#anxiety and excitement feel the same so I am nauseous

[jackinalex]

I fly out to Denver tomorrow and I am so anxious, but I’m also beyond excited for the show. Feel like I’m gonna burst.

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 26th:  Corroded Coffin | I Wanna Be Somebody - W.A.S.P. | Hopeful a/n: descriptions of anxiety & grounding, rockstar!eddie, supportive!uncle wayne, established steddie. read on ao3 + masterpost | tumblr masterlist

Corroded Coffin gets its first gig outside of Gareth’s garage on a random Tuesday in October 1985. 

It’s a small place, a true hole in the wall, the exact kind of place Eddie Munson imagines James Hetfield might’ve seen back in Metallica’s earliest days. There are maybe five people in the crowd outside of the bartender and servers, but those are five more people than have ever heard them play before. 

Jeff, Freak, and Gareth are goofing around backstage, tuning instruments, pushing and shoving playfully, the excitement palpable. Eddie wants to join in but his heart and his stomach seem to have swapped places. Nauseous, shaky, and terrified, he can’t bring himself to shake it off with his friends and finds himself sitting in the corner, back to the wall. 

An apt metaphor, really. 

He feels caged, stuck, panicked– a lion trapped in too small of a space if the lion was also secretly afraid of its one and only concrete talent being judged as not good enough by strangers. 

“Alright, Ed, take a breath with me, okay?” Wayne appears out of nowhere, grunting as he sits on the grody floor next to Eddie. 

A familiar, calloused hand gently pulls Eddie’s fingers out of his hair, a position he doesn’t realize he’s in until Wayne pulls him out of it. He turns to face his Uncle and breathes with him the same way he had as an anxious little kid before the talent show, as the new kid in school, as the now fledgling adult who still needs comfort, reputation and appearance be damned. 

Eddie closes his eyes and lets Wayne squeeze his hand to cute inhalation and exhalation. One day, he’ll think to ask him where the fuck he got that from, but not today. Today, he needs to calm down enough to perform with his friends. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

In. Out. 

“Feelin’ better?” Wayne asks, patting Eddie’s knee with his free hand. 

Eddie nods and lets his eyes flutter open. It feels like waking up as he adjusts back to the noise and light he’d managed to tune out. “I think so, yeah. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so scared as shit but yeah. Not okay.” 

Wayne scoffs and shakes his head. “It’s your first show, Ed. ‘S alright to be a little keyed up. You’re gonna be fine though, just go out there and have fun with it.” 

“You’ll stay for the show?” Eddie asks, a little more hopeful. Seeing Wayne in the audience during the talent show all those years ago set his nerves at ease. Seeing Wayne in the audience at The Hideout might do the same. 

“Nah, figured I’d just stop by to talk you off the ledge and head on home. Of course I’m stayin’, what kinda Uncle do you think I am?” 

Eddie and Corroded Coffin play their first gig to a crowd of about five drunks and one Uncle Wayne. It’s not perfect– Eddie trips over a microphone wire at least once and they each miss a cue here and there– but they finish to applause. The loudest of which comes from Uncle Wayne. 

—

Over the years, Corroded Coffin ebbs and flows. When Eddie nearly dies, the band does too for a bit but, like Eddie, reanimates after some left dormant. The members stay the same, the name stays the same, the sound stays the same. What changes is the audience. 

Apparently, the metal community is very interested in Eddie’s Lazarus-adjacent story coupled with wrongful accusations and a suburban witch hunt. Interested enough for the band to start getting noticed. The Hideout turns into The Vogue, and then the Old National Centre, and then the TCU Amphitheater. At each one, Eddie feels the same nerves he had at their first gig, and maybe even a bit more so now with his Upside Down injuries always at the back of his mind. 

What if I pull something?

What if my leg gives out?

What if– 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, leaning against the wall next to Eddie. “It’s gonna be okay, you know that, right?” 

Eddie nods and chews on the piece of hair he’s pulled in front of his face. 

He doesn’t know that, actually, but it’s not something he wants to rehash right now. Besides, Steve more than anyone can understand his running monologue more than most. He’d been there, been the one to carry him out, and since they started dating, has been the one to lull him back to sleep when the memories jar him awake. 

But Wayne’s not here yet, probably stuck in traffic after leaving the factory early for the show, and Eddie doesn’t know how to prepare for a show without his guided breathing. 

Every rockstar has a ritual, and that’s his. 

“I know I’m no Wayne but, wanna try breathing with me?” Steve offers with a sheepish smile. 

He nods again, still silent, and breathes. This time, softer hands holding his and cueing his inhalations and exhalations. It’s not the same, but it’s something. Enough to calm his racing heart to the point of words and with a shout from Jeff and a kiss from Steve, he takes the biggest stage he’s played yet. 

Halfway through their set, Eddie sees movement in the corner of his eye and when he dares a glance, he sees Uncle Wayne standing next to Steve in his dusty flannel with a beaming smile. 

The nerves disappear. 

[trashboatprince]

Here we go again, another one-shot of Fourteen in retirement!

And this time it's about them and their retirement squish~

Warning: anxiety issue for the Doctor that makes them too nauseous to eat (Don't worry, this isn't going in a specific direction, this is just general anxiety making someone feel sick)

As always, I use they/them for Fourteen. Also, at this point, I'd like to think that Fourteen is keeping in contact with some of the companions, like Tegan, Ace, Martha, the Fam, so if you're wondering about the mention of Ace or their friends, it's that.

Also, the art is mine. I know I've posted it before, but this fic is based on the doodles.

On with the fic!

--

"Oi! Spaceman!" Donna's voice carried from somewhere beyond the bathroom door. "Hurry up! Breakfast is almost ready and I am not saving you a plate!"

The Doctor scoffed, shouting back that they were finishing up with getting dressed.

"Yeah, yeah, just make it quick!"

They rolled their eyes, smiling as they grabbed for the button up hanging from a knob on a cabinet in their personal bathroom. Ah, it was such a nice thing to have now that they owned their own home, not having to share a bathroom with Rose like at the temporary home UNIT gave them.

They hadn't expected to meet someone as high maintenance as themself when it came to getting ready in the morning, but Rose was a worthy opponent for races to the bathroom.

They hummed to themself as they got the buttons done up on the shirt with an unconscious ease, their attention mainly on their reflection in the mirror. Did they need to shave, they thought as they grabbed for their favorite vest.

Hmm... probably not, it wasn't anything serious. In fact, they thought they looked rather-

Huh?

The Doctor frowned, tugging at the vest, trying to get the button into its hole, but noticing that it... wasn't quite making it. That's odd. Had this shrunk in the wash? Oh, they told Sylvia how to wash it specifically, she better not have just tossed it in!

This is why the Doctor usually just did their laundry in the TARDIS, she always did their clothing perfectly in her machines. For the most part. Sometimes there was a hiccup or two.

Looking down, the Doctor struggled to get it through the hole before finally succeeding. But it wasn't a perfect victory, it was... it was a really tight fit.

"This is... tighter." They frowned, tugging on the vest, and noticing something else.

It wasn't the only thing that felt a bit tight.

The button up fit fine enough, not yet tucked into their pants, but the pants themselves? Well, they felt a tad bit tighter around their waist, and the Doctor wasn't exactly liking that. They tried to adjust them, but it wasn't much.

"Did you shrink in the wash too?" They asked their clothes before lifting up the shirt, eyes widening a little.

Oh, that's new.

There was a slight difference to their waist, a bit more to it than they really remembered. Actually, when was the last time they really checked out this new-old body? Hmm... probably not since their first week of retirement, when they finally sat down and did a self-check over all of their body.

Same face and teeth, same eye issue which required the glasses to be worn a bit more often because it was slightly more annoying now, same minor issues that the old face had. Except there wasn't a mole on their back, it was actually up on their left hip, which was interesting.

There was also the fact that they were much thinner and a bit more worn down this time around, which Donna have pointed out a few times.

Oh, and more freckles, but that was more for the Doctor to be excited over, they liked the freckles. Freckles were cool.

Uhg, Chinny was still an influence, wasn't he?

Still, this was different. The Doctor poked at their stomach, feeling the softness when it had been a bit harder before. What was going on?

How had they not noticed this before? Had it happened overnight? Was it something they ate? Had it happened when they got into that drinking challenge on Sebvie 4 with Ace last week? They hadn't been sure of some of the drinks the Sebv had challenged them with...

Or was it from eating that biscuit they found in the TARDIS library yesterday?

"DOCTOR! Hurry your arse up!" Donna's shout snapped the Doctor from their worried thoughts and they quickly bolted from the bathroom, tossing off the tight vest. They'd deal with it later, best not to keep the family waiting.

"What took you so long?" Donna huffed as the Doctor rushed to the table, jumping into their favorite chair at it.

"Oh, you know." They grinned, gesturing at themself. "Takes a lot of work to be this beautiful."

Donna scoffed, then handed them a cup of coffee, perfectly measured to allow them to pour as much flavored creamer and sugar into it as they'd like.

Breakfast was a full spread, as it always was on Sundays, and the family tucked in. The Doctor decided to distract himself with conversation and tasty food, ignoring the slight, unexpected weight gain.

However, while they were washing dishes, it came back to them as they shifted where they stood. The pants were still tight, and it was bothering them. They felt tighter.

They'd need to run some tests, look into whatever this was. If it was dangerous, it could affect his family! Can't have that! Maybe it was a strange side effect of being on Earth this long?

No, no, they'd been on Earth for ages before, several times. They never had this issue.

But then again, the Doctor had been quite active. Running about, solving problems, not staying in one place like this. Even working in the Black Archives now wasn't anything like working as the Chief Science Officer before.

"Somethin' on your mind, son?" Wilf asked and the Doctor turned to look at him, as he pulled the milk from the fridge. The Doctor held out the mug they had been washing, might as well let him use that if he was getting himself tea.

"Oh, it's... nothing. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?" Wilf took the mug and grabbed for the kettle that had been on the stove, pouring himself hot water for his tea. "Work stuff? Aliens?"

"Uhhh..." The Doctor didn't want to trouble him with this issue. "Thinking about this video that Rose showed me the other day. Really interesting stuff, it was this guy playing video games and talking over them. She said I should do it, would be really funny."

"Oh yes." Wilf laughed. "I don't understand any of that nonsense."

"Yeah, neither do I." The Doctor grinned, once more distracted, probably for the best.

--

"This might be a problem." The Doctor muttered to themself as they stood in their bedroom, looking at the mirror before them.

It was Thursday now, just days after the discovery on Sunday, and the Doctor hadn't done much to look into what could have caused the softness around their middle.

But it seemed to be in other places as well.

They knew their body well, it was Time Lord nature to do so. They could tell that there was more of this softness in other places. Just barely there, nothing to be noticed by anyone else but themself. A tiny bit in the arms, the thighs, and maybe just the slightest bit in the chest and face, but it was mainly there in the small pudge around their middle.

They stood in front of the mirror in their boxers, and watched as their reflection pinched the squish. They wracked their brain over what caused it, but nothing came to mind.

Well, except for one thing. Which should have been obvious from the start, but their instincts didn't really... click for that.

It was just weight gain. Perfectly, ordinary weight gain. A normal thing for normal species, right? Well, not for the Doctor. Because the Doctor always ran, always forgot to eat, always did this and that and didn't eat much except for nibbles and such.

But being with the Noble-Temple family meant living by their schedules. Three meals a day, Donna made sure of it. With tea (or in the Doctor's case, coffee) time, and some snacking through the day as they worked on projects at home, in the TARDIS, or on the days they went to work.

Was this normal?

To gain weight like this?

They'd been retired for about six or so months now, was this supposed to happen? Were they doing this thing right? Or was this a bad sign, that they were not doing this correctly, that this was a step in the wrong direction?

The Doctor turned away from the mirror, they needed to stop looking and get back to getting dressed. They grabbed a t-shirt from the closet and some jeans. No work today, they were going to fix the old box TV in Wilf's sunroom so he could watch programs from another galaxy.

They smoothed their shirt down and bit their lip, an uncomfortable feeling was in the pit of their stomach, twisting itself in knots. Uhg, they hated when they got themself so worked up like this. Maybe fixing the TV would help with anxiety.

--

Donna watched her best friend at the dinner table. They had spent most of the meal chatting with Wilf and Rose about the TV in the sunroom, and how it could get access to over nine thousand channels.

She had noticed that the Doctor hadn't really touched much of their dinner. When dinner was done, she helped them with the dishes, where she washed and they put away. "So, not hungry tonight?" She asked as casually as possible.

The Doctor paused while drying off a bowl. "Huh?"

"You hardly touched your dinner tonight. You like curry, you told me my mom makes delicious curry, you typically ate two helpings."

They looked at her, frowning just a little, before putting the bowl in the cabinet. "Just... not hungry tonight."

She pulled the plug from the sink and turned to face them completely. "Bull, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Don't tell me that nonsense, Doctor. I know you." She jabbed a wet finger against their chest. "You have been troubled by something lately. You think you're so good at hiding that, but you're not. I'm your best friend, I know you inside and out. Literally. Your mind was my mind for a while."

The Doctor squirmed where they stood and they looked a bit pink in the cheeks as they glanced around. Then they sighed, leaning in close. "I... I think I'm failing this retirement thing..."

Donna raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I just... I noticed something. On Sunday. And I think it's a sign that I'm doing bad at this, that the calm life isn't working for me."

She felt the pricklings of worry as she listened, and she touched their arm. "Go sit down, we're gonna talk about this."

"Do we have to?" They asked, a whine in their voice.

"Yes, you knob. If it makes you feel better, we're do this in your weird study." The Doctor nodded and left the kitchen for said study, which was more of just a room full of weird books and things they had collected over the years, and a couch that looked uncomfortable but was the complete opposite.

That's where she found them sitting when she entered the room, two mugs in her hands. One with coffee with just a dash of milk, the other one mainly that nasty candy bar creamer with a dash of coffee, just as the two of them liked their drinks.

The Doctor took the offered mug, looking at it with a complicated stare. Donna rolled her eyes and sat down on the other side of the couch, taking a long drink from her mug. "Start talking."

"About?"

"What you think is the matter."

With a small, weird noise from their throat, they set the mug aside to adjust how they were seated on the couch. They leaned back and grabbed at the hem of their shirt and slowly pulled it up. "I've gained weight."

Donna stared at their torso, where there was a bit of pudge there, nothing to really write home about. "Really? That's it?"

The Doctor looked at her, confused. "What do you mean 'that's it'? Is this not... I dunno, a bad sign or something?"

"How?"

"I-" And then they stopped, giving this some thought. "I don't know. I mean, is it normal to gain weight when recovering and taking the slow path?"

Donna groaned, slapping her forehead. "You're the smartest person on Earth, and yet you are a great, big doof! Of course it's normal!"

"It is?"

"Yes! It's a perfectly good sign, actually! Lots of people gain weight when recovering from stress, trauma, and PTSD! My granddad did after the war, told me so himself. Said he came back a scrawny thing and had felt bad about things, but when he started to get better, he ate right and put on weight. It's perfectly normal, and it means you're adapting to a calm life."

The Doctor looked at their stomach, poking it. "So... this is a sign I'm recovering?"

Donna nodded. "Yep! Just like how you look less exhausted. I know the nightmares still come and go, but you've been sleeping better, right?"

"Of course! I've been able to sleep for several hours without a single nightmare waking me up for the past two weeks!" The Doctor stated, waving their hands.

"There you go, this is working. You just being here, not running around, trying to ignore your problems like you had been doing. You've got your friends hanging out with you, you have a job that you actually like, and you still run around, but without having to save the day all the time cause the beautiful Doctor is out there doing it for you."

"Oi! I'm beautiful too!"

"I'm not going to call my pseudo-brother beautiful." Donna made a face and they laughed. "You're starting to enjoy the slow, Doctor. And there's nothing wrong with this." She leaned over and tapped at the softness they had gained. "In fact, it's nice to see you with some meat on your bone."

The Doctor nodded, taking this in. "So, retirement squish is perfectly normal?"

Donna wanted to question the Doctor on their choice of describing this as that, but decided not to. "Yep. Means you're relaxing and doing well."

They perked up a bit. "Oh! Brilliant!"

The Doctor grabbed their coffee mug, taking a long drink. "That's good, cause I was worried and kinda freaking out about it. A lot."

"Please don't tell me you didn't eat dinner because of this..." She winced.

"What?" The Doctor blinked. "Oh! No, no! I actually got myself so worked up with worry that it made me nauseous. Actually, now that I feel better about this, I could do with a nibble. I didn't have my afternoon snack today for that reason too."

"Oi, go make a sandwich or something then!" She shooed the Doctor off the couch as they laughed, getting up and fixing their shirt.

They turned to look at her, smiling. "Thanks, Donna. Sorry about this, I didn't know what to make of it, I'm not... I'm not used to taking it slow. I don't know what to expect, what's a good sign or a bad sign."

She stood up and looked at her best friend, smiling just a bit. "I get it. Trust me, I do. After losing my memories, it was hard to get back on track. After Rose came out, it was an adjustment to knowing if I was doing the right thing or the wrong thing. I'm here to help you along this one, spaceman. Don't ever forget that."

The Doctor grinned and gave her a hug. "Thank you. I'll come to you for things like this, I promise." They pulled back. "You really think it's a good look for me though? The retirement squish?"

"Oh yeah." Donna grinned back. "Also, are you really going to call it that?"

"Of course! That's what it is!" That's one way to call it that.

--

I hope I wrote this right, I have my own issues with weight that I'm working on, but I felt like the Doctor did when I was younger after I had lost a lot of weight due to medical stuff and started gaining it back when I was healing. I hadn't been sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but it is a good thing.

[lonesomedotmp3]

actually ok I think I can talk about this with you guys I'll stop being stupid and vague about what was going on today. I just don't want people online to judge the way I view my sexuality because of something I post about like fuck off to be honest. but anyway. basically the stupid text message guy did something weird enough yesterday that I was like god ok I really don't know but maybe he does like me. and then it put me on this whole huge spiral of if I would ever date a man and questioning my sexuality and being like well I am Thinking about this a lot and I don't hate him maybe I'm bisexual or something. and I thought it about it over and over and I think in the end it's that I'm just really really lonely and I covet the idea of a relationship and being wanted. like He does not excite me the idea of having any kind of romance in my life excites me. and I think it's the same as when I was fifteenish and I thought I had my first crush on a guy but it was actually anxiety and talking to him made me nauseous because he was so mean and teasing LOL and I didn't know how to speak to him. men were sort of like extraterrestrials to me until after my gcses... anyway so I think it's that and I'm thinking it over so much because I think everything over so so much and genuinely I think if he just fucking said something and I could reject him it would be ok it's solely this weird middle ground where I feel like I have to say something and provoke this conversation when EYE am not the one with feelings which makes it like ok should I have feelings about this would other people just move on??? but I can't move on I can't be normal about anything in my life and no one shows romantic interest in me ok it's fucking weird!

[thewritingofspencerrose]

M.Hughes Masterlist

First Day on the Job

It's chilly in the arena when we enter, hand in hand, for my first day.

Only a week into living here and I still don't fully think this has all set in.

I may be working on a medical team, but I'm going to be the first stop of all injured players as soon as they're off the ice.

It's all on me.

"Hey, what's going on in there?" A physical knocking on my forehead brings me from my thoughts, Trevor's smile being the first thing in front of me, mocking and coy.

Part of me wants to just smile and say I dazed off, but this is Trev, he's my partner in

"What if someone bleeds out? Or worse, what if everyone hates me?"

"What's the worst scenario?" Jamie questions from our side, not even attempting to save his laugh, Trevor pulling me closer to his body. "Everyone hating you?"

"You do realize everyone loves you right?" They're tag-teaming my nerves right now, and honestly I'm not even sure that'll be enough.

No exam prepared me for the nauseous anxiety that starting a lead job would bring.

"They don't know me!" It's a lame argument, but valid all the same as I pause just outside the locker room door. I know I'm allowed in. It's where I've been instructed to meet Coach Cronin and introduce myself to the boys.

"We have all heard literally everything about you, I'm pretty sure I could tell you things about yourself that you don't even know, Mags," his words are meant to be assuring, but assuring isn't loading properly right now.

"Then what if I don't live up to their idea of me?"

Even if I hadn't already been on the edge of a breakdown, the look on Trevor's face as he takes my shoulders, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast.

"The boys already love you because I love you, and that's never going to change. So we're going to march your cute little ass into this lockerroom and wow everyone with all that Latin-anatomy-nonsense that we studied the last four years, got it?"

Sorry Dad, you better be saving for a wedding.

I just smile though, small and wide while he returns my look. But Jamie's groaning, moaning on about something involving us getting a room, and I can hear the sound of staff coming down the hall.

"Okay, let's get this over with so I can go home and rant about it with Q."

The boys both laugh, but Jamie is the one to open the door, Trev taking ahold of my hand with one of his, his other covering my eyes as he leads me into the loud atmosphere.

"Okay boys! Put 'em away! My girls here and unless you break 'em I want them nowhere near her eyeline!" Nevermind on the wedding, I may just kill him here and now.

"Trevor Zegras!" The team laughs loudly, oohing and ahhing while I pry Trev's hand off, and I can't help but laugh as I look out around me.

These boys are going to make me cry. Correction, I am crying.

"You guys-"

Trevor's hands wrap around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder and I can feel his smile. "Welcome to the team, Baby."

"And welcome to the team from the rest of us," the one I know to be Mason greets, everyone around clapping. "I'm not going to call you baby, because I value my life, but we're all really glad you're here, Margaret."

"Maggie," I correct softly, Mason's smile growing as Leo jumps up like a happy puppy.

"We get nickname privileges?"

There's a joy throughout the room as I take in his smile, the banner saying CONGRATULATIONS in Ducks colors, balloons and all sprawled about.

How could I not give these boys nickname privileges when they seem just as excited to see me as they would an old friend. It's like they're seeing Trev or Jamie after a long break.

"Of course you do, as long as y'all keep from getting too beat up," I offer, sticking out a hand. "Deal?"

"Deal to do our best," Leo accepts, shaking my hand as some of the veterans laugh.

Gudas just chuckling and shaking his head as he watches us both. "She's going to run this whole show."

[lucaswarmhotchocolate]

Every time I think about physics and space too long I get a little clammy and nauseous and feel like maybe there is Something More out there. I’m gonna cut the crap and bare my soul here, be truly genuine for a minute. Space freaks me out. I love it but it terrifies me and when I realize how complicated things are and how little of it I understand my hands start to shake and my eyes get glossy. I am terrified of death I’m scared whenever I realize that even if I live a long life it will never be enough. I’m scared when I remember that I can die at any time here. Death has been a truly persistent anxiety for as long as I’ve been developmentally capable of processing the idea. When I remember that time is inseparable from space it makes me feel excited and still I am anxious. It’s not a bad thing I think this is maybe the most appropriate anxiety someone could have. I can’t escape it, which kind of sucks, but I’ve lived with it. I will continue to live with it. I will continue to marvel at the beauty of creation, the formation of planets moons solar systems asteroid belts galaxies the universe. It excites me and frightens me for the same reason, it’s terribly beyond my intelligence and I think I like that sometimes. I love feeling like I can’t understand something even though I can tell that I’m close. Like walking on ice. Lake Michigan has riptides that will pull you under and out and kill you. It Hassan’s bars that you can swim out to and suddenly stand on. It has ship wrecks and corpses and fish and enough invasive species to make your skin crawl. Deep enough that it makes your toes tingle thinking about the scale of it all. A lot of people have died in Lake Michigan because they don’t know about the riptides. Someone is always jumping off the pier and drowning. I went to a beach in April of 2020 and saw the waves licking houses tentatively like stray cats seeing if you’ll give them food. I saw the mountains and the towns on them from the road, everything was very small. I saw trees for miles and miles, barely noticed how high up we were because of the steady slope of everything. The Appalachian’s are very beautiful. Virginia smells nice. I don’t remember Florida. New York was busy and full of people and I hated visiting but I would love to live there someday. I see faces in doors and carpet and linoleum tiles and hear voices in humming electricity and the world is so beautiful. My nails keep growing. I keep writing because I hope that I will make a genuine connection with someone. I’m so lonely and tired but I think I will be okay someday.

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Journey to Joy (Robin Fierce x Aura Mayari) - Writworm42

A/N: for @petitmonde <3 thank you Athena for beta-ing!!

Seven weeks 

Aura drives slowly on the way home from the obstetrician’s office, his hand resting on Robin’s knee and a smile as big as Robin’s own on his face the entire trip. 

“You’re carrying precious cargo,” he had said, his excitement barely contained. “Gotta be careful from now on.” 

Robin knows he probably shouldn’t enable his husband’s anxiety, but he’d also be lying if he said he doesn’t feel the same way. It’s been round after round of IVF, decrease after decrease in testosterone dosage; night after night of crying and month after month of wondering if their efforts will ever pay off.

And now finally, finally , all of their dreams are coming true. 

Robin had wanted kids since he was a little boy--he just hadn’t wanted to be a mother. And all his life, he’d been told that that was the only way. That transitioning would cut his chances of fatherhood in half. That he could always adopt, said with a disappointed tone as if that was somehow a lesser path to parenthood. That maybe it would be for the best, since there’s less to explain that way. And all those people must have been right, if that was the only thing Robin ever heard. 

Right?

It was only when Aura had come into Robin’s life that all those shattered dreams were finally repaired. Aura was different from anyone else Robin had ever met--instead of accepting that he and Robin wouldn’t have kids, or trying to debate Robin into wanting to adopt, he took to the internet. Robin still wasn’t sure how Aura had done it; within a few months, he’d found more information about pregnancy for trans men than Robin had managed in years. He helped Robin find a doctor who confirmed everything Aura had heard. Thank God Robin had thought to freeze some of his eggs before he went on T; by the time they got married, all their ducks were in a row, and they were fully ready to start trying for a baby. 

“Hey, isn’t it too early for pregnancy tears?” Aura teases as he glances at Robin, noting the tears prickling at the corner of the man’s eyes. 

“I’m just really happy, okay?” Robin laughs, wiping his eyes. “Aren’t you?”

Aura laughs in turn, grinning widely and grabbing Robin’s hand to give it a loving squeeze.

“I am, baby. I really, really am.” 

Ten Weeks

They decide to tell Amethyst first. It’s a bit strange, telling Robin’s ex about the little family he and Aura are on the way to building. It could go either way, after all--Amethyst and Robin didn’t break up because of anything to do with kids, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t get jealous of the idea of Robin having a future sometimes. Still, she remains one of Robin’s best friends, so he’s pretty sure this jealousy is more out of protectiveness and disappointment with her own singleness than actually wanting him back. 

After all, she was the one who organized Aura’s proposal and acted as incredibly-neurotic planner for their wedding, so clearly, she doesn’t feel that much of a loss. 

Nonetheless, Robin can’t help but be a bit nervous as they sit across from her in the coffee shop, Aura’s leg bouncing a mile a minute under the table and Robin struggling to find the words to get this conversation started. Just when he opens his mouth, though, Amethyst beats him to the punch. 

“So, you’re pregnant,” she says plainly, taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Wh--how did you--”

“You’re drinking camomile tea, I’ve never seen you drink that before, which means you’re nauseous, and you’re also avoiding caffeine at all costs. Not the Robin I know. And your shirt doesn’t look tight, but you’ve got just a bit of a lump, even though you’re still skinny everywhere else. And you’re not on max testosterone anymore, right? I can tell because your stubble is more like peach fuzz right now. Not a great look by the way, you should probably shave more carefully if you don’t want to look like an eighth grader.” Amethyst’s eyes are narrow, but there’s a twinkle of amusement in them nonetheless, and Robin can tell she’s trying hard not to smile.

“It’s still early,” Aura cuts in, “So we’re not telling a lot of people yet. But you--”

“Say no more,” Amethyst gives up on her quest to keep a straight face, her smile wide and warm as she reaches both hands across the table, grabbing both Robin and Aura’s hands at once. “Your secret is safe with me, on one condition.”

“You want to be godmother?” Robin guesses, but Amethyst just laughs.

“I was gonna say the middle name needs to be Amy, but that works fine too,” she grins. 

Twenty weeks

Robin stands outside the maternity clothes store, clutching Aura’s hand for dear life. One of his doctors--there’s so many involved right now that he can’t remember which--told him he should do everything he can to keep his blood pressure down. Hard to do when he’s about to step into a landmine of dysphoria, but he tries anyway, doing breathing exercises and trying to focus on the world around him, using Aura’s voice to ground him in five things he can hear, four things he can see, three things he can feel, all that good shit.

Doesn’t mean it works that well, though.

“We should probably just rip the bandaid off,” Aura sighs, squeezing Robin’s hand as hard as Robin’s squeezing his. “Hanging around probably isn’t going to help that much.” 

Up until now, Robin had managed to avoid needing to shop in the maternity section of stores. He’s been lucky that just going up sizes in the men’s section and switching to stretchier fabrics has been enough. But now that he’s about halfway through the pregnancy, he and Aura need to start seriously thinking about budget and saving for supplies when the baby gets here. Plus, he’s starting to be able to hide his bump less, which isn’t much of a problem most of the time, but sometimes the looks he gets when he doesn’t quite pass for not-pregnant make him a little too nervous.

Granted, Aura has punched more than one particularly-vocal transphobe in those instances, but he prefers that Aura stays out of jail for the foreseeable future, thank you very much. 

“Just a pair of pants or two, then we’re out,” Aura reassures Robin, “Easy-peasy, no more clothes being squeezy.”

Robin rolls his eyes, but laughs nonetheless before taking one last big breath and stepping inside.

“Welcome to Everything Nice Maternity!” a woman behind the counter immediately greets them as they come through the door. “Let us know if--Sugar, what are you doing?” 

Robin nearly cracks his neck with the speed of his double take when a carbon copy of the cashier pops up from the floor. He had no idea how he hadn’t noticed her before, but from the look on her face, he gets the feeling he’s probably not the first. 

“New line of shoes came in,” she dangles them in front of her face, and Robin’s eye is immediately drawn to the mannequin she must have been putting shoes on--a mannequin currently wearing almost nothing else. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s not gonna stay naked--I just like to always start with what we’re trying to showcase.”

“I don’t think that’s why they’re staring, bitch.” Robin and Aura’s heads snap around to look at the cashier again, who’s watching the scene with a knowing smile and bemused twinkle in her eye. 

“Oh. Right.” the woman holding the shoes laughs. “Sorry, it’s a shock to people sometimes if they don’t know us. I’m Sugar,” she extends a hand for Robin to shake, “And that’s my identical twin Spice.”

“Sugar and Spice, bringing you everything nice in maternity fashion!” the woman behind the counter chimes. 

“You guys are great,” Aura grins, looking over at Robin, who returns his smile. It’s actually kind of nice--talking to these two ladies, he almost forgets where he is and why he’s dreaded being here for so long.

Almost.

“So who are we shopping for today, guys?” Sugar asks. “Wife? Girlfriend? Baby mama?”

Shit. Robin’s heartbeat picks up again, and he finds himself squeezing Aura’s hand a little harder. 

This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid, and now that the question is out there, he’s completely unsure how to answer it. Should he lie? Tell the truth? Say fuck it and just bolt? He looks over at Aura for any kind of support his husband might be able to send telepathically. But Aura’s face is just as blank as his own--in other words, Robin needs to go with his gut, and he needs to go with it fast.

“Well… Actually, we’re shopping for me,” he says meekly, sucking in a breath and praying he made the right choice. 

Sugar and Spice’s jaws drop in sync. For a second Robin reconsiders the bolting idea, but then the twins look at each other, and their open mouths instead lift into excited smiles.

“Congratulations, daddy!” Sugar squeals. “Sorry, I just always wanted to say that. We read about trans dads in the news last month and have been waiting for some to come to our store, we figured we might never see one--” 

“Bitch, stop treating him like a zoo exhibit!” Spice scolds. “Sorry about her, it’s my turn with the brain cell today, apparently.” 

“No, that’s okay,” Robin says cautiously, though he finds a grin spreading on his own face, too. 

“We’re just excited, because usually we make the clothes you see here, but it’s been a while since we’ve been able to do anything new,” Sugar continues. “The same stuff always sells out and then we wind up getting into a rut, you know how it gets.”

“Boring,” Spice clarifies, “It gets boring. But now we can spice things up a bit! In a good way, we mean. You know, like dignified. We’re not completely crazy, we promise.”

Robin’s smile continues to grow, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel so nervous anymore--any reservations he has melt away, and he decides that actually, he likes this store very much. 

“So what do you guys have for me? Since you guys are so spicy here,” he quips. 

“Currently nothing, but we can change that!” Sugar replies, her voice taking on a bit of a sheepish edge. It’s gone almost as fast as it comes, though, because a lightbulb goes off in her eyes, and she turns to Spice with an excited gasp.

“Do you think this means we have to change our store from ‘maternity?’ Oh my God, wait, that means we can be--”

“ A literal mom and pop shop!” both twins scream in unison, and this time, all four of them laugh. It feels amazing, so relieving that Robin almost can’t remember what he’d been anxious about this whole time. 

“Alright, Sugar, let’s close for a while--you two, just sit tight while I grab our design supplies,” Spice moves out from behind the counter, and Robin can’t help but note the way the young woman seems so excited that she’s actually trotting rather than walking. “Looks like Sugar and Spice are going to dip into the paternity world!” 

  Twenty-four weeks

Sugar and Spice wind up being an amazing resource for Robin. They don’t just design a whole wardrobe for him, a lot of which they give him for free—they also offer him rides to appointments when Aura is unavailable, and on occasions when they invite themselves over, they always bring whatever strange thing he happens to be craving.

Perhaps the best thing they do for him and Aura, though, is bring Sasha Colby into their life.

"A certified doula who specializes in advocating for and coaching trans parents-to-be, huh?" Aura eyes the card Spice had given them as they sit outside the given address, reading it over and over as if he's the one about to let yet another person up in his business. As if this appointment is still up for debate instead of happening in five minutes. As if the idea of a trans person wanting to help other trans people is something to be skeptical about.

Bullshit , Robin thinks. He loves his husband to death, but honestly? 

Sometimes Aura's insistence on being as involved as possible can be… stifling, to say the least.

Still, Robin supposes this is better than the alternative, so he swallows his irritation as he gets out of the car, gesturing for Aura to follow.

"Did I do something?" Aura frowns as he bounds to catch up with Robin. Not a hard task to do; Robin's stomach is big enough now that it slows him practically to a crawl. Yet another reason he doesn't get why Aura seems to want to all but be the pregnant one himself.

"No," Robin lies as they walk up to Sasha's door and ring the bell.

Barely two seconds pass before the door swings open, and Robin almost has to check if his water broke. Sugar and Spice had told Robin and Aura that Sasha is good at what she does, but they had neglected to mention how fucking hot Sasha is. 

It’s a fact that even Aura must have noticed, from the way he suddenly bristles beside Robin.

“Welcome!” Sasha smiles broadly, beckoning them inside with a sweep of her arm. “You must be Robin. And who’s with you today?”

“I’m Aura, Robin’s husband,” Aura extends a hand towards Sasha with a strained smile. Robin should probably be concerned by the way Aura seems surprised that Robin hasn’t mentioned him, but he can’t help but feel irritated instead. Once again, all of Robin’s pregnancy has to be all about Aura, he thinks. 

“Well it’s nice to meet both of you,” Sasha shakes Aura’s hand, her gaze warm and unwavering as she looks between the two men in front of her. “Can I get either of you anything? Tea, water, juice? I have snacks too, if you’re hungry.” 

“I would love a--”

“We’re fine,” Robin shoots Aura a look, quieting him instantly.

“Right,” Sasha replies cautiously, the warmth in her eyes faltering for a moment before she recovers and smiles again. “Well, come on into my office, then. We can get started on the intake, that sound good?” 

Aura starts to follow Robin into Sasha's office, but for some reason manages to think the better of it, leaving Robin alone.

    Twenty-five weeks

"Boundaries are important, but setting them in a healthy way is the only way to make them stick."

Robin sits in Sasha's office and listens to her intently, his leg bouncing a mile a minute. Aura was at work, and didn't even know Robin was at another appointment--Robin had planned it that way.

“Have you actually spoken to Aura about needing space?” Sasha asks, though her facial expression tells Robin she already knows the answer. 

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” Robin shrugs. “Anyway, it’s not that I want space, it’s more that he treats me like glass. He doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not a kid just because we’re having one. I can do things on my own, too.”

“Sounds a little emasculating,” Sasha suggests. 

“It is!” Robin sighs, leaning back in his seat. He hadn’t wanted to say it, but it was true—being treated like he can’t stand on his own two feet makes him feel weak. And yeah, it’s okay for a man to feel weak, Robin knows that—but it doesn’t make it any easier. Especially when almost every resource Aura throws at Robin, every class he wants them to take together or article he wants Robin to read, is marketed towards women. 

He just doesn’t have the time, energy, or a clear enough head to unpack all of that right now.

“I have to wonder though, even if you haven’t told Aura, what aspects of your pregnancy have you shown him?”

Robin looks up at Sasha and frowns. Shouldn’t it be obvious, especially to someone as experienced as Sasha? He and Aura are married, after all—even if Robin wanted to hide anything about the pregnancy from his husband, he wouldn’t be able to.

“I can see you don’t really get what I mean,” Sasha shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is, has Aura’s role been to support you through pregnancy, or has it been to participate in welcoming and preparing for your baby? What have you guys done to bond over being expecting? Or have you guys been focusing less on the baby aspect, more on the difficulties of waiting for it to come?”

Oh.

Oh.

“If you’re not ready to tell Aura that he’s making you feel stifled, maybe show him he doesn’t have to worry about you,” Sasha suggests. “And I think that might benefit you too—take the focus away from being pregnant, and shift it towards being a dad. That’s the end goal, right?” 

“Right,” Robin echoes. Looking back up at Sasha, he smiles gratefully, a weight instantly lifting from his shoulders. 

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a Godsend?” he pulls himself up from Sasha’s couch and gathers his things, his smile only widening when Sasha laughs.

“Once or twice,” she winks. 

“Well, make it three times, then,” Robin notes, “Because I really do think you might have just changed my life.” 

  Thirty weeks 

Robin is getting a little too big to really contribute anything to the decoration of their nursery, but that’s what friends are for, he supposes. They decide to make a day of it—with snacks and toolboxes in hand, their friends and family file in at 10 in the morning, the last of them leaving again at 10 PM. It’s nice, actually; laughing and talking with everyone, every chore goes by a bit faster, and before they know it, the nursery is almost done—all it needs is some toys and supplies.

Darling❤️: hey baby can we go to Amethysts today

Darling❤️: i told her i’d let her borrow a book, i have it with me so i want to drop it off

Weird. Robin didn’t know Aura and Amethyst talked without him around. And why wouldn’t Aura just take the book by himself on the way home from work? He can always just text Aura the address. 

Unless…

Robin: you trying to throw me a surprise baby shower?

There’s a few minutes that go by without any answer, and Robin is almost afraid he’s gotten it wrong. But then a call comes through, and Amethyst’s voice sounds over Robin’s speaker.

“You’re an asshole,” she says immediately, though her voice has no edge to it.

“An ass--Really? And why is that, because two couldn’t have come up with a better cover?” Robin snorts. “How long have you been planning this?” 

“Just get here by six,” Robin can practically hear Amethyst’s eye-roll, and he can’t help but laugh.

“Fine, but there better be some fried pickles for me!” 

  Thirty-four weeks

Robin hasn’t been in his home office in almost two weeks at this point, but who could blame him? His back constantly hurts, his feet are always pounding, and he can’t sit in one place for too long without sciatic pain. It’s much easier to spread out on the couch while working these days, especially after Sasha gets Robin a lap-desk to minimize contact between the laptop and his belly. 

“Just one more week,” he sighs to himself as he closes his laptop for the day, stretching slightly. His brain feels thoroughly fried, and he’d love nothing more right now than a strawberry milkshake and a very long nap. But there’s so much to do before he goes on leave, and so little time--he owes it to all his coworkers and clients to make sure there are no loose ends left untied. He just wishes it wasn’t so damn tedious.

As if to rescue him from his ennui, the sharp sound of a car horn goes off in the driveway. It blasts again, then again, until Robin realizes that it’s going in the tune of shave and a haircut.

“Canned bits,” he sings to himself, heaving himself up from the couch. 

Sugar and Spice are standing outside of their car waiting for Robin when he finally makes it out to the driveway, back aching with each step. As if to protest the exercise, the baby kicks Robin hard, and he puts his hand over his stomach, grimacing and nodding.

“I know, I know,” he mutters to the baby, who only kicks again.

“You ready to go check out some free real estate?” Sugar grins as Robin comes up to the car, smiling gratefully when Spice opens the door for him and extends a hand to help him in. 

“I wish it were free,” Robin snorts as he slides into the backseat next to Aura. “You know the copay is like a hundred and forty bucks?”

“It’ll be worth it,” Sasha reassures Robin from the other side of Aura. “You’ll appreciate the extra privacy, and if you’re planning on having a lot of people at the birth, a suite is a lot roomier than a semi-private.” 

“I’m just shocked your insurance didn’t cover it,” Aura huffs. “You’ve been with the company for years, and it’s like, okay, just because the hospital decides to be bougie and call it a suite instead of a private room, all of a sudden the claim is denied? Bullshit.” 

The baby kicks again, this time forcefully, and Robin can’t help but laugh as he puts a hand over his stomach.

“Even the little one agrees,” he jokes, smiling when Aura puts a hand over Robin’s stomach, his palm landing exactly where Robin can feel their baby settling to rest.

  Thirty-seven weeks

Sasha was right about the so-called suites being worth it. Thanks to his surprise admission a week too early, there were no suites or semi-privates left for Robin to room in. Meaning he was essentially a zoo exhibit for every judgmental asshole, every overly-excited nursing student, or any bored patient to gawk at twenty-four seven. Even with the curtain drawn, rumours seemed to swirl around the unit far too fast, and it wasn’t long before news of the pregnant man reached Robin’s own ears.

Stupid fucking preeclampsia. 

It was kind of funny when he made his voice super deep to tell the woman who tried to talk to him through the curtain that no, he hadn’t heard of that, though.

He wishes for nothing more than to be able to be on bedrest at home, but that’s a pipe dream--after many fights with Aura that made his blood pressure even worse, Robin had relented and given in to his obstetrician’s advice about checking in to the hospital early. He had already known he was technically high-risk, after all--he just hated the way that made everything so medical. Every day is a flurry of questions and tests, and every day is a new symptom--headaches so bad his vision blurs, rib pain worse than the feeling of binding too long. Constantly needing to wear a bib because he never knew when he wouldn’t be able to grab a bedpan before an inhuman amount of vomit forced itself out of his body. 

But the worst part by far is the gossip he can hear from his care team and roommates.

“Hold on, I’m going to give those ladies a piece of my mind.” 

Aura’s mom stands up from her place at Robin’s bedside and throws the curtain open, marching over to where a couple of nurses had been whispering in Tagalog. Robin didn’t know what they had been saying, but based on Aura’s mother’s tone and the way Aura flinches when he hears her begin to rant at them, he could guess it wasn’t very nice. 

“All good now,” she comes back into his area with a smug smile on her face. 

“What did you--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Aura says grimly, though Robin can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh. 

“Well, at least they had the decency to switch languages--”

Robin’s silver lining is snatched from him as another wave of nausea hits, and Aura’s mother barely has time to thrust a bedpan in his face before bile projects from his throat. 

“My baby doing okay?” 

Robin looks up from his bedpan to see his mother standing in the threshold of his makeshift room, her brow crinkled in a worried frown. 

“I’m fine, mom, I’m just--”

He’s cut off by another heave, the acidic taste of vomit stinging his tongue and bringing tears to his eyes. 

“No, no you’re not, baby,” his mother frets. “Aura, where’s that call bell? You haven’t rung it yet? Come on, let’s get the nurse, he needs some gravol--”

“I’m fine ,” Robin hisses.

The woman in the next bed cackles. 

“He’s a big boy!” she mocks, “Big enough to get knocked up, he wants to be a real man he can take it!” 

“Oh, this bitch is trying to get punched --” Aura mutters, but Robin just puts out a hand.

“Stop,” he coughs. “Stop it right now. I’m fine .”

“Rob--” 

Robin doesn’t respond, only lays down and closes his eyes. He breathes in and out like Sasha taught him, visualizes a beach and the sand between his toes. Tunes out the beep of his heart monitor and purses his lips.

This has been an absolute disaster, a terrible time. God, he just wants to go home…

He opens his eyes when a warm hand grabs his own. Aura smiles down at him, his gaze as affectionate as it is sympathetic. 

“I’m here for you, baby,” he whispers, “We’re gonna get through this. I love you.”

The heart monitor’s beeps even out, and Robin can finally breathe again. 

  Thirty-nine weeks

The rest of the week goes by in a flurry; the noise about the pregnant man on the unit dies down, and people stop caring as much. Robin gets more used to his symptoms, and the cocktail of meds the doctors prescribe finally gets him on a more stable path. A private room becomes available, and Robin’s stay starts to become a little easier to bear. And then, a few days after he passes the thirty-eight week bench mark, he’s finally declared stable enough to go home.

It’s honestly a relief--he had barely been eating the hospital food anyway, and watching TV at home is much nicer than being restricted to two channels that are somehow always showing Maury marathons. And of course, nothing beats being able to go to sleep with Aura next to him again, his husband’s snores leading Robin into easy rest each night. 

It’s during one such rest that Robin is woken up by a sharp cramping in his stomach and the feeling of fluid running down his legs. 

Shit. 

Robin glances over at the clock on his bedside table, frowning when it blinks 3 AM back to him. His whole support system is probably asleep right now—he can wake Aura, but what about their moms? What about their friends? What about Sasha?

No, he can hold it. He has to hold it. He can make it; his contractions aren’t even that close right now. Just for a few more hours—he’ll wait until a respectable 5 AM, then start shouting about his labour from the rooftops. 

Unfortunately, another cramp hits him hard, making it clear the baby has other plans.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” 

Robin’s head snaps around to see a half-asleep Aura frowning as he pushes himself up in bed.

“Nothing, it’s fine, it’s— ohhhh…”

Robin doesn’t bother fighting Aura any more, only leans on him as they rush together to the car. 

  Labour

Robin’s and Aura’s mothers are at the hospital within the hour of Aura’s call, and Sasha isn’t far behind. Robin doesn’t have arms to hold every hand extended towards him, but he sure as Hell tries--he could use any squeeze, any encouragement, any comfort he could get.

Twenty hours later, little Riley Amethyst Mayari-Fierce is laid against Robin’s chest, sleeping soundly as Aura lays a gentle hand over his new daughter’s back.

“She’s perfect,” Aura’s voice is soft with wonder, his eyes shining as Riley stirs.

“Yeah,” Robin leans down to kiss his daughter’s head, her soft, wispy hair tickling his nose. “She really is.”

Pride Challenge Points: 2848

[liliththeladyliker]

someone on tumblr said that Minecraft music is like when you know you cant go home. and just. tribute to Minecraft anyone? or am i thinking of the fucking gametheroy idk. you might. you get it? being so totally alone? ive always wrote trauma dumping notes. the question us to who? at some points it was michelle or close friends, reporters from the future interviewing me for unknown means. but most of all i think i was writting to me. my future self. because she had to care about me. my well being was hers. and i was the one person who could know what she went through. know her. she is known. i know her and i oove her and im so happy she lived. not just because i can stand here but. its so happy yo think she lived. through all of that she still lived. i love her. so much. i want her to know that. that she will get the love she deserves. i like to think she can hear me in some sixth dimensional sense. i love you! you know that? you are loved. so severely loved by people. stay with me. stay. please. know you are loved. i know cause i care. i think of you every day. sometimes i picture in my head i am dragging your corspe with me. and pointing at things trying to get you excited about them. wishing you could see them. then i remember. im you. i see it. and you see it. and i love you. i love you so much. never forget. even if they dont mean it later they meant it then. at one point someone looked at you and said you are love. you make the universe turn. dont let anyone forget that. you are love. you are worth it. i love you. please stay with me. please. they say im dragging you past your rotting point. ghat you should be sleeping. but you did enough of that alive. ots time for you to live. look out at the sky and breathe. for the first time breathe.

like helping people. i always try to water it down into something more modern concept of human but its not. im home sick today. i didnt want to leave school cause couldn't put into words what was wrong. or put it correctly. but i knew i was sick. anxietv auestions it. savs im lvina but im sick. i canwas sick. anxiety questions it. says im lying but im sick. i can tell. thats what its like for me to love. i just do. but in the same way i said i was tired and nauseous and having trouble thinking coherently i say i love them so i can love you. people are people. i see your eyes in all of them. and if you are out there you need to be loved. i know it. and i will love you till i die. or till im forgotten. but i know how it feels to be unloved. i will never let you go through that alone again. i will be yours. i will love you till i die. i dont care if it hurts if i cant explain it but to anyone else that questions my love just know that i do. i love you because i can. because youre alive and breathing and even tho that will end i will celebrate i ever got to breathe the same air as you. i want to put it in a bottle and give it a shrine. i love you. i do. i really do. all i ask is you let me feel.it.back. my love is not a loan i dont require it but christ i would like to know im not alone. it reminds me of sisters to sayi need to be shown love to show my own but i do. i love you but dont let me burn out if you can afford to. this goes out the window if you are suffering. love doesnt matter then. i just want to know more people than me care.

[givemebackmylifeyoubrat]

Week 1

This week has had a lot of ups and downs. To start this post, today is an anniversary of a relative that passed 7 years ago and it is a hard day for everyone in my family. It's wild to think that this day seven years ago, he was here and wandering around the house. I started to explore some childhood trauma in therapy and had a lot of panic attacks around that. I also went to a gastroenterologist as I have gastroparesis (an emetophobe's nightmare hahaa), and he was genuinely so unbothered by me. He belittled me for about 20 minutes and I paid him 200 euro at the end.

Now that the hard moments are out of the way in this post, I had some lovely moments too. My mum and I went to the beach to look out at the sea in Blackrock. It was so lovely to stand there in the freezing cold, have the wind push your hair out of your face, and inhale sea air. The time in Dublin was lovely and it gave me a glimpse of what my life could be in the near future which is freedom. I started putting my art and writing out in the world by applying to competitions which is terrifying and so exciting at the same time. I spent lovely time with my aunt. I also sewed a really cute blouse (see below) as I am trying to teach myself how to sew.

Also, I made a huge goal for myself. Let's hope it can motivate me to get there, and in time, enjoy it.

Where I am today:

Sad and a bit worn, but optimistic. I am in a weird point where I need to figure out how to get to where I want to be (mentally and physically well). I watched a YouTube video about how to better yourself from anxiety without making it worse, you need to find the biting point in expanding your comfort zone (not too much and not too little). I feel like I am on a diving board that I am about to leap off of and feel the water. It's just a bit scary before.

Where I was this week:

Down and out. A lot of panic attacks and intense panic thoughts, but I am here on this blustery Tuesday excited for tomorrow, and for that, I am incredibly grateful. Thinking of my uncle and New York. Pushing myself gently. Really enjoying Adventure Archives on YouTube for some mind settling content. (I highly recommend them if you're feeling anxious as they're so chill with lovely scenes of landscapes.) Reflecting on the pushes from last week, I took a few antiemetics this week which kinda bummed me out, but I most of the time, I took them for travel. The ones I really want to cut out is when I think I am nauseous but I am not. I have definitely meditated a good few times, but I did not make the meditation corner in my room. Not lying in bed for comfort and self-soothing was so hard, but I did try to do it as much as possible. It worked for the most part.

What I want to push a bit:

I want to walk to the local coffee shop, buy a tea and something sweet, and potentially sit for a few minutes before walking home. This is so tiny and I used to do this all the time but it's a bit terrifying now. I'll be able to do it again.

Cook dinner every day. I am allowed to cook dinner once for a few days in a row, but I want to actually eat. Toast and an egg does not count if it's most days. My body needs food and I am deserving of food.

Somatic exercises. I have done close to no research on this, but I am drawn to it. I want to try it once and see how I feel. If I'm not into it, I'd like to bring back morning stretching.

That's week one and my goals for week two. See you in a week. :)

[roybunnies2023]

Self-care, Self love

Maria Cassandra C. Cullamar ( 11-ROY A )

Social anxiety is a long-term and overwhelming fear of social situations. According to the NHS, social anxiety is more than shyness. It is a persistent worry that interferes with day-to-day activities, self-confidence, relationships, and life at work or in school. I was one of the teenagers who experienced social anxiety. It was moderate social anxiety. Moderate social anxiety is not common to other people. Moderate social anxiety is when a person may experience physical and psychological symptoms of social anxiety but still participate in some social situations while avoiding other types of social situations. 

Back in June 2021, it was my first time going out after a year of staying at home. As well as the first time I felt anxious socializing with others. Before the pandemic, I was always excited to socialize with other people and make friends. But at that time, I felt anxious about socializing with other people. It was at this point that I observed myself experiencing some symptoms of moderate social anxiety. At first, I didn't know I was facing those symptoms.

It was hard every time I felt those signs. My hands trembled a lot, I felt nauseous, my heart beat fast, and I always lost my appetite every time we went out to eat. These were the symptoms I felt every time I was outside, especially in crowded places. Dealing with it was hard, and I don't have any idea what to do to calm myself. I had been dealing with my social anxiety for a year. I was still attending some family gatherings because I was the only one who knew my situation.

I am not even sure of it because it was my diagnosis through Google and social media. I diagnosed it that way because I saw some teenagers on social media also experiencing the same thing as me. During that time, to avoid feeling those symptoms, I will avoid some family gatherings especially if it will have a lot of people or guests. But then I realize that it will not help, so I slowly stop avoiding some family gatherings and try to socialize with others. It was like slowly building up myself again. It was a slow pace still I can't say I made it but I'm passing through it. 

Having social anxiety wasn't easy to deal with. It was not any kind of joke to deal with. It was challenging to slowly overcome it, which also helped me learn more about myself. I learned that it was very important to take care of yourself. It is okay to take care of other people, but don't forget to take care of yourself as well. Always prioritize your physical and mental health. Choose things that make you happy and comfortable. As well, it's okay to take things slowly; don't rush everything because you will get through it in time. Prioritizing yourself will always be your best gift to yourself. A quote from an unknown, “You can’t pour from an empty, take care of yourself first.”

[tapekitten]

Hanta Sero x Reader fluff

I am trying to get out of a writers block so I wrote this ahh.

summary: It’s the first time that you and Hanta share a bed together and you are both nervous. afab!reader

Warnings: Not many. Sero makes a sex joke and reader takes off her bra to go to bed.

WC: 1.8k mdni

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You open the door to Sero's old bedroom. It was Christmas time and the two of you had gone to his parent's to spend the holiday-- both of you had to share the room together. You should be happy that you finally had the chance to share the same bed as Hanta, but you couldn't help the nerves pooling inside of your stomach. The feeling made you almost nauseous as you began to overthink your sleeping habits.

Do I snore too loud? Fuck, what if I kick in my sleep? Oh god, and what about when I wake up. Will there be dried up drool around my mouth? What if he gets disgusted by that and-

"Bebe, I can sleep on the floor." Hanta offered as he tried his hardest not to laugh at you. He basically read everything that was running through your mind; you hadn't noticed but you were wearing your thoughts on your face. 

Your eyes turned wide and defensive as you turned towards your boyfriend, "No, no! Not at all- no. You're not doing that." You gave a light punch to his broad shoulder for even suggesting such a thing. He put his hand on the spot you hit and defended it from any further punches. "It's fine- I'm fine. I'd love to share a bed with you." You gave him a soft smile, before your anxieties erupted in your stomach again. "I mean- as long as you're okay with it?"

Sero shook his head at your antics and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck to push your head forward. It was the perfect angle to place a sweet, comforting kiss on the top of your forehead. "I'm absolutely fine with it. I'm very excited about it, actually." He gently rubs his thumb against your neck to comfort you, his eyes boring into yours to let you know he was serious. "I can't wait to wake up to your face."

Leaning forward, your head fell against his chest and you wrapped your arms around his waist in a warm hug. At some point both of you had dropped your over-the-night bags on his wooden floor. "I'm excited too." You inhaled his sweet scent to calm your nerves down, turning your head to place a quick kiss between his clothed pecs and pulling away. 

The two of you spent a few hours meeting with his parents and his many siblings-- this man had at least 5 siblings (it was hard to count when a few of them were still young and running around)-- and now it was time for the house to go to bed. Sero gave his mother a side hug, kissing the top of her hair with a "Night, ma.", before he grabbed your hand and led you to his old bedroom. 

Your nerves were back. 

After you took off your bra your hands shot up to self-contiously cover your chest. Sero didn't even think twice about it, having sisters and cousins around his age he was used to braless behavior. "Corazón, are you cold?" He asked as he wandered over to you, his hands firmly grasping your shoulders to feel your temperature. "It's pretty toasty in my room, you should warm up right away." 

Your stomach dropped as a new worry popped into your head. Oh god, what if Sero overheated from you being too close to him?!

"Here, let's get-" He wrapped his arm around your waist, "We'll get you under the covers." He laughed as the two of you stood at the edge of his bed. "Which side do you want?" He offered.

You looked up at him.

"Uhm, which side did you sleep on? As- as a kid?" 

"I didn't sleep on one side.” Sero laughed, “I usually had a sibling force me to whatever side they didn't want." He gave you a cheesy smile as the memories of his hagriden siblings interrupting his sleep came back to him. 

You laughed at the imagery of a child kicking him to the side in his own bed.

 The bed was shoved up against the wall and you pointed to the side that gave you easy access to get up if you needed to pee in the middle of the night. "I'll take that side." You turned to look at Sero and he leaned down to give you a sweet kiss.

"Sounds good, amor. I'm goin' to get a glass of water- you better be in bed when I get back." He wagged his finger at you as he left the room. 

Rolling your eyes, you hesitantly got under the sheets and pulled them up to your shoulders. After a few moments the rustling of the sheets stopped and you were comfortable– at least as comfortable as you could be with your leg nearly hanging off the bed. Even though the two of you were sharing a queen bed, you were nervous about how much room to give him. As if on a queue, Sero walked into the room with a full glass of water. He took one look at you and shook his head with a smile, but he didn't say anything. He just set the glass of water down on the nightstand next to your head and headed back to the door to shut it and turn the lights off. 

Hearing him rustling through the dark was oddly calming, but the insecurities of your sleeping habits crept back up your spine. You could easily talk about this with Sero, and you know that he would laugh- in a non-judgemental way- and give you a sweet kiss and let you know that your thoughts were silly. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to do it. 

You felt Sero's presence standing next to your bed and then you felt the dip in the mattress as he put one knee beside your hip and his two hands straddled either side of your head. You felt his breath against your face as he leaned over which made your stomach explode.

You knew he was probably just crawling over you to get to his side of the bed, but you couldn't help but feel-

"Alright, time to have sex." 

Sero could feel your breath halt in your throat. 

Sex?! Your mind and breath were both stuttering as you tried to comprehend what your boyfriend just said. The two of you have yet to talk about bringing sex into your relationship, and here he is wanting to do it at his paren-

Your brainless thoughts were interrupted by Sero's laughter as he pushed against his knee to force himself to roll over and lay next to you. "Y/N, I'm sorry- I just, you just- you seem so tense! I just- I had to tease you." When he heard that his laughter was the only one in the room he tried to calm himself down. "Please. 'M sorry. Forgive me, amor." You could still hear him giggling next to you but your mind was still blank from the nerves he had previously given you. 

You let out a small laugh as some brain power came back to you. "Goodnight, Han." You muttered through your mutual laughter. 

Sero was proud he made you laugh, but he was also trying to read the other emotion you were giving him. He tried reading your body language. You were as far away from him as possible, nearly falling off the bed. Did you not want to cuddle him? Did you not like touching when you were trying to sleep? He had no idea, so he let you be. He didn't want to make you explain yourself on your first night together. Maybe he'd ask you during one of the other nights of your trip. 

A sleepy sigh left your lips as you turned to your side, facing away from Sero and having one of your hands fall off the bed. You really were scared that Sero didn't want to cuddle or touch so you stayed as far away as possible from him. 

Jesus Christ, if only the two of you would communicate and realize both of you wanted to be wrapped in each other's limbs. 

Your mind was racing, but soon it calmed down and you began to doze off. A dream-like state began to overtake you, but weren’t fully asleep yet. Not without being cuddled by Sero. It was painful knowing he was right behind you, but the two of you weren't touching (even though you were doing this yourself).

After a few more minutes of trying to sleep, you began to get the sensation of falling 

and it made your body jerk awake, making you nearly fall off the bed. "Jesus Christ!" You whisper-yelled as your hand lay flat against the ground. (It had been what stabilized you from completely falling off the bed.) 

"Corazón, why are you sleeping on the edge of the bed?" Sero finally accused you with a slight whine in his voice. 

You let out a breathy sigh as you turned your body to face him, even though you couldn't see him. "I don't- I dunno. I was nervous that you wouldn't want to be touched or that you'd get too hot, or-"

"You were nervous that I didn't want to be touched?" You could feel Sero's weight shift on the bed and you imagined him propping himself up on an elbow so he could look towards where your voice was coming from. "I thought you were the one that didn't want touched- thought that's why you were on the edge of the bed!" 

"What? No! I was just, like, nervous about embarrassing myself or something or making you uncomfortable-" 

You stopped talking when you heard Sero let out a groan that was meant to interrupt your speech. "Stop- no- stop explaining yourself. Just get over here." Sero laughed as he laid his head back on his pillow. His arms opened up wide for you to come lay in. 

You couldn't really tell what position he was in, but you tried your best to find a good way to puzzle-piece yourself against him. You laid facing each other, his arm under your neck and his other one over you, forcing you against him. One of your hands laid behind you, while your other hand and one of your legs laid over Sero. 

Sero let out a moan of contentedness; you were so close you felt his breath on the top of your head. "This is so~o much better." He laughed as you squirmed in embarrassment next to him, but you finally felt your body relax against him and soon the two of you were dozing off.

[dancingisdangerouss]

Hey guys…I just wanted to make a post about something I’ve dealt with a while and am stressing about again, and felt like I needed to get off my chest because my anxiety is gnawing at me. 😩

NOTE: I am not trying to call anyone out directly and don’t want anyone to be harassed, so I’m not going to be specific. I never want any blatant hate doled out on my behalf, and appreciate that being respected. I can message you if you want to know the fic I’m talking about, but only if I trust you’re not going to be cruel to them about it.

So, I’ve been writing fanfiction since probably middle school, and I’m no stranger to having my works copied. It’s happened with a Harry Potter fic I did, two Marvel ones, and even a Naruto one (lol. I was 12 okay). It’s also happened to my friends, too, so I like to think I’m pretty good at being able to spot this kind of stuff.

It’s very upsetting to me because I don’t like confrontation and it makes me nauseous and induces panic attacks, but I also don’t want to just not say anything…But I’ve noticed multiple fics on AO3 that were very similar to mine. For the most part I’ve let it go because they had enough differences to not be overt, so I don’t want to be nit-picky about similarities and upset anyone.

But there’s one I noticed that is…eerily similar. Al is very much the same in his mannerisms and speech. A lot of the words and phrasing/slang are the same as mine (I don’t coin or own any words obviously, and I see words that are uncommon like mine used in fics and don’t think much of it, but this one has a lot of the same wording as mine).

It also has scenes that happen the same way, and has Al being all hot and heavy over Reader being vulnerable to him while she’s sleeping (and even having her have night terrors that excite him because he wonders if they’re about him), and mentions her being coy and shy and how much he loves her fear and dominating her.

I also asked some friends to check it out and see if I’m just overreacting or being paranoid, and they agreed they noticed all the same things (and even some things I hadn’t noticed).

There’s just…too many things for me to ignore, and I feel sick because I HATE pointing these things out to people. I don’t want to be accusatory and whiny like “YOUUU COPIED MEEE” because I know people sometimes do things subconsciously, I just…would prefer people credit me if they knowingly use inspiration from my fic.

Just venting because Penny is Very Anxious and on the verge of a breakdown because she can’t handle confrontation. Please shoot me.

[bluejayblueskies]

10 for the hug prompts with JonMartin? 🥺

touches prompt list

10 - hiding their face in the other’s neck

a no-fears au where jon and martin are in an established relationship! cw for nausea and a brief mention of vomiting (doesn't actually occur)

.

Jon doesn’t do roller coasters.

It is not, despite what Tim says when he thinks Jon isn’t listening, because he’s a, quote, ‘old man at heart’ and doesn’t know how to have fun. In theory, Jon is actually rather fond of roller coasters. He’d watched a documentary once about the design of them, and it had been rather fascinating.

It’s not because Jon doesn’t like roller coasters. It’s…

Well. It’s probably more accurate to say that roller coasters don’t like him. Specifically, his sense of equilibrium and his digestive system. Pills help somewhat, if he remembers to take them, but the fact of the matter is that he’s much more likely to leave the ride with a feeling of intense nausea than of exhilaration. He just… gets motion sick. No way around it. He always sits in the front seat of cars, ensures that he’s in a forward-facing train seat at all times, rarely travels by boat, and… avoids roller coasters.

The fact that he is currently standing in the queue for a particularly large and particularly frightening-looking roller coaster is not, therefore, due to his overwhelming love for them. It is instead entirely due to his overwhelming love for the man standing next to him, eyes bright and excited as he explains the history of this particular roller coaster. His hand is warm and soft in Jon’s, and their clasped hands swing absently back and forth as they slowly inch forward in the queue. His curls are a shock of auburn against the sky, and when he laughs and squeezes Jon’s hand, Jon forgets his anxiety entirely for a moment, lost in a wave of affection and fondness.

“—and because it’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of the ride,” Martin says with a wide grin, “it’ll be running backward today! Well, all season, I- I suppose, but we’re here today, so…”

Jon has never been on a roller coaster that’s traveled backward. It does… not sound appealing.

“That’s… very exciting,” Jon says with a smile, trying to make the words sound as genuine as possible. Because he is a coward. Or, perhaps, just very in love. Maybe both.

It’s just… Martin had been so excited when he’d dropped the amusement park tickets in front of Jon a few weeks ago. And in the four months or so that they’ve been dating, Jon has found it increasingly hard to say things that will cause that wide, unabashed smile on Martin’s face to dim even in the slightest. So Jon had discretely taken several motion sickness pills before they’d left that morning and had told himself that there were plenty of other things to do at an amusement park besides roller coasters and spinning rides and other things that make it their personal mission to tie Jon’s stomach into knots.

And then Martin had spent the entire train ride rambling about the various roller coasters and how he’d always wanted to go to an amusement park but he’d never been able to find the time or the money before and how he’s never been on a roller coaster but they look so fun, and Jon just… hadn’t been able to tell him.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself as they finally reach the front of the queue, the brightly colored cars sitting empty in front of them. It’ll be… completely, totally fine. Nothing to worry about.

They sit a few rows from the front. The click of the restraints makes Jon’s stomach squeeze with nerves, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. He doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the bar in front of him with white knuckles until Martin says gently, “Hey. Is… everything okay?”

No, but it’s certainly too late to change my mind now, Jon does not say.

“Yes,” Jon says, loosening his grip with considerable effort. It’s fine. “Just… b-been a while since I was on one of these.”

Technically not a lie.

“Oh!” Martin gives him a soft smile that makes his heart stutter in his chest. “Well, it’ll be a… new experience for both of us then, I suppose.”

The car jerks into motion, and Jon’s hands tighten instinctively on the bar again. It’s a… disconcerting effect, to be moving backward rather than forward, and one that Jon is decidedly not fond of. They exit the staging area and begin to climb up the first of the many, many hills Jon had eyed warily from their place in the queue. Jon looks straight ahead and does not look down and tries to breathe through his nose.

A warm hand covers his, and Jon looks over to see Martin watching him, that same soft smile on his lips. Martin squeezes gently, and Jon relaxes, just a fraction.

Then, the car tips over the peak of the hill and begins to accelerate, and Jon’s world blurs into a mess of colors and sensations.

The only part of the ride that Jon enjoys is the fact that it’s over quickly. By the time the car rolls to a halt—after a terrifying sequence of loops and drops and harsh curves and tight spirals—Jon feels as if his insides have been scooped out, stuffed in a washing machine, tumble dried, and then pushed back into him at all the wrong angles. Martin’s hand is still gripping his, somehow, and it remains there as they exit the car and make their way down the ramp and into the main thoroughfare. Jon’s legs feel boneless, like they’re made of jelly, and he is deeply afraid that if he opens his mouth, he is going to empty the contents of his stomach onto the pavement below.

Gentle hands are on Jon’s shoulders then, and Jon finds himself guided onto a metal bench just a few meters away from the exit ramp. Jon tries to protest that he’s fine—they have limited time here and he doesn’t need to take a break—but his stomach rolls and he pinches his lips shut before he manages to form a single word. When a hand settles on his upper back and presses down gently, he finally gives in to the urge to bend over and tuck his head between his knees in an effort to alleviate some of the lingering vertigo.

“Breathe, Jon,” Martin says, and Jon does. He takes a few deep breaths, and when a particularly powerful wave of nausea overtakes him, he can’t help the groan that escapes him. “I know,” Martin says softly, moving his hand in soothing circles on Jon’s back. “Just keep breathing, Jon. We can get some water in a bit, just… for now, let’s sit.”

Jon is too nauseous to be properly embarrassed by the coddling. That situation changes quickly as the minutes pass and Jon’s stomach begins to settle. After what must be nearly ten minutes, the nausea has faded entirely, but Jon keeps his head between his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Martin’s face.

“Feeling any better?” Martin prompts, and Jon lets out a slow breath. He nods once, and—with the help of Martin’s hand on his arm—straightens slowly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground as he does so.

“Sorry,” he says, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear him over the din of the crowd.

“You don’t have to apologize for- for feeling sick,” Martin says. He rubs a thumb against Jon’s arm and says, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I- I didn’t think… it would be this bad?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon sees Martin give him a look that very clearly expresses his skepticism.

Jon sighs and puts his head in his hands again. “I just… didn’t want to disappoint you, I suppose.”

Martin is, of course, sharper than Jon gives him credit for sometimes. “Because I said I’d never had the chance to go on a roller coaster before?”

Jon nods miserably. “I-in my defense, I thought you would start with something significantly less… gravity-defying.”

“Jon,” Martin says, kindly and patiently yet with a chastising edge to it. “You could have waited by the exit.”

“I—I didn’t…” Jon feels the tips of his ears grow warm. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

“Oh,” Martin says, his voice pitched a touch higher than normal. “That’s… um, r-really sweet, actually.”

Jon is glad that Martin can’t see his face because he’s sure whatever expression would have crossed it just then would have been utterly sappy and mortifying.

“B-but I—I don’t want you to make yourself sick on my account,” Martin hastens to say. “There are loads of other things to do here. W-we don’t have to ride the roller coasters.”

Jon uncovers his face and looks at Martin. “But you want to ride the roller coasters.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I… also want to spend time with you, Jon. D-doing things we both want to do, not… not just me.”

Jon stares at Martin and thinks, not for the first time, that he loves him. But it’s still too early to say it, probably, and he’s certainly not going to do so sitting on a sticky metal bench surrounded by children and tired-eyed parents. So all he says, in the end, is, “If… if you’re sure.”

Martin takes Jon’s hand in his and squeezes gently. “I am.” Then, he gives Jon a wide, soft smile that has Jon’s stomach twisting all over again. “So. What do you do at amusement parks, then?”

Jon flushes. But Martin doesn’t laugh at him when he mumbles that he’s actually quite fond of carousels. Instead, he takes Jon’s hand and walks with him across the park—staying away from the more crowded sections, stopping to buy some horrendously overpriced bottles of water on their way—until they’re standing in front of the carousel, painted in lovely pastel blues and yellows.

Jon, for a moment, feels self-conscious and more than a bit childish. But then Martin squeezes his hand and says, without a hint of teasing, “So, what animal do you prefer?” and the tension in Jon’s shoulders melts away in an instant.

Jon learns that Martin likes the classic horses, manes painted gold and plastic saddles a bright cherry red. (And Martin is entirely unsurprised to find that Jon chooses the cat, every time.) He learns, as they continue to explore the amusement park, that Martin likes caramel apples but hates how they get stuck in his teeth. (He purchases one anyway, rolled in peanuts and little rainbow sprinkles, that gives Jon a toothache just looking at it.) He learns that Martin does not appreciate his explanation that the monsters on the haunted house ride are ‘just dummies’ and ‘obviously fake’ and ‘really, Martin, that’s not even the correct number of bones in a human skeleton.’ (Though he secretly treasures the way that Martin clings to his side in the car and hides his face in Jon’s neck, his curls tickling the sensitive skin just underneath Jon’s chin.)

And Martin, apparently, learns that Jon is strangely good at midway games.

“You know those things are totally rigged, right?” Martin says, staring at Jon in disbelief as he tries and fails to adjust his grip on the frankly enormous plush teddy bear the midway worker had begrudgingly surrendered to him. And the medium-sized plush cat he’d won earlier. And the dozen or so little plushies and trinkets and accessories he’d acquired along the way. “You’re not supposed to be able to win.”

“Yes, well.” Jon gives up on trying to find a comfortable way to carry his prizes and extends the massive teddy toward Martin. “I suppose I’m just… lucky.”

He is certainly not going to admit that he spent a good three days researching what to do on a carnival date, came to the conclusion that it would be romantic to win an enormous stuffed animal for Martin, and committed himself to memorizing which games were easiest to win and what strategies he should employ in order to have the best chance at success. That would be… well. A bit much, he thinks. Best to just… not mention it.

Martin carries the teddy all the way back to his flat, his cheeks flushing a lovely pink whenever an occasional curious glance is thrown in their direction. It’s only once they get there and Martin tries to pass the plushie back to Jon with a sheepish, “Suppose I better give this back now,” that Jon realizes he had… indeed not been very clear about his intentions.

“It’s… for you, actually,” Jon says, ignoring the way his cheeks are growing steadily warmer. Then, Jon takes a breath and pushes the rest of the plushies rather unceremoniously into Martin’s arms, save for the cat which he’s… grown rather attached to in their short acquaintanceship. “Th-they all are. Er. F-for you.”

“O-oh.” Martin looks down at the collection of brightly colored things in his arms, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “I—I… really?”

Jon hugs the cat tightly to his chest, feeling something like embarrassment curl in his stomach. “I-if you don’t want them, I—I can—”

“No!” Martin says quickly, curling his arms protectively around the plushies. “I—I do. W-want them.” He looks down at the teddy sitting by his feet, then up at Jon with a warm, shy smile on his face. “Th-thanks, Jon.”

I love him, I love him, I love him.

Jon nods, pinches his lips together, and tries to keep his affection contained. He doesn’t want to come on too strong, after all. That’s… something he’s not meant to do, he thinks.

Then, when they’re both lying in bed and Martin’s chest is pressed against Jon’s back, his arm curled around Jon’s middle and his nose buried in Jon’s hair, Martin murmurs, “I love you,” and Jon’s breath catches in his throat.

“I… I love you too,” he whispers. And it’s such an easy thing to say that Jon wonders why he’d ever worried at all.

Martin makes a sleepy, contented noise, burrowing closer and wrapping Jon more tightly in his arms. And because he can—he can, he can, Martin said it first, so he can—Jon says again, so quietly he isn’t sure Martin can hear it: “I love you.”

The words are sweet on his tongue, like candy floss and funnel cakes and caramel apples.

[bakugosbratx]

NSFW 18+ The Assistant— AU Levi Ackerman x Fem! Reader

Warning: 18+ Content. Smut, degrading, cursing, punishment, dom levi, sub reader, bondage, bdsm, some angst, toxic relationship, spanking, cheating, etc.

Words: 3, 673

Check out my other works here

A/N: Me and my irl moot @idfkwtfgof came up with this idea so I decided to write it out. Enjoy this fifty shades of gray moment. I’ve been working on this for over a month 🙃 I’m sorry it took me forever.

Tags: @idfkwtfgof @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie

You take a deep breath as you approached the double doors in front of you. Your heart pounded against your rib cage. The silent hallways seemed to be echoing the thumps. Anyone in your position would be nervous too if they had to meet with the CEO of the Ackerman Industries. He was not one to enjoy much company nor request it. His gaze alone could intimidate the strongest of people and you are no different.

Fist resting on the wooden door in front of you, you hesitate, but close your eyes and knock anyway. You did not hear a response as you patiently wait. Instead, the door swings open to be met with the CEO himself, Levi Ackerman. Not a word was spoken, but he ushered you inside his huge office.

Scurrying, you slightly jump as you heard the huge door slam. You are in Levi’s office. Only businessmen and women are allowed in here. You feel not even worthy to be stepping on the same floor these successful people walk on. It could also be the fact that the office seemed spotless. For someone as busy as the CEO, he sure did know how to make a stack of papers seem neat in a stack.

“Sit.” Levi instructed as he strolled over to his desk chair and doing the said action. You looked around the room. Behind Levi is a wall of windows to overlook the city of New York. His desk his a beautiful dark brown that was so clean that you could see your reflection. Along with seeing your reflection, you can see —and feel— Levi starring at you. Meeting his silver orbs, you gulp.

“Do you know why I called you in here, Y/N?” Levi questioned, his tone remaining calm as always. Somehow, this intimidated you even more.

“No, sir, I don’t.” You admit. In all honesty, you are not sure why Levi called you into his office. He waited until almost everyone has gone home for the evening to set up this meeting. You have felt nauseous all day about it. Receiving an email from the CEO was enough to make anyone’s breath hitch, but to have a meeting — alone — with him is enough to make one soil themselves.

“I want to offer you a promotion,” Levi explained, his gaze hardening. “That is, if you want it?”

This is way better news than you expected. Levi has employees for a reason. He always calls the shots since it is his million dollar company, but why get his hands dirty when he can pay people to do it for him? Since no one is allowed in his office without special permission, this seemed a bit off.

“What does the job intel?”

“Well, my company is expanding even larger than anticipated this year. I need a personal assistant. Examining the work you have put in over the years, I decided you are cut out for the job. What do you say?”

You take a moment to contemplate his words. The offer is amazing and would definitely look great on your resume, but working so close to the CEO of the company is quite intimidating. Any bad habits you have developed better end swiftly or else it’s your job on the line. Levi is not afraid to terminate anyone not fit for the job.

“I’ll take it.” You smile, the words flowing out before you could even think any further.

“You start tomorrow. I expect you in my office 8am sharp. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Standing up, you straighten out your black pencil skirt and head your way towards the door. Levi’s eyes did not once leave your figure. The way you naturally sway your hips as you walk and the way the skirt hugged your hips just right. His eyes are enjoying the desires most men have yet when you turned to look over your shoulder, his eyes where focused on his paperwork.

You went home that night, excited to tell your significant other about your promotion. He did not even blink an eye in your direction. Instead, he is pissed that you are home later than normal.

“Babe—“

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed.

“I-I was called into the CEO’s office. I got a promotion!” You stammered, nervous under your boyfriend’s glare. He always made you feel small and his anger tends to send you over the edge. This is one of those many times.

“Why would he have you in there this late? Do you think I’m really that fucking stupid?” He scoffed, shaking his head.

“Babe, I’m being serious. I would never lie to you.” You argued.

“And how do I know that?” He countered. “How am I certain that you aren’t cheating on me? Or even hurt? Are your damn thumbs broken, Y/N? Can’t keep me updated ‘bout what’s going on? I was worried sick about you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll do better.”

Your boyfriend walked over to you, embracing your body into a tight hug. You had so much more to say, but to prevent any further escalation of an argument, you apologized and kept your mouth shut.

The next morning arrived. You woke up extra early to have time to do your hair and makeup, dressed in your nicest attire, and wear the most expensive of jewelry. Since you are going to be around the CEO for now on, you cannot show up to work appearing sluggish. You gave yourself one last look in the mirror, your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe.

“Dressed quite nicely, huh?” He spoke, meeting your eyes through the mirror. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“I have to be.”

He stayed silent for a moment, his orbs tracing your figure. He hated when you showed confidence. It killed him inside and knowing that other men saw your beauty as well made his blood boil. He just has to ruin it.

“For the circus? Your makeup looks awful and your hair is tremendous.” He scoffed.

You bit your bottom lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you prevented them from falling. You refuse to let him ruin your confidence. You are a strong woman and his insecurities shouldn’t be placed upon you. It is not your baggage to carry.

You meet his eyes again through the mirror. You feel your confidence crumble beneath you, but you remain strong. Turning around, you brush past him as you stroll out of the bathroom. You ignored him calling your name and demanding you to return. All he could do is watch as you left without even saying goodbye.

You arrived to the business earlier than expected. You have checked your hair and makeup more than once in the car review mirror. You are not necessarily even wanting Levi’s approval, — though he is quite handsome — you just want to look presentable. He is your boss, after all. He is not afraid to fire anyone on the spot. You are no exception.

Inhaling a sharp breath, you knock on Levi’s office door. You hear his approval to come inside and welcome yourself inside. You were not even receive a glance as you closed the door behind you. Levi’s gray orbs never left his monitor screen. You gulp nervously as you proceed towards his desk.

“I stopped to get some coffee. I brought you a tea,” you lay his cup on his desk, “just how you like it.”

He nods, still typing away. This did not help your anxiety at all. Is he regretting his decision making you his assistant? Are you disturbing him? Is he contemplating firing you? Your stomach turned at the thought.

The sound of the printer disturbed your nuisance thoughts. Levi grabbed the piece of paper and placed it on top of a neat stack. He stands up, finally looking at you.

“I have a meeting to attend to in an hour. I need these documents assorted in alphabetical order before then.”

Your eyes fall to the tall stack of papers. You definitely need more than an hour to get through them all. By Levi’s facial expression, you knew he was serious. Levi always looked serious.

“Yes, sir,” you grab the stack and meet his a gaze again, “I’ll get it done swiftly.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. Sit over there.” He orders, glancing at the couches and coffee table in the middle of his office. Maybe it is just your nerves, but his workspace seems bigger than remembered. This did not help your anxiety.

You began getting to work. You thought you are doing well on time, but time seemed to have passed you by. Levi is now towering over you, his unsatisfied silver orbs glaring down at you. You hesitate, but force yourself to meet them.

“Thought you said you would have this done?” Levi recalls.

“I-I’m really sorry, s-sir.” You stammered, expecting the worse.

“Sorry doesn’t sort the papers, Y/N.” He scolds, his silver eyes only being shown through slits.

“I—“

“We will discuss this after my meeting. Until then, I want my office spotless.” Levi continues, cutting you off. He begins walking towards the door and pauses once he reaches for the handle. “Oh and Y/N?”

You look up, meeting the CEO’s annoyed orbs. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re on strike one.” Levi warns. You did not even have a chance to ask questions as his office door slams shut behind him, leaving you alone to sulk in your thoughts.

You tidied up Levi’s office like he requested of you. Every paper went into its appropriate home, cushions are straightened out, rug is vacuumed, and you are currently dusting. This man is a clean freak by nature so there was not much to do. Still, your nerves were pulsating. This is only day one and you are not on Levi’s good side. You are becoming worrisome as your job is now potentially on the line.

The door opening made you jump. You can feel Levi’s silver orbs on you as you dust his bookshelf. He did not disturb you, though, as he proceeded towards his desk and went to work like nothing happened. Curiosity is begging you to speak, but you remain silent and complete your task.

You gather the cleaning supplies and place them back into the small closet. Returning on the guest side of Levi’s desk, he does not even look up from his monitor.

“I’m finished cleaning, sir.”

Levi did not say anything. Instead, he stood up and went to the window. His fingers grazed along the exterior which collected dust on the tips. He studied it for a moment. Your heart stopped as your breath hitched. You did not mean to forget the windows, but they look so clean already. They truly do not need much more cleaning.

“Seems like you missed a spot.” He remarks, turning to face you.

“I-I’m so sorry, sir. I thought—“

“Your cleaning is lamentable. Back to dusting. Now.” He demands, cleaning the dust off of his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Yes, sir.” You reply, gathering the cleaning supplies once again. You sprayed the windows and clean every inch of them until lunch time. Levi was sure to inspect your work before releasing you to go get something to eat.

“You’re dismissed.” He finally speaks. You are quick to collect your belongings leave his office. You stroll the long hallway to the elevator. You are finally alone with your thoughts and honestly, they were overwhelming. This job is very nerve racking and it’s only your first day. You are not making the best of impressions on your boss.

Digging in your purse, you check your cellphone. You have several missed calls and texts from your significant other. A pit in your stomach began to drown your appetite. You know this is going to cause a major fight between you two. A fight you did not want to participate in.

Reluctantly, you call your boyfriend back. He picks up on the second ring.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed, sending chills down your spine. The elevator doors open and you head towards the cafeteria.

“Working. I can’t be on my phone while I’m—“

“So work is more important than me?” He interrupts.

“What? No. That’s not it at all.” You argued, picking up a bag of chips and a drink from the dispensers before checking out.

“Then answer my damn calls, Y/N!”

“I can’t when I’m at work!” You exclaimed. You hand the cashier money before mouthing the words ‘thank you.’ She gave you a worried look, but you disregarded it. This is not the first time that have heard a heated conversation between you and your boyfriend.

You go find an empty table to eat by yourself. The bickering between your boyfriend did not end on a good note as the other line went dead. You slammed your phone back into your purse and forced yourself to eat your chips. You did not even want them. Your relationship is falling through the cracks, you are failing at your job, and you are on the verge of losing what is left of your sanity.

Time really slipped away while you fumed in anger because you are now late to returning to Levi’s office. Tears prickled in your eyes. This is not good at all. Levi is going to be furious. Even possibly firing you.

You raced to his office. You did not even take the elevator as it will take far too long to get to his office. You are panting by the time you arrive and sweat droplets formed at the top of your forehead. Your hands began to shake as your hand rested on the handle. You need to go in there, but your body did not want to move. Your boyfriend is already pissed. You did not want to deal with your furious boss.

Sighing, you forced yourself to go inside. “I am so sorry.” You blurt out as you enter inside. Levi is giving you a disapproving look.

“Take a seat, Y/N. We need to have a talk.”

Following your boss’ orders, you sit in the chair parallel to his. You begin to tremble as you expect the worse. Levi’s glare does not help you feel any less uneasy either. His silver orbs are staring deep into your soul and making you feel small.

“You know you’re on strike three.” Levi begins. You gulp.

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry. I’ll accept any punishment you have in mind for me.” You sigh, trying to remain brave. Levi can see right through it, though. His gaze hardens and he makes his way around to your side of the desk. He folds his arms but does not remove his gaze from you once.

“What punishment do you think you deserve?” Levi ask, hoping you have the same answer in mind as him.

“I-I’m not sure. I’ll take anything. It’s what I deserve.” You admit, a flustered feeling coming across you. Levi studied your features, clicking his tongue.

“Bend over the desk.”

“What?” You whispered, not sure if you heard your boss correctly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His intimidating glare pierced through you.

“Talking to that lame ass boyfriend of yours must have you goin deaf. I said bend over my desk.” Levi instructs, letting go of your chin once you catch his drift. You do as your told, bending over his desk. You are uncertain what he is planning to do, but the removal of your skirt gave you a pretty good idea. Your cheeks felt hot as your bare ass is now exposed to Levi’s viewing.

“Lace panties, huh? You planned on being put in this position later?” Levi chuckles, his digits playing with the strap of your thong. You bit your bottom lip, not knowing what to say. A hard smack to your bare ass caused you to release a moan.

“I asked you a question. It’s only polite to answer, brat.”

“Yes. It was for my boyfriend.” You confess in embarrassment for more reasons than one.

“Oh, I see. Your toxic little relationship is in need of fixing, but the only thing you have to offer is your pretty little pussy.” Levi analyzes, rubbing his hand on your ass before delivering another slap. You wince in pain, but you mentally screamed for more. You wanted Levi to continue spanking you.

“That’s not it, sir.” You mumbled. His hand landed down on your sore ass once more while the other hand finds refuge in your hair. He pulls it, tightly, bending your head back.

“What really gets me is this mouth of yours. I suggest you use it to tell the truth before I stuff it.” Levi growls lowly in your ear, letting go of your hair to return behind you.

Another slap was delivered. Little melodies of moans escaped your lips that you attempted to conceal. Levi did not comment on it as he proceed with the punishment. Your cunt dripped with your slick. It is begging to be touched, fucked, anything Levi desires really.

A few slaps and a very red ass later, Levi’s digits founder their way inside your soaked cunt. “Someone enjoyed themselves, hm?” He teased, curling his fingers in you. You shuffle a bit, enjoying the sensation he is giving you. The removal of his fingers made you whine in a needy tone.

“I did, Levi. Please fuck me.” You cry, wanting his cock already. He chuckled at your begging, his hand rubbing your red ass then hitting it again.

“On your knees. Now.” Levi demands. You happily oblige before him. He pats your head in approval. “Good girl. You do know how to listen.”

Levi begins unbuckling his black belt. You are practically foaming at the mouth as he slides the leather out of each loop. He sets it on the desk before proceeding to unbuckle his pants, releasing his hard cock for you to pleasure. Your eyes light up at the sight. The tip of his erection is at your lips, ready for you to move forward. Your tongue teases his sensitive head before you let each inch slide in-and-out of your saliva filled mouth.

“Yeah, like that, baby.” Levi praises as you deep throat his length. You choke some, but continue taking all of his cock. Your tongue spends time playing with the veins in his cock while his head relaxes in your throat.

“The cock hungry slut having a hard time deep throating all my cock?” Levi mocks as you pull it out to catch your breath. A string of saliva connected your lips and his cock together as your lust filled orbs met his.

“Not a chance.” You grin, placing his dick back in your mouth. Levi groans in delight as you repeat the same patterns as before. His cock twitches inside your mouth as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down your throat. You gladly swallow it as his cock becomes overwhelmed, releasing his semen onto your tongue. Not a drop was spilled as you milked his cock for all he had to offer.

Pulling away, Levi praises you again. “Such a good little slut you are. Time we give your pussy some attention, huh?”

“Yes, please, sir.” You beg, eagerly. He taps his desk.

“Bend over my desk.” He commands. Following orders, you bend over his desk like before. You arched your back so your ass and pussy is more accessible for Levi. He spreads your legs out more so your weeping cunt is fully exposed. The cold air sent chills down your spine. Levi is already hard again as he stares at your pussy.

Aligning himself, the tip of his cock enters your dripping hole, sliding in perfectly. You moan as he thrust a rough rhythm. His hips slap against your ass and his hands cling onto your hips. You tightly hang onto his desk as he pick up the pace. You sob out pleas for more.

“Better quiet down. Don’t want your coworkers hearing me fuck you like the whore you are now do we?”

You did not even care. You wanted Levi and you wanted him bad. Groans and profanities filled the room from you two as Levi hits all the right spots. You babble incoherent sentences as you start to climax again on Levi’s girth. Your walls clenched on his size and released when he re-enters himself. This does not stop Levi, though, as he chases after his own high.

“Already cumming again, slut?” Levi teases as he is slowly losing himself inside you. He hit your ass again while his dick twitches. “Ask permission next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” You cry out, not wanting him to stop. He pulls on your hair again, bending down to whisper in your ear.

“I’m going to fill you up so much that you have to hide it from your boyfriend.”

“Please Levi.” You beg, not even caring anymore. You wanted Levi. You have wanted him for a long time and the feeling is mutual on his end. That is why he hired you, after all.

Levi’s cock could not withstand the pressure anymore. Releasing into the depths of your cunt, he huffs profanities as every drop enters inside of you. You gladly take it as you breathe heavily. He finally pulls out, leaving you a cum filled mess. Giving your ass a gentle tap so you will get up.

“You are dismissed for the day.” Levi grumbled as he situated himself and you did the same. You straightened out your outfit and fixed your hair. You will fix your makeup in the restroom. You proceeded to exit your boss’ office when he called out to you. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yes?” You purred, looking over your shoulder.

“Let your boyfriend know you’re my slut now.”

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[celestialrequiem]

Days of Candy Chapter 2

Warnings: CreepyDark!Duncan Shepherd, sexual harassment, dubcon/non? (just to be safe) touching, dirty talk, possessive Duncan, abuse of power, manipulative Duncan, male masturbation, forced kiss, cockwarming, mention of rape and abuse (but none in the chapter), housewife kink, implied age gap, corruption kink, innocence kink, implied homophobia, mention of anxiety, depression and mental disorders, misogyny kink, corruption kink, sexism, implied age gap, Duncan‘s dirty thoughts, sir kink, praise kink.

Summary: In the small town of Willowdale, Y/N finds her dull life as a waitress at a mediocre diner get a little more interesting when the mysterious and daunting Sheriff takes an interest in her.

Pairing: Duncan Shepherd x Naive/shy reader

This is the first thing I ever written and posted so sorry if this is bad, please give me any constructive feedback/criticism to improve! I am new to this please don’t hate it too much lmao.

Author’s note : This series will have dubious consent and sexual harassment. It is a dark story about a Corrupt Sheriff’s who manipulates people so if you are uncomfortable with that please don’t read! This story deals hugely with sexism as its based in the late 50s/60s.

Thanks to @bloodcoatedeclipse for reading through some parts of it and giving me feedback lmaoo.

I didn’t use a lot of 50s/60s slang just two besides swell and gal

Flip your lid - go crazy

Nifty/groovy - cool or cool vibes

Word count: 5.6k

“what a perfect view doll, bend down, y’ur ass stickin out, all for me all in this lonely night”, a familiar voice said seductively

You quickly get up, feeling flustered, adjusting the hem of your skirt as you hold the mop close to your body

“Sh-sh-sheriff what are you doing here?”, Feeling nauseous because of his presence, alone, at night…after that previous incident.

“What does it look like doll? I am here to pick you up.”, Duncan says with confidence as if the question you are asking him is the stupidest he has heard

You immediately, look up to him. He was wearing a brown greaser jacket, you felt it is similar to jacket Xavier might have had…this made your heart sink, what didn’t help is when you realized how attractive he is because of the result of the rain, his beard is glistering from the reflections of the diner’s lighting despite it being dull.

You felt your heart beat.

“No, its okay its a walking distance”  

“I can’t let a beautiful young dame like yourself walk alone now can I? Hop in the car once you’r are done.”

You blinked at him not knowing how to respond, you feel shy when you talk to him, always not knowing how to answer him back..maybe because he knew Xavier?

Or maybe because he had so much power as a sheriff..and you are sure he is going to be re-elected again next year. He apparently helped a lot of people to get out of debts but that makes you wonder how does he get all this money? Did Xavier know?

He seems like he is waiting for your answer, as his hands are on his waist, around his handcuffs and keys, and his lips playing with the toothpick lingering on his mouth

You easily get stuck in your head, you snap back to reality:  “it is okay, you don’t need to do - ”

He interrupts your sentence, “is there something you would like to say to me doll?, cause it looks like you just don’t want my company is that it?”  You felt his chest vibrate from how he uttered that question, it sounded nearly unintelligible.

You felt your heart pounding, sweat forming on your forehead. You didn't want to make him angry. “No no of course I want your company!, let me finish up and I will meet ya outside.”  You agitatedly vocalize your statement while looking at the ground

He loves that he can always get his way with you. You make it so easy.

He hums in approval

“No its alright I will wait for ya, love seeing you doing those house chores like a pretty little housewife. It is a sight dollface”, he chuckles while eyeing you up and down.

You pause, feeling tensed.

“Go on, continue” as he gives himself a seat, across from you to see you working and see your face.

He does love seeing your rear, but he loves seeing you flustered when he gazes at you.

You shakily start mopping the floor, every second feels like torture. Hoping he doesn’t realize the effect he has on you.

But however he has noticed, he is mused that he has power of you, makes his cock excited

“Am I making you nervous babydoll?” He cooes, shifting his toothpick on his lip, left to right with a slyish grin

You ignore him, giving him your side angle, while mopping away from him. You give him your back figure which makes me angry and hard at the same time.

“eye on me little lady”,  he says in a harsh tone, punctuating each word slowly

You respond back to him surprised with your confidence as you look at the door behind him, scared to look at him in the eyes, “can you please let me finish and you can take me home…” 

“Watch your manners baby, or you are in it for a spankin’, declares it with raised eyebrows.

You blush, why is he talking to you that way? it’s not like you were his wife….

Was he that touchy and talkative with you when Xavier was your boyfriend?

Carissa has told you no, he started acting differently ever since Xavier went missing and then declared dead.

“S-sorry sheriff”, you shift back to your older position, so that Duncan can see your face, and continue mopping

He likes when you are eyes are engaging with his eyes, he is waiting for the day when you touch yourself on his bed with your legs spread wide open for his wolf-like eyes to take in the view as you chant his name like prayer to give you the command for you to finally cum, while staring at him with your chastely eyes.

As you mop the floor, motioning it back and forth towards Duncan, your curvy body was in motion as well. He hoped you didn’t re-button your dress again, as he can take in the view of your breasts jiggling again. His eyes lingering slowly all over his favourite parts of your body, your neck, lips, neck, waist and hips . He noticed how nervous you are, there were fear in your eyes, you felt naked in his eyes because of his alpha-like eyes, giving you goosebumps.

You saw his pupils dilated not sure why.

-

After 15 minutes of awkward silence and Duncan forcing you to look at him as you were mopping the floor, you hoped the floor looks fine and that your boss Bob doesn’t get mad the next day.

You are not going to lie, you always wanted to be in his car. It was a dream car. You have seen them a lot in magazines, you don’t know much about cars but you do know this one, 1956 Chevy Bel Air, with a unique colour. White with purple around the edges, elaborate taillight and chrome highlights.

This was the first time you got close to the car, Your head started to hurt, you stood your ground, as you remember fragments of Xavier riding a similar car but in red.

Duncan realizes you might have remembered something…fuck fuck fuck, he hoped you didn’t remember what he didn’t want you to remember..

His hands grips your hand to make you snap out of it before you dig deeper into your suppressed memories.

“you alright there, doll?” Faking his concern you don’t know that, as he opens the door for you to hop in

“Ye..ah..” I am fine” you softly respond. His hand leaves your hand and goes to your back to shift you to get into his car.

You hop in his car, the car felt new, smell of leather with a mix of aged.. cigarettes smoked probably by Shepherd.

-

The car ride was silent.. he has an old song playing which makes it even more unbearable.

Midnight with the stars and you

Midnight and a rendezvous

Your eyes held a message tender

Saying "I surrender all my love to you

“How old is this song anyway?” You mention in annoyance with your right hand on the the rest that is placed near the door handle

Duncan has a wide smile on his face, happy that you are finally making a conversation with him.

“it’s from the 1930s I believe.....besides I don’t like the weird music you youngsters listen to nowadays..what was it Elvis Presley and The Beatles? They aint manly, jiggling all around with their bobby haircuts”  removing his hands from the steering wheel to motion with his hand the disapproval.

You giggle, and his heart skips a bit. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he made you giggle. Xavier always made you giggle and it frustrated him.

“The Beatles are swell….but James Dean has my heart. I loved his style in that movie, particularly his red jacket in Rebel Without a Cause.. it’s nifty.” You state swoonly as you gaze out of the window.

Midnight brought us sweet romance

I know all my whole life through

I'll be remembering you, whatever else I do

Midnight with the stars and you

He thought maybe that’s why you liked Xavier, he bought a similar red jacket as James Dean from the film several days after meeting you. Xavier also had that rebel vibe to him. He remembered his friend as well being a fan of Marlon Brando hence why he wanted to be an actor. To move out of the suburbs, to go to the dreamland..to Hollywood with you. You used to always want to be around him, he didn’t let the deputies patrol the drive in, since he always saw you there with him. He hated seeing you with his friend but he can’t help himself, he wanted to always be near you, see you and to one day feel your skin on his skin.

His jaw clenched and his brows furrowed as he starts to get jealous over a dead man.

You noticed his face seems boiling from rage as his hands gripped forcibly the steering wheel…you don’t know why. Scared to ask so you just continue gazing at the view in locomotion from the car window, as your sheer scarf around your head blowing from the impact of the window.

You loved the aftermath of the rain, the order after the chaos.

-

After a few minutes, The sheriff parks in front of your house. It’s 12 AM.

The house you lived in was basic, owned by your deceased father. It was a small house with a small balcony, it looks a little bit like a tree house. Wooden with no paint job. With a white door to enter the house, two small front steps and a small terrace, where you tend to read the Woman magazines.

He can’t wait for you to live in his house. Especially since he is a veteran who served in the Second World War, the government provided him with the perfect suburban American Dream home.

“Thanks for the ride, Sheriff.” you shyly state, about to open the door of his fancy car.

“Nah -ah -ah not too fast, you have to be punished.” He sings in a mocking tone with a daunting smirk.

You were nervously fidgeting, you don’t know why maybe because you are worried you might have done something that might be incriminating especially with your memory loss situation.

“What? What for?” you gullibly ask, looking up to him.

“You lied to me, you told me you had a doctor appointment when it fact you finish your shift late, kitten” , you see him remove the toothpick that was on his plump lips and put it on the ledge behind the steering wheel.

Oh thank God-

but why should I be punished for this? You didn’t know what to say to him so you just look at his eyes, waiting for any instructions.

He remarks that, he loves how obedient you are to him.

“Come closer, suga’r ” he taps his chest motioning you to come closer to him

What is the punishment? Is he going to spank me?

But we are not married why would he??

You timidly move close to him, refusing to make eye contact with him.

He lifts up your chin, bringing your face near his and your gaze to his.

“Kiss me or else I won’t let you leave this car”, Duncan whispers seductively as he shuts your window’s car seat and secures that your door is locked, trapping you in.

“..N…no..o” Duncan this isn’t right”,  you respond back.

As you shift back to your seat, Duncan aggressively grips your waist with his right hand and grips your chin with his left hand, forces you into a kiss and he goes deep and sensual, demanding access to your mouth but you instantly deny him entry.

This angers him, he aggressively yanks your hair, you gasp giving Duncan the chance to insert his tongue, he needed to taste your mouth.

You try biting his upper lip, he decides to lift up your weak body from your seat, manhandling you, without breaking from the kiss, you feel his strong hands spank you harsh. You whimper loudly.

This made his cock twitch, lust filling him at the thought of your spanked, bare ass turning into crimson-like imprints by his own hand; or by the paddle with his name engraved, so that his name can be imprinted on your ass…maybe next time.

He is waiting for you to make a bad move again so he can discipline you this way, even if you weren’t his bride yet.

You break the kiss gasping for air, “D..Duuncan..stop” you panted with watery eyes, trying to break away from his grasps, with your hands pushing his muscular chest. He didn’t take no for answer. Removing your hands out of the way with his claw-like hands and putting them around his broad back. He then forcefully dragged you onto his lap to straddle his thick thighs, “be a good girl now, you don’t want to be spanked now don’t you?”

He linked his lips with your lips with urgence and dominance. His tongue dancing with yours, wet and minty from the flavoured cigarettes he tends to smokes.

You felt one of his hands leave your waist and lingering underneath your skirt to cup your clothed sex.

A deep growl leaves his chest

He dreamt of touching this pussy for years. Your soft and squishy puffy lips felt so good on his rough manly hand.

You let out a soft gasp with eyes wide open in surprise, and broke away from the kiss to come up for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Duncan grabs your chin, not giving you a second to breath and continues his assault on your lips and your clothed pussy. His middle finger going from your slit all the way to your swollen clit while his index and his forefinger are on your lips, touching you slowly with his hand. He wanted to make you wet before you left.

Your face flushed, you don’t remember if you reached that base with Xavier yet or not…he was your first boyfriend.

This felt forbidden, having his hands all around you.

You felt like you wanted to go to the bathroom, you were worried it might have been your period?

His tongue feels like hot water burning your skin. He claimed your mouth with intensity. You feel your knees weakened, Duncan filling all your senses.

You are so close to his body, your head in the crook of his neck, eyes closed, you feel his warmth and felt his heart beating quick. You put your hands on his golden badge situated on his right chest, reflected in the moon light, to try and push him away, but he didn’t budge.  

he left your assaulted mouth, hearing you panting heavily, and started licking at the column of your neck, his hand leaves your pussy and goes to your bared fleshed upper thigh, his hand moving in a reciprocating motion.  

You felt his beard tickling your left check and your neck, His hot soft grunts and warm breath sends shivers down your body and to your aching pussy

Not sure if it’s lust? Is this how you felt with Xavier ?

You bit down on your bottom lip trying to hold back a sob or was it a moan? 

“Duncan, I don’t feel good”

He knows he is making you feel good, you just need guidance that’s all.

“Why are you moaning then huh?” He chuckles, you felt his chest vibrating from his laughter, giving you goosebumps.

“give in baby, let me take care of you, that’s what Xavier would’ve wanted” he mutters darkly

your stomach twisting into a nervous knot, is this what Xavier would’ve wanted?

“Re-ally?”  You utter quietly with a blush heating up around your neck and cheeks.

He didn’t hear you. Thank God

he gets closer to your ear and whispers,“Knew you’d taste so sweet, just like candy, I wonder what’s the rest of you taste like hm?”

He aggressively bites your earlobe, his hot breath danced on your ear, “I bet just like those pancakes you serve me every morning, thick and creamy.” In a lustful tone.

You squirmed uncomfortably on his lap, felt something touch your stomach, he lets out a profound loud rumble, you look up at him out of shock, his wide blown eyes have now darken.

He looks at your lips that is now glistering and swollen from the kiss, he finally marked a part of you with his spit, he can’t wait to corrupt your other holes.

He decided to let go, this was enough to get him by in the meantime.

You felt his hand loosening around your waist. You take that chance to go back to your seat.

“I….I.. think you need to leave Sir, thanks for the ride”, your hands nervously twist with each other on your lap as you mentally facepalm yourself

“Sir” where did that come from?

Hearing you call him Sir made him groan silently and made his cock stir painfully against the zipper of his pants.

His already rigorous cock getting harder. Duncan trying to recollect himself and not fuck you for the first time in the backseat of his car.. he thought you deserved better than that..a shy innocent young server…probably a virgin.

Well he hoped you still were a virgin, he hoped that fucker didn’t take your virginity. he wanted to claim you for himself, every part of you.

“Why don’t you leave then birdie?”

You felt your thighs automatically clenched and your pussy tingling.

he never called you that, why did you like him calling you that?

Duncan saw your legs clamping together and took note of that. He also didn’t realize you can blush harder than that….you realized you were in his car….idiot

You got out of his car and you heard Duncan tsk out of annoyance, “where is your manners kitten?”

Whats up with him? You thought to yourself.. you thanked him before why do you have to thank him again?

You did not care anymore, you just wanted to back home without any problems and arguments

You huffed in annoyance, “Thanks for the ride Sheriff.”

You uncomfortably felt him linger at your figure as you walked back to your house.

He loves seeing you in motion.you move better than the waves of the ocean, smoothly and flawlessly. His steel blue eyes scanned you up and down, consuming in your body with hunger; that waitress dress in pale blue making you look even more innocent and seductive, an odd combination. He believes only you can do that, besides Marilyn Monroe.

He hoped he can see you from your window, with no curtains or an open curtain, so that he can watch you domestically, wondering how you look like touching yourself when you feel needy at night, if you did touch yourself.

-

You entered home safe and sound then the realization hit you…. how does he know where you live? You didn’t give him your address? But then again he is the sheriff, he probably has access to all that information but …does he know everyone’s address by hard?..you doubt that.  Maybe he visited you with Xavier?

-

After he saw you close the door, he paused for a second to relish the taste of you left on his lips and was about to put his key back to the ignition, until he saw something interesting.. that made him much harder than he already was… your arousal on the seat of his car.

He reclined his head back to the head restraint,

“Fuck.. you are trying to kill me doll?"

He was so tempted to taste your arousal… he felt like an animal as he brought his index to his seat that was tainted with your nectar and brought it back to his lips.

A hungry growl grumbled in his chest, “tastier than any fuckin candy”

His chest was full of pride, he was glad he made you wet. Not Xavier. Him

He opens his car’s compartment, there lies a stolen panty of yours covered in blood from that day, he didn’t want your fresh arousal going to waste, mixing it with your bloody panty.

After arriving home that day because of sexual urges, he relieved himself to thought of you for a second time, with his left hand holding your used panty from a year ago and his right hand unbuckling his belt, to reveal his throbbed cock. He smeared on his long length, the pre-cum leaking at the head.

Working on his cock, he brings your panty to his nose to sniff your dried blood blended with your womanhood scent, it smelled pure and sweet just like you. To make himself cum faster, he thought of you coming to his office one day during your break and cockwarming him on his lap while he finishes up paperwork, imagining your painful whimpers, you fidgeting in his lap because you are finding it hard to adjust to his cock because of how big he was, he imagines his cock bottoms out in your tight pussy, and how you wet walls clenches around his big cock.

“Dun..c.an, you are too big”, you whine with a giggle, shifting it into a squeal

“Call me sir, love it when you call me sir darlin’”,  he growls in your ear

“Sir”  , he imagines you whimpering through tears from his cock’s intrusion in your narrowed pussy

“Dollface, you are taking me so well, taking me all in” he praises you in a slightly low deep voice

A groan leaves his chest as he starts pumping his erected length harder, going from the bottom all the way to the top, twisting his tip, and then back down.

He envisions his pelvis rubbing against your mound and clit, your pussy being pink and wet engulfing his cock, while his right hand is feeling your soft and pulpous butt cheek. Your chest is heaving right in front of his predatory eyes, he decides to save the lustful images of him sucking your tits and nibbling your areola another time.

He imagines your voice in his ear, calling him sheriff, sir, daddy and begging him to start fucking you.

As he is about to reach his high, his thrusts gets sloppier with his sticky hands, chanting your name like a prayer over and over again.

Groaning louder as his cock twitches, moaning your name louder as ropes of white soaks his hand, and soaking your panty a bit with his cum.

-

Tired to change out of your clothes, you quickly go to your bed situated on the left side of your room. You feel the most peaceful in your room, the only time you don’t feel like someone is watching you despite the reoccurring nightmares ever since the incident.

With the floral window curtains. Roses and daisies on a shelf next to a concealed window, giving floral scents all around your room to help calm your nerves and help you fall asleep. At least that was what your doctor had recommended as repression memories if stayed long-term can cause emotional health problems like anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder.

You immediately shift to the deep slumber of sleep, out of exhaustion.

-

You wake up the next day 10:30 am. You slept well that day oddly enough, a peaceful sleep. You were happy since you haven’t had any nightmares the past few days. That happiness shifted when you realized the sensual incident that happened in public, and you don’t know how you will be able to work in the diner again, especially how small this town is. You will be the talk of the town again, because obviously that situation had to be with the fucking Sheriff.

At least for today, you had the day off today.  You told your Boss Bob that you have an appointment with your doctor at 1 pm, and since you closed the diner yesterday he decided to leave you off the hook.

You made yourself some coffee, and went to your closet that was attached to the wall to choose an outfit. You decide to go with a yellow pastel cardigan with a yellow gingham dress that has a spaghetti strap, wear some rouge lipstick and yellow pale eyeshadow with your hair tied into a pony tail.

You then passed sometime on TV watching Bewitched re-runs, and called Carissa at around 12:30 pm during her break to check in on her brother.

Your hands swirling around the cord waiting for someone from the diner to pick up.

Selma answers, “Hello, Welcome to Jukeburgers, the best milkshakes in town!, what can I do for ya today!” You could hear Venus by Franke Avalon playing and muffled voices in the distance, seemed surprisingly busy today.

You answer loudly, “hey Selma, it’s Y/N, can you pass the phone to Carissa!”

“Oh, Y/N how you been? I heard from Adam about what happened with the Sheriff, so y’all a thing now huh?… You went for the old powerful friend.” Selma teases, her laughing echoing from the speaker.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst from your chest, you knew this was going to happen. Trying to sound strong and not in the verge of crying, “Whatever Selma, pass the phone to Carissa” your fingers twisted the cord nervously.

Selma just snickers and you hear her shouting out Carissa’s name to grab the phone

“Hey Y/N?”

“Cari!, I wanted to check up on you with Richard… you didn’t get to tell me what exactly happened…. is everything okay?” You utter in a concerned tone, gripping the phone handle harder.

“yeah yeah, we had to go to the hospital again, he got beat up again, but he didn’t wanna tell me why”  you hear her voice quivering on the other side.

You know Carissa is worried about him, as well as about his town finding out about his lifestyle.

She continues,“ You know Richard, I don’t want him to get locked up again, especially this town…views anyone that goes to the mental hospital… as lunatics”, you hear her voice quivering on the other side.

You remember Richard telling you that the Sheriff bailed him out the first time so now he owes the sheriff twice.

Why twice?

Was it because of his relationship with Jim Mason?

Does his sister know?

To not worry his sister, he sometimes tells you things that she doesn’t know and you were like Carissa to him. His big sister.

You snap out of your thoughts when you heard Carissa sniffling.

You hated hearing your friend’s sadness echoing from her voice, hoping you were there to hug her. “ I am glad he is okay at least, I miss seeing Richie, I will talk to him whether I get the chance… and you are right.”

You thought about what Carissa thought.

This small boring town feeds on gossip. It made you worried about Xavier’s parents…finding out about yesterday’s incident. Between the last girlfriend of their deceased son and one of his friends in an intimate scene.

What doesn’t help is that Xavier’s parents invited you and Duncan for dinner next week.

“He actually didn’t come today its as if he knows you might-“

You look at the time while you were on the phone, It was 12:40. Your eyes widen out of anxiety of being late. You cut your friend off without letting her finish the sentence.

“Oh shoot Carissa, I have to go now, my appointment is in 20 mins!”

“I really hope all goes well with the appointment, I know I tell you a thousand times but…I don’t really trust that doctor to be honest with ya”  she admits assuredly

There was a small pause, because you didn’t really know how to  react to that. He was the cheapest Doctor that you can afford. You really had no choice.

Carissa breaks the awkward silence, “well let me know what happens, hope it goes well!” She suddenly sounds different..and hopeful. Makes you happy that you can at least end the call with her tone shifting positively.

“Yeah.. I hope so.. bye Cari” you say weakly with a soft smile

The line goes dead.

-

You have been going to the doctor 11 months ago, it was recommended by the doctor who helped with your bruises and aided your surgery, Matt Rogers. Since there was nothing particular wrong with your brain scans. He thought it might be something psychological, and he was right. Your neurologist doctor Dr.Barnes, said it is due to trauma that your memories are repressed. Dr. Barnes said it is possible to have specific memories of people, locations and events repressed when it is too hard to bear. He also said It is possible for memories of abuse that have been forgotten for a long time to be remembered….you hope it isn’t related to abuse.

You feel nervous going to his office, you are honestly terrified of the idea of regaining back your memories, what if you find something really disturbing about yourself? About Xavier? How did you get those bruises? Why were some of your clothes missing? Why going to the doctor all those months didn’t help as much? Actually at all?

His office is located not that far off from the the Police department, in the neurology department of Willowdale public hospital.

“Welcome back Miss Y/N, please have a seat” signalling you to take a seat in front of his desk.

It doesn’t help that his office has muted painted walls, changed from age and a faint smell of mouth wash.

“So Y/N, has there been any recent changes?”, He asked while he scanned over your file.

“I finally have a small fragment of Xavier..in my head..” You pinpoint to right side of your forehead.

He knew about your relationship with Xavier and that you don’t remember much of it. It's weird how your brain almost erased that incident and Xavier out of your head.

“Finally some great news, please tell me more!”  He lowered your files to give you his undivided attention

“I..I don’t remember the incident, or any memories that I shared with him, just that Xavier had a similar car to Sheriff’s car, but a red version of it.”

There was a torturing pause, you look at your doctor, he seemed lost in thought with brows hollowed and biting his lower lip, he seemed anxious while clicking his retractable pen

You felt tension in the air, when you mentioned the Sheriff..but why?

He breaks a heavy smile,“Well, that’s great news to hear, maybe being  around the Sheriff might be in your favour huh?” he chuckles with a Chesire’s smirk on his face

Oh fuck. He probably heard about the incident that happened yesterday.

Your cheeks turn red as you turn your head to the left side of the room, focusing on the wall full of his certificates and accomplishments.

“Oh sorry, Y/N, that was unprofessional..covering his face with his hand, and then went back to look at your files

"No it’s all good Dr.” You gulped and nodded.

He clears his throat and asks, “ any nightmares lately?”

You shake your head, “I haven’t had one the past few days”

He nods while holding your file, “Good, Good. Are you taking the medications regularly at the appropriate time?”

“Yes…. but I haven’t remember anything that much sadly, is it supposed to take that much of a time?” You ask confusedly

“the brain is a complex neurological system, you can’t force its responses.”  thrusting out his lips in displeasure

You feel like you are wasting not only your time but also your money. But he is a doctor that you can afford so you have no other choice?

“Ah, I see, well as long as I get some answers pretty soon.” You look down on his Brintons carpet.

You felt your chest tightened out of sadness, will you ever find out what truly happened?

“So far, we are not sure if it is going to be a short term memory or long term memory loss Y/N, so what you can do is keep taking the medications, and you will be eventually get better Miss Y/N”

You nod with a fake smile.

Do you have a choice?

-

Duncan knew you were at the doctor today, he wish he was able to follow you, but he had a huge workload today. He wanted to see what kinda doll-like outfit you wore today. He particularly liked you in pastel colours and plaid skirts.

It was his break now.  He was waiting a call from a certain someone.

Clock ticking, and his legs bouncing up and down waiting for that fucker to call.

Phone rings once

Duncan takes the call.

“Whats the update?”

“Hi Sheriff, he continues "Well, your sweet gal remembered something..”

Duncan eyes widen, and his hands grips the cord aggressively

“What does she remember?”, Duncan says in a threatening voice

“She remembers he had the red car….. the one you got rid of”

His Adam apple gulps out of nerve but he is relieved you still don’t remember what happened that day.

“You fucker, you said those medications well help her not remember a fucking thing-“ his voice getting louder.

“Hey, hey, hey calm down there sheriff, no need to lose your temper, she hasn’t remember anything the past goddam 11 months! And I haven’t even tried hypnos-

“Listen you fuckin cunt, if she remembers anything I swear to God- I will put you in jail for your multiple-“  he chastised with a harsh tone.

“Alright Alright! No need to flip your lid! I will see what I can do to not make her remember a thing”  

“You better, or else I will make you lose your fuckin job and lose your pitiful wife” Sheriff expresses in an authoritative sound and hangs the phone stridently.

The Doctor had multiple rape attempts done. Duncan was called several times because of noise complaints, hearing ladies crying or screaming in multiple occasions at night, in drive-ins, parks and carnivals. 4 out of 10 times, it was Duncan who stopped the rape from occurring but he didn’t bring it up to the police department, and instead used this knowledge in his favour and out of power to gain information about his girl, when he discovered that he was going to be her neurologist, and to use him to manipulate her medications or her so that she doesn’t remember a thing.

He will do anything to make you not remember. He is shaping you to be his perfect little housewife. He got this far and he is not going back.

some songs mentioned in the chapter

https://open.spotify.com/track/3dDtXviPnTfLUg111MuTic?si=0d4f2a331a244100 - Midnight and The Stars and You by Ray Noble

https://open.spotify.com/track/2uwP4d0aVAo90aet6UnaRK?si=dc41f548d3324c9d - Venus by Frankie Avalon

Taglist: @instincts-baby @9layerdevilfoodcake @beautyiswithinchaos  @langdons-pinkyring @bloodcoatedeclipse   @plymptxn-reborn @5am-cigarette  @anakinsslag @michaellangdonstanaccount  @rexellaaa @jimmason @devilish-hecate @angelicmichael  @car241 @kitty4860 @deliciousartpoliticsdean @sojournmichael @ritualmichael  @darkladyslytherin 

@luciahoneychurch @saamwilsonn  @chicaluna2410  @honeyblossom56 

@codysprincexx​ @thatbit5 @wasteland-babe

[bakatenshii]

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo​, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing​ for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could. 

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it. 

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding. 

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted. 

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you. 

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun. 

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal. 

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy. 

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you. 

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour. 

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care. 

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time. 

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite. 

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy. 

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart. 

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use. 

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time. 

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean. 

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart. 

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream. 

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction. 

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself. 

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted. 

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become. 

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.” 

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective. 

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up. 

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.  

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight. 

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.” 

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close. 

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue. 

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.  

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it. 

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh. 

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint. 

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently. 

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go. 

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high. 

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em. 

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you. 

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.” 

“Want a taste?” 

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care. 

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air. 

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners. 

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more. 

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate. 

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him. 

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways. 

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole. 

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name. 

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God? 

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed. 

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed. 

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in. 

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?” 

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out— 

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection. 

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours. 

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together. 

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him. 

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose. 

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl. 

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies. 

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first? 

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red. 

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm. 

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char. 

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you. 

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there. 

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore,  can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it? 

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart. 

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth? 

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?” 

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really. 

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda. 

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best. 

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him. 

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy. 

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.