#like my brain can Catastrophize without them

[chronic-conjuring]

I think the term/acronym for OCD has become way too overused (like a frighteningly large amount of clinical, psychological terms tbh) and too many people have a fundamental misunderstanding of what the fuck OCD actually is and looks like.

Too often do we see distasteful, harmful jokes and representations of OCD as just a “clean freak germaphobe” or someone being overly obsessive about the placement of every single thing in their house and then you get the overused (and frankly fucking stupid) “haha I need things to be in a specific order or else it drives me CRAZY!! ���🤪 iM sO OcD!! 🤪🤪🤪” kinda lines and it’s absolute bullshit. Sure, those first two are very common symptoms we see in people with OCD but that’s literally not what’s going on??? They aren’t just bothered by the placement of things because it annoys them on some level, they have irrational fears.

So now when we see people genuinely discussing the reality of dealing with OCD, having compulsions to do certain things due to fear of certain consequences if they happen to do/not do it properly and excessive, irrational anxieties, we get shit like this where people are wholeheartedly ignorant of what that even means. Like, people w OCD aren’t necessarily clean freaks because messes and germs give them The Ick™️ (like what many people without this disorder experience) they’re genuinely, extremely irrationally afraid of what could happen should they not keep things in a certain order or wash their hands three times in a row etc.

For example, someone could have an irrational fear that their clothes not being organized in a specific way will in some way cause a loved one to die unexpectedly, if they don’t excessively sanitize the counter after making a sandwich themselves or someone else will get severely, life-threateningly sick, or if they interact with a certain number in any way something bad will happen (“if I eat 5 cookies instead of 4 [something bad] will happen”). These all sound a little ridiculous, right? THATS THE POINT. THEYRE IRRATIONAL FEARS. THATS WHY THIS IS A DISORDER. ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE TO PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE PERSON WHO HAS OCD’S BRAIN!!!!

You CAN see how someone might come to some conclusions, the thought process of “germs make people sick, if I leave things dirty people might get sick” is a fairly rational one, the irrational part comes with the thought continuing with something like “I have just made a sandwich on a clean plate and not gotten anything on the countertop, but if I leave this countertop without wiping it down with disinfectant I could’ve possibly left some kind of contamination and now whoever uses this countertop next will get salmonella/ food poisoning/ an allergic reaction. I MUST wipe it down several times until it is Clean Enough” that sounds just a little ridiculous right? But you can see how someone might come to that conclusion. Which is probably why the most commonly thought of aspects of OCD get boiled down to germophobia and excessive cleanliness, it’s closer to something other people can relate to or understand on some level.

And then there’s other fears that make no sense with little to no logic for others to follow such as “if I don’t lock this door PERFECTLY CORRECTLY someone will break into my house and kill me. I must unlock and re-lock this door until It Is Perfect” logically, a locked door is a locked door. Whether or not you turned it slowly, quickly or whatever, the door is properly locked by the time you’re done with it. That doesn’t matter to someone with OCD. Somehow, someway, locking it too slowly or too quickly will lead to some catastrophic failure and suddenly in their head they are then vulnerable, so they will stand there and lock the door as many times it’s takes for their brain to say “that’s perfect, I’m safe now”.

By reducing OCD into just some quirky thing some people experience, we are doing a major disservice to everyone suffering from this disorder and we allow stuff like this, where people are equating being afraid of something happening to mean they must actually secretly want that thing to happen or to do that thing, to happen and actively harm people with OCD. Too many people misunderstand that it is irrational thinking and fears that drive OCD behaviors, not some hidden internal want for it to happen. Do better

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

isekai and in over my head.

chapter three │ there's no wiki for this.

it starts with you waking up in what might be a coma, probably isn't a otome game, and is definitely not your life. It ends with five dangerously attractive men forming an unofficial committee to keep you alive, loved, and under constant emotional surveillance.

ABOUT │ 2.3 k words. f!reader x 5 Li (non-romantic so far). slice of life.

TAGS │ isekai. for shits and giggles. flirting. banter. fluff. survivors guilt.

NOTE: wow. absolutely wow. i went in to this not expecting anything. just writing for my own sanity. and the fact that you guys love it this much? fuck this community is amazing. thank you sm for the support!

INDEX │ chapter one ✧ chapter two ✧ chapter three ✧

chapter three │ there's no wiki for this.

THE DOOR CLICKED...shut behind Tara with a chirpy, “Rest up!” and the second her footsteps faded down the hall, I dropped the smile I’d been holding like a tray of drinks that had overstayed its welcome.

One beat.

Two.

Then I doubled forward, bracing my hands on my knees, and let out a noise I can only describe as part whimper, part wheeze, part this-can’t-be-happening-to-me.

Because I’d done it.

I had successfully faked normalcy long enough to be left alone.

And now—I was alone.

In an apartment I didn’t recognize but was apparently mine. Sleek. Immaculately organized. Suspiciously dust-free. The kind of place that came scented like bergamot and quiet breakdowns. Stainless steel accents. Dimmable lights. Not a single dish in the sink.

I was standing in someone else’s life.

Someone composed. Someone capable. Someone who didn’t show up to their interdimensional apocalypse wearing bloodstained pants and one sock.

I stumbled over to the coffee table—real wood, glass top, coasters no one ever used—and collapsed onto the couch like a marionette whose strings had just been very politely severed.

A framed photo on the sideboard caught my eye.

I blinked at it. Once. Twice.

It took three full seconds to realize I was in it.

Me. Smiling. Positioned neatly between Caleb and Zayne. All of us laughing like we shared inside jokes and complicated history and the occasional brush with death.

Which, sure, might’ve been sweet—if it weren’t borderline existentially catastrophic.

Because I didn’t belong in that photo. Didn’t belong in this apartment. Didn’t belong in this story.

Not with them. Not here. Not like this.

I grabbed a throw pillow and clutched it like a life preserver. The silence pressed in, thick and padded, the kind that didn’t care how close I was to falling apart.

My legs wouldn’t stop twitching. My heart kept thudding like it was trying to get ahead of something. I couldn’t breathe without noticing how weird breathing had become.

I wasn’t panicking. Not yet.

But the runway was cleared. Engines on. Takeoff imminent.

I leaned forward, pulled the pillow tighter, and muttered, “Okay. Okay. Let’s think.”

Which was optimistic, really—considering half my brain was still screaming about Zayne’s jawline and the other half was building an isekai survival flowchart using crayons and fear.

I shifted the pillow to my lap and reached for the notepad I’d found earlier—tucked beside the bookshelf like a secret. Cream pages. Gilded edges. It looked far too expensive to be defiled by my nonsense.

Naturally, I grabbed a pen and got to work.

The Isekai Disaster Log. Title at the top. Underlined. Bold. Possibly cursed.

Step One: Identify Method of Entry. – Truck-kun? No. – Fell into a book? Also no. – Video game glitch? Closer��� but there was no dramatic boss fight screen-suck. – Summoned by higher power? Still pending.

I tapped the pen against my lips, trying not to think about how unhinged this all looked—sitting cross-legged in someone else’s apartment (mine, technically, fictionally), scribbling genre tropes like a conspiracy theorist with a soft spot for K-dramas.

Because that’s what I was, wasn’t I? A placeholder. In high-waisted pants.

Next Section: Potential Exit Routes. – Defeat final boss → unlock return. – Earn true love → reset cycle. – Regain original body → body-swap reversal. – Die → classic dramatic reset (not ideal). – Confess truth → universe implodes?

That last one I underlined three times. Then drew a skull. Then a frowny face. It made me feel slightly better.

I tossed the pen aside and flopped backward into the cushions, arms flung wide like a swooning opera widow. The ceiling stared back—matte, pale, too sleek to be real. Probably had hidden heating vents and mood lighting triggered by emotional instability.

I blinked.

“Okay,” I said to no one. “Let’s say this is an isekai. Let’s say I got pulled into the body of the character I’ve played for years. Let’s say I’ve overwritten her like some cursed save file from hell.”

I sat up again—faster than necessary—and seized the notepad like it had personally offended me.

New Heading: Ethical Implications. – I stole her life. – I stole her wardrobe. – I stole her contact list, her unread messages, and—oh my god—I stole her men. – Her SSRs. – Her entire romance arc with the most devoted, animated, emotionally generous love interests ever coded.

I scrawled across the page: I AM THE PROBLEM. IT’S ME.

Taylor Swift would be ashamed.

Some small, rational part of me whispered, It’s not like you meant to. You didn’t hit “Steal MC Identity” in the settings menu.

But that part was quickly drowned out by a louder, nastier voice—one that sounded suspiciously like the YouTube comment section under a spoilery reaction video:

You’re ruining the canon. They loved her, not you. You’re breaking the story. You’re just a fan with access.

My throat tightened.

I reached for the water bottle on the counter, then stopped. It wasn’t mine. Nothing in here was mine. Not the framed photos. Not the notes in my inbox. Not the half-unwrapped gift on the kitchen island with a tag that read:

Don’t open until tomorrow – C.

I didn’t even know if C was Caleb or someone else entirely.

The guilt settled in my chest like a paperweight—heavy, cold, polished by years of fandom, lore, and longing.

I was a reader who’d fallen into the game.

But I wasn’t supposed to edit it. I was supposed to cheer from the sidelines. Cry when the confession finally happened. Not be the one getting tackled mid-battle by Caleb or scanned under sexy-doctor scrutiny by Zayne.

I pressed both palms to my face.

What if I couldn’t leave? What if this wasn’t temporary?

What if I was stuck here forever—playing the part of a woman who had earned every bit of love this world gave her, while I just flinched every time someone touched my shoulder?

My hands dropped. I stared at the notepad.

Pages torn. Corners dog-eared. Ink smudged by my own uncertainty.

A new plan began to form.

Not an exit strategy. That wasn’t coming anytime soon.

But a coping mechanism. A survival guide. A soft reboot.

If I couldn’t leave—if I was here for the long haul—then I would be so nice. So harmless. So deeply inoffensive that if the real MC ever came back, she’d look at my log of wholesome side quests and say: Wow. You really took care of my save file.

I nodded to myself. Out loud.

“I’ll smile more,” I told the wall. “I’ll bake muffins for Caleb, even if I nearly die turning on a space-age oven.”

And above all?

I would say nothing.

Not one syllable. Not a single whisper about who I really was.

Because this world had rules.

And I had read enough manhwa to know exactly what happens when you break them.

Best-case scenario? Narrative collapse. Worst-case? A tear in reality. Everyone dies. Caleb cries. The End.

So I was going to be good.

Like, really good.

I was going to smile at everyone like I’d graduated top of my class at the Hunter’s Association Charm Academy. I’d say things like “great teamwork” and “thank you for your service” with such radiant sincerity that even Zayne would log it as medically viable.

I’d become the kind of woman people described as “so lovely” and “just a joy” and maybe even “strangely polite given the circumstances.”

With that sacred vow in place, I folded the notepad shut, gave a resolute little nod, and stood.

Immediately tripping over my own foot on the way to the sink.

Because grace, it seemed, was not included in my starter kit.

Still, I rinsed my face. Brushed out the knots in my hair with something called an ionizing detangler. Changed into a pair of sweatpants I prayed were actually mine and not something the real MC had once emotionally bonded with. Every motion was deliberate. Precise. Good girl on her best behavior.

I was going to pass for normal if it killed me.

Which, frankly, it still might.

Then came the knock.

Soft. Polite. Almost apologetic.

I froze mid-sip from a pastel mug that read: Hunters Do It Better.

One gentle knock. Then another.

A beat. Then—

“Your lights are still on.”

The voice was deep. Calm. The kind of voice you’d hear during a power outage and just trust. Familiar, too—like velvet cut with steel.

I crept toward the door like it might bite.

Then—

“It’s Xavier.”

My entire soul left the chat.

No. No-no-no-no—

Because Caleb and Zayne coexisting in the same timeline made sense.

But Xavier?

The quiet, lethal swordsman with the voice of a lullaby and a gaze that could skewer you into next week?

That meant—

Oh god.

That meant they were all here. All of them.

Not spaced out by chapter unlocks. Not split across plot branches. All. Together. In canon proximity.

I flung the door open more out of panic than purpose.

Xavier stood there like a moodboard come to life—hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms, hair slightly tousled, expression unreadable. One hand in his pocket. The other holding—

A thermos.

He blinked, slow and unbothered.

“I saw your lights.”

I nodded. Then realized I was nodding like a socially anxious bobblehead and stopped.

“I—yeah. Lights.” I cleared my throat. “They’re… on.”

Another blink. Another pause.

Then, tilting his head just slightly:

“You okay?”

Which, to be fair, was a complicated question.

Physically? Fine. Mentally? A patchwork quilt of anime tropes and impostor syndrome. Spiritually? Somewhere between “lost in a cutscene” and “actively dodging God’s gaze.”

“I’m great,” I lied. “Perfect, even.”

He gave a small nod—slow, deliberate, as if filing the answer away in a database for later review.

Then he held out the thermos.

“Chamomile.”

My brain short-circuited.

Because nothing in the romance route prep guides—nothing in the character notes or fandom wikis or fan-translated interviews��had ever warned me about this.

Not quiet night visits. Not sleep tea. Not the soft weight of care wrapped in a mundane gesture.

“Oh,” I said, brilliant as ever. “Thanks. That’s… nice.”

“I can stay.”

He said it without drama. Without loaded meaning. Just a simple, solid offer, like staying was something people just did when they noticed someone might need it.

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Then, very, very dramatically—

Shut the door.

Because this world didn’t make sense.

Because if Xavier was here, calm and lethal and handing out herbal tea like it was standard field protocol—

Then Sylus might be next.

And Rafayel.

And if that happened?

I really would die. Right there. On canon soil. Of romance-induced heart failure.

From the other side of the door, his voice came again—low, steady, perfectly calm.

“If you change your mind…”

I didn’t answer.

Just leaned my forehead against the cool wood and whispered, half to myself, half to the devs:

“Fucking hell, InFold. Are you trying to murder me?”

I stayed like that for a while.

Just breathing.

Forehead pressed to a door that had no idea how high the stakes were. That didn’t care about timelines or fan theories or character routes or the logistical nightmare of making muffins in a kitchen where you didn’t recognize the knives.

The air on the other side stayed still.

Eventually, footsteps.

Not angry. Not impatient. Just quiet.

Xavier didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t knock again. He simply left—offering space like someone who understood the weight of silence and had no desire to fill it.

Which was kind, really.

And also maddening.

I peeled myself off the door like a sticker someone had given up on and slumped back into the living room, thermos still in hand. The tea was warm—floral, faintly sweet. It tasted like a lullaby I hadn’t earned.

I sank into the couch and stared at the ceiling.

Plain. Elegant. Ambivalent to my suffering.

“I’m in a dating sim,” I muttered.

It wasn’t a revelation. More like a Google Maps reroute: You are here, even though I’d known for hours because nothing around me had changed. Except here, the landscape was made of heartbreak rendered in high definition, elite military uniforms, and a doctor who looked like the human embodiment of a soft-focus lens.

And they were all in love.

Not with me.

But with her.

The one who belonged. The real MC.

I looked down at my hand—the same hand Caleb had held, Zayne had examined, Xavier had offered tea to—and curled it slowly into a fist.

“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered. “But I have it.”

So maybe I couldn’t fix it. Maybe I couldn’t undo the weird narrative tumbleweed that rolled me into this story. Or explain why no one could see through me. Or how I’d managed to fall face-first into the Super Bowl of boyfriend content without so much as a strategy guide.

But I could survive it.

One kind gesture at a time.

I would become the world’s politest interloper. The most considerate impostor. The human equivalent of a please and thank you wrapped in seasonally appropriate gift wrap.

I would make muffins. I would compliment everything. I would be so pathologically nice that if the universe did collapse, it would at least whisper, thank you for your service on the way out.

And I would say nothing.

Not to Caleb. Not to Zayne. Not to Xavier. Not to Sylus or Rafayel or anyone else who might appear in this dimension like it was just another Tuesday.

No world-breaking honesty. No selfish confessions. Just saintlike patience, passive support, and possibly chamomile-induced enlightenment.

“Okay,” I exhaled.

I curled into the corner of the couch, clutching the thermos like it held divine answers.

Lights still on. Ceiling still boring. Tea still warm.

“I can do this.”

Beat.

“I think.”

To be continued...

♡ taglist : @spicypomegrana2 @asilaysdead @sunshine-angel08 @demon-master-zero @mosscoveredmist @glassandhoney @adrasteiax @mentaltrouble2201 @inutrasha94 @aweebs @noxus123 @in-a-far-away-land @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t

[existennialmemes]

Sorry if I'm on edge, my brain keeps inventing Scenarios designed specifically to upset me.

[livingdeaddoctor]

would that knowing the thoughts were irrational would Make Them Go Away!!!!

[belovedcloud]

One Bed

pairing: leon kennedy x fem! agent! reader

✎ synopsis: who knew saving the president's daughter was so tiring? only you and leon knew the treacherous steps towards the hotel room that was supposed to rejuvenate you both. only for him to open the door and to see one bed.

✎ notes: omg hey everyone. it has been months since my last post and thank you so much for the love on 'such a sweetheart'. i needed a hiatus from writing and i hope you guys love this one bed trope! it's not proofread so sorry if there are mistakes but i am way too lazy to read over it all. love you guys.

➤ WC: 5K

➤ CW: you helped leon save ashley, one bed trope duh, touch starved leon, kisses, petnames, cowgirl, tired sex, p in v, unprotected sex, leon cums on you.

Who knew saving the president's daughter would be so exhausting? The whole ordeal was strenuous to your muscles and mental state. A good nights rest was what you needed after the catastrophe you just encountered. Luckily, you were able to squeeze a shower before getting to the hotel. The idea of mud, bodily fluids and blood was too much to handle for any longer than necessary. Though, if it wasn't for Leon - you probably wouldn't be around currently. Being mission partners with him allowed you to understand his perspective on bioweapons and whatnot.

Without a doubt, he hated them. Despised even. This was a common viewpoint, but his hate went far beyond the normal eye.

It was best not to pry. You couldn't class yourselves as friends, just work partners. Agents who fought the living dead and anything else that came in your way. The undead was a sensitive topic to Leon. What could he have went through?

Leon's life was one of pure terror ever since he was victimised to Raccoon City. The first day on the job completely different to others who joined for the first time. Unlocking padlocks were for survival, not for fun. Reading notes left from other officers who already found their fate was disturbing. The scribbles on the paper led him out. To safety he had hoped. No. Safety was not an option that day - his welfare was tarnished every second.

Now being forced into the workforce of the government wasn't any better. Probably even worse. Time and time again Leon would feel the cold metal pressed against his temple, shakily holding the gun to his head. The index finger aching to snap the trigger to blast his brains out. Yet the same reasoning withheld him from doing so. What if another incident like Raccoon City happened in the near future? He was hired to help others - to dispose of the horrors of the world without alarming the population.

Having you as his partner was a struggle and a blessing.

His communicative state from when he was 21 was now gone. A rookie turned agent against his will led him to be colder than others. Leon kept to himself most of the time, here and there giving you a few pointers on how you can effective pop a flash grenade or what to do in a sticky situation. You reflected how he was 6 years ago. A 21 year old who was excited to start at a police department - you were an agent who was motivated to save others. Your actions held such kindness to him. No prying or none of those snickering comments he would get from the other agents at base.

Just peace.

So mentally speaking, he didn't mind having to share a room with you in this crammed hotel. It was a Saturday so it was expected. Though, other patrons would be coming here to have a one night stand or a relaxing time away from their family... you both just needed rest.

Sluggish movements paved their way to the door number, 012. You and him clinging onto your duffel bags silently. It was an awkward silence, a silence that hung below you both as he fumbled with the key card in his hand. Scanning it through to unlock the barrier between you both and the comfort of the beds that laid inside.

Beds. Or... bed?

Your eyes scan the room. Continuously trying to seek out the other bed that should be here. You examine the footing of it, seeing that it's a double bed instead of 2 singles. Great. The dumbfounded look on your face is almost laughable as the situation dawns on you. You were in a room with Leon and it only consisted of one bed for the both of you.

There were a few ways to go about this. You either both sleep in the same bed together or one takes the bed and the other finds another place to rest. Looking around, it appears that the only viable option would be the cracked leather arm chair, resting solo in the corner. Thinking about it, you were willing to give yourself a crick in your neck to save yourself from the embarrassment of sharing the bed with the other agent.

Leon thought otherwise. The brisk movement of the gear belt slung over the armchair with his duffel bag smacked down in the centre. He was tired, over the bullshit that he just fought - he couldn't care less if he had to share a bed.

"Looks like they forgot a bed huh?" He joked sarcastically, stretching his limbs. The strain of his muscles was visible, undoubtably attractive. Leon carried himself enchantingly, you wanted to learn more about him as every second passed. A sigh leaves his throat whilst he sat down on the bed, continuously stretching. The shirt riding up slightly, giving you a chance to avert your eyes to the uncovered skin. His v-line was on show, the dip down soon stopped by the fabric of his cargos. The shirt he was wearing was a tight fit, letting the muscles of his biceps become visible to the naked eye and the shape of his pecs becoming more noticeable the more you looked.

At least you had a bed in the room? That was the only positive you could find from this when removing your gear off your body. Slinging it into the corner of the room alongside your bag. You both are exhausted from the long day, so you were thankful there's at least a bed to share.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick..." His movements are swift, already gripping onto his shirt he reveals his back to you - throwing the shirt on the floor beforehand. Multiple scars are littered faintly around the skin but the more distinguishable thing is his muscles. Leon's toned body calls out to you as his shoulder to waist ratio is insane. A slim waist, broad shoulders, it all speaks to you. You can feel your body speaking back as you look at him a little longer than expected.

Your little fangirling sesh is over when he shuts the bathroom door behind him - you let a breath you didn't know you withheld. Well, all you could do was wait for him to finish his shower before you could have one. The pitter patter of the water hitting the shower floor is heard before it dies down - giving you a mental note that Leon was now cleaning himself. Why are you even thinking about this?

Leon lets out a sigh once the hot water hits his body. An instant relieving feeling flowing through him as he just stands there for a minute. Soaking in the greatness of water before grabbing the washcloth and shower gel nicely provided by the hotel staff. Squeezing the bottle, a dollop of soap smothers the cloth before he runs it across his body.

Humming can be heard whilst he cleanses his body, ensuring to dispose of all the sweat and dirt from their recent mission. Reflecting back on the situation, he started to feel a bit nervous having to share a bed with you tonight. You were pretty, very pretty to him. He mentally scolded himself whilst he ran the cloth down his chest - his mind returning back to you. A soft moan elicited out of his lips made his hand smack his face. Leon wasn't sure why he was feeling this way. Instinctive movements of him washing himself in motion, his fingers manoeuvring the washcloth on autopilot as his mind focused on you. He can't help but think about you some more, remembering your cute smile when you would hand him a cup of coffee at base. Or your simple gestures of making sure he was comfortable and how you reserved yourself around him made his heart skip a beat.

It had been a while since he thought about someone romantically, his job stripping him of any personal life as the thought of the multitude of viruses around the world was increasing each day. But now, deep down... he could feel an attraction to you. Leon wasn't sure if it was sexual or genuine love - it would be too soon to tell. However, this feeling was deep rooted within, his mind wanted to show you love. His heart longing for someone.

A sentiment he had not felt in a while.

Trying to calm his heart down from going into cardiac arrest, giving himself a mental pep talk - trying not to think about you too much. He shuts off the water soon after and grabs the white towel neatly folded on top of the counter cabinet. Rubbing himself dry and wrapping it around his waist - tightening it slightly. He doesn't want an accident to happen.

Your mind shuts off as you hear footsteps in the bathroom. He was out. Okay. Do you look away when he opens the door? Leon doesn't give you time to think as the door creaks open, revealing himself into the main room. His bare chest and hair still damp for show. Jesus Christ. His damped skin looks good in the dim light, as if he had displayed himself just for you. He notices you sitting tensely on the bed, his body approached you. Blue eyes instantly drifting to your body and lingering for a second before he snaps out of it.

"I needed that..." He groans out, sitting beside you. You mentally slap yourself as you snap your thoughts back to the present.

"Yeah I bet, I already had a shower before we got here so I'm alright." Your response is meek, but at least you had something to respond with.

The man next to you raises his eyebrows at you in slight surprise, he wasn't expecting you to have already taken a shower - but by the look of it, you did look super clean compared to him before. Perhaps you had it when he was getting questioned at base for the report of the mission. Leon tries to keep his eyes focused on your face and not your body. "Oh lucky you," he replied with a smirk.

"I couldn't stand all the random liquids on me, it was disgusting." A chuckle leaves you when you remember looking at yourself in the mirror. Gross... but at least you could laugh at yourself for getting in such a mess? "You were subjected to most of the mess to be honest." Leon chortled out, reminiscing on your reaction when you had novistador blood all over you.

Your conversation with him was cut short when you both recalled the situation laid opened to the two of you. One bed, two agents. It seemed childish that you couldn't think the both of you could share a bed - it was just awkward. Really awkward.

"I can take the floor if you want?" The sound of your voice cuts through the silence, Leon replayed the question in his head before shaking his head. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm not letting you sleep on this cold ass floor." His eyes averted to the hardwood floor, indicating that your question was out of order.

"You want to share the bed then?" This question to Leon was better, he really didn't mind another person next to him whilst he slept. Recalling past moments, he's slept through worse. "We're both adults here. We can share the bed, it won't be bad." A calm response from the agent. What more could you expect?

Your reluctant nod allows him to get back up to look through the wardrobe in the hotel room. A couple extra blankets stored alongside some pyjamas that the workforce provided for both of you. You two were granted a pair of sweatpants and black top - your eyes brightened up, realising you weren't having to sleep in fresh gear wear.

"I'll go in the bathroom to change, you can change here." An authoritative tone left him, not giving you a chance to speak back before he returned back into the bathroom. Scurrying over to the open wardrobe, you hand picked your pyjamas - undressing yourself from the imprisonment of your current clothes to something a lot more baggy and comfortable. A sigh let loose from you, your body mindlessly walking over to the bed and plopping down on the edge. The mattress aiding in soothing your back from the hellish ride you attuned escaping the island.

A yawn seeped through your lips, hazily looking at your phone screen at the time, 01:24... It really was time to rest. Though, the thought of Leon couldn't leave your mind. He plagued your brain - a part of you didn't complain.

A sound of a door creaking open embarked into your ears, Leon had changed into his nightclothes. The tank top fit snugly on his body however, the pair of sweatpants seemed a little baggy. Clearly a little too big for him since they were hanging dangerously low on his hips. He was plain exhausted. His limbs gradually moved him to the bed that you two were about to share. Sinking his body into the mattress as the sheets hugged his frame.

Minutes passed, a silence rose in the room. Leon's back laid restfully whilst scrolling through countless media apps to pass the time. His mind wandering back to you. The heat emanating his body contradicted with the cold expression on his face. Why was he so hard to read? You couldn't tell if he was even comfortable with the idea of sharing a bed with you. Your body laid on it's side, staring at him brazenly. Forgetting that your eyes were peering at his body, Leon's gaze averted to you - an eyebrow raised on his face.

"You alright?" His question caught you off guard; no you weren't okay. Not when he was so close to you, the faint smell of him seeping into your senses. You genuinely couldn't be okay in this situation.

"Mhm, m'alright. Just tired." Leon's eyes glanced at you and his eyes shamelessly roamed over your body before he forced himself to look back down at the device in his hand. 'What the hell are you doing?' The question rung in his mind over and over again as he thought about you. There was no denying the fact that he found you incredibly attractive - but for you to be his work partner... It was unprofessional for such thoughts to occur in his mind. Shakily putting down the phone in his grasp he spoke. "You should get some rest, it's getting late."

Like rest was an option. Turning your head towards him, a twinge of irritation was mixed in with your voice. "I know, it's just.. it's hard to sleep right now." The idea of you and him so close was making your head foggy, especially now since he rolled onto his side - discarding his phone on the bedside table. He now faced you, noticing the tone of your voice. Was there something bothering you?

"Why's it hard?" It was starting to click in Leon's head that them sharing a bed may have made you nervous. Scared perhaps. Analysing your expression, he was observant in your body language. A hint of worry trespassed his vision whilst he watched you silently - waiting for you to continue. His head in his hand, inaudibly taking notice of how pretty you look. Completely captivated from your features, he shook his head to clear his mind.

"We're sharing a bed, now I know there's nothing between us but it's just... weird? No offence! Like you're not weird you know that I just-" Realising you were rambling, a heavy sigh left your lips. It was hard trying to compose yourself, particularly because Leon was looking at you. He didn't look confused nor grossed out.. just enamoured. Lovesick eyes boring into yours when he heard you ramble for a moment.

A slight chuckle was brought out from him when you mentioned the closeness between the two of you, a small idea crossed his mind about how your body was mere inches away from his. He swallowed before speaking. "None taken, I get it. Sharing a bed can be kinda intimate huh?" He found it rather cute that you were so antsy. "But I'm glad we have a bed..."

Leon was right, you convinced yourself nothing was weird - staring at the cream coloured ceiling. A light huff was let out of Leon's nose. "Just try and relax," he mumbled, unsure on how to comfort you. Watching you snuggle under the covers, a slight smile spread across his face.

"Cute."

Leon surprised himself that he mumbled it out loud, his body tensing from the fear that reigned his body. Mentally face palming himself, rapidly looking away from you. Reprimanding himself for being so stupid to let it slip out.

After a moment, a lower voice was heard from him. "I mean- Ugh, sorry I didn't mean to make this so awkward." Shifting himself further from you, feeling ashamed of himself - you stop him from almost falling off the bed. "No no, it's fine!" Your efforts of comforting him didn't help him as it was clear he was still embarrassed. Leon's mind kept recalling the scene, shouldered with how attractive you were.

"I meant it." He stated. Leon had no clue where this confidence in him was coming from, but he hoped it wouldn't run out any time soon. The look on your face made him feel less nervous. A shocked expression plastered all over you - stuttering not knowing what to say. He found you to be the prettiest woman he had ever seen, the kindest too. Looking back at it all, he registered all along he had a little thing for you. You respected him, valued his need for privacy and want to be unjudged. Not many knew of his situation and Leon's involvement in Raccoon City. You didn't even know, you never pried.

Shamelessly, a fat smile shone on your face. Leon's expression softened as he found himself in awe. His body itched, craving your touch. Your love. This renowned love blossomed within him.

"You're cute too." That one sentence could make his heart stop if he really went into deep thought about it. Leon never really found himself to be that attractive, yeah his muscles were good in some aspect in his eyes. He did train well, he gave himself that. After all, he was the one many depended on to save the abundance of sick problems this once calm world faced.

Another silence was shared between the two of you - not one of awkwardness but one of solace. Leon didn't feel distressed, he felt calm. You brought out a side of him which he believed was gone. The side being the young man who wasn't scared of the future. A time where he was happy within himself and oblivious. All he could picture was you. You and him happily being each other's bridge.

Each other's home.

"I'm glad we got that out of the way." A breathless voice cut you both out of your trances. Leon flickering his view on you. Your face, those beautiful eyes staring into his own. The soft lips of yours calling out to him. Your bare neck, a blank canvas for his kisses and bites. His eyes then averted to the base of your neck, your chest covered by the black shirt you wore. Feeling his stare, the burning sensation in your cheeks rose. "What... what now?" The scary question was imprinted in your mind. It was obvious you both had a thing for each other, yet what were you going to do about it? Perhaps a relationship could happen between the both of you; would you both just stay work partners?

"Can I.. can I hold you?" Vulnerability was present in Leon's voice. He craved to touch your skin, his fingers twitching slightly from the excitement. Touch starved. That was the true definition of Leon's love life right now. He hadn't involved himself in relationship matters for years and now that the chance popped up with you, he would take what he could get.

You didn't even say yes, your body spoke for you. Wrapping your arms around his chest - you could feel his heartbeat. Rapid pumps thudded into your ear. Strong arms hugged you back clearly stating silently that Leon couldn't let you go. You'd be surprised if his shirt didn't have an imprint of your face since you were so close against him. Breaking free slightly, your head popped up - looking up at him. You were presented with his Adam's apple, slowly bobbing up and down as he swallowed looking down at you. The rough bump alluring you in whilst your hazy eyes lingered on the skin of his neck. Moles sparsely speckled all over his skin. God had crafted Leon himself, you were sure of it.

Moreover, the heat from his body lingered around you. Creating an invisible fortress of affection and love as both of you stared at each other.

A shaky hand pressed against the skin of your cheek, calloused pads caressing you. "You're so pretty." Leon mumbled, shifting a bit. Your touch to him granted him a sense of warmth, he even leaned into it a little - subconsciously seeking comfort. You brought out the 'weak' side of him, it felt nice for him to let down his guard and be himself around you. He let out a pleased hum as he cuddled you, the hold over you was tight. To you, it seemed like he was starved for physical contact and was finally getting the human touch he deserved.

What happened next was a blur, to both of you anyway. The stare-off between his blue eyes and your own turned into your faces being so close together; guaranteed to kiss. An eskimo kiss shared with him, the tips of both your noses touching. Lips hovering over his, your whisper snaps him out of his daze. "Thank you..." Your gratitude granted you a chuckle from Leon but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

Leon continued to stare at you but to pinpoint, he was eying at your lips. They looked so soft, the mere sight of them making his heart race more. He swallowed hard, his mind clouded with the vision of kissing you. An overwhelming sense of desire passing through him - it was need. But at the same time, he knew he couldn't just go in for a kiss; not without consent. Yet he craved to feel his lips against yours.

"Can I kiss you?" His mumbled whisper echoed through your ears. Were you hearing him correctly?

Kiss? You?

Besides, it's not like you were going to straight out reject him. That wasn't even possible in this situation with him; pressed so close against you that you could feel his rock hard boner pressing against your thigh. A nimble nod from you responding to his question was all he needed.

Leon's lips are soft, softer than you would expect. Sweet little kisses are shared, melting you into him. His hands now run down your back, rubbing your skin through the cotton shirt. He hums, tilting your head slightly back to get a better angle. It feels messy as saliva is shared between the two of you. A soft whine escaping you when Leon breaks away. Reining you back in, he gives you another kiss. Pure passion and love interweaved in it.

Kisses soon turn into touches as your fingers manoeuvre around his torso, slowly digging your fingers into him - eliciting a groan out his mouth. His touch on you becomes possessive, kneading your skin in his hands. Leon holds you close and after a few minutes, you find yourself on his lap. His hands automatically went to your hips, gripping you tight as his eyes locked onto yours. Those blue eyes of his roamed your body shamelessly whilst he held you against him, taking in the view of your straddling his hips.

You could feel the hard-on beneath you, begging for some friction. Subconsciously, your hips start to rock slightly, Leon takes full control as he guides you. There was no way he could stop right now, not with how his body was aching so badly and having you on his lap like this. "Can we take this slow? We're both... really tired." A yawn escapes you mid sentence, you can feel yourself getting tired and wet.

"Yeah, we can take this slow. Anything you want love." The nickname shoots desire right into your veins, the rasp in his voice concocted with a tired sigh as he watches you grind on him is heavenly. Shuddering from his touch, Leon brings you down to lay on him - adjusting you on his lap. Your foreheads touch, all you can see is love in his eyes. Leon's fingers tug on your shirt, a breathless chuckle leaving him before he asks the question. "Can I take this off?" He can't help but want to see you, feel you - caress the smoothness of your skin on the pads of his fingers. Hearing you say the word "yes" made his hands work in a fast fashion as your torso was soon left bare.

"So beautiful..." He sat you back up, feeling your flesh mould in-between his fingers. Leon ached for you, he wanted to have more energy to give you the proper fucking you deserved. However, the past mission and the strain it had on both of your bodies exempted him from treating you the way he wanted. So he had to settle for soft, gentle sex. Just like you wanted.

Rapid breathing contradicted the mellow touches shared between you both, your hips continuously rocking slowly before he lifts you up slightly - removing the same sweatpants that were already dangerously low. You're face to face with his boxers, a clear wet patch showcasing the pre-cum that leaked out of his tip.

"See what you do to me?" Leon groaned out, palming himself slowly - your eyes following his every movement. He was enchanting nonetheless, alluring you in with every pump he did to himself. Leon's mind was fogged with you, the view of you turning every cell in his brain insane. He seriously couldn't get enough of your watchful eyes scanning his hand; viewing the pornographic sight in front of you.

Although once again he did think to make this the best sex he's had in a while, it was obvious you both were too tired to even do anything remotely crazy that night. So plain ole cowgirl it is.

Quick work was made for your sweatpants as they were easily tossed to the floor, your panties being the the second piece of protection between you and Leon's boxers straining his dick in place. His hands guided you still, the subtle movements rocking back on forth bringing both of you a sense of release you both needed. Silken kisses bringing out a wave of passion. Playing with the band of his boxers - a dark look appeared in his gaze.

"Impatient?" The mere one word question could've left you astonished if you weren't so hazy from being aroused. Of course you were impatient. He was the embodiment of seduction. "Well, yeah." A laugh escaped both Leon and you, your eyes boring into his.

"Shouldn't keep you waiting should I?"

Sliding your panties to the side; pulling his boxers down, it was easy for his cock to slide in. Eliciting a deep moan from the both of you as kisses were shared once again. Leon couldn't believe how good you felt, he already felt pussy drunk. The two of you shared tired eyes and low whimpers whilst your hips rocked back and forth.

"You're so pretty..." Leon mumbled out, dazed out of his mind looking at how your body synchronised with his. The way his dick was slipping in and out of you, pressing into that sweet spot of yours. How were you so pretty? And how did you already make such a mess? Glancing down, his eyes followed to the feeling of wetness coating the base of his cock - your inner thighs glistening from how wet you were. Completely mesmerised, Leon looked up at you with pure love and lust.

You couldn't talk, not when all your throat could conjure was the moans and low screams as his hips started to jerk up slightly - thrusting himself further in you. Holding onto the bedframe keeping you both afloat, your mumbles tried to alert him from the upcoming orgasm reaching you. "Mmph... L-Leon, I..." was all you could muster. It was the only coherent thing he could understand before feeling you tighten up.

"That's it baby, keep going." The softness in his voice juxtaposed the way his hips were snapping up and down, Leon couldn't help it. Your pussy felt too good wrapped around him. He had to put in the last of his energy to making you feel good at least. Lazily, his hand slowly reached your clothed clit - his fingers slowly rubbing the fabric of your panties. The perfect amount of friction to make your bundle of nerves become overstimulated whilst being stuffed full.

Your tired eyes locked with his, feeling yourself getting closer to seventh heaven. A small smirk plastered on Leon's face, watching you breathlessly whilst his dick twitched too.

"Gotta pull out..." He murmured, his fingers making you reach the pinnacle of your orgasm. "L-Leon!" All you could do was shudder on-top of him, feeling the remaining energy in you seep out alongside your orgasm. Collapsing onto him, Leon subtly slipped himself out, painting your clit and lower stomach with his cum. A low hum leaving him as he kissed the nape of your neck. "You did so well."

Panting heavily, your moan responded to his words. Chuckling to himself, Leon held you close whilst sitting up. Grabbing a few tissues in the box to wipe your tummy.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up."

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! thank u for reading :)

-> masterlist

[the-secret-formulaone]

DARLING, HOLD MY HAND

prompt: your new manicure has oscar's brain short circuiting

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: 18+, cursing, handjob, very tame

a/n: this was purely impulsive and self-indulgent. i got my nails done today and this is how i feel about them and how i'd like my boyfriend (if i had one) to react.

this oneshot is very fluff and only a tinsy bit spicy. the smut is not the main point hence why it's not my best work but it's enjoyable! [and a bit nasty hehe]

this is my offering to the oscar girlies who constantly keep me fed with his fluffy fics. i owe the oscar girlies everything. they are some of the best writers in this platform. idk if it's them or oscar which have that secret ingredient.

enjoy!

You love to get your nails done. Every couple of weeks you make an appointment and go get your nails done without fault.

Oscar knew not to mess with that.

From the day he met you, you've had your nails done. He can't recall if he's ever seen you without nail polish and it's been a couple of years since you got together.

You often mention how having your nails bare makes you feel naked. It’s part of your identity it’s what makes you…you.

Oscar doesn't mind in the slightest. It's one of your quirks and he respects it. Whenever you come home with new nails you'll show him excitedly and he'll tell you they look good promptly returning to your lives.

You've taught him to always remind you if he has an important event to attend or a vacation planned so you can fit in your nail appointment before then. Yes, you cared about your hair and your makeup and your outfits but your nails where everything. A priority.

Oscar has been witness to the catastrophe that is breaking a nail. He will follow along your lead and nod at how it sucks and it’s the worst thing to ever happen.

He thinks it's cute how you will look at your hand and huff in annoyance at the mismatched length the days leading up to the appointment. The same one you bumped up on your schedule.

The one thing Oscar never counted on was his brain chemistry changing after one particular manicure.

He's home chilling watching TV. You've been gone for a couple of hours to get your nails done. He doesn't dare to make plans at that time knowing you'll chose to get your nails done over doing whatever with him.

You'd never cancel on your nail tech the same day, especially after browsing for new nail art for days in preparation. He doesn't argue with your routine lets you be. Oscar knows the drill already.

The door opening and your keys jingling tells him everything he needs to know. "Osc, I'm home," you call out to him, leaving your bag and coat by the door.

You pad down to the living room where he's sprawled out on the couch, grey sweatpants and hoodie covering his fit body. You smile at the sight, you have such a lovely boyfriend.

"Hey babe, how was your appointment?" He asks, looking away from the TV to spare you a glance.

"It was great. Look at my nails," you squeal, falling beside him on the couch and showing him your nails. You stretch your arms in front of you, putting your hands right on his eye line.

You finally bit the bullet and got the famous cat eye nails. Tired of the Pinterest girlies living their best lives with sparkly nails without you, you paid the extra fee to join them.

The nude color shimmered in magnetically designed patters with every move of your fingers. You spent the whole way home oohing and awing at how spectacular they looked. They say money can't buy happiness but you're pretty damn happy with your manicure.

Oscar stares blankly, watching the shimmering polish catch the light. He's never had an opinion on your choice of color or design, everything you picked suit you and was pretty even if you voiced your disappointment about how your idea panned didn’t pan out as you imagined.

But this manicure in particular made his brain short circuit. He felt like a magpie chasing after something shiny. The more you wiggled your fingers, the more tranced he was.

"Osc?"

"That's pretty neat. Is this the first time you do that color?" He asks, knowing the answer because there's no way he missed this before.

"Yeah, it's a fairly new popular type of polish. Had to pay extra though," you shrug, taking your varnished fingers away from his face. He almost had half a mind to pull your hands back to keep starring.

"Huh," he says, returning to the TV as you settle more comfortably beside him to scroll on your phone.

As the days go by he's hyper focused on your nails. Always observing the cute way the light hits them and how they make your hands look very attractive. In his eyes it's so classy and sexy. Oscar can't explain it properly.

It’s not like your hands changed or the shape of your nails. It’s the eye catching shimmer that has him in a trance. He panics on the inside about seemingly developing a new kink based on the color of your nails. It’s a new low even for him.

You and Oscar aren't the type to hold hands all the time, but ever since you changed your manicure he's been holding them non stop to watch the fine glitter shift with the angle of the light.

You're the type of person to talk with your hands so whenever you're having a conversation with your boyfriend you catch his eyes following your hands. He's obsessed and you love it.

You say nothing, letting him have his fun. You won't ever turn down your boy for admiring one of your favorite things. Your phone is filled with pictures of your new manicure so you understand him perfectly.

Oscar has half the mind to give you more money just so you can tip your nail tech extra. Hell, he'll send them to her with a small thank you note. He feels indebted.

One morning, the brightness of a new day wakes him up. Oscar forgot to shut the blinds the night before. You never do because you like to fall asleep looking at the night sky.

It's cheesy and Oscar teases you about it endlessly, but being the good boyfriend he is he takes on the responsibility of shutting them every night so the sun doesn’t disturb you in the morning.

You're asleep on your side, facing him. Your hand resting between the two of you. The promise ring he gave you glints with the sunlight along with your pretty nails.

He touches the varnish lightly with his finger tips, admiring it once more. Grabbing your hand, he kisses each one of your fingertips, following your hand, your wrist and up your arm.

He might as well take advantage of waking you from your peaceful state after you begged him to the day before. You wanted to see him before he left to work out and meet with his team.

He kisses your shoulder softly, before burying his head on your neck. "Wake up, love," he whispers into your ear. His voice heavy with sleep still.

"Hmm," you whine, throwing your arm around Oscar to hug him close. "Five more minutes," you groan as your nails come up to his head to scratch his head.

"I have to go," he laughs softly, but he relaxes in your arms, enjoying the feel of your nails on his scalp.

"Five more minutes." He can hear the pout on your voice so he stays in place, face on your neck and arm thrown around your waist. Oscar closes his eyes and enjoys the affection you're so freely offering.

Throughout it all, Oscar comes to realize that your nails look the best when your hand is wrapped around his cock with the flash of his phone shining down on them as he records the moment.

He records intimate moments between the two of you often for when he's away on a race and you can't join him. Sometimes the time zone difference don’t let you help him and he has to depend on these videos he has tucked away on a locked folder of his phone.

"Fuck, that's it baby," Oscar groans as your hand pumps his hard cock up and down. You're lying down next to him, kissing his neck while reminding yourself not to leave any hickeys.

Oscar has gotten in trouble for that before.

Your hands are shiny from the lube you applied all over his length to make your job easier. Other times, you'd have your mouth and hands all over him but he requested this so, who are you to say otherwise?

The nail polish and the shimmers pop with the harsh white light of the flash and Oscar knows this will be in his favorites folder for months to come. You swipe his tip with your thumb, stimulating the sensitive area.

Oscar's hips jerk against your hand and a groan spills from his lips. You whisper in his ear, praising him and talking dirty. Comments that will leave him blushing when he randomly remembers them in the middle of the day.

His cock was throbbing and leaking precum all over your palm. "I love it when you get messy, Osc," you brush your lips on the shell of his ear and feel him shiver.

Your teeth sink into his earlobe, making him groan. You're playing dirty, you know Oscar's sweet spot is in his ear.

Oscar moans your name, tearing his gaze from the phone on his hand to press his lips against yours in a wet kiss. He hisses into the kiss as you carefully grip his cock tighter.

"I'm gonna cum," he moans, shutting his eyes tightly as his head falls back. The phone falls on his stomach as he chooses to grasp at the crisp white bedsheets. You grab it with your free hand, finishing his job of recording as you speed up.

His cock is slick with lube and precum, his tip a bright pink as it swells up. You record as your hand slips up and down firmly, Oscar's hips stutter, chasing his release. One of his hands gripping your side tightly as the other joins yours on his cock.

In a matter of seconds, Oscar cums as his moans echo in the dark bedroom. Sticky, white covers his cock, his thighs, his stomach and your hands. You turn the phone in your direction, licking the cum off your fingers, savoring the taste of him. Nails glint mischievously at him. With a cheeky wink, you blow a kiss into the camera and wave, stopping the recording.

It's definitely being saved to his favorites.

Everyone typically hates Monday's unless it's a festive day but not Oscar. Oscar likes them because he can rest after a stressful race weekend.

That was until disaster struck on a Monday and then he understood everyone's hatred of the day.

"Oscar, I'm home," you sing, taking off your shoes and leaving your bag on the table by the door. You bounce into the kitchen excitedly finding him preparing a smoothie.

"Hey babe," Oscar greets you as he drops the fruit into the blender, leaning down when you tug his hoodie to drop a kiss on his cheek.

"Look at my new nails," you giggle, extending your hand in front of his face.

Oscar feels his face fall at the new color varnish. It's a pretty red that compliments your skin well but it's not the cat eye nail polish as he's come to learn it's called. Many men would love the sexy red color and he does like it but he much preferred the other one.

"What happened to the other color?" He lets slip as he holds in his horror.

"What do you mean? Osc, my nails were falling apart, you know I change them every couple of weeks," you say, tilting your head in question.

The polish was starting to lift at the edges and you hate when your hair gets stuck on it. Only Oscar was allowed to pull your hair.

"Oh," he says plainly, hiding his disappointment.

"You don't like them?" You ask him, inspecting the color yourself to see if there was something he noticed that you didn't, but the red color looked perfect.

"No, no," Oscar is quick to reply, grabbing hold of your hands and giving a kiss to the back of each one, "They look perfect as always. I just really liked that other color is all."

"Oh okay," you sigh, pecking his lips, "I'll keep that in mind for the future, Osc."

Something lights up in Oscars eyes. "So you'll get them done like that next time?"

"God no," you giggle, patting his cheek, "We'll be right in the middle of the summer. I was thinking about something bright, like orange!"

Oscar sighs in defeat but he smiles at you and nods. He lets you go do your own thing as he finishes his smoothie. The loud whirring of the blender a representation of how he's crying on the inside.

thoughts?? prayers?? complaints?? applause??

hope you liked it!!

[starlightsalvatore]

hunger / damon salvatore x reader

i'm back !!! I needed to write a damon one-shot while I work on a new fic and this just tumbled right out of me lol

hunger / damon salvatore x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: everything??? drinking, swearing, blood sharing, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p-in-v, a tiny bit of degradation?? this is self indulgant filth, seriously 18+ mdni

You ran a hand through your hair as you walked back and forth, unsure of what else to do with the restless energy surging through your system as you tried to fight one of your most basic, primal urges… hunger. Your fingers drummed against your thigh as you tried to focus on anything else, find something in your brain worth occupying your mind and switching course from the visuals running through your head. Your recent transition had been a shock to everyone, and Stefan had you on a tight leash to keep you in check… and you’d been on board, at first. You never wanted to cause harm, to be the reason someone else’s life ended, but with the itch in your veins threatening to undo you completely you couldn’t really find it in you to care anymore.

You heard your door push open and your head snapped up to see Damon walking in, two glasses and a bottle in his hand with an unamused expression, “if you don’t knock it off I’m going to have to replace the floor,” he said, setting everything on the dresser before pouring two generous cups of bourbon. 

“Not now, Damon,” you sighed, ignoring him entirely as your feet remained on course.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked and you shook your head.

“Not really,” you said as he shoved a glass in your hand, his eyes telling you to drink which you did… all in one gulp and he was a little surprised as he took it to refill. 

“Well, something’s gotta give,” he replied as you finished the second as quickly as the first. “At this rate the bottle will be gone in a minute and I’m not replacing original flooring.” He gripped your shoulders, halting your movements and you huffed, looking up at him.

“I’m hungry, Damon,” you said, as if it pained you to do so and he furrowed his brow.

“The freezer is full- oh,” he cut himself off, realizing that’s not what you meant as a smirk spread across his features. “You want your blood at 98.6,” he said and you rolled your eyes, pushing him off you.

“Will you cut it out?” You poured another glass, hoping at some point the alcohol would subdue your cravings but you knew that was about as likely as him leaving you alone, so you tried another angle. “I can’t… Damon, the blood bags aren’t doing it for me, I can’t think, I can’t sleep… will you please take me out?” For a moment you thought he’d say yes, revel in the opportunity to feed with abandon with someone else, but it wasn’t that easy.

“No can do, sweetheart,” he replied and your brows pinched. “I���ve got enough on my plate without you losing control and giving me more bodies to deal with.” He was right, there was too much going on and you spinning out wasn’t an option, but that didn’t make it any easier of an answer to tolerate. He gave you a once over, it wasn’t as if he didn’t want to take you out… he would have loved to, but you were new and he knew you could eventually get to where he was, one day you’d be able to feed and leave them alive with no memory of what had happened, but that day wasn’t today, you had a long way to go and he couldn’t afford to have you slip up.

But… he couldn’t afford to have you slip up. One look told him you were wound tight, the diet Stefan had you on was restrictive, never enough to fully satisfy, and the less you drank the tighter you spun, threatening a catastrophic snap he could only assume was looming on the horizon with how frustrated you looked right now. He ran through his options, knowing letting you sit in this hunger any longer would result in a much bigger problem, but the only thing he could think of posed another set of issues and would lead to him teetering on the edge instead of you.

He let out a sigh, closing the distance between you and plucking the glass from your hands to discard on the dresser and you looked up at him questioningly, the invasion of space catching you by surprise. His normally bright eyes were dark and swimming with something you couldn’t understand, deep blue pools you found yourself getting lost in as you waited for him to say something. “You need to feed,” he said and your eyes fluttered shut just at the thought.

“I need to feed,” you whispered and he nodded, catching your chin between his fingers and forcing your head back up when you tried to look down and the action had your breath catching somewhere in your throat. 

“You still haven’t felt it, have you?” he asked, voice low and you shuddered. “What it’s like to sink your teeth into something…” you shook your head, Stefan hadn’t allowed you to drink anything that didn’t come from a cup. “Poor thing,” he chuckled, he could feel the tension radiating off you in waves, you were practically shaking beneath him as you fought to retain your grip on your sanity, on your control.

“Damon,” you sighed, eyes pleading and he just smiled as he gripped your hand and brought it up to his neck, the pulse beneath your fingers driving you wild. 

“When you feed you have to be careful… if you bite just along here,” he said, dragging your fingers along the vein, “you can control the flow. It doesn’t have to be messy,” he explained and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the subtle way his skin moved with each beat of his heart, the sight bringing the veins beneath your eyes to the surface, your fangs descending.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, noticing you trying to rein it in, and you were having a hard time focusing on anything with the way his hands were trailing up your arms, pulling you closer. “Go on,” he tilted his head just slightly, “give it a try.” he encouraged and this pulled your focus, eyes snapping to his as you tried to ascertain if he was being serious. You had a lot left to learn, but blood sharing was personal, and you knew that… but all you saw in those dark blue eyes was a fire simmering beneath the surface you were sure was a mirror image of your own.

You slowly reached onto your tiptoes, as if he were a deer in the woods threatening to startle and bolt, but the closer you got the harder it was to resist, anticipation burning through your veins at the prospect of giving in. Your fangs were tentative as they broke the skin just where he’d indicated, but the first drop of blood immediately made you feel dizzy and intoxicated… It wasn't enough. You quickly grew feverish, your hand wrapping around his throat as you surged forward, crashing into the wall behind you and he let out a grunt as his back collided with the hard surface, pinned in place as you fed.

“There you go… that’s it,” he said, leaning back as he relaxed and let you take what you needed. His arm snaked around your waist while a hand brushed the hair from your face, cradling the back of your head as warm blood radiated through your body. A soft groan fell from his lips as you drank from him, and the sound elicited an unexpected reaction from you, your hand tightening around his throat and your body pushing flush against his and despite everything in you telling you to continue, you forced yourself back knowing if you didn’t stop you’d bleed him dry. 

Your eyes were wild and satisfied as they met his, and he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, collecting the remnants and you were almost surprised when your lips wrapped around him, ensuring you didn’t waste a single drop. His smirk returned when he felt your tongue slide across his skin, “better?” he asked and you nodded, keeping him in your mouth for maybe a second longer than you needed to. The air was charged between you, you’d just crossed a line in the sand and you wanted to push a little further, go a little farther… 

Part of him knew he should put an end to this… stop before it went any further. He knew it before he’d even offered up a vein for you, he knew as soon as he did he’d be teetering on this ledge and he didn’t have that much self control when it came to you. Perhaps, if he really analyzed the situation, he knew somewhere in the back of his mind why you’d been so worked up, he knew what you needed and instead of letting you wreak havoc on the blood cooler he let you push him against a wall and take what you wanted, he let you feed from him in the most intimate way he could think of. 

And when you were looking up at him like that, eyes mischievous and holding an unspoken challenge with his blood still on your plump lips, who was he to resist? Your chest was heaving with anticipation as you waited for him to do something, anything, and the movement was so fast you almost didn’t register his hand curling around your throat, flipping you around and slamming you against the wall with such force you were sure you’d be dead if you were human. Your gasp of surprise was swallowed by his mouth on yours, searing and frenzied as he connected your lips and kissed you with a hunger that rivaled your own only moments ago. 

You both fought for dominance, neither one of you willing to submit just yet but you were outmatched… he grabbed your wandering hands and pinned them above your head, grip so tight you whined as he kissed down your neck, biting into you the same way you’d done with him and you couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips as he did. Your hips rolled forward and feeling his hardening length against you gave you the surge of confidence you needed to break your hands free, sliding down his chest to pull his shirt apart, buttons flying and clattering against the floor as you pushed the fabric over his shoulders. 

His lips were greedy across the expanse of your chest as he nipped and sucked the soft skin, tearing your shirt to shreds as he pulled it from you, a mess of fabric in your wake as you surged forward and pushed him into the wall opposite you, regaining your upper hand. Glass shattered on the floor around you as the force rattled the dresser but you couldn’t find it in you to care what had broken as your hands pulled his belt free, fingers quickly undoing the button as you sank to the floor and pulled his jeans with you.

His length stood erect in front of you and you were quick to take him in your mouth, focusing your tongue on his swollen tip as your hand worked what didn’t fit, and you couldn’t help but moan around him at the groan that fell from his lips, “such a good girl,” he cooed, his sweet words undercut by the harsh hand in your hair gripping and pulling you closer, forcing you to gag around him and the sensation had his head falling back against the wall. Tears sprung to your eyes at the sharp pain in your scalp and the way he was hitting the back of your throat, but all you could focus on was the throbbing between your thighs and he didn’t miss the way you clenched them together, desperate for friction. 

You were quickly on your back, too caught up in the moment to bother moving to the bed and you pushed glass aside as he settled between your legs, tearing your underwear off and diving in like a man starved and you could feel his smirk against you at your surprised moan, head hitting the floor as your back arched in pleasure. He switched between your clit and your entrance, not giving either attention long enough to give you what you really needed, and you whined as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging harshly.

“Damon, please,” you sighed, hips bucking against his face and he focused his attention on your sensitive bundle of nerves, tongue expertly working you up as you shamelessly moaned his name. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew with the way you kept slamming each other against walls and the floor, the breaking glass, and the sounds falling from both your lips someone might come to make sure you were alright, but you couldn’t find it in you to care… not when he felt as good as he did between your legs. 

Your moan changed in pitch when he slid two fingers into your entrance and it went straight to his cock, his head swimming as he watched you come close to falling apart above him. When he crooked his fingers just so your grip in his hair tightened, pulling him closer as you started to grind against him, “fuck, just like-” you were cut off by your own moan when he started massaging that spot inside you, legs trembling as you careened off the ledge. His touches remained merciless as pure euphoria surged through your veins, your head cloudy as your body trembled. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered against you, kissing his way up your body and you tugged him closer to reconnect your lips, tongues swirling against each other as you tasted yourself on him. His hands felt greedy and possessive as they roamed over you, gripping tight enough to leave bruises that would heal before they even had a chance to form, and it was as if neither of you could get enough. You pushed forward, tugging him up with you and all but throwing him onto the bed and his smirk was devilish as he watched you crawl on top of him.

He looked like he was about to say something but you didn’t give him the opportunity as you kissed him, rough and demanding as your hips settled above his, hand reaching between you to line him up at your entrance and you both let out groans as you took him inch by inch. The stretch was sweet, filling you almost to your breaking point as you settled fully and started to roll your hips against him, shuddering at the feeling.

“Fuck,” he moaned as you started to bounce up and down, setting an unforgiving pace and you felt like you could feel him everywhere, every nerve ending radiating with fire. He sat up to wrap his arms around you, hips bucking to meet yours in a way that had your head rolling back and he took the opportunity to sink his teeth into your neck and you had never felt pleasure like this before. His hand was firm around your throat as your body shook with each thrust and soon you were boneless in his lap, only able to hold yourself upright as he drank you in. 

When he pulled back you licked along his lips, face changing at the taste of blood and he swore he’d never seen anything sexier. Neither of you was going to last much longer, not like this, and he delivered a rough smack to your ass that had you whining and rolling against him. “Oh my god,” you breathed out, letting your forehead fall against his and he smacked again, gripping the tender skin, “Damon-” you tried, but nothing would come out.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he teased, gripping your hair and pulling you back to look at him, “oh, look at you… all cock drunk and fucked out,” he teased and you had nothing to say as a firm thrust had you seeing stars. You buried your face in his neck, fangs sinking into his skin as you felt your release barreling towards you, the mixture of blood and his steady thrusts too much to bear and a streak of red trailed down your body as you came, only able to shout his name as you cried out.

Your grip on him was maddening, pulling him right over the edge with you as you milked him for everything he had, and when you both slowed to a stop you were having a hard time catching your breath, your mind floating somewhere above you as you tried to return to your body. You felt his tongue along your chest, cleaning up your mess as you leaned back and he tried to commit the sight to memory… your hair wild, cheeks flushed, and skin dewy as blood lingered along your skin. 

You still weren’t fully with him, stuck in a haze as you felt him whisk you into his bedroom, and into the bathroom and it wasn’t until you were under the stream of water with him that you hummed contently against his lips as he kissed you softly, “there she is,” he chuckled.

His hands were delicate as they roamed you, and yours slid down the front of his chest as you looked up at him, doe eyed and happy. “That was…” you trailed off, unsure of what word to use to fully sum it up and he placed another soft kiss on your lips.

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” he provided and you laughed as you swatted his chest. 

“Hush,” you replied, feigning annoyance but you didn’t have it in you to feel anything other than bliss. The rest of your shower was spent with wandering hands and sweet kisses, a stark contrast to how rough and domineering you’d been with each other and when he pulled you into bed and wrapped himself around you, you looked up at him as your fingers trailed along his chest absentmindedly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and you flushed slightly under his gaze.

“It was more than I dreamed of,” you answered, and he raised a brow in question. “I haven’t… I hadn’t done that since turning, I didn’t know it could be like that,” you explained and realization passed over his features.

“My god,” he chuckled, “no wonder you were wound so tight.” His hand on your back was comfortable, holding you tight against him as he rubbed soothingly, “we’ll go on a little trip this weekend,” he said as you rested your head on his chest.

“A trip?” 

You felt him nod, “away from all the chaos here… we’ll find you some warm bodies and I’ll teach you how to do it the right way, you don’t have to live a life of blood bags forever.” 

“I don’t know, you seemed to do the trick,” you teased and he laughed.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re missing.” 

[gghostwriter]

Hi, love your writing. If you’re open to requests, maybe Prison!Spencer x fem!reader where she’s in his apartment and finds an engagement ring ? Maybe she goes to visit him? Maybe she says yes?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established relationship; Angst & Fluff (?) w.c: 0.8k A/N: I found myself rambling throughout this and i dunno if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Nevertheless, thank you for requesting and I hope you like it! 💗 Main masterlist

Cocoa Powder. // Spencer Reid

A philosopher once said that a gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected with trials. If that was the case, these past few weeks can be viewed as the trial of your and your boyfriend’s lifetime. With him being wrongfully arrested for murder and with you attempting your best to be a stable pillar for him and his mother to lean on.

With tears brimming in your eyes, that was how you found yourself elbow deep trying to bake chocolate muffins at three am in the morning, hoping to chase the nightmares away. It had been a routine almost—pitifully sleeping for only a few hours, waking up before dawn breaks, baking or cooking depending on your feeling, putting a smile on your face, getting ready for work, going to the office, coming back home, and repeating again. And again. And again and again. 

Routines that once brought you comfort, now seemed to be the only barrier keeping away well-deserved nervous breakdown. Your hands begged for a distraction and your mind whirled, wanting to help find a solution to this trial. An act that you have no say on. The rest of the team was doing their best, you trusted them, but being a civilian did not make you privy to the ins and outs and red tape that came with Spencer’s arrest. All you knew was there was a female serial killer hyper-fixated on your boyfriend—and in extension, you and his mother. 

The cocoa powder was missing. The cocoa powder that you knew you shelved away before catastrophe struck. The most important ingredient nowhere to be found. You sighed, aggressively wiping away errant tears. This, this might be the breaking point that would send you to a spiral—a breakdown caused by cocoa powder. A giggle escaped your chapped lips. There could be worst triggers, really. 

You steeled yourself for another search that would no doubt end up with a failure. Maybe Spencer moved it? Maye he moved it out of your reach? You tilted your head to the side, loose strands falling out of your bun. Maybe it was up high on the cupboard? 

Looking back, The idea made no sense but in that moment when lack of sleep and terrors plagued the crevices of your mind, you found yourself scaling up to your knees onto the kitchen counter—no doubts or second guessing. 

You stretched out your fingers, further motivated when the tips felt a foreign object just within your reach. A triumphant sigh escaping your lips when the item was finally wiggled within your palm. The very same sigh that turned into a sharp intake of breath as the warm kitchen light gave away the mystery. 

A black velvet box. A ring size velvet box.

“Oh my god,” you repeated under your breath. “Oh my god.”

The temptation to sneak a peek was overwhelming, to know if your hunch was correct. A peek wouldn’t hurt anybody, would it? No, it wouldn’t but this wasn’t how you wanted to find out about his intentions. Pretty sure this also wasn’t how he planned to ask. Clambering back up the counter, you pushed it back to where it was found—wanting to save your reaction for his eyes to see and for his lithe fingers to slide the ring into yours.

Out of sight, out of mind as they would often say. So there must be some truth to it, right? 

———

Wrong. The box never left your mind. In fact, it had created it’s own quarters within your brain—whispering temptations for just a small glimpse. It was all too much, really. The stress, anticipation, and secrecy made you spoil it for Spencer, an act that you’re not at all proud of.

“It’s a yes,” you blurted out as you sat down for a visit. 

He raked through his unkept curly hair. “Yes? Yes to what, sweetheart?”

“I love you. Don’t be mad.”

“Now, why would I be mad?” his voice coated with sweetness, coaxing the truth out. You never did have the will to deny him anything.

“Top most shelf on the left kitchen cupboard.”

His body stiffened before slouching into his seat. A breathy laugh escaping him. “You saw?”

You nodded.

“And after all this, that’s still your answer?”

“Yes.”

A smile broke through. The type of smile that showed warmth in his hazel eyes and the same type that had your heart melting like a puddle of goo.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Spence, till death do us part.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[fanningfics]

DC Prompt: Kon Gaslights, Gatekeeps, Girlbosses Tim into a nuclear family.

(Just a little something my brain cooked up)

Conner Kent had learned to treasure what life had given him, and be rid of the things that impeded him. That's why Conner loved Martha and John Kent and held absolute disrespect for Clark Kent aka Superman. He grew to be possessive of the things he considered his, obsessive almost - something he suspected had to do with Lex Luthor's DNA. And despite what some may say, Tim Drake is his. The first to ever look at him and see a person, the first to teach him about the beauty and reality of living, the first to ever prioritise him. So of course Kon had to return the favour. Kon loved Tim Drake, and he won't stand for his love to be exploited by the Bats any longer. He'd long since learned the art of manipulation at the hand of a master manipulator like Tim Drake. And he will use it without remorse to get Tim out of that toxic fucking family no matter what.

It starts with Kon hinting about eventually wanting children. It continues with Kon pretending to be sad about the fact they can't have kids with both his and Tim's DNA. When Tim tentatively Brings up the idea of using the same cloning tech as Luthor, Kon tells him that would be a great idea someday.

There was a bit of a hiccup when Kon briefly died. But apparently It turned everything in his favour because when he was alive again, Tim had been burned almost catastrophically by the Bats and had turned to him in tears feeling guilty about creating their test tube children during his death. Their kids were only a month old by the time Kon returned and Tim had fixed the Bat family's problems. Kon didn't turn Tim away like he had feared. No, for Kon this was the best news he had ever heard - he was elated. He was prepared for his plan to need 10 years to come into fruition but it turned out amazingly well during his death - of course Tim being incredibly worn out was bad, but this just meant Kon could wheedle him to his side more for comfort. So now, Kon has biological twins with Tim and he's ecstatic, because phase 2 of the plan could start right away.

Phase 2 meaning gaslighting Tim about the safety of their children around the Bats - what with Jason being so volatile, the demon brat being so aggressive, and now he can add Dick to it too being unreliable. Kon doesn't know why his beautiful boyfriend can't see how terrible the Bats are but their beautiful babies will make him see it. Because while Tim may not have any self-preservation Instincts, Kon knows he’ll wreck hell on earth for his loved ones, and their children have just now taken top priority.

Kon knows that logically, the Bats wouldn't ever harm babies but that's the point of gaslighting, to go against logic, to believe the unfactual. And it was working. Tim had been back from the time stream for three months and had yet to contact any of the Bats, too busy living their blissful life in San Francisco.

One day, Tim suggested to the team about staying in San Francisco permanently and taking on a new Hero identity. Kon is so glad their teammates are on the same page and encouraged it heavily. Kon is right beside Tim as he sends his resignation to Wayne Enterprises, returns his Red Robin uniform through the Zeta tube and remotely removes Red Robin from the Gotham roster. Kon is vibrating with delirious joy and rewards Tim with vigorously enjoyable love-making.

There is outcry of course, from the Bats, but Kon is there to tell Tim he made the right choice, that he had to think about their children, that he wouldn't want to subject their kids to the Bat treatment. He's not entirely sure which of his words hit, but one of them does, and suddenly Tim is gung ho about his separation from the Batfamily. Kon is more than relieved.

Dick, Damian and Jason try to come to the tower, but they have long since been banned. Damian and Jason for their previous attacks, Dick was turned away by Kon himself, never once catching a glimpse of Tim.

Bruce enters the tower and Kon is right beside Tim grinning smugly as the man spots the babies between him and his adoptive son.

“Tim what did you do?” He had forgotten about everything he wanted to ask as he saw the babies each boy held.

“These are mine and Kon's children.” Tim told him, cradling one of them close.

“How?”

“A little help from clone technology.”

“Tim thats unethical-”

“He had my permission” Kon interrupted “I wanted the kids, Timmy just made it happen”

Bruce is surprised by Kon's even stare, shoulders bared protectively. And then he spots the smirk on his lips, that proud tilt of his lips, something about it was mocking.

“What are you doing here Bruce?” Tim asked.

“Tim- I -you left. Permanently. You resigned from everything. You didn't even talk to us, you kept refusing to talk to us.”

“I'm not hearing a question” Tim said distractedly, cooing at his child.

“Tim, why did you leave?” Tim looked up, this is the first time Bruce has seen his eyes in months - and he doesn't recognise the coldness in them.

“I left for them” Tim brushed the cheek of his baby.

“I don't understand” Bruce stammered.

“We would never turn you or your kids away.”

“I don't feel safe in that manor.” He was direct, unfeelingly straightforward, and unregarding of the flinch his statement caused.

“W-what?”

“I don't feel safe in your family where two of your sons have tried to kill me without reparations, where your oldest tried to convince me I was insane for knowing you were alive, where the most sensible man there has ignored every abuse thrown my way, where you have repeatedly insisted on making me just as paranoid and mentally unwell as you. I don't feel safe in your home mentally or physically, and I don't want my kids to be anywhere where they might get hurt.” Tim takes a deep breath, and stares at him with that distant unfamiliar stare “Bruce, I love you,” he said quietly, loudly in the silence “but I don't feel safe with you.”

Bruce can feel his heart break, “Tim” he croaked out weakly, and from the corner of his eyes, he spotted Kon's wide grin, wider than it had been when Bruce had first entered, full of satisfaction, glee and vindication. Bruce has the eerie feeling that this was his fault somehow, his Ducky would never do this without being pushed and this boy had something to do with it.

Kon, having noticed Bruce's realisation only smiled harder “I think it's time for you to go Batman” Kon said mockingly “if any of you want to get in touch with Tim, you'll have to talk to me first.” Bruce glared at the upstart, and then looked to Tim to try and have him deny it, but Tim only nodded his assent and averted his gaze. Bruce fumed, somehow he knew that Kon had obviously manipulated Tim's compliance.

[meguwumibear]

dominant!zayne x submissive!reader

tw for light BDSM, bondage/shibari, sex toys (vibrator), fingering, and some minor angst. mc calls zayne sir like twice. if i've missed something else that needs a tag, just ask! nondescript female reader with a bit of a backstory, just to make her feel more connected to the world.

Additional Disclaimer: Takes place after the events of the main story (which I am not fully caught up on). Reader is NOT the game MC in this fic. In my mind's eye MC decided to romance one of the other characters and Zayne does what he can to move on.

and yes, zayne's harness in the fic is 100% inspired by his harnes in the new trailer

In 2034 the world you as you know it ends. It happens suddenly one mundane spring afternoon. A great, gaping maw opens in the cloudless blue sky above Linkon City, releasing a tidal wave of ferocious monsters unto the earth. Locals come to call the event the Chronorift Catastrophe. The world later discovers that the great, gaping hole in the sky was the appearance of the first ever Deepspace Tunnel which attracted alien beings now colloquially referred to as Wanderers.

Everyone in Linkon City remembers where they were that day. They remember what they were wearing and who they were with. A flashbulb memory, the psychologists call it. A memory that endures. A memory that persists.

Like most survivors, it isn’t just the red rain falling from the sky or the horrible sound of the earth splitting around you that you remember: it’s the actions you took to survive. The people you ran past. The neighbors you didn’t save. The hand you didn’t extend to the woman who tripped over her own two feet running from the creature. The debris you didn’t help remove from the body of the elderly man too weak to push the plank away without aid.

For three weeks you see a therapist. You’re an adult now, still plagued by nightmares of the event. You tell the woman you’re meeting with that you are suffering from memories. She tells you that your body needs to learn that the danger has passed. The problem with that logic? The danger hasn’t. Your body can’t stop secreting stress hormones when your daily lunch breaks are constantly interrupted by Metaflux monsters.

Your past becomes a prison. An inescapable cage. Your therapists asks how you would feel if someone flung open the doors for you. You tell her it would depend on who opened the door and what’s happening outside.

The session before you ghost your shrink, she asks you to practice breathing exercises. She prattles on and on about the importance of nervous system regulation in trauma recovery. Apparently exhaling is supposed to activate the “rest and digest” response—the antidote to the “fight and flight” response that your body is stuck in.  

And that’s all well and good but even twenty years later the Wanders keep manifesting in Linkon City in numbers that the Hunters can’t keep up with. You’d move, maybe, if you had the means, though you did read somewhere once that a scared animal will continue to seek out their home, even if their home is no longer safe.

So you find an alternative way to cope with the stress of the new world.

There’s budding red light district about an hour outside the city. You go sometimes on weekends to decompress. Your favorite haunt is a small BDSM club run by a couple of old widows who lost their husbands to the war. They verify ages at the door and ensure all the drinks at the place stay virgin.

You’re not heavy into the scene or anything—you actually have quite a few hard limits—it’s just…nothing else you’ve tried has helped you to shut off your brain. To shift your focus from the past to the present. To shut out all thoughts of Hunters and Protocores and Wanders.

The doms you’ve had up until this point were perfectly adequate; they listened diligently to what you were open to and respected all of your boundaries. You aren’t sure why you’ve never asked for a more consistent routine with any of them. Something, somehow, was always missing from the encounters.

There are a lot of new faces at the club tonight. Or, rather, there are a lot of faces new to you. The club has many regulars, but you don’t make the hike often enough to have them all committed to memory. Still, you’re certain you’ve never seen the tall, stoic man in a leather harness swarmed by a gaggle of women before. Despite the fact that he clearly has his pick of the litter, your gaze keeps wandering to his solid form. The way his abs flex when he breathes. The way his lips quirk when he talks.

He's halfway across the room but must somehow still feel the heat of your wandering gaze because after a few stolen looks he locks eyes with you. Your whole body flushes as he acknowledges you with a raise of his drink. The tips of your ears burn as he takes a healthy swig of the beverage without breaking the eye contact. It’s you who looks away first.

When you chance a glance back over, he’s excusing himself from the women who flocked to him like a tourist attraction to pick his way towards you. Your heart flutters anxiously as he closes in, and you have to remind yourself not to take a step back once he’s close enough to touch.

“First time?” he asks, voice smooth like ice.

“Ouch,” you reply, gripping your own water glass to ground yourself. “It’s not. Do I really look that unaware.”

His expression doesn’t change but his eyes move to assess you, “What are you drinking?”

Though his tone is relaxed you can’t help but feel as if the question has a correct answer.

“Just water.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Something with electrolytes would be more efficient. If you’re looking for a session tonight, that is.”

“I don’t like the taste,” you tell him, trying to keep the glass in your hand from shaking as desire swells within you.

He frowns, “Without electrolytes, your body will dehydrate, no matter how much water you consume.”

“You a doctor?” you ask.

He hums in what sounds like confirmation before wrapping his hand around yours. “I take the health of the people I play with seriously. This is about much more than sex to me. I like when my partners eat three square meals a day and have an effective exercise regimen implemented.”

You don’t resist when he slips your water from your grasp. You also don’t hesitate to open your mouth when he raises his own perspiring glass to your lips. His fingers don’t even graze you as you swallow down the fruity liquid, yet you can feel your insides come alight as you obey. As your pussy begins to leak it becomes increasing clear to you that you would do just about anything to have this man dominate you tonight.

“Good,” he says once you’ve downed the drink. “Now, do you happen to have a list of what you enjoy and your hard limits on you?”

With shaky hands, you reach wordlessly into your bag to retrieve what the man has asked for. He spends a few moments skimming the contents before simply stating, “I believe we are compatible.”

You follow him to a private room near the back of the club and watch as he begins to gather some equipment for the session. Without turning to look at you he says, “I noticed that you have some experience with light bondage. I prefer to use traditional single ply shibari rope or silk as restraints. These two methods prevent chafing and other potential complications like skin lesions or rashes. Do you have a preference for today’s session?”

“No preference, uh…” you trail off, wondering what the man would like you to refer to him as.

Sensing what’s on your mind, he offers, “I have no preferred titles, but you may assign me one if you like.”

“No preference, Sir,” you say, watching the man for his reaction. He seems unfazed by the moniker and continues to ready himself.

“Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should be aware of?” he asks.

A lie forms on the tip of your tongue but the truth slips out anyway, “My heart’s a bit weak. Nothing serious. It didn’t develop properly when I was younger. I haven’t had any issues with it before.”

The revelation seems to give the man pause. He turns to you and motions for you to hold out your wrist for him, so you do. His warm fingers slip under your sleeve and find purchase on your pulse point. After a few excoriatingly silent minutes, you attempt to put his mind at ease.

“I’m, uh, a bit more excited than usual at the moment. My resting heart rate is probably higher than normal.”

The pads of his fingers don’t leave your wrist when he asks, “What’s your typical resting heart rate?”

You want to ask what that fucking matters, but sensing that won’t get you any closer to what you want you decide to humor the man. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a doctor. Back when they used to have you track it, the rate could vary depending on what task you were completing. It was higher, usually, when doing something strenuous. When you rested it would drop again.

“Usually around 90 beats per minute.”

His eyes flick to your face as he drops your wrist. “You should see a specialist.”

You roll your eyes impatiently, “Are we fucking or not?”

In response to your outburst, his hands find the hem of your shirt. “Who said I had any intentions of fucking you?” he asks, voice frustratingly emotionless. Your arms raise instinctually as he toys with the fabric, and the takes the opportunity to relieve you of the garment. “As I said before, this is about much more than sex to me.”

He circles behind you and draws you in close to him. It occurs to you suddenly just how much larger than you the man is. He rests his chin on your head as his fingers slowly trace down your sides, leaving a field of goosebumps in their wake. His hands make their way to the button on your pants.

“You aren’t just here for sex. Are you?” he asks, voice low. You feel the words vibrate his chest as he speaks them.

“No,” you whisper, eyes suddenly blurring.

“Good,” he says, undoing your buttons. “Let’s use the traffic light system today. It’s a simply way for me to check in on you and see how you’re doing.”

He lets the words sit in the air for a bit, fingers fiddling with your zipper. The only sound in the room is your own uneven breathing that you fight for control over.

The man pinches the tab of your zipper and shifts so his cheek is pressed against your forehead. “Color,” he asks, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

“Green,” you practically moan.

He slides off your pants with ease once he’s taken care of the zipper. He even helps you to keep your balance as you step out of them, one foot at a time.

“Color?” he asks again, as his fingers settle on the clasp of your bra.

“Green,” you reply, voice steadier now.

He undoes the hook with one hand.

You expect him to remove your panties next, but his fingers instead find the meat of your breasts. One of his arms wraps around you, securing you tightly against him, as you nearly keel over in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

“Sensitive here,” he observes, cupping one of your breasts in his free hand. He uses a foot to nudge your legs further apart and slip a leg between them. The man isn't lying about getting off on this; his cock is hard as a rock against your ass.

“Fuck,” you whine as his bends you over ever so slightly. Just enough to rub your clothed pussy against his pant leg.

“Wet already,” he informs you, as if you don’t already know. As if you can’t feel the way the cotton material sticks to your lips. “All I did was undress you. That eager to begin?”

“Please,” you groan, desperate for him to take you apart with his slender fingers. “Please, Sir, I want you so fucking bad.”

“On the bed,” he instructs, releasing you, careful not to harm you as his leather harness peels away from your skin.

The rope he ends up choosing for the session is the jute rope. He takes his time winding the instrument around your wrists and pulling them above your head. His movements are practiced and skilled. His hands steady like a surgeon’s. You don’t even realize the effect watching him restrain you is having on you until a firm hand finds its way to your pelvis to stop your squirming.

Once you’ve settled, he retrieves two strands of additional rope.

“Are you familiar with the Spiral Futomomo tie?” he asks. “I understand that you’re still a beginner and tie will force you into a fixed position for an undetermined length of time. I trust you will use your safe word if needed?”

“You can trust me,” you assure him. “I know my limits.”

He must believe your words are sincere because he sets to work binding your ankle to your thigh, checking in periodically to ensure the wrappings aren’t too tight. The man is clearly in no rush and seems to delight in taking breaks between knots to steady your shaking form. You also notice the way his eyes shift to the growing wet spot beneath you as he progresses.

“What do you like about bondage?” he asks as he begins to work on your other leg.

“I don’t know,” you say, attempting to shrug before remembering your pose prevents you from such movement. “I’m never in control of my life anyway. May as well surrender myself to someone I know will take care of me.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the way his eyes lighten. Your response must please him somehow. You decide to push the issue, “You like being in control?”

“I like caretaking,” is his response. “I like giving people what they need.”

“What if I need your fingers inside me?” you dare, feeling bold.

A small smile, but a smile all the same. “Then, you’ll have to patiently wait until I’m finished with the task at hand.”

He double checks all of his bindings once he’s finished securing you, mumbling under his breath about optimal blood flow. It’s cute, the way he seems so set on ensuring this is the best possible experience for you. You can’t remember the last dom you had who was this doting.

When he finally situates himself between your legs, it’s with gloved hands and a vibrator. You jump as the cool leather of the hand covering finds your inner thigh.

“Keep these spread for me,” he says, referring to your legs. Then he’s rubbing the vibrator, still off, up and down your panties with just enough strength for you to truly register the tool.

“You’re soaked,” he observes in that neutral tone of his, though his eyes glisten with awe. You wonder if he even realizes the vibrator isn’t on. His eyes find yours and for the first time all evening he smiles warmly at you. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take excellent care of you.”

Then he turns the vibrator on its lowest setting and your pussy truly begins to drool. He circles the vibrating toy around your clit strategically, watching your response to his ministrations intently. Fire pools in your belly as he slides the vibrator down your cunt and presses the tip of it gently against your opening. The panties you’re still wearing dull some of the vibration, but you can still feel the ungodly amount of slick that slips out of you at the slight penetration.

You do your best to stay still for him as he ups the setting, but your body starts to twitch in pleasure, back beginning to arch, toes threatening to curl. Your breath quickens as well as all the blood in your body seems to pump directly to your swelling clit. The same clit the man is now more firmly rubbing the vibrator against.

“Fuck,” you cry, starting to lose your composure. Your hips buck away from the relentless thrumming of the vibrator. Or maybe towards it. You’re not actually sure. It’s both too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. You need less. You need…

His unoccupied hand presses your hips back against the bed. “Easy,” he coaxes. “Don’t pull against the ropes.”

When you’re unable to obey, too overwhelmed with desire, he switches the vibrator off. The lack of sensation is so abrupt the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill, slipping down your heated cheeks. An animalistic whine you didn’t even know you were capable of escapes you.

“We’re not done,” he assures you, swiping at your tears with his thumbs. You wish suddenly he wasn’t wearing the leather gloves. You yearn to feel him skin to skin. The fabric is warm at least from the heat of his fingers. “You’re just getting a little fussy. I want to make sure everything is alright before we continue.”

He settles back between your spread legs and hooks his pointer finger in the bottom of your panties, pulling it aside to expose your dripping core and swollen lips. “Impressive,” he says, “how simple it was to elicit this response from you.”

He collects some of your spend on his index finger before starting to slide it inside you. It’s met with no resistance. He sinks easily in, straight to the knuckle. When he slips out it’s only to coat a second finger in your slick so he can sink that one in alongside the other. The two digits begin working you in tandem with each other, pumping deliciously against your walls. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

“Here,” he states, pressing and holding the tips of his fingers against the sensitive area. You involuntarily clench around them, body begging him to move them once more, but the man—to the devastation of your body—is nothing but the living embodiment of self-control.

You audibly cry out when he pulls his fingers from you. He locks eyes with you as he coyly promises, “Soon. I’d never leave a woman unsatisfied, and any man who would isn’t fit to be a dom.”

He picks the vibrator again and this time, when he touches it to your clit, it’s under your ruined panties. The thrumming sends a bolt of electricity skittering up your arched spine. Fuck, you’re so unbelievably wet. You feel your pussy fluttering around nothing and hiccup out a sob. You’re so empty. You’re so, so empty.

“Need,” you hiccup.

“What?” he asks patiently. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your fingers. I need your fingers. Please.”

He slips the same two from before back inside you.

“So well mannered," he praises. Then he asks, "Here?” as he presses the appendages against that spot once again.

“Yeah,” you agree, though you’re so far gone you would agree to anything he asked of you in this moment. “Yeah. Yeah. There. Right there. Fuck!”

He uses his fingers and the vibrator to bring you right to the brink of an orgasm. It’s so good. He’s so good. He’s touching you everywhere you need to be touched. Pushing all the buttons that need to be pushed. Your time in these rooms has never felt anything like this before, and you doubt it will ever feel anything like this ever again.

“Can I-”

“I don’t remember telling you that you needed my permission.”

Your orgasm ripples through you, strong and steady like a cresting wave. Once he’s certain he’s wrung the last of it out of you, the man withdraws his fingers and switches off the vibrator.

“I’m going to remove my gloves and start undoing your bindings,” he says.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply.

It takes a few minutes for him to completely untie you. Once he has, he asks permission to massage your legs and arms to reencouraged blood flow which you readily agree to. He produces a bottle of lotion that smells like eucalyptus from his bag and starts working the muscles of your arm.

“I wish they had showers here,” he offhandedly comments. “I don’t like sending people home without a proper washing.”

“A bath does sound nice,” you agree, sagging into his embrace.

“Promise me you’ll take one when you get home. I don’t want you getting into your bed dirty.”

“I would never make a promise I couldn’t keep, Sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room as he continues to provide you with aftercare.

“Zayne,” he eventually says, eyes fixed on the foot he’s been massaging for the past few minutes.

“What?”

“My name. You could use it if you’d like. Sir is fine too, if you’d truly prefer it, but I find names are much more intimate.”

“Oh,” is all you muster. Then you tell him yours.

“Could we move to the sofa while we continue to wind down?” he asks after testing the sound of your name in his mouth. “I like the casual skin to skin contact after a session. I’ll remove my harness but leave my slacks.”

“Fine with me.”

It takes Zayne a moment to remove his harness. Perhaps it’s his first time wearing this particular set of gear. You watch him wrestle with the final clasp through drooping eyelids. His expression softens when he catches you lazily staring at him.

“Admiring the view?” he teases.

“Never had a better one,” you reply easily.

He positions himself behind you when he joins you on the sofa. The two of you lay there comfortable for some time, breath seeming to synchronize in the quiet of the room. The world outside this secluded space slowly begins to creep back into your mind. Back to Metafluxes and Protocores. Back to Wanders and Hunters.

And then you start to cry.

If you weren’t so close to Zayne, you could probably hide it from him, but he notices the change in your mood instantly. He tugs gently at your arm, a wordless plea for you to turn to face him. You allow him to reposition you, curling yourself into his large body, tucking your face into his neck.

He pets at your hair soothingly while you let the worst of it out. When an appropriate amount of time has passed, he asks, “What brought that on?”

“It’s, uh, well it’ll probably ruin the moment if I told you.”

“I’d still like to know if it’s all the same to you. Debriefing is part of the scene after all.”

At first, you’re not sure you want to tell him what triggered the outburst, but considering the dynamic, you figure you owe it to him.

“I was thinking about my ex,” you admit.

Zayne stiffens, his caressing hand on your head stills. “They hurt you?”

“They loved me.”

 Zayne tangibly relaxes at your response, and he resumes petting your hair.

“What happened to them?” he asks, tone carefully neutral.

“They left me.”

The silence that follows your confession is welcome. You think you even dose off. When your eyes open again, Zayne is full dressed, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he sanitizes the sex toy you soiled.

Sensing you stir he says, “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

Zayne dries the toy and sets it aside, turning to face you.

“I like to follow up with the people I dom for. You don’t have to give me your number if you’re not comfortable. An email will suffice.”

“You can have my number,” you say, gesturing for him to hand you his phone. “I’d actually appreciate a check in tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

He walks you to the train station once he’s certain the number you’ve given him isn’t a fake.

“Remember to get a full eight hours of sleep tonight,” he tells you. “And please eat a protein-based meal for breakfast. Something with eggs and meat, maybe. A shake if absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Doctor Zayne,” you joke, offering him a crisp salute as you step onto the train platform. Maybe you're imagining things, but you swear he flinches at your response.

A firm hand on your wrist stops you from fully entering the car. You turn to face him one final time.

“About that,” he says, expression unreadable. “I was serious about you seeing a specialist for your heart.”

[pain-in-the-everywhere]

What's your opinion on maiming? As in Whumper causing permanent damage... Especially that either disfigures or disables Whumpee?

I LOVE IT

The complex feelings around acquiring disability are probably my favourite thing to explore with whumpees in recovery. There's grief, exhaustion, frustration, helplessness, denial, anger, vulnerability. It's terrifying when your body just stops working. And it's not something you can ignore either. You have to learn to adapt, make changes, and deal with it whacking you in the face every single day: a permanent reminder of Whumper, even if Whumpee has been free of them for years.

The trope gets better if Whumpee tries to hide it from Caretaker/The Team at first. Maybe they could manage it for a bit, but the biggest mistake you can make when you have a disability is pushing through like it doesn't exist. If you don't take care of yourself, it gets worse! If Whumpee is trying to hide it, then they're not going to be getting the accommodations they need, which can be catastrophic.

My absolute favourite part of this trope is when Whumpee finally accepts that their disability is permanent; they're never going back to the way they were before. The total crushing overwhelm of knowing that they're going to be battling this exhaustion, this pain, these symptoms forever has them breaking down in their bedroom, completely alone in their despair. Until Caretaker hears them crying and comes in to check on them, and then the truth is revealed.

There are also happier things we can do with this trope! The devastation is fun, but darkness isn't as impactful without a bit of light, so consider Whumpee's joy as they slowly gain their freedom back. How good it feels when they get their first wheelchair and they can go outside without needing to be carried. The relief when they learn enough sign language to be able to express themself clearly, and the surprise when they find out the team learnt it too so they can all communicate.

Then there's the even smaller things like Caretaker memorising all of Whumpee's prescriptions and where they keep them because Whumpee's brain fog is too bad to keep track. Or buying Whumpee little accessories for their mobility aids so they can start to reclaim their body and disability for themself, rather than let it belong to Whumper forever.

Anyway I love disabled whumpees.

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 4

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me about the drop in numbers. I appreciate you and will try to be patient as everyone seems to be really going through shit right now. Honestly if I wasn't a SAHM I probably would be one of those people.

In this we have Steve resigning himself to doing the game show, more of the kids, and we get to the actual game show! ka-shonk, I know!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“Meow!” Odie cried at the indignity of being shoved in someone’s face.

Steve carefully wrapped his little feet so Odie would feel more supported. He stritched under his chin and Odie began to purr.

Chrissy inched forward until she was close to Steve. “Steve, he’s adorable. Where did you get him?”

“I found him in a cardboard box out by the dumpsters,” he explained, never taking his eyes off the kitten. “It was starting to snow and I just couldn’t leave him there. He was wet, and cold, and alone.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged. “Of course you can keep him, dingus. I wouldn’t have said no even without the Sword of Damocles in the form of the game show hanging over my head. He’s adorable.”

Chrissy tickled his little toes and then looked up at Steve. “Why Odie? For the name?”

Steve blushed, grateful his head was already down so they couldn’t see his blush. “A couple of reasons I guess. To honor Garfield the goldfish, for one. But also because of the coloring the cream body and brown ears is so much like Odie’s.” Just then Odie twisted and tried to leap out his arms. “And there’s the fact he very likely has only one brain cell,” he deadpanned as quickly caught the kitten before he hurt himself.

Robin snorted. “So I see.”

Steve handed him to Chrissy and he allowed himself to be subjected to her neck scratches.

“So are we forgiven?” Robin asked, shyly. “We really didn’t think anything would have come of it. Though we were really building you up, talking about how you really deserved to find love and how your luck had run to catastrophic with those you dated. We made sure be really sweet about you.”

“I think that’s another reason why they picked you, Steve,” Chrissy said, walking over to sofa to cuddle with the new kitten. “You would be a perfect opener if not season finale. All you have to do is fill out the questionnaire and then they’ll tell you when filming is.”

“You’ll need about a week off,” Robin explained on her way to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. “It takes two days to film the first half of the episode and a day each for the dates in the second half. Then a whole day filming the choosing ceremony or whatever the hell they call it. They just want you there two days before for interviews and legal stuff.”

Steve sighed and ripped into the bag of gummy worms. “All right, you fill it in while I dictate.”

Chrissy and Robin cheered. Chrissy opened up her phone with the email and started asking the questions.

“Why would they even need to know my measurements?” Steve huffed about half way through. He had migrated to floor where he was using a gummy worm that had fallen to said floor to tease Odie with.

“Probably for costuming,” Robin said sagely. “They just can’t let you wear anything to their show.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, but allowed them to continue. Once it was all filled out most of the bag of gummy bears were gone and he was a little exhausted by it all.

He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck me. What even is my life right now?”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance and then slid down to the floor where he had Odie curled up on his lap. They wrapped their arms around him and just held him.

He let himself be comforted by their support.

~

New Year’s brought new challenges, especially when he learned he would have to get a sub for his class the last week in March. They couldn’t have waited a week so that he would have it off for Spring Break? Which meant he had to tell Mrs. Byers why he needed the week off. Which meant Will found out. Which of course meant the rest of the little buttheads found out about it, too.

“Do you get to decide the questions?” Mike asked, one day while they were hanging out in the AV room, Mr. Jenner finally having been fired and Steve forced to take over for the rest of the school year.

He had come to class after the winter break, drunk off his ass, stoned out of his mind, and completely trashed his classroom. Thankfully the equipment had been locked up and not subjected to his rampage.

Otherwise the school would have had to have him arrested to recoup their lost.

Mike had actually started to warm up to him after it was revealed he was going on some dating show. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he decided to count it as a blessing and move on.

“Some of them,” Steve confirmed. “The first question of what is your ideal date is standard, and is part of the game show setup, but mostly they want me to be able to answer the questions myself, and if I can’t there’s really no point in having the suitors answer them either.”

“Suitors is a stupid name,” Max huffed from the corner. She was forced to join the AV because it was the only after school program that ran on Fridays and her mom started to have to work late on those days.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah and what would call them?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Contestants or something.”

“Eh, eh!” he said sounding like a buzzer on an old game show. “Boring!”

She cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, whatever, Mr. Catch.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m not sure what the would replace it with consider a lot of the other options are copyrighted due to other similar shows, but yeah. It sounds like I’m a fox and they’re the hounds.”

“What about Hitch?” Lucas suggested. “It plays on the Love Connection theme.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s an old movie called ‘Hitch’ and he’s a matchmaker. So I’m betting they didn’t go that route for that reason. Especially since this show is on its thirteenth fucking season.”

“Mr. Harrington!” Dustin scandalized. “You aren’t supposed to swear at school.”

“It’s after hours and we’re literally outside the school waiting for your parents,” Steve huffed. “Anyone here gonna rat on me?”

He looked around at the bright faces and knew that not a one of them were snitches.

When no one answered, he said, “Here, I’ll tell you what. Each of you come up with a question for me to ask my suitors and bring them by next week.”

All the kids cheered.

~

After Steve got in his questions from the kids, he sent them into the game show and most of the questions were approved. Some were simple Star Wars or Star Trek, others were fun questions like ‘what is your favorite sports team?’ to in depth questions like ‘do you consider yourself to be a good person?’ That last one was from Max. He loved that girl fiercely and only wanted good things for her.

He packed up his things and made sure that Robin would take good care of Odie. He was going to miss the little furball.

He was flown out to LA where the show was filmed. He was shown to a fancy hotel where he would be spending the week. He was told that the suitors were in other hotels are around the city so that they didn’t meet accidentally before the taping.

Steve’s first day was with legal and how much money he would be making for his appearance on the show. It was roughly three thousand dollars to make up for the fact he had to take time off from work. Other than that it was all about them footing bill for all his meals and lodging during his stay.

He wouldn’t get the money until it aired, which he thought was bullshit, but it was whatever.

Robin had been right about the measurements as they gave him a lot of clothes to chose from. Then whatever he picked would be doubled so that he could look the same on both filming days. Then he would have special date night outfits that would be picked based on where they were going for the date.

All in all not a bad gig. Steve definitely preferred teaching though.

Then they did all the pre-show interview stuff the next day. He got to talk about his school and the kids he taught. He got to talk about Robin and Chrissy and his adorable new kitten Odie. That part wasn’t so bad.

Then it was time for the first day of taping.

He got dressed in a cream colored suit with a light blue button up shirt. The shoes and belt were nice leather, too. He briefly wondered if he got to keep the clothes. He couldn’t imagine they needed to keep them.

He wasn’t told anything about the suitors before hand, but they knew a lot about him. Which felt a little creepy if he was honest.

He sat in the ridiculous little booth he would be in so he couldn’t see the contestants. This was because they didn’t want him to judge their answers based on their looks.

The host was Bob Newby. He was one of the best parts of the show, Steve thought. He was sweet and friendly and everything wanted out a dating game style host. He was in a dark grey suit and white shirt with a red tie. A tie he was currently stroking nervously.

Steve smiled at him and Bob blushed.

“I’ve done over a hundred of these things,” Bob admitted, “and I still get nervous.”

“Well that makes me feel better about throwing up breakfast this morning.”

Bob laughed. “So this is how it will go, we will film more than questions required so we can get a good bunch of questions and answers. We will be filming out of order. The rapid fire questions first. Then half of the questions for round one today to round out filming. Then the second half of the round one questions with all of the round three questions.”

“That’s a little weird,” Steve huffed. “But it’s your show, man.”

“Trust me,” Bob said, “this way is easier to film.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You ready?” Bob asked. When Steve nodded, Bob pointed at the camera and counted down from three with his fingers.

“Hey, everyone!” Bob said. “Welcome to a brand new season of ‘Love Connection’ where we help lonely people make that special connection. This season we will be focusing on getting all those fancy letters LGBTQ+ a chance at love. We have your gays, your lesbians, your non-binary folks, your trans people, and one very special ace lady just looking for love.”

The audience politely clapped.

“I’m your host Bob Newby and today we have one very lucky catch. Steve Harrington from Hawkins, IN. He’s a middle school teacher who recently became a cat dad, to the adorable Odie.” A picture of Odie sleeping on Steve’s chest under his chin is shown on the screen behind them. “He coaches basketball and the swim team. And yes he does look hot in a Speedo!” A picture of Steve in a blue Speedo and wearing a white jacket and his whistle.

Steve decided he was going to murder Robin and/or Chrissy for that photo alone. Especially when the crowd goes wild, complete with wolf whistles.

“He enjoys watching sports, swimming, and reading in his spare time,” Bob continued. “He has tried everything to get a partner in this hellscape we call modern life, apps, bars, clubs and not just the ones with a dance floor and sick beats. So he came to us, so let’s see if we can match him to any of our suitors.”

The audience clapped again.

“Suitor number one,” Bob said, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Billy,” the first voice said, “I’m a professional surfer with a ton of sponsors. I’m the most decorated surfer both nationally and internationally. I like sex, sex, and more sex. Just kidding. I like other things too. I’m a big car guy and a bit of a foodie, too.”

Steve was grateful that they can’t see him because Bob and he shared an exasperated glance.

“Suitor number two,” Bob said. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Hey, I’m Tommy,” the second voice said, “I’m an investment banker at a prestigious company. I like sports, traveling, and deep sea fishing.”

Steve tilted his head and nodded. Not bad. He wasn’t sure about the whole investment banker thing, but the rest sounded good.

“And last but not least, Suitor number three,” Bob said, “tell us about you.”

“Hello!” the third voice said brightly, and Steve could almost picture a dorky little wave to go with it. “I’m Eddie. I’m a music producer with my own studio. I like heavy metal, all things nerdy, and camping.”

Steve smiled fondly. He sounded a lot like Dustin. He could only hope this didn’t have the ego to match.

“All right, everyone!” Bob said with a winning smile. “Let’s begin the Love Connection!”

~

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

[atlasthegreatest]

Trials Of A Demigod / Annabeth Chase x Gender Neutral! Reader

Final exams have arrived at New Rome University and Y/n Castelli is confident— until they realize they completely forgot about their math exam, which is happening in one hour. And their only hope is their girlfriend— Annabeth.

Warnings: None. Established relationship.

Word count: 1451

The morning sun bathed New Rome’s cobblestone streets in a golden glow, making the city look almost peaceful. Almost.

Because in the small apartment they shared with Annabeth Chase, chaos was unfolding.

Y/n Castelli was lying face-down on the floor, hands covering their face, and screaming into their palms like a demigod who had just been told they had to fight a hydra—without weapons.

Annabeth, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“You—” she wheezed between laughs. “You actually forgot? How do you forget a final exam?”

Still facedown on the floor, Y/n groaned. “I don’t know, Annabeth! I just—I woke up, I was going to have a nice breakfast, and then I checked my schedule, and—” they let out another muffled scream. “It’s math, Annabeth. Math. I thought it was tomorrow. I was supposed to study today!”

Annabeth wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her laughter finally settling into amused chuckles. “Okay, okay. Come on, we can salvage this. What time is it?”

Y/n peeked up from the floor, their face a picture of despair. “An hour.”

Annabeth looked at her partner for a second. Then, despite her best efforts, she burst out laughing again.

“Annabeth!” they whined. “This is serious!”

“I know, I know,” she said, clutching her stomach. “It’s just—you’re acting like Rachel just told you you’re doomed forever.”

“I am doomed forever,” Y/n mumbled dramatically.

Annabeth shook her head, still grinning. “Alright, get up. Sit.” She patted the spot next to her on the couch, and when they didn’t move, she grabbed Y/n’s arm and dragged them up. “I’m going to read you equations, and you will absorb them through sheer panic-induced adrenaline.”

Y/n flopped onto the couch beside her, their head dropping onto her shoulder. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Not true,” the blonde said, flipping open Y/n’s notes. “Remember that time you got turned into a statue on our first quest? That was worse.”

“Annabeth.”

“Right, right. Math. Here we go.” She cleared her throat, suppressing another giggle as she read out an equation. “Okay, what’s the derivative of—”

“Annabeth,” Y/n interrupted, voice muffled against her shoulder.

“Hm?”

“If I fail this test, will you still love me?”

Annabeth smiled, tilting her head slightly so her cheek rested against their hair. “Of course,” she said softly. “But I’d rather not have a partner who fails because they forgot the exam existed. So let’s go. Focus.”

Y/n groaned, sitting up and rubbing their temples. “Fine. Hit me with the math.”

Annabeth smirked. “Gladly.”

And so, as the minutes ticked down to their impending doom, Y/n crammed math into their brain at record speeds—powered by fear, love, and Annabeth’s relentless determination to make sure they survived yet another catastrophe of their own.

Y/n stared at the equations Annabeth had written down in their notebook, their mind an absolute void. Not even a spark of recognition. It was like staring at ancient Greeks, only worse because at least they knew ancient Greek.

Annabeth tapped the page with her pen. “Come on, babe, focus. You’ve seen this before.”

Y/n dragged their hands down their face. “I should have seen this before, but I don’t remember! Why are there so many numbers? Why are there so many letters? Why does math have the audacity to include the alphabet?”

Annabeth snorted, biting back a laugh. “You sound like Percy.”

“I am Percy right now! I am worse than Percy!” Y/n threw themselves back against the couch, dramatically flailing their arms. “At least he expects to fail math. I thought I had one more day!”

Annabeth shook her head, amusement dancing in her stormy gray eyes. “Okay, we don’t have time for a full existential crisis. We have exactly—” she glanced at the clock, “—fifty-three minutes before your test. So, let’s prioritize.”

She flipped open her notes and started scribbling equations. “What’s the quadratic formula?”

Y/n blinked at her.

The blonde raised an eyebrow. “You do know the quadratic formula, right?”

Y/n turned away, suddenly very interested in the window.

Annabeth inhaled sharply. “Oh my gods, you don’t—”

“I probably do,” they interrupted. “It’s just buried deep. Like Tartarus deep. Like I-might-need-a-quest-to-retrieve-it deep.”

Annabeth groaned. “I cannot believe I’m dating you.”

“Yes, you can,” Y/n said smugly, nudging her knee with theirs. “I’m lovable. Just… not at math.”

The blonde rolled her eyes, but Y/n saw the fond smile tugging at her lips. “Okay, I’m skipping the full lecture. Just memorize this: negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus four a c, all over two a. Say it back to me.”

Y/n blinked again. “I already forgot it.”

Annabeth made a strangled noise. “I swear to the gods—”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n held up their hands. “Negative b… uh, plus or minus… something about a square root?”

Annabeth groaned dramatically, tipping her head back against the couch. “We are so doomed.”

“You mean I’m doomed,” they corrected.

The blonde smirked. “Nope. We’re in this together now. If you fail, I fail by association.”

Y/n gasped. “Annabeth Chase, did you just tie your academic reputation to my sinking ship of a brain?”

She smirked. “Guess I like a challenge.”

Y/n clutched their chest. “I knew you loved me.”

The blonde shoved their notebook at them, laughing. “Less talking, more cramming.”

Y/n groaned but sat up straight. “Fine. Let’s go. Speed-run me through everything I should’ve learned in the last semester in forty-five minutes.”

Annabeth grinned, flipping through her notes. “Alright, disaster. Brace yourself.”

And so, with Annabeth rattling off formulas like a battlefield strategist and Y/n desperately trying to absorb knowledge at lightning speed, they prepared for what would probably be the worst math exam of their life.

But hey—at least they had the smartest, most wonderful girlfriend in the world suffering through it with them.

Bonus Chapter:

The sun was shining, the streets of New Rome were alive with students celebrating the end of finals, and Y/n felt like they had just survived a war.

The math exam had been… an experience. Y/n wasn’t going to say they aced it, but they had managed to scrape together enough last-minute knowledge—courtesy of Annabeth’s relentless drilling—to at least finish the test. Whether the answers were correct was another story entirely.

Y/n was sitting at a café with Percy and Annabeth, sipping on much-needed coffee while students all around them were either rejoicing or lamenting their grades. Percy had just pulled up his test results on his phone and let out a groan so loud that half the café turned to look at him.

“Oh, come on!” He slumped dramatically in his chair, holding his phone up for Y/n and Annabeth to see. “Sixty-five. A sixty-five! That’s barely passing!”

Annabeth, sitting across from Y/n, barely glanced up from her book. “Sounds about right,” she said, smirking.

Percy shot her a glare. “You could at least pretend to be sympathetic.”

“I could,” she said. “But I’m not going to.”

Y/n snorted into their drink before opening their test results. They hesitated for a second, fingers hovering over the screen. “Okay, the moment of truth.”

Percy leaned in, curious. Annabeth just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Y/n tapped the screen.

Their score popped up.

Seventy-eight.

There was a beat of silence. Then Y/n blinked.

Then they turned to Percy, who was already staring at them in pure betrayal.

“You beat me?” he asked, his voice full of disbelief.

Y/n looked between their score and his, processing. Then they grinned. “Oh my gods. I beat you.”

Percy flailed dramatically. “You were literally screaming into the floor the morning of the exam!”

“And I still beat you,” Y/n smirked, leaning back in their chair. “This is the best day of my life.”

Percy groaned and dropped his head onto the table. “I hate this. I hate everything.”

Annabeth finally looked up, and the smirk on her face was downright smug. “See? I told you the panic-induced cramming would work.”

Y/n shot her a wink. “It’s all thanks to you, babe.”

Percy lifted his head just enough to squint at the couple. “This is favoritism. The universe is playing favorites. There is no other explanation.”

“You are Poseidon’s kid,” Annabeth said, barely holding back her laughter. “Math was never your destiny.”

Percy groaned again and dramatically dropped his head back onto the table.

Y/n, meanwhile, was basking in the glow of victory. Sure, seventy-eight wasn’t exactly a great score—but it was higher than Percy’s, and that was all that mattered.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 26

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 23, part 24, part 25

Wayne walks into the hospital, the information that he’s been given still running a marathon he can’t finish. Too caught up stumbling in all the unbelievable hurdles. Struggling to keep his footing on ground he thought was solid. But it’s cracking underneath his feet.

All these kids, all this time, went through that. Something that the authorities should have dealt with, but left up to children and regular civilians. Causing people to die and get hurt. Be left with trauma the regular public will never understand, and might not even believe.

Wayne doesn’t even know if he believes it. Even though he knows it’s true. It’s just his brain trying to find the fault in the truth to market it as a lie. So he can be mad a something a little more real. More feasible.

“Hey, Wayne,” Dustin calls out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks. “Did Steve talk to you, he said he needed to. I don’t know what about though.”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he says simply. Each work breaking a small line in his heart.

Dustin rolls his eyes. “So you won’t tell me either, great.”

“Woah, I was tellin’ you the truth. No need to give me that tone.” Wayne might be slightly out of practice, but that parent voice came back real fast.

“Sorry,” Dustin mutters under his breath, crossing his arms. “I’m just sick of people hiding things from me. I’m not a kid anymore.”

But he is.

“But you are.”

He groans. “Sure fine, I’m still technically a kid. But I’m older now, I understand things more. That has to count for something.”

“Sure it does. Doesn’t mean you’re going to part of every conversation though. There are some things that you don’t need to be a part of. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

“People always say that, but I don’t believe them. First they say it’s nothing to worry about, and they they’re almost dying. I’m tired of that.”

And there lies the real reason for this frustration. The need to be involved so he knows exactly what the problem is. So he can try to get ahead of it. Stop it before it becomes catastrophic.

This kid has already had some much of his life change before his eyes. Without question, straying from the established plan. There’s no planning for life, but especially not the way Dustin’s had to live it. The way any of these kids had to live it. Or the adults.

Wayne sees the pain that imbedded itself into all of their beings. The way their eyes dart around, trying to see the unseen. And their bodies to predict the unpredictable. Pulled taught with string, ready for the next fight. For the next big thing.

If he could give anything to help them get one moment’s peace, he would give it. No one deserves to live like this.

“Look,” Wayne places a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I don’t have all the answers for you, and I’m not sure what specifically you’re talking about. But I do know that these people care about you, and know that you care about them. There are always going to be things left unsaid, and things kept from you. And you’re not going to get anything if you come from a place of anger instead of compassion. Explain why you want to know, then maybe they’ll tell you.”

Dustin nods, taking a moment to think. Wayne watches as he processes where to go next. Sees the fragility that lies beneath his frustration.

“Do you think they would really tell me?” he finally asks, so unsure of it all.

“They might. And if they don’t, they might give you a better answer than telling you it’s none of your business. That means they listened to you.”

It’s what everyone wants at the end of the day. To be heard.

“That’s at least something, isn’t it?” Wayne finishes, looking Dustin in the eyes. Showing him that he listened. That Dustin was heard.

Dustin nods. Still not looking completely satisfied, but better. “I guess so.”

Wayne gives Dustin’s shoulder a clap before letting go. “You off to see Eddie?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I just came from there, my mom wants me home for dinner.”

“You have a ride?”

Dustin nods his head.

“Alright. Tell your mom thanks for me, for the dinner. It was very nice of her.”

“I won’t tell her that bit. Unless you want an entire casserole on your doorstep tomorrow.”

Wayne chuckles on his way to Eddie’s room. A real laugh. It’s starting to feel less foreign now.

Eddie’s playing with a stress ball when Wayne enters. Or less so playing and more like squeezing. Mumbling something under his breath before letting go.

“Hey Wayne,” he says. Concentration still on the ball.

“What do you got there?”

Eddie groans, head dramatically hitting the pillow. “Some stupid exercise the new nurse gave me to do. Something about starting to get back ‘motor functions.’ I’m supposed to count how long I can squeeze it.”

“What’s your record?”

“Ten seconds. Trying to get it to fifteen.”

He squeezes the stress ball again, fine for the first few seconds, but starting to shake around the halfway mark. Fingers twitching as they start to release the grip. Eddie’s face scrunching, trying to get them to stay just a bit longer.

“Ha, eleven.” He releases his fist, the momentum of the ball causing it to roll out of his hand. “Take that.”

The ball rolls off the bed toward Wayne’s direction. He picks it up, taking a second to give it back to Eddie. Wondering if it’s right to bring up that he knows.

“You just missed the guys, by the way,” Eddie starts before Wayne gets the chance to. “Finally got off their asses to come see me.”

“They came by a few times while you were in the coma.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, like that doesn’t matter. But really Wayne knows he’s just annoyed. These kids were his friends before spring break. He thought they were going to be after too.

“Yeah, but not while I was awake. It’s one thing to come and see me when I’m asleep, it’s a different thing to come and see me when I’m awake.”

“That’s true. Did you ask them why it took them so long? Maybe they had a good reason”

Eddie groans. “You can’t go a few weeks without trying to give me a life lesson, can you.”

Wayne laughs again. Sits with how the air sits in his lungs so light. Makes his whole body so much lighter.

He doesn’t need to talk about what happened with Eddie right now. Not yet. Not when Eddie’s trying to figure out how to live again. Not while he’s still trying to get them a place to call home.

Everything will come out when it’s time. He knows that. Right now, they can forget for a while and just be.

next part

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@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

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@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

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@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[tssdresses]

Okay hi everyone for those unaware @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors just posted their Prom fic, so I'm gonna scream about it in the readmore as I read it. spoiler warning below.

[keyboard smash] Kai and Lauren are just. the cutest.

I don't know anything about olive oil as conditioner but when I was bleaching and dying my hair frequently I used coconut oil as a hair mask prior to washing and that was awesome.

where are the dresses violet i want the dresses

Lauren is amazing. She hugs Bell and boops Vee??? amazing.

"Give me your girl skills, you don't need them" perfect.

god I'd forgotten about "room for Jesus", there's a throwback. actually i met a guy named jesus the other night. that was weird-- BLORBO FROM CHRISTIANITY????? crying laughing that's amazing.

(Roommate: Wait, what does 'blorbo' mean? Me: You're on tumblr now. You'll understand soon enough.)

NO STOP THE PAIRING UP IS TOO CUTE I CAN'T

The dresses are coming. I can smell them. The dresses are coming.

I relate so much with Emile's struggle to transport outfits without any catastrophe along the way haha. also, Mr. Adams is so nice?? My heart.

i'm on desktop I can't do the clap emoji so we'll compromise-- let [clap] Bell [clap] murder [clap] women [clap] by [clap] being [clap] hot [clap]

(Roommate: What was the term? Blorzen? Me: ...Blorbo. Roommate: Ah. ... "A person's beloved character from media." Pfft. [Other roommate], is Jesus your beloved character? Other roommate: What??)

okay I'm gonna just list what each person is wearing so I can refer back to it later. for no reason at all. it's fine. this is fine. everything's fine. (in order of mention, for my own sanity)

Bell: leather and gold armor over short crimson dress (picturing vampire costume from 2017ish, ask about ruching(?), type of armor?) Virgil: 1900s, low neckline and layered sleeves, chiffon ombré silver-purple, train (and imagining those victorian shoes with a million buttons on them-- technically the victorian era as far as fashion is concerned was like 1830s-90s so wouldn't have been worn with this type of dress but shhh-- specifically these in the same silver as the top) Remy: cowl neck, sleeveless dark blue with gold glitter and stars (embroidered?), black suit pants and jacket (and I'm choosing to believe he's wearing high heels that match the shirt) (no tie, assuming via cowl neck) Logan: dark blue suit jacket and pants with gold embroidery (constellations) (research springtime constellations in ohio/ask around if there are Appalachian-specific constellations), black button-up and tie* Patton: (ask mom if we donated her big-ass-bow dress for a reference) "most ludicrous, campy, powder-blue 80s prom dress" Kai: powder blue suit with white ruffled shirt Ellie: pale yellow to gold, orange, pink, purple ombré (picturing as layered ruffle skirt) Lauren: sunset orange suit, purple mock-neck, gold scarf Emile: "long white and pink floral shift with a ruffle hem and sleeves" (actually sounds very similar to the pattern I've got for the wedding dress, nice) Thomas: white and pink floral shirt, white suit and tie Roman: lamé suit, red with gold shirt + bow tie Sloan: lamé suit, gold with red shirt + bow tie Corbin: pinstriped suit in silver and purple, purple suit lapels, silver shirt (tie? waistcoat to match corset detail)

[keyboard smash here] I love all of them so much and my brain is in the microwave now. no, the microwave isn't violent enough. my brain is in the dryer. anyway

lol the makeup is real cute, and I'm obsessed with Bell's look holy crap

I do not have the time right now but I swear to gosh darn heck that I'm gonna make a post looking into the flowers and meanings and putting pictures of them next to each other. for now, lists

Remy: (boutonniere) eastern bluestars, white poppies, dusty miller flower greens Logan: (boutonniere?) eastern bluestars, white poppies, dusty miller flower greens Emile: (boutonniere) bellflower, white carnation Thomas: (corsage) bellflower, tiny pink carnation, pink dahlia Kai: (boutonniere) blue lace flowers, baby’s breath, white gardenia Patton: (crown) blue lace flowers, baby’s breath, tiny blue and yellow hydrangea Virgil: (corsage) lavender, clematis, lily-of-the-valley Corbin: (crown) lavender, clematis, baby's breath Roman: (corsage) red, orange, and yellow roses, red pansies Sloan: (corsage) red, orange, and yellow roses, red pansies Ellie: (crown) safflower, lilac, pink peonies Lauren: (boutonniere) safflower, bird-of-paradise Bell: (garland) red-orange sunflowers

oh my fucking god, Remy setting off a firecracker is absolutely amazing

Okay, Mr. Hatcher is great, note to self to send Vi an ask about him in the near future lol

Virgil [handshake emoji] the Adams Elliot is sibling-shaped

Screaming with joy at Lauren thinking the whole group was a polycule this is amazing-- Schrodinger’s polycule?!?!?!?!!! I love it

Oh no, this Bell + Vee interaction is gonna kill me a little, isn't it.

I was right, it killed me a little, and I loved it.

*I've been accumulating items to make Mollymauk's coat (and the rest of the cosplay lol) from Critical Role and good lord do I relate to the start-print frustration. On the upside, making a D&D cosplay lets me kinda throw all reality out the window as it's convenient for me.

(Also, shit, I thought I had my graduation outfit picked out, but now I want to try and make Logan's suit. hnnnnnnnnnnn.)

[cricky-butspicy]

How would the Creatures, Slashers, and your Mechanic Au Sun&Moon take care of reader during their really bad depression days? (I personally would love to sink into the Creatures’ fluff right now)

The Suns and Moons <3 All my boys here to cure a bad depression day! They are on the job with varying levels of success, but they all try very hard to keep you happy!

Creature AU-

Creature Sun and Moon are a little lost on this. They don't know why you are so sad, but they try what they know to cheer you up! They know all of the nature around them can be very calming and nice to be in, so they'll try to get you to enjoy it with them!

Sun will get you to come to the creek nearby so he can get you to either swim with him or get you to lay on his belly while he floats on his back and you both enjoy the sun shining on you both. He tries to get you to feel the calm of the creek running below you both with your fingers or hands and tries to make you see things are alright and that it's safe to feel ok right now. It's ok that you feel how you feel, but it's also ok to feel better!

Moon will try and have you hold him while he runs you up a tree to sit near the top with him and feel the wind of the night on your face as you enjoy the moonlight and night sky. He keeps you warm, snuggling you into his fur and wrapping three of his arms around you while the last holds tight to the tree to keep you both steady with his feet. He hums in hopes of you maybe either finding comfort in it or humming along. He makes sure you don't pay attention to anything but him and the sky. No fear of how high up you are or falling or the terrors of life. Right now all that is there is you, him, and the great big sky above.

They of course let you snuggle into their fluff and will snuggle up closer and wrap themselves around you to see if you'll cheer up, but if you just need to be sad with them, they won't stop you. Human emotions are complex for different reasons. They might not understand what your brain is doing or what is making you feel so heavy, but that's ok. It won't stop them from loving you and showing they care deeply about you.

Slasher AU-

Soleil truthfully gets pretty anxious on days where your mood changes or differs from usual. It makes things feel unsafe for him or like he's done something wrong, even if logically he knows he didn't and it's just your depression acting up. So, he does whatever he can to try to get your mood back on track to normal. If that means making you food and getting you your favorite drinks, he'll do it! If it means taking a minute to be slow with you and talk about your feelings, he's more than happy to listen. He'll ask what you need, and if you don't know, he'll help you figure it out. He usually needs a little direction to properly help, but in moments where you can't help yourself, he'll find ways to help you. Bad depression days are days where he find himself being a little quieter with you, and calming down a bit with you, and making things more simple and stable so you can get a moment to get back to yourself without further stress. He'll try to make you do good things that will make you happy and get you out of the funk, even if you don't necessarily want to. He'll hold you if you ask or if you start crying and he feels the need to help you through it. He'll hold your hand and rub at it and wipe the tears from your face with a tissue or really even his sleeve if nothing else is available (though he doesn't prefer to do that with getting it dirty, but he'll do it for you. He'll do a lot for you, in case you didn't know.)

Soleil is good about appearing cool and collected on the outside most of the time in these moments of deep depression, but he honestly probably freaks out to Atlas about it on his own so Atlas can calm him and assure him things are ok and that it's not the end of the world. He catastrophizes. You doing badly makes him stressed. He'll be fine, don't worry, but he's worried about you. Very worried. Sometimes all he can do is just sit with you and ride it out. He gets stuck helping because of his own issues. He really hopes you can see him trying to help you and that, if anything, that at least helps some.

Atlas and depression have beef. He hates what it does to people. He hates what it does to you because really, you don't deserve to have to deal with it. No one really should (though he wouldn't mind some people getting bitten in the ass with it. He's petty. You just are not one of those people at all.) Atlas tries to show his caring and softer side on bad depression days. He gives a lot of gentle touches and hugs to simply sway you in his hold. He makes you cuddle him on his couch so you can watch a comfort movie and have him pet your head or rub at your arm and shoulder. He'll ask if you want to talk about how you are feeling, but he really doesn't push. If you take medication for it at all, he'll ask if you think it's still working well for you or if this is just one of those days (The psychiatry minor in him haunts him. He has to ask.) (He may push a little for you to answer that in someway, but he'll back off easily if you don't want to talk about your meds with him.) But really, he'll want you to talk with him, even if the base of it really is, "nothing, just a bad depression day. It just feels heavy. He just wants to know where everything is at. He'll accept it and try to take some weight off of you. It's a time for comfort, and he'll find your comforts and slowly introduce each one to you until one seems to stick and work for that day.

He's careful and gentle. He doesn't want to scare you with his intimidating presence/aura or his way of getting a little heated sometimes. On these days, you can tell he makes sure he cools himself way down when interacting with you. He's very understanding, and really lets you get away with a lot during these times, even if that's a little unhealthy. He doesn't allow everything, but he does allow quite a bit to slip by and not be caught up in his radar. He'll use therapy techniques and things he's learned about to help work through the hardest depression days, but he isn't as harsh as he would be to a regular person. He's soft about it with you. He just wants you feeling a little more like yourself and not so lost and hopeless.

Mechanic!Reader AU-

Sun just CANNOT handle seeing you sad. It's a tragedy, and he hates tragedies! He is hugging you and picking you up to hold you close and sway you about. He asks a million questions on what might have caused it to be so bad today and what might help. Your golden retriever is worried about you. He is willing to do anything possible to make things better. You are offered to do crafts, art, games, eating yummy foods, watching movies and show, really anything that his mind comes up with. Do you want to things specifically for depression? Should you avoid that and do something distracting? His mind is working on every possible solution of making your day more tolerable and better. He knows depression is something that will sometimes make really things very hard and the days will seem terrible, but he doesn't want you feeling terrible with him.

The caretaker programming in him kind of goes wild. He is entertaining you, feeding you, taking care of you, making sure you rest, making sure you are hydrated. He is helping you through the motions until it becomes easier for you to do again. He is giving you kisses and showing you how much he loves and adores you every step of the way. You are no burden to him, not one bit. You are his everything. Don't worry. He'll help you for as long as it takes. You won't feel sad with him forever. That's not a choice with him.

Moon doesn't like seeing you frown, and he doesn't like noticing when you are struggling. It makes him upset. It makes him feel like there is something he needs to fix, but it's something he doesn't know how to fix, even with as much information he pulls up online as possible. Depression can be chronic and usually doesn't really go away. You just work through it. He wonders how he can be your own personal therapist. He can do it, just not as well as Sun. He wasn't programmed to be as helpful in that way as Sun was; he was programmed to be a head of security bot, so it took a lot of that helpful information away from him. That means he struggles in these moments. But it doesn't mean he is helpless or hopeless with it. If anything, he knows how helpful rest can be.

So, you are resting with him and he hushes you and calms you. Distracting him with his hums and his music box and helping you sleep a little to help your body regain some energy. When you aren't sleeping, he really is just holding you. Keeping you close as he does things to make sure you aren't alone. He never wants you to be alone. He gets scared if you are alone, because depression and isolation don't add up to good things. He knows that much at least. Let him care for you how he can. He'll do basics for your care as well, maybe not as intensely and thoroughly as Sun, but it gets the job done and he does it with so much care. He nuzzles and kisses you a lot and tries to get you to play with his ribbons, bells and hat. Moon wants you to interact with him so you know it's all real and so you can feel comforted that he is helping you and hopefully things are getting better with that help. He looks at you often to get a read on how you are doing and it it's not good in his opinion, he tires more. He won't give up on you or let you suffer longer than you have to.