#from another ocd related thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 3 months ago

Text

heart like a hearth

roommate!Eddie x roommate!Reader it's the holidays, and goddamn everyone is home- you and Eddie haven't had a moment alone in weeks. good thing you know a boy with a van and an alibi...

foreword: Roommates!au cinematic universe expands: extended family unlocked! YES this was supposed to come out over the holidays NO I won’t be changing the setting but don’t worry it’s not overly/grossly Christmas-y. as one anon astutely pointed out, this Reader tends to be the most OCD of all my Reader iterations so I hope her actions/line of thinking reflects this disorder and not just due to being an ass, yanno? happy readin’ <3

cw: drinking, smoking, weed usage, R is related to Max (no specificity), R is referred to with a few fem nicknames (girl, princess etc.), van fucking (secluded spot!), fingering, oral (R receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected PiV, brief argument, angst (resolved), R plays feelings close to the chest

wc: 8.1k

___

Eddie’s been shockingly well-behaved recently, and you’d almost think it’s due to the looming threat of a Naughty List if it weren’t for the simple fact that he hasn’t had time to behave otherwise.

The last few weeks leading up to Christmas have been, so far, a whirlwind of constant noise and color. Your and Eddie’s apartment is conveniently central enough from various friends and family, and the two of you have been blindingly busy playing hosts.

Your cousin, Max, came by train last week, along with her best friend, El, and a ragtag group of Eddie’s former D&D minions. Three whole days of cheesy holiday crafts, winter movies, and braiding the girls’ hair while Eddie ran a gripping oneshot campaign; giving way to late evenings, El and Max sharing the pullout couch while the boys took up what little was left of the floorspace like cozy little sardines.

No time after the kids were sent off, either- Robin was insistent on making you a proper boozy eggnog from her heirloom recipe, which had Nancy offering to bring her famous chocolate crinkles, and just like that, you were signing up to throw another party.

The Best Ever Eggnog Bash (Robin’s titling) has been raucous fun so far- Eddie paid all the neighbors off with various gifts of booze, weed, and/or Wheeler’s cookies, so last night, the karaoke machine got turned up to ten and much spiked (Best-Ever) eggnog was imbibed.

Everyone was either too inebriated or too tired to drive afterwards, so an impromptu sleepover was called for- blankets tugged from all corners of the apartment again to make soft sleeping pallets for Robin and Nancy, while the rest of the boys (Jon, Argyle, and Steve) passed out like a pile of puppies on the couch.

In the morning, it only seemed natural to keep the party going- Robin had planned to stay through the weekend, anyways, and everyone else was loath to cut short their holiday break.

Around lunchtime, Jeff and Gareth showed up with instruments in hand, expecting a rehearsal session but were instead greeted with plates of grilled cheese and a knotted ball of lights that no one had been able to untangle yet.

They’re in the corner of the living room, now, bickering over the sound of a Crosby record as Jeff loops the string of lights around Gareth’s waiting hands.

Jon and Steve are sharing a joint on the couch, giggling at a test pattern on the TV screen; Vicki, Robin, and Argyle are in various states of lap-sitting and stool sharing at the breakfast bar, a wasteland of cookie decorating ephemera spread across the counter.

“I think we did this backwards,” Nancy says, thoughtful and amused, passing you a freshly-cooled plate of gingerbread men. “Should’ve saved the alcohol for after the fine motor skill activities.”

“And deny the elves this simple joy?” You reply, sardonic and equally amused, setting the plate in front of your friends. Robin’s eyes light up, and Argyle nearly spills a whole flute of tequila in his haste to stake claim.

“The frosting will make you sick if you keep eating it,” Nancy cautions, but Robin’s already stuck the spoon in her mouth, pulling her choice of cookie in close and muttering with dogged determination to a blushing Vicki- “Gonna make you the best gingergirl ever. Seriously. It’s gonna blow your socks off.”

Longsuffering, Nancy sighs and leaves to check the oven. Eddie whirls into the living room hoisting a clear tub of board games above his head that rattles as he shakes it, truimphant- “Found it. I’m about to Dutch Blitz you into the next century, Harrington.”

“I wanted to play Boggle,” Steve whines, but his protests are quickly swallowed by the swarm of helping hands rearranging the living room; all the furniture gets pushed to the edges while Eddie deals in players on the carpet.

Something about Eddie is particularly magnetic today- he’s wearing this maroon knit sweater gifted from his uncle, lean biceps flexing under soft fabric whenever he leans to place a card. The deep red is a great color on him, contrasting so nicely with his wild dark curls and glinting silver rings; so nicely, in fact, that you’re driven to distraction, ogling him openly from your spot mixing icing by the sink.

The thing about Eddie behaving himself? It’s kind of driving you crazy.

You’re used to the bickering, the good-natured arguments, Eddie pushing your buttons until you snap or bend. You were expecting at least some skirting of the Rules- sneaking into your room after all your guests were asleep, maybe leaving a hickey that couldn’t be explained away- but he hasn’t progressed past fleeting, friendly touches and interactions.

(Well. Except the other night at the bar. But you’re sure everyone was too tipsy to see under the table, his hand inching up your skirt...)

And then, with stunning clarity- you realize you miss him. Like, you actually, truly, miss Eddie. He’s sat on a carpet just a few steps away, profile softly backlit from a nearby candle, and you’re aching to be closer.

As if tuned in to your frequency, Eddie looks up to catch your eye. Time and noise fade into the background of your thoughts; for a moment, it’s just you and him.

Just a few more days, you think, trying for telepathy. Then it’ll be just us again.

He gives you a wink from across two rooms, and the grin breaks on your face before you can think to stop it.

___

Later in the afternoon, you’re using the only available sink in the bathroom to wash frosting from your hands when Eddie pokes his head around the partially-open door.

“Hey. We gotta go to PJ’s.”

He’s wearing his black leather jacket, your puffed winter coat folded over one arm, ringed hand curled around the doorframe as you finish drying your hands.

“I can do a snack run.” Agreeable, you take the proffered coat to put on. PJ’s Corner Store is less than two blocks away, but if you send Eddie out alone into the big world with a simple task there’s no telling when he’ll be back. “I’ll be quick, you stay and host.”

This last word ends on a tease as you zip the warm coat up to your chin, Eddie following your lead into the hallway even as he shakes his head. “Nah, that’s no good We’re out of cigarettes, too- stole Emerson’s last one.”

“Hey,” Gareth squawks from the kitchen, mouth full of gingerbread.

“You shouldn’t be smoking ‘em, anyways, kid,” Eddie says, sagely, sticking the filter of a fresh cig between his teeth even as he lectures.

“Well apparently we’re going to PJ’s,” you announce, hooking a thumb at Eddie behind you in a gesture of it can’t be helped, while inside you’re buzzing with the possibility of walking with just Eddie. Two blocks there and back, all that quiet snow…

There’s some protest at both hosts abandoning the party until everyone learns that the corner store has snacks, and then you’re fielding a barrage of requests and organizing spare change and crumpled bills into your pocket.

Eddie meets you by the front door, walking backwards while giving Nancy strict instructions for holding down the fort- “Don’t let those shitheads in my room, Wheeler, I’m counting on you to preserve state secrets-” -then he reaches past your head for the coat rack, pulling the length of Robin’s green scarf from its hook before wrapping it snug around your neck.

As he tucks the frayed ends into your coat, you notice the glint of van keys that he must’ve palmed silently from the other hook.

“Thought we were going to PJ’s,” you whisper.

Eddie pulls his hands away but not before trailing his fingers against the bare side of your neck, leaving a cascade of goosebumps in their wake, and replies in the same low, conspiratorial tone- “Who says we’re not?”

Finally, after scattered last requests you’re borne out into the cold on a wave of cheery goodbyes. The second the door shuts, Eddie’s tugging at your coat sleeve.

“Let’s go.” The order is gentle but weighty enough that your swirling questions are quelled, for the time being- you follow close on Eddie’s heels down the building stairs, boots crunching into the layer of fresh snow as he leads you across the parking lot.

At the van, Eddie carves ice from the windshield, strong arm moving the scraper in a solid arc. You hazard a glance at the apartment windows, an internal sigh of relief when you realize Eddie had parked on the west side out of view.

“Not really sure what your angle is, here.” You’re not trying to poke the bear, this time, you’re just genuinely confused and a little on edge, unused to taking a backseat where planning is concerned.

Eddie doesn’t answer, and you follow him to the other side of the windshield as he continues scraping, talking all the while. “I just mean- we can’t be gone long. Nancy’s responsible enough but if she starts drinking, too, then all bets are off. And it’ll probably look weird, you know, if it’s just you and me gone for so long. And we really should get snacks-”

“We will,” Eddie says, interrupting for the first time to open the passenger side door. “In you get.”

Eddie loads you into the van (rather like a dog, you think, petulantly clicking your seatbelt), then gets in himself, turning on the engine to blast vented heat throughout the van.

The speakers crackle to life, and as Eddie turns onto the main road you fiddle with the radio dial until soft, instrumental Christmas music plays on low- a welcome respite from the weekend’s cacophony of noise.

You’re a little sad to be missing out on what would’ve been an extended walk; the roads are clear, and in less than two minutes, PJ’s appears down the street like a beacon, lights from the OPEN sign glowing against a backdrop of white.

Sad, that is, until Eddie drives past PJ’s.

“Eddie.”

A direct response to the note of warning in your voice, Eddie keeps his eye on the road but reaches for your hand (previously, tightened into a fist around your jeans).

Once you allow his fingers to weave between yours, Eddie uses the stoplight as an opportunity to turn towards you, thumb brushing over the tops of your knuckles as he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The answer comes so easily- you didn’t even have to consider an alternate option. Your trust is not something simply given, and Eddie knows it; there is still this lingering part of you, though, that wants to push back.

As a sort of self-protection, a longing for the familiar, you ready an argument. “But-”

“Nope!” Eddie interrupts, tugging at your hand in his grasp, almost jolly in his denial. “No comebacks. No skirting. I wanna hear you say it.”

The light turns green, but with no cars in at least a mile radius, Eddie’s foot stays firm on the brake, his bright, intense gaze fixed on you.

You have a sudden urge to dash yourself against the passenger side window, or maybe to jerk the car door open and roll out onto the dirty snow of the sidewalk. A stifling, panicked feeling that would be overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is watching you so tenderly, even while the wheels of your mind work overtime.

A brief few seconds that feel like an age, and then, with a squeeze of his hand, words that take shape and form in a voice quiet but sure- “I trust you, Eddie.”

His grin is wide, even as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, dropping your hand in favor of the wheel as the van resumes its speed. “Atta girl. Wanna show you a place.”

The van cuts a smooth path up a sloping westward street, warm holiday lights from the row of houses reflecting colors in the snow. There’s another stop sign at the top of the hill, and Eddie turns left again, steadily climbing, until the road flattens out.

A road sign declaring DEAD END looms and then passes your window; at the same time, the paved road turns to gravel. Not for the first time, you’re grateful that Eddie learned to drive on the harsh backroads of his native Tennessee hometown- it means he’s adept at guiding the van through a wintered forest to get to the other side.

The other side turns out to be well worth the wait. The snowy boughs of thickened trees give way to a clearing, and Eddie parks a safe distance away from the edge of the hill while still close enough for you to take in the view.

You unbuckle, leaning into your forearms on the dash for a better look, a soft exhale of exclamation- “Wow.”

It’s a spectacular sight- the city sprawls in shining white, pinpricks of winking lights everywhere that make the whole thing look like a blanket of sequins.

You’re keenly aware of the fact that Eddie isn’t looking at the view, he’s watching you take it in for the first time; you throw him a bone, flopping back into your seat with a sweet smile just for him- “Killer spot. Almost worth the adrenaline of thinking you were gonna axe murder me the whole time.”

Eddie scoffs, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it into the depths behind his seat. “You know I prefer a sword as my murderous weapon of choice. Smoke?”

A hand-rolled joint sits between his fingers, your arched eyebrow in response, incredulous- “Seriously? How much time do you think we have?”

“At least three hours,” Eddie says, confidently, straightening his legs into the footwell to fish the lighter from his front jeans pocket. “I showed Nance where the weed brownies are and told her to go crazy.”

With the movement of his legs, the red sweater rides up, a strip of tantalizing milky stomach and smattered trail of dark hair immediately burning itself into your brain. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, questioning even as he lights up- “When the hell did you have time to bake?”

“I have my ways.” Eddie inhales. Smoke pours from his nostrils, the whites of his teeth when his head swivels to catch your eye. “Made a batch while you and the kids were out. Our dear guests will be blind to time, trust me.”

“I do,” you insist, hot shock of fluster in your chest, shedding your own jacket that joins Eddie’s with a harsh throw before deciding you actually can’t let this one go. “I just… did you forget El’s dad is a cop? Like, badge and everything.”

“So?”

If Eddie wasn’t smoking, you’d be half as distracted- he’s in his natural element, knees spread, head lolling on the seatback, a hazy cloud around the loose black curls that settle and shift on his shoulders.

“So, you should maybe be more careful. You’re really not worried about getting caught with contraband out on your- on our counters, for that matter?”

It’s an argument quickly losing steam as the air grows heady with weed; Eddie takes another drag before reaching to stick the end of the joint between your lips. “Why would I worry when you’ve clearly got that covered for the both of us?”

Your brows knit together, a thunderous expression fixed on its target as you take a drag, baring your teeth on the exhale. Eddie chuckles, eyes already lightly red-rimmed as he watches, coos, “My little dragon.”

“I’m serious.” The joint is pinched between your own fingers now, but when Eddie reaches for it, you move quicker, holding it out of reach. He pouts, draping himself with dramatics over his armrest as you shake your head- “Eddie.”

He acquiesces, a goofy, deep forward-tipped bow that sends tendrils of his hair swinging across the knees of your jeans, one of his big hands wrapping around your upper thigh to steady himself. “Sweetheart. Y’know I always kid-proof my shit. I solemnly swear my allegiance to your best judgement.”

Eddie knows just what to say and do to diffuse your temper- you can’t be mad or annoyed with the crown of his head practically in your lap, supplicative and good-natured.

You take another lungful of smoke, this one traveling direct to the contours of your brain, dampening the stress and lighting up the sensation of Eddie’s hand on your leg.

“Bring me here just to smoke?” Your free hand lifts, sets itself on the top of Eddie’s head- you note the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, the way his fingers curl tighter into the doughy flesh of your thigh. “Or did you have other, more nefarious intentions?”

Eddie dips so low his lips touch just near his thumb, warm breath of his groan seeping into your skin even despite the layer of denim. His other hand grasps your hip, subtly pulling you closer to the edge of your seat. “Yeah. I intend to break Rule Two in a major way.”

Oh, right. The rules. ‘Apartment as neutral territory’ being one of them.

The joint sputters when you take a final hit, a small hiss when you snuff the end into the ashtray tucked snugly in a cupholder, leaning over the expanse of Eddie’s stretched spine notched through his sweater. “The van counts in my book. As far as neutrality goes.”

Perking up like a kid at Christmas, Eddie lifts his head, still half in your lap but chocolate eyes shining with hope (and no small amount of lust)- “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It’s all the encouragement Eddie needs to make his move, pulling with intention now until you’re out of your seat and in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, pelvis settling into the crook of his own where a familiar hardness can be felt.

Eddie attaches himself to your neck, kissing desperately down the column as you arch into him, hands roaming down your back, another breaching past the hem of your top to feel your ribs.

“Fuck.” Already breathy and it’s been ten seconds. It should be embarrassing but it simply isn’t, not with the way Eddie’s finding his way to your bra, cupping and squeezing over the soft fabric like it’s all he’s been thinking about. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Been weeks, princess.” His breath slides hot over the wet marks he’s leaving, teeth nipping at your collarbone, a soft groan when your hands find their way back to his hair, fisting around the soft anchor of his curls.

Eddie’s other hand not busy with your breast slides to the front of your jeans, a deft maneuver as he pops the button and slides his fingers past the elastic of your underwear; a hoarse, choked moan when he feels the slick accumulated there.

In awe, he draws his hand up and out, leaning back just to hold it up for the both of you to see in the soft backlighting of the dash. As his ringed fingers separate, stickiness glistens and webs between the digits.

Chest heaving, cheeks burning, you shrug, feigning casual even with fistfuls of his hair in your grasp- “Like you said. It’s been weeks.”

Eddie puts his hand back where it belongs, between the apex of your thighs that automatically try to snap closed as his fingers hit against your clit like a pulsing homing beacon, just for him. He works you up quickly, panting and wet noises the only companion to the wintry silence, like you’re the only two people in the whole city.

He slips two fingers past your entrance, curling them just right, hitting against that spongy spot that makes your legs tremble and pulls a warbled moan from the back of your throat.

Your arms resting on his shoulders spasm with the mounting pleasure, unintentionally bringing Eddie’s face in line with your breasts (an angle he’s more than happy to take, giving your other breast some mouthy attention through the layers).

“I’m- oh, fuck me- fuck, Eddie. I’m close.”

Your body responding far faster than normal (it really has been weeks, after all), the falling is fast approaching, heel of Eddie’s pumping hand hitting perfectly against that fizzing bundle of nerves.

That tight resolve is worming its way in- you don’t want this to end. You want Eddie’s mouth on your chest, his fingers warmed to your core temperature, you want it always.

He can tell, because he always can, when you’re holding back; the small, subtle ways in which your body stiffens and tries to restrain itself.

Eddie tries to play stern, even as his cock throbs painfully, pinned under your squirming thigh- “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. You know I’ll give you another one. C’mon. Let it go.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. The coiling tension snaps in a sparking, roiling heat, gushing around Eddie’s steady and quick tempo; hopefully this spot is as soundproof as it feels, out here at the edge of the world, a sharp, whining cry as you come and fall apart.

The aftershocks cause full-body tremors, while Eddie soothes with hands and voice, murmuring praises and calling you names that make your head spin like “good girl” and “sweet thing”.

Panting, you manage to lift your forehead off Eddie’s while his hands drop to your hips again- he looks fucking wrecked. Hair sticking up at the back thanks to your handiwork, pupils blown so wide the black is swallowing the gentle brown, a blush of pink at his cheeks. With a crooked smile, he asks- “Gonna let me top this time?”

A call and response, one that shakes a giggle from your shivery lungs- “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie gasps in phony surprise. “Wow, it really is Christmas.”

Rolling your eyes, stamina returning, you pat the tops of Eddie’s shoulders before using them to push yourself from his lap. The cry of his protest is short lived once he realizes you’re just moving to the back of the van, arranging the two discarded jackets for extra padding.

You make quick work of your shirt and have just shoved the waist of your jeans down to mid-thigh when a loud thunk startles you into looking up- in his eagerness to get back here with you, Eddie’s foot got caught in his seatbelt.

He curses, lying flat on the floor of the van looking like a gangly marionette while trying to yank his foot free. Your laughter has him twisting to watch, head tilting back to try and catch your eyes until he lurches free with an oof.

Disentangled on his hands and knees, Eddie frowns when he sees the kicked-aside pile of your jeans and top, and starts with whiny reproach- “Heyyy. I was supposed to do that part. You-”

In a single swift move, you twist the clasp of your bra and shove it off, revealing the full sight of your breasts to the end of Eddie's stopped sentence. He gets with the program after that, expeditious to the point of humor, stripping down to just boxer shorts as you lie back on your elbows, body molding to the comfort of padded flooring.

“That sweater really does look insane on you,” you comment, the rich red a blur as it’s flung to the corner. “Couldn’t stop staring, earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s brows waggle a suggestive dance as he crawls forward, stretching out over your supine form, kissing between the valley of your breasts. “I’ll send Uncle Wayne my regards.”

“Maybe no blood relative talk right now,” you gasp out, his lips forming a suction over your left nipple.

A wet pop as he moves to the other, considering- “Probably a good call.”

In what is quickly becoming a familiar facet of sex with Eddie, he can’t seem to stay away from your pussy for long. Ever since the first time you fucked, Eddie’s been lightly obsessed with figuring out your body, all the ways in which it can tick and sing for him alone- and he’s proven to be a quick study.

Drawn like a magnet, his lips leave damp patches as he kisses his way down your torso, across your stomach; you’re heaving with unsteady, anticipatory breaths as Eddie’s teeth catch at the band of your undies, as his hands pull-slip them down your thighs and off.

You’ve never felt more well and truly fucked, in every sense of the word, than when Eddie’s mouth is on your cunt.

It’s an art form, really- the particular attention he pays to all the small hotspots you didn’t even realize were a thing: the bony bridge between inner thigh and pelvis where your femoral artery whooshes in response to his canines; the tender skin just under your weeping hole that makes everything clench when his tongue deftly prods.

Fucked, as in where the hell else am I ever gonna have it this good; conversely, fucked as in can’t possibly hold onto that thought with his tongue where it is.

His hands can never agree on a favorite place, usually taken to roaming about your body- this time, his right rests solid on the softness of your stomach, keeping the rolling wave of your body at the mercy of his lips while the other hand squeezes the fat of your upper thigh in a tight grip.

It’s impossible to stop the cacophony of sounds that spill out, nearly drowning out the slick noises of Eddie familiarizing himself with the inside of your cunt; sharp gasps, moans, a cry as he dips back in, out again, thighs shaking, closing around the silver hoops that line the shell of Eddie’s ears.

When his clever mouth moves up to pull the aching bead of your clit into a suction, the space between your ears goes white as the damn snowscape outside.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie. Oh, my god- don’t stop. Please don’t stop, that feels-”

In response, Eddie moans, sucking harder, taking his hand from your thigh to fit two fingers into you, wall of muscle swallowing him greedily. Your spine arches from the padded floor, heels digging in where your legs are slung over Eddie’s shoulders, hand burying itself in the soft crown of Eddie’s hair.

“Oh- fuck, fuck, Eddie- Eddie, Eddie…”

There’s a distant awareness that you’re babbling but you know Eddie likes it, loves that he’s the one making you fall apart past the tight boundary of sound you usually keep; the pads of his fingers coast against the front wall of your cunt once, twice, and your second orgasm of the evening hits with the force of a freight train.

The pleasure wracks through your frame, fevered flush sparking down to the tips of your toes as it moves through your seizing muscles. Your hips jolt upwards, a pleasant counter pressure when Eddie’s hand on your stomach stays firm, keeping your pelvis aligned so there’s not a moment away from his mouth.

Eddie’s tongue draws out the feeling on your pulsing clit while his fingers stay at that perfect angle, driving into you with the same fast-patterned stroking that keeps your rapture spiraling. The pleasure starts to ebb but still he laps at you, head shaking back and forth like a dog, pinning your wrist to the floor when you squirm and seize up, foggy and helpless to the flow of euphoria.

He pauses, finally, your body going lax the instant his mouth leaves to start kissing his way back up your stomach. In the waning light from the back van windows, Eddie’s chin is shimmering with your slick.

You have a sudden, desperate need to kiss it off him. Rule Number Four be fucking damned, you want to kiss this boy, full on the mouth. Unbelievable you’ve both stuck to it for so long- the desire welling within is something two orgasms can't begin to touch.

Would it be so bad… your heart pounds, blood chorus singing through your veins as Eddie gets closer, crawling up your body. Your better judgement is not at play here, dizzy and sick with affection, reaching up to touch the black-inked wyvern on his bicep, tangling the fingers of your other hand into the chain of the swinging guitar pick necklace.

The interior of the van has warmed with the heat of your combined bodily movements, but when Eddie shoves his boxers down and off you could swear the temperature spikes three degrees at least.

Eddie’s mostly focused on both of your lower halves, a ringed hand at the ditch of your knee pushing it towards your chest, spreading you open that much further to line up at your entrance- so he doesn’t see the way you’re looking at him. The way your eyes are drinking in every bead of sweat, every contour of his bowed head and tight shoulders.

With his other hand planted on the floor of the van just by your ear, Eddie uses the extra stability to drag his cock through your soaked folds, using your spend to coat the heavy tip and generous length.

The hand under your knee cinches tight, Eddie hissing through his teeth- “Shit. So wet. S’all for me, sweet thing? Hm?”

“Yeah.” You’re struck dumb with wanting, unable to play coy, urging Eddie in closer with a heel at the small of his back. “All yours. Please-”

A sharper tug than you intend shortens the silver lead, hauls Eddie’s face shockingly close to your own, his breath puffing out tantalizingly close to your lips, lashes blinking rapidly in surprise against your cheek.

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, voice husked, sheathing himself into your cunt with achingly slow precision. “Okay, sweetheart. All mine.”

His forehead bumps gently into yours with each small thrust as he tests the waters, holding back even still, making sure your body is ready (a moot point as you feel wet enough to fill an inflatable pool by now).

The thick head of his cock slides against that innermost spot, your knees rising to cage in the sides of Eddie’s torso; he lifts his head from yours just far enough to be able to see your face when his thrusts pick up intensity.

Somewhere, there’s a loose hinge in the van that squeaks with each movement, grounding you with each rock of Eddie’s hips, each push and pull and delicious drag of his throbbing cock. Other noises, too: like your open-mouthed moaning, and the short ones Eddie makes each time he slams into you, exhale of breath halfway between a grunt and a sigh, his dark eyes still dancing over your face.

The pleasure is building again, everything mounting and climbing up to that peak. Eddie chokes out a “fuck” as the channel of your cunt squeezes him vice-like, hips faltering, rhythm skipping beats.

It’s impossible to hold on to any one thought, fragments swirling along with all those firing synapses- the fresh layer of snow on the roads, coating the pine trees, the slatted roofs. Eddie’s chipped Garfield mug next to yours on the counter at home.

Eddie’s fringed bangs, stuck to his forehead with sweat; the mole on his left peck, the freckle above his second rib; Eddie’s lips, the bottom one plush and dark from being bitten and abused by his own front teeth; Eddie’s lips-

In the end, you’re not sure if it’s the pull of your hand in the chain, or the fact that Eddie was already ducking down towards you again.

What you do know is that it feels a whole lot better coming on Eddie’s cock when his mouth is on yours.

As far as first kisses go, this one is sloppy, wet with spit and tasting of your cum, Eddie’s noise of shock quickly turning into a vibrating groan as he kisses you back. His tongue is still coated in a layer of your slick but once you suck that away you finally get a pure taste, for the first time, of him. Of Eddie.

It’s this thought that freefalls you headlong into orgasm, taking Eddie with you, bottom lip taking the pinch of Eddie’s teeth as he comes, too, warmth blooming as his cock spits out weeks’ worth of pent-up release.

“Fucking hell,” Eddie says against your lips, enjoying the novel feeling while trying to regain his breath. “Jesus christ. You okay? Was that- I mean, it was good?”

In the honeyed afterglow, you press a palm into Eddie’s cheek, relishing in the fact that you can feel his smile when you reply, honest, “Very good. The best.”

As if unsure he’s allowed to now that the moment has passed, Eddie doesn’t kiss you on the lips again, instead planting a chaste but no less adoring one on your cheek. Carefully, he sits up, then helps disentangle your body from the weave of his own.

Your head swims as you take the proffered hand to sit up, arms automatically crossing over your chest; Eddie digs through the clothes pile and offers you things one at a time; underwear, bra, a sock, then the other, quiet and attentive until you’re fully dressed.

The dampness between your thighs is vaguely uncomfortable but nothing can be done about it until you’re back at the apartment. You sit cross-legged on the padding of Eddie’s coat, blinking at the boy gathering his clothes until he catches you and grins back, softly.

Eddie asks, like he can read your mind, “Still okay?”

At the base of your throat, something stings. “Um. I don’t know.”

Eddie’s mass of black curls pops through the opening of his sweater, which he shifts to jam his arms into. “Don’t know if you’re okay? Or…”

The sentence hangs in the air as Eddie looks at you, partially dressed in his boxers and Christmas sweater, looking flushed and curious and adorable. The stinging moves to the corners of your eyes, fingers tangling into each other with nerves and plummeting hormones.

“I’m okay, I’m just- I’m just sorry.”

Eddie snorts, like the idea is ridiculous, shaking the wrinkles out of his jeans- “For what? Being crazy hot? Can’t fault you for that, babe, kind of the whole point.”

The tears that are threatening to spill aren’t allowing you to join in on the jokes, not yet. Same as earlier, your voice quavers, brows drawing together as you stare at your twisting hands- “Sorry for kissing you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie’s tone is faux chipper, like kissing you is a totally normal occurrence that didn’t just blow his world open, doing an awkward crunch-wiggle forward to get his jeans on. “The day I accept an apology for one of your kisses is the day I should be sent to the guillotine. Without trial.”

The brand of his lips hasn’t left yet, your tongue poking out without permission to swipe over your bottom lip, skin buzzing and still tasting like him. “We- I should at least try to stick to the rules.”

Was the kiss your doing, though? The way he was looking at you, just before you pulled him in- almost like he was waiting for it. Waiting to kiss you-

Still in a jovial post-sex mood, Eddie buttons his pants and perches on a spare amp box in the corner, boots sitting between his socked feet. “Sure thing. Just, ah, running the stats here- I don’t think the evidence stacked against our very epic but very secret dalliance is bound to be hidden for long.”

“Right.” This, at least, is a normal topic of conversation, hearkening back to the times of ten minutes ago before a kiss fucked everything sideways.

You lift a hip to pull Eddie’s coat out from underneath, folding it over an arm just to have something to do. “Well, there’s always an alternate explanation. I’m getting good at those, y’know- borrow a tasteful scarf to hide hickeys. ‘I was late because of the dentist, the vet, the traffic-’”

“Always one for excuses.”

There’s not an ounce of joking in Eddie’s tone this time, enough derision to make you look up, sharp and sudden- “Excuse me?”

This time, Eddie is the first to drop his gaze first, hair falling over his face as he bends forward to fit his foot in the mouth of his boot. “Nothing.”

A hollow thunk as his heel makes contact, then he reaches for the other boot with a weary, flat laugh, shaking his head under your tense gaze. “You just- you don’t think they’ll see it? Smell it on us? All the l- the- y’know, the affection? The intimacy?”

The Word he swallowed sits in your own throat, just behind the sting. The cool tips of your fingers slot over your eyelids, Eddie’s coat in the crook of your elbow smothering your senses with spiced cologne and nicotine. Maddening.

In the dark behind your fingers, the tears gather. The Rules, once a lifeline to your structured self, now seem childish and hurtful. You say the one thing you’re able- “I’m sorry.”

Another dull thunk for his second boot, and then you hear Eddie rise, feel the soothing brush of his touch on the crown of your head as he passes- he doesn’t even sound mad. “Don’t be. S’okay.”

The handle on one of the back van doors pops, preceding a metallic creak and a rush of cool air. You drop your hands from your eyes, watching the profile of Eddie’s face against the backdrop of wintry woods as he crouches at the van’s edge, drawing in lungfuls of crisp air.

The cold leeches in, bringing with it a sense of exposure, taking all the smells and heat of sex from the coziness of the enclosure and lifting it all out to be scattered on the wind. You have a strange feeling of wanting to reach out and hold onto the last of it, as if it were tangible.

Eddie’s boots crunch into the snow, but he doesn’t go far, just steps a yard or so away. Through the single open door his back is turned, shoulders rolling, neck stretching from side to side, working out the kinks.

Longing aches through your bones; you want to bury your face into the space between his shoulder blades and breathe in that musky, rich red fabric. You don’t feel as though you’ve earned that right, somehow.

Instead, you snag your own boots and coat to jam on, joining Eddie under a sky paled with early evening light. He stands silently, eyes fixed on the trees, breath a floating cloud around his head.

You stand just as silent, shoulder to shoulder, Eddie’s black jacket still tucked in your crossed arms. Silent until you can’t bear it, bouncing on the balls of your feet against the icy wind that cools the sweat under your arms and back with a chill.

“I know you don’t want me to be, but I am. Sorry, that is. I don’t-”

The tears are back. You swallow them down, determined to loose the words from your lips, however clunky, because Eddie deserves to hear them at the very least. “I don’t know how to function without rules. Without some sort of- cage, or, like, something to hold me in, ‘cuz otherwise I-”

In answer, Eddie breaks his deer-like stillness to turn, pulling you into himself, arms wrapping you up in a solid hug. The warmth starts to creep back in as he rocks you gently, dropping kiss to the top of your head before saying- “I know. I know, honey, because I know you.”

Tears make wet tracks down your cheeks, dampening the front of Eddie’s sweater, even as you make a watery attempt at humor- “No, you don’t. Don’t even know my middle name.”

“Sure I do. Guessed it ages ago. Obviously Albert.”

His hug tightens when you sob a laugh, clinging to him, words still fighting to the surface- “I’m just, sorry, that I’m the way that I am and I can’t change it, not right now, at least, but it’s hurting you and I just am so s-”

“Honey, honey,” Eddie’s mumbling over your stream of consciousness, pressing in closer to rest his cheek on your crown. “Don’t have to be sorry. ‘M not hurting. Not from you, never from you. I like you so much-”

“I like you so much,” you sniff, pulling your head up to look at him even through the tears so he knows you mean it.

You’re met with a wide smile, a winner, the kind that shows all his teeth, bright enough to rival the snow- “Oh my god. You have a crush on me?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing at his chest but weak enough that he chuckles at the effort, basking in the extra touches.

There’s an unfortunate lack of time but you take what little aftercare is afforded, hearing the thump of Eddie’s heart under your ear, relishing the feeling of his hold. Though the winter air is bitter with cold, it helps to clear your mind from the sex-weed-shame loop.

Spoken into the fibers of Eddie’s sweater- “I just… don’t want to share you yet. It’s stupid and complicated but I want it to be our thing, for a little while longer. Just us.”

“Just us,” Eddie repeats, kissing the parts of you he can reach- forehead, temple, line of scalp. “I can swing that. Not too different from now, hm?”

“It will be, though.” It’s a promise that scares you, but one you’re confident you can make in good faith. You just need some time. “Promise.”

With one last squeeze, Eddie lets you go, taking his coat from your arm to slip into, patting around for his keys and jingling them with a wink- “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

___

As it turns out, Eddie wasn’t, in fact, lying about going to PJ’s, which is why you now find yourself under the harsh fluorescents of a corner store aisle with your roommate’s cum drying in your undies.

“Snakes.”

Zoning out on the racks of candy, Eddie’s sudden word from just behind your right shoulder makes you jump.

“What?” You cast a glance backwards.

In response, Eddie’s jacketed arm brushes yours when he leans past you for a bag of gummy snakes. He’s already got an armful of various chips and a 6-pack of beers, the bottles clinking as he shifts.

“Robs won’t eat the bear kind. Said the shape makes her too sad to eat.”

You consider this, sliding a bag of peach rings off the metal line for Nancy. “But biting a snake’s head off, that’s all good and fine for a tree hugger?”

“She’s an odd duck,” Eddie agrees, wistful, plastic crinkling under those big palms that were mapping the shape of your body not twenty minutes ago.

“Well, you’d know all about that, huh?” You knock a shoulder playfully into Eddie’s side.

The look he gives you is mischievous, sparkling through the frame of long, dark lashes. “If it quacks…”

Earlier, you’d used the payphone to call home while Eddie hunted for vittles- a short drive back, but nonetheless you were anxious to know the situation you’d both be walking into.

Annoyingly, Eddie was right again- Nance sounded unusually giggly, telling you all about the epic blanket fort the boys had built under Robin’s orders, the background filled with drunken and otherwise intoxicated chatter. Not even eagle-eyed Nancy noticed the time you and Eddie spent away- all she asked about was the food supplies.

At the counter, a lone employee bags the snack fest with disinterest, retrieving Eddie’s requested pack of smokes and sorting the crumpled bills you provide with barely a word.

Eddie’s eyes keep darting to yours, nostrils flaring, hamming up the humor, and it’s getting harder not to laugh each time, corners of your mouth twisting to keep the noise from bursting out.

If there’s something funny, Eddie wants to share it with you. He’s always been generous.

In the glittering snowscape of PJ’s parking lot, Eddie plucks at your sleeve before you can open the passenger door.

“Got somethin’ for ya.”

You turn with a frown, eyeing him suspiciously- “If you just spent real money on a pack of those skeezy ‘sex pills’ from the front counter I’m actually not interested.”

“No, no, it’s-” Eddie slings the grocery bag handles to his other arm, rustling in his coat pocket to procure a small, flat parcel of brown butcher paper. “Your Christmas present. Didn’t wanna give it in front of all those other weirdos.”

There’s a loop of white string tied in a knotted bow; you smile softly, taking the gift from Eddie’s proffered hand and plucking at the string. “But- I didn’t bring yours, it’s sitting under the tree-”

“I know. It’s cool, I’ll open it day-of if you want, I just… wanted you to have this now.”

You think about the shiny new record waiting at home for Eddie as you unwrap the present with burgeoning glee- in the middle of the paper lies a circlet of weaved fabric, in varying shades of forest green and cerulean blue.

It’s not until you lift the loop into the air that you realize what it is- a friendship bracelet.

“Max and El helped,” Eddie explains, in the nervous, self-conscious way of a gift-giver. “Had a whole craft sesh while you and the boys were out ice skating. Don’t think they quite believed I was makin’ it for Jeff, but…”

He trails off. You’ve just noticed the tiny silver pendant dangling from the center of the bracelet, about the size of your pinky nail- it dances with movement, casting glints of light from its surface, the engraved E flipping in and out of sight.

“Couldn’t craft that one. Need a little more real-world metal working practice under my belt for that.” Eddie hooks a thumb in his belt loop for emphasis, rocking back on his heels. “Got it when I went to the big city last month.”

You run the pad of your finger over the engraving, feeling the grooves of the letter press up against your skin, shocked into silence.

“And- uhm, I mean, if you hate it, or if it’s, like, totally weird that I just gave you something with my initial on it-” Eddie is full of fidgety nerves, making a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate general whateverness- “I didn’t mean it like an I own you sorta thing, you’re your own woman- person- obviously, and you can totally just throw it to the birds-”

The parking lot and nearby street is empty, but even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have stopped you from pulling Eddie in by the jacket collar and kissing him breathless.

He makes a little mmph of surprise, then gets with it, kissing back, letting you direct the show with a fistful of his lapel. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, a lovely pink flush in his cheeks as he chases your mouth for one last kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuine, lifting your right wrist for Eddie to take- “Will you put it on me?”

With gentle dedication, Eddie fits the bracelet around your wrist and ties the ends together, silver pendant sitting perfectly at the base of your hand.

“You’re comin’ for Christmas, right?” Eddie’s taking his time with microadjustments of the fit, using the excuse to trail his long fingers around your upper arm while he’s at it. “Don’t think I officially asked you yet, just sort of assumed.”

He’s petting the inside of your forearm, almost to distraction.

“Wayne won’t mind?”

Eddie snorts, a double-squeeze to your wrist as he fiddles with the ends of the bracelet. “You kidding? Pretty sure that spiteful old man would lock me out of the damn trailer if I showed up without you.”

Despite the cold, warmth blooms through your limbs, a holiday spent with hot chocolate on the Munson couch a fortifying future indeed.

Eddie pulls your wrist to his face, meeting it halfway for a kiss before giving your hand back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go see what damage those holiday hooligans have wrought on our apartment.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #roommate!Eddie #roommate!Eddie x reader #roommate!Eddie x roommate!Reader #smut #mdni

376 notes · View notes

buddierecs · 10 months ago

Text

infidelity buddie fics

this list has different rated fics, so please look at the rating make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :) (also i don't condone cheating/infidelity, but i am eating these fics up oops.)

three strikes and you're out by: eightpackdiaz "buck's soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend chooses to ignore him every time the kiss cam points in their direction. eddie does the opposite" word count: 3.1k rating: teen and up important tags: cheating, tommy kinard bashing, kiss cam, jealous!eddie diaz, first kiss, getting together i slept with someone from 118 and all i got was a broken nose (eddie diaz can't relate) by: sterrenhemel ".....still, he punches tommy square in the fucking nose." word count: 4.4k rating: general audience important tags: non-graphic violence, cheating, protective!eddie diaz, tommy kinard bashing, chronic pain, getting together, first kiss counting pulses by: tinydancerr "eddie diaz’s life is going great. he’s in therapy, he’s got a great girlfriend, a great kid, his friend is getting married to the woman of his dreams, and his best friend just came out to him. now his best friend is dating their new friend. things are going great. he promises." word count: 63k rating: teen and up important tags: eddie diaz centric, catholic guilt, ocd, co-parenting, emotional infidelity, therapy, slow burn, jealous!eddie diaz something touched me (like a knife-blade) by: kithmet "eddie self-implodes. christopher, seeking refuge, flees to buck—whose priorities amount to, in varying order: take in the kid, get eddie to talk to him, and keep the three of them afloat in the process. (oh, and tommy’s there too. he thinks.)" word count: 42k rating: explicit important tags: co-parenting, emotional infidelity, possessive behaviour, sexuality crisis, mutual pining, getting together, anal sex, masturbation what if i can't have us by: woodchoc_magnum "in which eddie is dating marisol; buck's dating tommy, and eddie has feelings about that, which he simply does. not. understand." word count: 47k rating: explicit important tags: emotional infidelity, mutual pining, catholic guilt, getting together, team as family, eventual smut oopsie daisy (never knew that was your boo, baby) by: ameliahart "five times Buck cheats on Tommy with Eddie, and one time he doesn't." word count: 5.4k rating: explicit important tags: 5+1 things, cheating, sneaking around, sexting, blow jobs, anal sex, getting together mixed messages by: coldbam "eddie accidentally receives a text meant for buck's boyfriend." word count: 2.6k rating: explicit important tags: cheating, phone sex, sexting, getting together, love confessions how could you not know (all this time) by: deadsapphicssociety "in which the 118 holds a movie night for chris's school, buck's boyfriend is a flaky loser, bobby knows too much, and eddie suffers. greatly." word count: 5.7k rating: mature important tags: cheating, pining, making out, hand holding, frottage, tommy kinard bashing nothing wrong with me loving you by: cranberrymoons "buck and eddie watch red white and royal blue together; one thing leads to another (aka: the sexting fic)" word count: 4.4k rating: explicit important tags: cheating, sexing, dick pics, masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, dom/sub undertones no place like by: clytemnestra "buck and eddie and the many paths home." word count: 51k rating: explicit important tags: cheating, angst, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, getting together, love confessions drink up (you're wasted on me) by: okanus "eddie and buck hook up at the bachelor party. difficulties ensue." word count: 9.5k rating: explicit important tags: cheating, flirting, sexual tension, drunk sex, hand jobs, possessive!eddie diaz, jealous!eddie diaz, praise kink mask over my eyes and arrow through the heart by: youbetsya "buck is getting married. he is." word count: 35k rating: explicit important tags: emotional infidelity, angst, idiots in love, coming out, jealous!eddie diaz, hand jobs, blow jobs, come eating

#buck x eddie fic #buck x eddie #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fics #911 abc #buddie fic rec #911 show #911 fandom #evan buck buckley #buddie 911 #buck x eddie fanfics #buck x eddie smut #buddie smut #buddie fanfic #buddie recommendations #buddie recs

190 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 5 months ago

Note

I use and enjoy TikTok. I’m pretty much only on the horror side, with people talking about movies, shows, and books. Overall it’s pretty chill. Some drama I lurk to see, but nothing too crazy. Kind of similar to Tumblr in some ways

Every once in a while, however, their godforsaken algorithm sends me a video from outside of my normal stuff, or sends a horror video to some random persons page. Normally, whatever. But sometimes? Oh good lord the kids are not okay.

There’s all the normal things I’ve seen on and off since I joined fandom back on live journal repeating itself of course. But (and maybe this was always a thing and I just avoided it) there are far too many people who honestly seem to believe that a depiction of any sort of anyone under the age of 18, or sometimes 21, having any sexual relations is WORSE than actual sexual abuse.

I was apparently in a masochistic mood, so of course scrolled through the comments. There were people expressing their utter confusion, and the way they were jumped on by multiple people was absolutely insane. One poor user seemed to, like me, have this particular video pushed on their feed. They commented something along the lines of them missing context, as there was no way people were insinuating that fictional characters in anyway matter more than real people.

It was as if a swarm surrounded them. They were called everything antis like to throw at people, and several things I’ve not seen. They, to their credit, stood their ground and asked again why a fictional portrayal of a hand job (their example) is at all worse than abuse real people face everyday. I’m assuming they blocked the OP or were blocked, as all their comments disappeared soon after. People continued to comment in another thread, sharing their disgust that a PDF📁 (just need to mention how much I hate that short form) found them. The rest of them comments kept going on about how terrible fictional “abuse” is.

I’m hoping most of these people are young and will grow out of this, but ooofff. It was painful to see. It can’t be healthy to go through life like this, with constant outrage, fear of thoughtcrime, and blind accusations and dog piling. It reminds me a lot of a friend’s experience with their OCD, though of course this seems more social than anything else.

I’m going to go back into my horror book hole, with a slew of random users blocked. But yeah. The kids aren’t alright.

59 notes · View notes

ranticore · 5 months ago

Note

i appreciate your commitment to making your characters genuinely interpersonally unpleasant in ways that are both congruent with the rest of their characterization and entangled fantastically with the messed up things they go through. i was thinking of ishmael specifically at first but rapidly realized how many of your guys this applies to. excellent skill!

thank you.. I often find that ppl like the idea of a Flawed Character (whatever the hell that means in reality) but always stop short of what they consider to be a red line or hard boundary in the name of sympathy, relatability, or even Not Being Cancelled (tumblr the world's most ocd website), and I find it really interesting where that boundary lies and poking at it. Is Ishmael a rapist? It's his word against another person's and they both think they're telling the truth. If he was, would it make his later important revolutionary work less valuable or is it ok because the accuser was someone with immense privilege over him? It's not so much me trying to make a character unpleasant as I am trying to make them, I guess, thought provoking? Something that might sit uncomfortably, so u gotta think about it a bit. (ditto also love making characters that seem to fill a comfortable and expected place and then seeing how much it takes, in increments, for an audience to be forced to re-evaluate them on the fly or if they'll stay being typecast forever)

Also I feel it's just a natural exploration of how a person was treated in their backstory and as you say, how the world influences their decisions so it's less like I'm picking and choosing from a shopping list of flaws and instead just seeing the inevitable conclusion. why I can't have contextless ocs who only exist to be drawn

#also i love interpersonal conflict as the core of everything #also i think one of the ways to achieve this type of Character Flaw is to show it affecting others #u can't be like ah ishmael doesn't understand consent because he was raised not to. anyway that doesn't affect how he treats other people

55 notes · View notes

ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up · 24 days ago

Note

OCPD Kremy me thinks, he has a very particular self image, and got pretty stressed in one of the episodes when that was questioned.

He's very specific about a lot of stuff, and seems to get genuinely stressed when those specifics aren't taken into account.

Also he does put down others(especially Torbek) throughout the episodes, which is also an OCPD thing. I can't say much else because it's not very researched but yeah

I am massively projecting, but also there is literally NO existing characters with OCPD at all so like, I will take what I get

This is a true fact.

I hadn't heard of OCPD before! I have OCD so I thought it may have been related but from what I read its distinctly different. Neat!

From what you've described as well, I would agree. He seems to really need his appearance and status maintained very particularly. He is also fairly rigid in thinking and completing tasks, which seems like another trait that applies.

Regardless, very valid! Feel free to add on with more thoughts if you want!

#the Krew are simply there for us to project #legends of avantris #once upon a witchlight #ouaw #text #this is a true fact #kremy lecroux #ask box hc

31 notes · View notes

scrupulosity-comics · 2 years ago

Note

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

833 notes · View notes

creativelylucky · 1 month ago

Text

It's autism awareness month

Shoutout to people with:

Level 1 autism

Level 2 autism

Level 3 autism

Lsn autism

Msn autism

HSN autism

Nonverbal autism

Semiverbal autism

Hyperverbal autism

Autism where you have verbal shutdowns

Autism where you have a hard time processing

Autism where you process slower

Autism where you process faster

Autism that disables you

Autism that empowers you

Autism as a boy

Autism as a girl

Autism as any trans or genderqueer identity

Autism as any lgbt person

Autism with hyperempathy

Autism with hypoempathy

Autism with common/stereotypical special interests

Autism with unusual/unique special interests

Autism where you are independent

Autism where you need carers

Autism where the mental disability is so severe that you don't understand the world

Autism where it's the opposite and you're actually mentally stronger from it

Autism coupled with other disorders

Autism coupled with mental illness

Autism coupled with chronic illness

Autism coupled with another disability

Autism that makes you stim to extreme levels

Autism where you can't mask

Autism where you can and do mask

Autism that matches what's on tv

Autism that doesn't match what's on tv

Autism that renders you unable to use tumblr or any other social media

Autism that was diagnosed early

Autism that was diagnosed late

Undiagnosed autism

Autism that was wrongly diagnosed as something else

Sensory seeking autism

Sensory avoiding autism

Autism and aspec

Autism and not aspec

Autism with severe meltdowns

Autism that makes you mentally a child

Autism that doesn't affect your mental age

Autism and unable to work

Autism and can work

Autism that needs special programs and special ed

Autism where you only needed regular ed

Autism as a kid

Autism as an adult

Autism as a teen

Autism as an elder

Autism where you can self advocate

Autism where others have to be your voice

Autism where you have a limited imagination

Autism with a wide and expansive imagination

Autism with a logic increase

Autism with an emotional increase

Autism where you barely eat any foods because you don't like them

Autism where you eat food normally

Autism where you eat unusual foods

Autism and suicidal thoughts

Autism and ptsd

Autism and an ED

AuDHD

Autism and OCD

Autism and DID/otherwise are a system

Autism and a personality disorder

Autism and bipolar

Autism and tourettes

Autism and down syndrome

Autism and any other secondary diagnosis

Autism and struggling with anything external to autism, but it's worse because of your autism

Autism and struggling with external struggles and they're separate, not affected by your autism

Autism and struggling with things completely related to autism

Autism and developed mental health or physical issues that wouldn't be there if you didn't have autism, even if they seem external

Autism and physical disabilities

Autism and anger issues

Autism and are hypersensitive

Autism and are hyposensitive

Autism.

Shoutout to anyone with autism. Autistic people. Autism. Shoutout to you guys. You're all valid.

#autism #level 1 autism #level 2 autism #level 3 autism #lsn autism #hsn autistic #msn autistic #lsn autistic #autistic #actually autistic #actually autism #audhd

44 notes · View notes

thecircularsystem · 4 months ago

Text

Let’s try this (a THIRD time ffs) during my 30 minute lunch:

Responding to this post, not linking because clearly this user didn’t wanna interact lol.

My response is going to be much briefer and less informative this time because I have spent way too long trying to write this, so let’s just bullet point it:

The terms CDD systems use (I’m assuming you mean parts, system, and alter) have been shared for over 40 years at this point. In reference to plurality, the Natural Multiplicity Movement (as flawed as it was) came from the CDD community. They were one and the same before the mass divide of non-disordered plurality breaking off. I’m not saying it was without its problems, obviously, but the terms have always been shared.

Moreover, these terms have been shared with IFS since its inception. Yet I don’t see anyone making a fuss about singlets calling themselves parts or systems. The terminology was taken directly from the idea of parts working together, just like the modern usage of system.

The original usage of the term “system” wasn’t even community based; from what I saw, it was more so focused on the neurological aspect of neural pathways working together. If you want to be salty about people misusing terms, the entire community is using system in a non-medical way at this point.

Endogenic systems did create their own terminology. CDD systems co-opted the language. Collective, plural, fictive, factive, and headmate, just off the top of my head, were all coined by pro/endo systems, and many of them coined explicitly to avoid more medicalized language. Then CDD systems began using it, and anti-endo systems even yelled at endogenic systems for then using their own terminology, such as plural and fictive. If we want to be upset about terminology being “stolen,” then be upset at anti-endos as well.

Using the same terminology does not mean someone is saying they’re exactly the same. An individual who says they experience intrusive thoughts is not saying they’re OCD. An individual saying they’re hyperfixated does not mean they’re saying they have autism. An individual saying they’re a system does not mean they’re saying they have a CDD. They can make a comparison — “my system is similar to a CDD system” even — without implying they’re one-to-one.

To connect to the previous point — I see myself as similar to my singlet partner. I see myself as similar to my endogenic friends. I use the same terminology I’ve seen used for those with ADHD. I am not a singlet, endogenic, or a pwADHD. Yet I can relate to those experiences to some degree! When did people start getting mad that humans can relate to each other? /genq

Lastly; I’m pretty sure I’m working with a different definition of gaslighting here. Gaslighting, afaik, is when a person in a position of (real or perceived) power over another convinces their victim that the factual truth of an event is false, causing them to question their perception of things. Endogenic systems do not hold any power over me? Them using system terminology isn’t them challenging my perception? Genuinely so confused how this would be considered gaslighting.

#syscourse #this is your captain speaking

34 notes · View notes

asher-agere · 11 days ago

Note

Can I... can I make a self indulgent headcannon here? Maybe a bit o f a self insert? If i may /gen /silly

No but seriously. You don't need to interact with this! As i'm talking about some triggerings contents, i respect any decision you may take /gen <3

Also uhm. I'm safe! I'm fine! This is really more of a self indulgent thing for me (who. Has really fucked up anxiety) and i though about soukoku angst at the same time so i ended uo giving birth to this idea

Cw: self-harm and suicide mentions/ insinuations of; Angst.

Chuuya has intrusive thoughts. They come in episodes, some times it's uncomfortable, sometimes it's really bothering. Dazai knows it and helps him in the way he can

Chuu's bad thoughts comes always around doing something bad to himself. He doesn't want to admit this add to not put blame to Dazai, but some of his past habits and attempts made a mark on the ginger. So when he's passing through an stressing or anxiety inducing week, that's when the thoughs are harsher

Introducing agere here. Regressed Chuuya still not feelling great and Dazai trying his goddamn best to make his little comfortable. Maybe it's time for chuu to take his meds but he can't bring himself to get near the medicine counter out of irrational fear, so Dazai brings him a full cup of water and only the pills he has to take on that night for him.

Another situation is Chuuya feelling a kind of phantom pain and trying to explain it in midst crying to Dazai and he's like "?? There's nothing here, he didn't hurt himself" but they come to the decision to put on a cute bandaid on the place the ginger is feelling the hurt so he feels better

Ig this has lots of angst potential??? Like, Dazai knows where Chuuya's intrusive thougths come from (it comes from Dazai's past attempts). But Chuuya doesn't want to tell Dazai that because he absolutely doesn't want to put the blame on the mackerel, and becauze they're still emotionaly constipated (lol) none of them will talk about it and just sit in their own hurt and self blame. But maaaybe. Maybe maybe- maybe. Maybe regressed Chuuya starts not only being a coping mechanism to himself, but, because his little self is waay more open emotionaly, Dazai and him finally start somewhat talking about their problems, so, in a way, caregiving starts being a healthy copung mechanism to 'zai as well. :>

Idk i just have the idea of someone putting bandaids on the other person phantom pain (in this case i think i'd say ocd related) area. Like, just showing that they care, you know?

- @sierrathelilypad

YES YES YES YES YES YES. AUGH IM KISSING YOUR BRAIN. GOLD STAR. 5 GOLD STARS. I actually got so exited when I first got this request that I instantly started telling my caregiver about it and they weren’t able to follow along well at all- Trigger warnings were already mentioned in the ask! It’s ok to not read a list for the sake of your mental health. Stay safe out there kiddos <3

Little Chuuya triggered by Caregiver Dazai

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

⛦ Starting off tame with an age range… Chuuya regresses to 3-7! Though when he’s dealing with such yucky emotions he usually slips on the younger end. It’s not incredibly consistent though so I’m not gonna say a separate age range! But definitely more time is spent in that toddler age range than the kiddo range. The main difference is his coordination and ability to form words, somewhat his attitude? But not to much

₊ ⊹ Ok onto the angst! *Squealing and kicking my feet in excitement* ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ I think Chuuya tries to say that he doesn’t care when Dazai does this unhealthy stuff. When he’s off trying to kill himself, cutting his wrists open, abusing substances until he can’t think straight. And for awhile it was alright! It didn’t show that it affected him. And it still rarely does when he’s big. But when he’s tiny? Ohhhh it shows. It shows so much. And he tries denying it but he can’t

⛦ I’m just gonna go into some of the ways it’s visible Chuuya’s affected by all of this. First off, he won’t allow Dazai out of his sight, no matter what. Just to grab something? Chuuya’s coming along, grabbing Dazai’s hand. Need to go out in public? Chuuya would rather be horribly uncomfortable than leave Dazai. Even something as simple as going to the bathroom, Chuuya will sit on the floor with his back against Dazai’s legs. He trusts Dazai overall, with work and stuff, he trusts Dazai to take care of him. But he doesn’t trust Dazai to take care of himself, and he doesn’t trust himself alone either

₊ ⊹ Chuuya is usually pretty clean, I think in his big headspace he’d clean obsessively honestly, as like a stress response. But when he’s little he can’t stand the smell of chemicals. He’s spent too many times holding Dazai’s hair back as he throws up bleach. So he knows drinking chemicals are bad, but also… Babies drink toxic stuff all the time right? So It’s not that weird. Dazai can’t be mad at him… Zeus forbid Chuuya ever makes a mess… Dazai can’t clean it properly, and he can’t just set Chuuya in the other room, the best he can do is leave the redhead with sticky floors that will be complained about in the morning

⛦ Chuuya hates going into the kitchen with Dazai for any reason. Chuuya tries playing it off as Dazai’s just a bad cook so there’s no reason to go in there but… The kitchen has knives, and fire, and some chemicals under the sink. He lets Dazai go in to grab (plastic only!) dishes, drinks and pre made snacks, but no work can be done in there. Chuuya precuts fruit and stuff while he’s big so he won’t need to see the knives while tiny. Honestly Chuuya prefers to keep pre-prepped snacks in his room so they don’t even need to go into the kitchen

₊ ⊹ All windows need to have curtains and they all need to be closed at all times. That or Chuuya needs to live on a ground floor. Which Dazai dislikes because I feel like he’d love sitting on balconies even without suicidal intentions, just to watch everything around him, observing the world. But Chuuya won’t even allow him near windows. He can see out a window and he’s just wondering… What would it be like to fall? To not control gravity. In fact to let gravity be his downfall, the irony is hilarious. The thoughts he hates the most are falling down with Dazai… That way he won’t instinctively use his ability

⛦ Pills are really difficult… Because he doesn’t want to touch the things. He’s seen what they do to Dazai. What if he takes to many? Or they get caught in his throat forever and he suffocates? And he doesn’t love letting Dazai touch them either… But Dazai proves himself well. He’ll keep paper notes of how much Chuuya is supposed to take, then help Chuuya count to make sure it’s the right amount. And while one by one is difficult because he has to go through the process multiple times it calms the irrational anxiety of them getting stuck, plus it feels less like he’s taking a lot at once…

₊ ⊹ You have no idea how much I love phantom pain, I think Chuuya can experience this in three different ways? One is if he himself is having a bad week, then the pain expresses itself through his old injuries, a scar on his hand, under his ribs, two on his chest. These can be helped a bit with bandaids! But sometimes he feels it wrapping around him in the shaped of his corruption marks. The solution for this is usually a gentle massage, or letting him lay on a heating pad or something! Something that doesn’t realistically help but it lets him convince himself it’s helping

⛦ The second kind of phantom pain he experiences! I think this one’s fits the request best- He’ll feel pain where he’s seen Dazai hurt himself, usually in response to Dazai having a bad week. He’ll feel ropeburn on his neck, or slices into his wrist. There’s nothing there. He knows that. He can see that. But it still hurts. His mind is still trying to tell him that it’s there even when he knows it isn’t. I think for these ones Dazai will actually use his own bandages on Chuuya so he can tell the little one that they match! Plus they can draw on the bandages to make it seem more fun!

₊ ⊹ I see the least about this third kind of phantom pain… Pain caused by strong emotions! For example feeling anger in your chest, sadness in your throat, paranoia in your gut, stress in your head, that type of thing! It’s pain that isn’t physically there but it’s like you can feel the emotions in you, hurting you. I think Chuuya would mainly struggle with anger? But when he’s regressed it’s a lot of paranoia, being scared something might happen

⛦ Seeing how much he’s affecting Chuuya definitely encourages Dazai to get better. His bad habits are hard to break, but he tries to. He’ll never outright say anything, but he’ll give obvious signs when he’s thinking about things, drawing Chuuya’s attention to him to connect the patterns. Also one of the more obvious ones he can do is self care! Without being reminded. Especially doing things with little Chuuya! They’ll eat together, take bubble baths together, they’ll even change into clean matching clothes! It lets Chuuya see that Dazai’s trying. It’s stuff Dazai wouldn’t do on his own

₊ ⊹ Dazai would never outright ask Chuuya to regress just because he wants to watch Chuuya to relax. He’d struggle admitting that openly that caregiving helps him so much. However he absolutely will complain about how everything they’re doing would be better if his teeny tiny little baby was there with them! He’ll go to the extent of refusing to eat unless Chuuya agrees to regress (All in good fun, if Chuuya has a serious reason not to, like a later engagement, he’ll most definitely back off)

⛦ UHHH NICKNAMES THAT I TOTALLY DIDN’T ALMOST FORGET ABOUT. Dazai is like the king of nicknames “Slug” “Chibi” “Mutt” most things like that he calls Chuuya normally still stick. He mainly loves calling Chuuya small though! “Little One” “Little Boy” “Tiny”, and in their gentle and tender moments he’ll call Chuuya “Chuu”! Chuuya likes his insults, calling Dazai “Bully” and “Dumb” and “Fish” because “Mackerel” sounds to much like “Mama” which Dazai gleefully pointed out

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

So this could’ve been up like days ago but I kept getting more ideas and I needed to make it perfect and all my thoughts still don’t feel perfectly articulated? But like I think this covers like. Most of it at least-

[DNI ID: A box with a brown border, paw prints in the top left corner and Chuuya on the right side. Brown text reads “DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts” End ID]

19 notes · View notes

yesornopolls · 8 months ago

Note

I'm the one who sent the poll about OCD and not being able to estimate distances between yourself and objects or another person. Some people in the comments asked where the connection between this problem and OCD is supposed to be, and I assume they could be connected because (tw:) I am afraid of accidentally touching possibly contaminated things/people and ever since my OCD really "started", I could no longer estimate how far these objects or people are away from me, they seem much closer. It's like my eyesight gets worse in those moments of fear, but only relating to the distance between me and something else, it's not like my vision gets worse in the "classic" sense. I hope that clears it up!

FYI

#not a poll

40 notes · View notes

oinkinpigprince · 11 months ago

Note

allan x autistic reader hyperfixated on space?? :-D

Space is cool!!

I also use a lot of personal headcanons for Allan since I’m pretty sure he’s on the spectrum :33c

Allan x autistic reader

Listens to you talk, kinda likes to just clean while you talk about it. It’s like his own podcast :)). I feel like he’d also really enjoy learning about space, like a passive interest

So he doesn’t mind watching documentaries about space, and being forced for learn about it. He’s just happy you seem to passionate about something

Isn’t really an active listener though, so he won’t ask a lot of questions that doesn’t mean he ISNT listening. So don’t worry if he’s pretty quiet, he’s listening

That just means you have to listen to him talk too, he can go on pretty lengthy talks about food and cooking, mainly related to cheese but he just really likes cooking

He likes to calls you space(wo)man, and Martian. Idk why but Martian sounds right in my little noggin. It’s more him teasing you lovingly than anything :33

If you go to a planetarium, ngl he’d actually have a really good time. Allan likes looking at all the cool things and just enjoys the environment. He likes anything similar to museums

Allan I’m like 90% sure is on the spectrum, so he can really relate to you about a lot of things pertaining to autism. Like general bluntness/ inappropriate tones, being hyper focused on certain tasks, having symptoms of OCD, being really good at counting, so he understands

There’s just another level of mutual respect and understanding both of you rarely get from other people which makes the relationship even more special

It’s a lot of mutual sharing about interests and hyper fixations. It leads to both of you having a LOT of random knowledge about things which neither of you would have had other wise

It’s rlly funny cause sometimes Allan forgets people don’t just KNOW random space shit, like this isn’t common knowledge so he whenever he says something people are always amazed by his knowledge

And he just sits here like ‘oh yeah, my partner told me that while I was cleaning.’ Forgetting people don’t just watch documentaries about space that often(or at all)

#smiling friends #smiling friends headcanons #smiling friends x reader #smiling friends x reader headcanons #Allan red #allan red headcanons #allan red x reader #Allan red x reader headcanons #smiling friends Allan #smiling friends Allan x reader #smiling friends Allan headcanons #smiling friends Allan x reader headcanons #smiling friends allan red #smiling friends Allan red x reader #smiling friends Allan red headcanon #smiling friends Allan red x reader headcanons

96 notes · View notes

horaitos · 8 months ago

Note

Can you talk more about OCD Light Yagami? Not my headcanon,but the idea is intriguing and cool.

I would absolutely love to share the brainworms, actually. (Disclaimer I am not a psychologist etc, this is mostly based on my own experiences.)

The most painfully relatable part of Light in this regard, imo, is how absolutely desperate he is. There’s a need to be good that’s under all of his motivation, and we see through the story how he rationalizes that needing to be good and needing to be right under all of that talk of justice and helping the people. (I could probably make a whole other argument here about Light having high masking autism and the black and white thinking that comes with that feeding into his ocd, but that’s for another post.)

That need to be right, that need for balance, is something that has always been a key part of my experience. With that comes the compulsions - and Light’s seem to pretty clearly be rumination. Yeah, we make fun of his dramatic speeches about making a better world, but they also can slot neatly into the winding rationalizations that I myself have made to keep that sense of balance in myself. I’d compare moral ocd to standing on a sheet of thin ice with cold, plunging water right below you feet. You make your ruminations, your compulsions, to scrabble against the ice and keep yourself on your own two feet without cracking the ice and falling into the current below.

Another one of my compulsions back when i was really struggling was confessions, and while you could argue he steers away from that because it would be acknowledging how what he did was awful, he does fall into that at times. His speech to Matsuda about Kira. He’s acknowledging how what Kira does is evil, and at the same time he’s somewhat searching for absolving. Obviously, this is hindered by the fact that he’s hiding the fact that he actually is Kira, but the pattern is the same. He’s voicing his fears and his rationalizations - because in his mind, his ruminations, they just swirl and swirl without any sort of balance. I’m wondering if Ryuk was a sort of lifeline in that way, though obviously he wouldn’t absolve Light of his guilt in any way. Similarly, I wonder if Light ever gave his confessions and fears to L during the Yotsuba arc - if L somehow became the subject of his absolution. In my experience, they’re generally given to people you trust, but Light didn’t really have anyone he trusted during the Yorsuba arc. L was, unfortunately, the closest thing he had to a lifeline. Much to think about.

Anyway, most of this usually stems from high expectations of oneself and perfectionism combined with a colossal amount of insecurity (the water beneath the ice) (as well as a big imagination - to fit all of those ruminations in!). Sure, Light isn’t really shown to have insecurities at the beginning, but people raised to be perfect generally do - especially considering the fact that Light was hiding so much of himself. Who did he have to talk to? To go through his fears with in a healthy matter? They just sat, and sat, and swirled around like muck.

Sure, most ocd spirals don’t come from murdering two people. But that sure as hell could trigger it.

#asked #death note #yagami light #light yagami #ocd light tag

43 notes · View notes

imagionationstation · 7 months ago

Note

I know the evil Leo au involves the rise brothers being perfect, but do you think that they ever do anything perfect that's *not* perfect to Leo? Before he hates their guts and everything they do?

Like, they're genuinely meaning well but he doesn't like it kinda

He’s not evil!! He’s just… Sad :(

He’s a sad boy who needs to be chained up so he doesn’t hurt anyone. He needs therapy. He needs hugs. But mostly chains.

Oh, yeah, that definitely happens! All the time. Many times.

I think what's interesting is there are a number of things that the Rise brothers do in the show and they are portrayed as 'good' or 'relatable' and I kinda side-eye it like: Is it? Really??

But of course, I respect the differences of community and families that lead others to see themselves in the Risebrothers.

Leo is too busy being scared of losing his brothers. Which means that everything the Rise brothers have done and will do gets put under a microscope WITHOUT a "respect their choices" lens.

This scene was following me for hours. I wanted to try and think of something else better but I failed miserably. This is what you get.

(I really wanted to express that neither side is the villain nor the good guy in this scene and I'm hoping that I did that well.)

Disclaimer:

Author is NOT OCD but IS playing with the topic of OCD again. OCD symptoms such as: random, intense obsession based on fears of harming/being harmed, blind desperation to follow a safe ritual, and accidental self-harm due to failure to complete compulsion.

If any of these things are triggering, recommended to walk away.

Leo was having a surprisingly good time.

He thought that the brothers were exaggerating when they said that 'their whole situations' wouldn't be noticed- seriously, what is with that cope? Just say mutants- in even the busiest parts of the city. Rafa had even gone as far as suggesting that they put on a strange variety of assorted items for 'costumes' and walk freely through Times Square. The busiest area in any New York. In broad daylight.

"Just live the mascot!" Leon had instructed before leaping backward into the city streets. His brothers had followed his lead, with Don creating a mid-air purple slide to catch them. "GERONIMOOO!"

Leo couldn't bring himself to move. Or think. Much less breathe.

Then Mikey had crept to the edge of the building, eyes blow in worry, only to relax at the sight. He looked back at Leo, absolutely beaming, and said, "Look!"

Not a single person gave the alternate selves a second look. And when they did, it was to eagerly beg for a selfie.

"We're kinda celebs down here." Leon strutted beside Leo once they joined him on the ground, hands propped behind his head. "People love a good dance party."

Which, of course, led to them dancing on a billboard. Somehow.

Leo didn't know what to think but he felt better when Raph sidled in closer to their little brothers, sharp gaze on the crowd around them. The music was blasting and people were cheering and then Mikey bolted to leap up there with them before Leo could react.

Michael pulled him up and Leo's brothers looked as shocked as he felt. They looked at him, waiting for instruction. He didn't have any. They couldn't drag him down without causing a scene. Mikey joined their groove, laughing, and Leo waited for everything to go wrong.

The song ended and they got a standing ovation.

Mikey got a standing ovation. From a crowd of humans.

They came down. The crowd immediately swarmed them to beg for pictures and selfies. Their alternates jumped into poses with their fans, but Raph charged over with a furious "HEY!", bearing enough common sense to refuse them for Mikey.

It was one thing for them to video him from afar. It's another to get a photo up close and personal that could be pasted on the internet where humans could question the legitimacy of the 'costumes'.

Thankfully, that safety measure Mikey seemed to understand.

Then a squealing fan grabbed Mikey's leg and Leo watched her get thrown across the crowd. By Raph. A bunch of her friends caught her. No one else seemed to notice. He could tell by the way that worry melted into a broad grin that their hothead picked up on the lack of reaction too. He was emboldened by it, sizing up to a pretty big guy who was insistent that his son deserved a selfie.

Mikey was having the time of his life. Raph was too, green eyes tinted with a hint of malice, so Leo left them alone.

He slipped out of the way of the crowd that wouldn't stop pressing in, eyeing the piece of hovershell that was still blasting music, darting around the crowd with money bags. The people were dropping money into it, busting out their own moves as it passed by.

This dimension was weird. But maybe it wasn't all bad.

His alternate had been right. Even in broad daylight with a poorly made robe and blaster, no one was giving the mutant turtle a second look. Somehow, magically, they managed to fit right in.

He decided to go find his counterparts.

He hadn't been very... Accepting of the idea when they first presented it. And he hadn't been very kind with his dismissal. He didn't care what they did with their own time, but he really hadn't thought they were taking his brothers' safety seriously. He owed them an apology.

He spots Michael photo-bombing a group photo and catches him as he cartwheels by. "Michael!"

He turns and grins, "Hey, Leo! Having fun?"

"Yeah," He admits. "Actually, I wanted to-"

Leo hits his carapace, baffled to look up and see Leon standing over him. "Sorry! Just need to borrow you."

"Um." Leo feels the weird shift of his body passing through a portal and then the coarse concrete under him. He blinks the blue spots from his eyes. "Why?"

"Oh good!" Don says for him. "Someone else can talk sense into this mess. Leo, Michael, I don't care. Someone. Anyone but me."

Leo sits up when Leon stops crushing his lungs.

Donnie is standing next to the frustrated Don and Leo realizes that he completely forgot about him when he wandered off. He brushes the thought away, grateful that he made his way to the alternates, scanning the both of them to get a read before he interacts.

Don is as hard to read as ever, but his monotone seems more annoyed, possibly by whatever conversation they'd been having.

Donnie's arms are crossed tightly and face is pinched in defiance. Leo can recognize the look in his eyes. He's locked down on something and nothing that anyone says is going to convince him to let up. It's going to have to play out or a tantrum is incoming.

The Sensei does not want to deal with this right now, but he also can't leave their alternates to handle it.

There's no sign of any injury or imminent threats so Leo lets the sigh enter his voice. "Donnie, what's going on?"

"We have to go home." Donnie says, rapid. "I told them. I told them, Leo, but no one is listening. They’re acting like it’s a big deal when it’s not a big deal- I JUST want to go back! I’m not scared!"

Leo reaches out, "Donnie, I know it's weird-"

Donnie steps back. "NO! I'm supposed to tell you and now I've told you so now we can go home! We have to go home!"

"Some human bumped into him and he's been like this ever since." Don grumbles. "Just keeps saying that he needs to go home. I keep telling him that no one's in danger-"

"That's not the POINT!" Donnie fires back furiously. "I TOLD you and you're NOT LISTENING!"

"I'm not listening?!" Don puts a hand on his chest. "Buster, my arguments have been sound! You're the one who's stuck in the wrong side of his brain!"

"I'm not. I'm not." Donnie counters, looking at his older brother. "He hit me and he looked at me and there are so many."

"You knew how many would be here. And they're all friendly!" Leon offers brightly, "Tell him, Leo. We're all friends here, right?"

"Just let him go home." Leo says instead because there's never been any hope in fighting him when he gets that look in his eyes. It's a losing battle that they gave up on years ago. "Trust me, it’s not worth the energy.”

"He won't go unless someone goes with him." Don juts his chin. "And I can't leave my adoring fans."

"I'm not supposed too!"

"You literally run around this city alone all the time!"

"I'm not SUPPOSED TO!"

"He's right." Leo cuts in. "It's a rule Splinter made for when he gets like this outside the lair. I think he- ran off at one point and got lost? Or something? Anyway,” Leo looks to his brother as he wrings his hands and scans his face. Reluctantly, Leo consents, "I'll go to the lair with you, Donnie. Let's just let Raph and Mikey have their fun, okay?"

Donnie nods, moving toward him, but they're intersected.

"Hold on." Michael proclaims as he pushes Leo back and rolls up his sleeves, only for them to fall down again. "What's all this about going home? No one needs to go home. It's fine. We're chill."

"We have to go." Donnie argues because his one-track mind is impossibly dense. "There are humans here."

"Humans that love you guys!" Michael beams. "You fit right in!"

"We don't. We can't." He rambles. "You don't understand- I need the dojo. I can't be here. I-I can't-"

"Why not?" Leon interjects. "What's got your tail in knots?"

"I don't KNOW!" He snaps. "Just let us GO HOME! JUST LET US GO HOME! WHY CAN'T WE JUST GO HOME WE NEED TO GO-"

Leo wishes the floor would swallow him. This is exactly what he was afraid of. Donnie screaming his head off in broad daylight. Now humans were looking their way. He had to fix this.

"Seriously, guys, it would be easier-"

Michael cuts in. "I got this."

Leo hesitates, "I don't think-"

"Dude, chill." Michael waves in his face. "Let me work."

Leo could argue, but he doesn't. This Mikey was some kind of self-taught therapist. Right?

Everyone seemed to trust him. He was always insisting that he knew exactly how to handle things. And he'd been spending plenty of time evaluating Raph. He had to know what he was talking about.

Leo can hardly ever get Donnie to listen. Much less calm down when his temper snaps. They've been right about a lot of things so far.

Maybe Michael could succeed where their family had failed.

Michael walks up to Donnie. Smiles. Inhales slowly-

"BOI, YOU'RE KILLING THE MOOD! QUIT!"

Donnie jerks back like he'd been slapped. Utterly silent.

"Huh." Don says without looking up from his phone. "Dr Delicate Touch actually does have his uses."

"You know it." Michael winks at Leo. He stares at him like he'd lost his mind and then at his little brother, who's attempting to regain his voice. It falters as he tries, "I was only-"

Mikey stands on his toes to poke his forehead. "No."

"We have to-"

A rougher poke. "Nope."

"I'm sup-"

Rapid pokes. "Man, you’re not supposed to go nowhere. The party is right here! Give it a shot! You'll have fun, doctor's guarantee!"

Donnie shakes his head, voice cracking, "I can't."

"You can." Michael soothes with a comforting pat on his arm. His entire demeanor changes, soft and open. "I know this is different for you, but it'll be okay. Just one step at a time. That's how we do it. A little immersion therapy never hurt no one."

Leo watches the battle in his gaze, between the need to keep begging and the urge to bolt. Leo can’t understand how one brain can be so stubborn, but he knows that he's terrified to go back out and for one reason or another, they're actually going to make him.

"I can't." He blurts, "I know it's different and it's stupid- I have to go. I have to. I can't be here."

"You don't have to be here for long." Michael soothes. "Just a little bit. Fight the compulsion just a little. And then you go home."

"I can't." Donnie tries to remove him grip. Michael tightens it, smiling, "Trust me, bro. This is what you're supposed to do. Two minutes. Max. Then you go home like you're supposed to!"

"I'm... I'm supposed-" He looks his way, taller than them all yet somehow very small. "Leo?"

"Guys," Leo is startled when Don slides in his path. He gives him a dismissive stare. "Let the doctor work."

"One step at a time." Michael tugs him forward. "You can do it."

"You got this!" Leon grins as he moves behind him.

Don puts his phone away, "Finally."

Then Leon shoves and Michael pulls and Leo watches terror spark in his younger brother's eyes as he's forced toward the crowd-

Leon goes flying. A firm green hand wraps around the sheath and drags his brother back. Michael almost falls forward, flailing and giving him an incredulous look.

Leo's eyes are narrowed, fury bubbling in his chest as his younger brother cowers against him, and states, "He said no."

"C'mon, man, we pushed you out of your comfort zone and you were having a good time!" Leon proclaims as he gets to his feet. "Donnie will too! You gotta trust us."

"I trust him." Leo says firmly. "And if he doesn't want to go out, then I'm not going to force him."

“He wanted to come here.” Leon reminds. “He knew what’s up. He doesn’t really want to go now, do you, Donnie?”

"I don't know." His younger brother leans against him, nails digging into skin. "I don't know. I don’t know! I'm supposed- I-! i don't know what I'm supposed to do! I don't know I don't know I DON'T KNOW-"

"Hey," Leo says firmly. "You told someone. Just like Sensei said. Like you're supposed to." He glares at their alternates momentarily then looks to his lost little brother. "What do you want?"

"The dojo." He says, blood seeping between his nails. Leo carefully pries his hand from his arm, nodding as he leads it to gripping the leather strap instead. "But I can't. I can't!"

"Donnie-"

Donnie shakes his head, quick, "They said I can’t go home. I don’t understand. I can’t be here. I can’t go home. I can't! Where can I go? I can't be here and I can't be there so where can I-"

“We’re going home, to the dojo.” Leo interrupts carefully. “And we’re going to meditate. And then we’re going to be put all your thoughts down on paper so you know why your upset.”

“Like an essay.” Donnie recites breathlessly. “A research paper.”

“Just like always.” Leo presses. Donnie scans his face, some of the fear flecking away at the promise of normalcy. “Yeah.”

“Always?” Michael cuts in, urgent. “You don’t ever mix it up a little?”

Not since he was seven, Leo thinks. Outloud, he demands, “Why are you still here? We’re not going back out there so buzz off.”

“Hey, you can’t-” Michael holds up a hand to quiet Don. His eyes linger on Donnie’s arm. “Okay, so staying is too far, too freaky, I get it. He wants to run so you let him run. Coolio. What if instead of running to your lair, he goes to ours? Hmm? It’s connected. So basically right next door! Lil’ different, lil’ familiar, tots safe. He can go anywhere he wants to chill out. Do his sciency paper stuff.”

“No.” Donnie shakes his head through every word. “I can’t. We can’t. Why are you doing this?”

“We’re trying to help-” Michael’s voice is soft, but Leo can still hear the cruelty that led him to tell his frightened brother to shut up.

“Don’t.” He interjects with vile. All eyes go to him as he narrows his. “Leave him alone.”

Leon scoffs, “That Sensei garbage doesn’t work on-”

“He wants to go home.” Leo’s voice rises. “I’m taking him home.”

Frustration spark in Michael’s gaze. “Not a good idea.”

“I wasn’t asking your opinion.”

"You are ruining our session." He accuses with crossed arms. "You clearly don’t know what you’re doing!"

"We did what you wanted and he didn't like it." Leo waves at their surroundings. "And you know what? I think your egos should know that I'm not here because of you. I'm here because of them. And if one of them doesn't want to be here then I don't either."

“You’re feeding the compulsion.” Michael argues. “Every time he gives in is another reason not to fight any of the others.”

“If you had any idea of what you’re talking about, you wouldn’t be doing this.” Leo feels Donnie’s bruise-tight hold and the way his weight shifts to lead him backward. “The only reason that he’s like this is because of you.”

“It’s because you never stop him! That’s why he’s doesn’t know how to stop! Just look at how things turned out with April!”

“April is his best friend.”

Leo shakes his head, looking at his brother.

Donnie looks back at him, scanning his face. He likely doesn't know how pathetic the puppy-eyed stare is, but it’s a obvious sign that he wants the conversation to be over. Leo hardens his resolve.

“This is idiotic. We’re going home.”

They turn to go, but a glowing chain catches Leo’s wrist before he can take a step. “Don’t do that!”

Leo grabs the chain and whips him forward, grabbing the scuff of his hoodie as the ninpo flickers in startled eyes. “You’re not a therapist. You don’t know what you’re talking about. And if you ever raise your voice at my brother again…”

He leaves it there. No one moves.

Donnie tugs Leo’s arm. “We have to go.”

Leo drops him, leveling a dark glare as he steps away from their alternates, purple and blue lighting the alleyway. Then he turns as Donnie releases his grip and mutters, “Sorry. Let’s go.”

Anxious to return to the lair, Donnie doesn’t look back.

Pointedly, Leo doesn’t either.

34 notes · View notes