shocks through his legs. Another large clatter directed him off to a side street a couple of feet away. Three men had cornered a tiny slip of a woman, who held her purse like a weapon.

Damian saw red. “Hey, why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” he yelled in French. There was one benefit to being in a foreign city, Damian did not have to play the part of a clueless rich kid who couldn’t hold his own in a fight.

The brutes turned to him and grinned mean smiles. One guy stepped forward. “Come on man, we’re just having a little fun. You can join if you-” Damian cut off the disgusting words with a jab to the nose. Then he spun around, sweeping the second guy’s feet from underneath him, hitting him with a punch to the face to knock him out cold. The first guy hadn’t lost consciousness, but he was doubled over which allowed Damian to knee him in the stomach. Another punch to the face and he was out cold too.

He turned to finish off the last guy, only to see the woman roundhouse kicking him to the head. The burly man fell with a thud. The alley turned eerily silent, the only sounds coming from the sharp breaths of both Damian and the girl. His pulse fluttered fast; the heat of the battle warmed his chilled limbs.

A red purse laid on the ground near his feet. Picking it up he walked over to the small woman, no teen she looked about his age, who was still sharply breathing.

“Here, this is-” a blur is all he saw before a sharp pain spread across his nose.

Did she-

Did she just punch him in the face?

The shock of it sent him sprawling onto the ground, and he blinked away the tears forming in his eyes. Damian cradled his throbbing nose, anger bubbled once more under his skin before-

*Zing*  

The connection hit him like a train. A deep well of rightness spreading through him. He looked up through bleary eyes to find the woman staring at him in similar shock.

“You’re my soulmate,” they sputtered at each other.

Damian inwardly groaned. The League made initiates kill their soulmate should they ever find them to prove their loyalty. He grew up never wanting to find his soulmate, knowing they would serve as nothing but a distraction and weakness. Even when he joined his father, the idea seemed an unneeded liability. Sure, his brothers found their soulmates within the superhero community, but what were the chances he would too?

A small whimper escaped the mouth of the guy lying unconscious on the ground, knocked out by the woman the universe thought would be the perfect match for him. Damian tilted his head. She might not be a superhero, but maybe the universe knew him better than he first imagined.

“OhmygoshIamsosorry!” the flood of words spilled from his soulmate’s mouth, her face a deep shade of red. “I was just-”

“Acting on instinct and adrenaline? Appropriate, considering the threat you just faced,” he said without anger. “Your right hook is sufficiently adequate.”

“Um… thanks? Are you alright though?” She extended a hand to help him off the ground. He took it, his larger hand enveloped hers, but she showed a surprising amount of strength as she pulled him up. The contact sent another *zing* through his body, smaller and more subdued though. Damian found himself reluctant to let go.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He suffered worse in training before. With the initial pain dissipated, all that was left was a dull throbbing that would be gone by morning. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a bright smile. He took the chance to finally observe his soulmate. She was small, couldn’t be more than 5’2, which meant at 6’1 he towered over her. She was of mixed descent, with dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and bright blue eyes. Her arms and legs were toned with muscle, and she held herself with grace and confidence. She wore a face of tasteful makeup and was clothed in a short red dress and a pair of strappy heels with no jacket in sight. He had no clue how she wasn’t freezing to death.

Her smile dimmed a bit. “Actually, no, I’ve had better days. Today has kinda been a perfect disaster; first I’m late for school, then I forgot my homework, and my class bully decided it was a pick-on-Marinette day. There’s a three-hour Akuma fight, involving mind-control, which is always a total drag. I finally get home to find my parents worried sick about me because I hadn’t answered my phone which got destroyed at the beginning of the fight. I go to my class’s senior Valentine’s day dance hoping to finally confess to the guy I’ve had a crush on for years, only to get humiliated because he already has a girlfriend, and everyone else in my class knew and decided not to tell me. When I get away not to cause a scene, not only do I forget my jacket, but I also get attacked by three bumbling idiots with more mouths than brains.” She chuckled, hollow and verging on manic.

Damian stood there, unsure how to take all of that. He filed away the fact she was being bullied, and that she commonly dealt with Akuma attacks. Both equally important, as far as he was concerned.

“Now, here I am, standing in front of my gorgeous soulmate I punched in the face, after beating up said earlier idiots, rambling my mouth off because I don’t know the meaning of the word chill. Yep! I’ve certainly had better days. Ohmygoshimatotalmesskillmenow.” She muttered the last part into her hands, but Damian understood her all the same.

He would come back to the gorgeous thing later.

“…Do you want my jacket? You look cold.” It wasn’t the smoothest thing he could have said, nor the most appropriate considering the mess of a day she’d had. However, the manners Alfred drilled into his brain came knocking and if he was cold with a turtle-neck long-sleeved shirt and a jacket, she must be freezing in all that… nothingness. He averted his eyes from her exposed skin, looking at her face instead.

His soulmate looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“You know what, yeah, a jacket would be nice,” she said in a tired voice. Damian shed his coat quickly, not minding the sharp sting of cold that hit him. He helped his soulmate into the sleeves and took an odd little pleasure in seeing how tiny she looked in the folds of his jacket.  

“I’m Marinette, by the way, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She wrapped the jacket closer cuddling into the heat. “Sorry for kinda freaking out on you there.”

“The kind of day you’ve had has surely broken lesser mortals. Any coping method is your due. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne. It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette.” He smiles, although the gesture feels odd, trying to appear non-threatening. While his soulmate (and maybe he was coming around to this faster than he thought possible) was obviously skilled at dealing with a variety of stressors, he didn’t want to add any more and risk her being akumatized.

“You as well Damian.” She shivered despite the added protection of his coat, as a gust of wind swept through the alleyway. “As much fun as this conversation has been, it might be best for us to get out of the cold.”

“Indeed. What will we do with these inconveniences?” he asked, poking one of the guys with the tip of his boot.

She sighed, picking her purse from the ground where he’d dropped it. “We’ll call the police to come pick them up. They’ll be cold, but fine.”

Damian scowled, “It’s better than they deserve.” He sneered at the guy who offered for Damian to join them. Join them in assaulting this tiny, bright girl, who’d been through enough. His soulmate. The bubbling rage began anew, and he wished he’d done more than just knock them unconscious, they deserved far worse for thinking, daring, to touch-

A small hand rested on his arm, dragging him out of his violent thoughts. “I’m fine Damian. Even if you hadn’t arrived, I would have been fine. I can hold my own in a fight. This is Paris after all.”

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “Fine. We’ll leave them to their fates.” And if their fates happened to involve complete ruination of their online lives, credit scores, and secure information? Well, that was hardly his fault, now was it?

“There’s a good café opened late around the corner. Would you- would you like to go there?” Marinette asked.

Damian smiled at the tentative offer. “I would very much enjoy that, yes. I’ve been out for longer than I should, coffee would be great right about now.” She giggled and he felt his stomach flutter. Funny, giggling always annoyed him, but that bright clear sound... he could grow used to that.

Walking out of the dark alley, listening to Marinette talk to the police on her phone, Damian sighed. The streets no longer felt too clean, or the lights too bright. Yes, he was colder, and yes this was a complication, but for some reason, Damian could not bring himself to care.

Maybe Paris wouldn’t be so bad after all.