#OCD reader

[sanguineterrain]

thinking about jason todd and a partner who has OCD. he wouldn't understand completely at first but he'd get the anxiety overlap, the intrusive thoughts, the feeling of getting in your own way. thinking about how safe he'd be to perform your rituals around, how he wouldn't judge you for rewashing his drinking glasses or wiping down his counters or washing your hands until they're dry and cracked.

he'd answer your panicked texts about raw chicken and buy you a cooking thermometer the next week. he'd reassure you that no, you're not a bad person, you're not damned, you're not infected. he wouldn't take it personally that you can't kiss him until he showers after a patrol. he wouldn't get frustrated by your paranoia, your need to check and double-check that you've locked your doors. he would sit with you at 2am when you're spiraling, when your brain is your worst enemy.

most of all, jason todd would love you not in spite of your OCD, but alongside it, because it's not invisible but it doesn't define you either. jason would understand this immediately—he knows what it's like to be dismissed for parts of yourself that are hard to control.

[shmowder]

hope this request is okay! could you do hcs for Daniil (and maybe Lara if it’s possible?) with a reader/partner who has ocd? (More so issues with compulsions and anxiety not anything cleaning/germ related lol) I found your one for bpd and really enjoyed! How respectfully you handled it! You’re one of the only fanfic writers I’ve found who honestly writes that kinda stuff with the proper weight! It’s really nice to see since all I usually can find it yandere stuff in relation to bpd

also what do you think about Anna possibly having ocd? She’s a canon germaphobe but she reads to me as having cohort bpd and ocd!!

With a partner who has OCD

[hurt/comfort, obsessive compulsive behaviour]

[GN Reader]

Daniil Dankovsky

He's the type of person to be driven by what he deems as logic, reason, and proven methods. Oblivious to his own emotional motives at times, although, it doesn't make them any less real.

It creates a conflict at first, between the two of you.

His attempts to rationalise your anxiety are in vain, only serving to further frustrate. This isn't a foe that can be bested by sound reason. It never plays fair.

He's merely repeating the same logical arguments you've already used against the irrational fears, only for it to feed off of the attention. Making things worse, and in turn confusing Daniil himself as he struggles to understand why these things which usually help ground him down, aren't having the same effect on you.

It doesn't matter what the thing itself is, how big or small, a part of your brain insists that you halt your entire day just to immediately attend to it. Demanding your attention by force, a nonstop recording looping in your brain all day long.

Be it from simply glancing down to make sure you're wearing the same pair of shoes, or stopping halfway through the street and digging out your keys to read the number printed on the metal and make sure it wasn't magically swapped by a different pair of keys.

These thoughts weave themselves so seamlessly between all your other daily thoughts, adorn a mask of urgency, and make themselves seem as real as the sun in the sky during that specific moment.

They mark themselves as a need, you need to do this, otherwise the consequences will be catastrophic, and you need to do it now, otherwise your entire day—if not life—will be ruined. A cruel part of your brain makes it seem like you'll lose everything in a moment of carelessness.

So you give into the urge and do what it wants just to stop from feeling physically ill, from all-consuming anxiety attacks, to escape this fake reality that somehow enclosed you into it while you were none the wiser.

But it doesn't stop there; the cycle repeats at a later time with a different thing.

Daniil doesn't comprehend this right away, it takes him time to come to the grim realisation that he was only adding to your misery, worsening your state, encouraging the obsessive thoughts by attempting to rationalise them. Those arguments never lead anywhere, only harming you in the process.

Insisting on his version of events, that his word alone should be enough to erase all of your doubts, unaware that those were thoughts and feelings outside of your control.

The Bachelor takes it up in stride, fully admitting to his mistake, no arguments, no making things difficult, no denying of what happened. A sincere apology, not empty words and flakey promises.

And so he does the only thing he knows in time of need, he studies, researches about what ails you, consults colleagues who specialise in psychology, dusting up the old books they let him borrow.

Completely turning towards a different approach, his previous methods were flawed. It'd do no one any good to keep clinging to them when all he ever wanted from the start was just to understand you.

Daniil's self-aware when it comes to his comforting skills… or lack thereof. Reassurance hasn't been one of his best skills.

What he is good at, however, is putting on the air of being in control, of seeming capable, and knowing he is. During his brief years of working in healthcare before he established Thanatica, his confidence seemed to comfort his patients on its own, convincing them that they're in reliable hands, and allowing him the benefit of the doubt at every turn.

Whenever you get the compulsive urge to check on the state of something, like a stove being left on, or a water tap left open, Daniil offers to do it himself instead.

He's reliable, you agree, don't you? So let him do it, don't give your compulsion the satisfaction of having things done its way and its way only.

Informing you that he'll take full responsibility if the worst really comes to be. Since he already went to check the thing your fears have been pestering you about, if it really turns out to be in a dire state, then it'd be his fault and not yours.

You're not the one who left the stove open since Daniil walked back home, saw it turned off with his own eyes, and came back to tell you.

And if the house really does burn down, oh well, then it means he's in urgent need of an eye prescription. It's not your burden to carry anymore. It's his, at least, not yours alone.

He'll take the fall and deal with any consequences that may follow. You'd be reluctant to trust him the first time around, and he'd do his best to help you go through the day, offering distractions, sharing the latest news in his work with you, slightly violating patient-doctor confidentiality as he tells you about that one time a patient bit his finger 6 years ago.

Just to take your mind off things, playing the long game, knowing that consistency is the key here.

Because when it's the end of the day and the both of you return to a still standing house, your faith in him will slightly increase. And the next time he goes to check something for you and informs you about what he found, you'll have an easier time accepting his words.

Daniil abhors lying, you know that, everyone knows that. So when he says he really did the thing in your stead, you know he's telling the truth.

If this was the modern world, he'd be the one taking pictures of the state of the household just to prove that no, you didn't forget anything. It has become a daily task he never neglects, Daniil is very consistent with following through and doing what he's supposed to do.

Learning how to effectively diffuse situations, how with given time, and some rest, those fears aren't as big and scary as they first seem.

How to bring you down from a fit of anger, how to lift you up from a panicked state caused by debilitating anxiety. Using his knowledge and expertise as a healthcare professional, after all, and dealing with people in similar states is nothing out of the ordinary for him.

He's aware you're not the one he's arguing against. He's aware these thoughts and urges do not define you. You're not your obsessive thoughts or compulsive behaviour, not the intrusive ideas or the clouding fears.

You're so much bigger, so much more complex, lovely, thoughtful, and whole. You're a whole capable human being.

This is merely a fraction of your brain that can be debilitating, a part that irritates you as much as anyone else. If anything, it must bother you personally even more, courtesy of being stuck inside your head all hours of the day.

Daniil views this as working alongside you against those irrational fears. If they go away, sure, that's great.

And if they don't? So what?

Daniil is here to stay as well, and he's twice as stubborn. He'll keep trying different methods, lend you his own memory and perspective, take note of the average everyday things that you might recall in doubt later, and reassure you as he stands witness against these irrational fears.

He doesn't see you as less. You are not less or wrong for having them. If anything, you're the one being tormented by them. He scoffs at the concept of you being considered a bad person for something as trivial as "bad" thoughts.

Let those people try living a day in your shoes, dealing with the constant pestering your brain has to deal with. Daniil is sure not one of them even has half your self will and control, to constantly attempt to resist these urges, to push these thoughts down and put an end to a spiraling conversation the fear in your brain abruptly started.

Dankovsky is the type of person to still stand by your side even if the worst comes to be, to take responsibility and attempt to fix things rather than waste time pointing the blame.

Even as you confide in him the intrusive thoughts your brain plagued you with, he views them as separate from you, through a passive lens.

You're not horrific or disgusting. You're not any of the names these fears keep throwing your way after, forcing you to imagine the same thoughts they've been shaming you for having.

As if a person's whole morality can be judged by whatever passing-by thoughts wandering in and out of their brain. You don't need Daniil to tell you how absurd that concept is.

And if there was no other way? If nothing worked and the anxiety became suffocating as you had to give into one of the compulsions and derail your entire day?

He'd go with you, derail his day too. Huffy and puffy sure, but he wouldn't place any real blame on you.

Bluntly stating it out if you show any sign of guilt, he's not the type to coddle. His words are concise.

You're not making him do this; he chose to be here by his own will. You're the one being forced to go through this by your brain. The least he could do is keep you company.

Reminding you that you're capable even without him, you don't require his reassurance, he's happy to give it all the same to ease your path, but at the end of the day it's you walking that path with your own two feet. It's you learning how not to feed into these compulsive urges and fears, to merely watch them pass through. No denying them, no arguing against them, merely observing and standing your ground.

Because the world is nothing like they make it seem, it's never “do this specific thing immediately or everything will go up in flames” there is no one to punish you, these fears hold no authority over you.

It's hard, unimaginably hard to have to be vigilant about which thoughts to trust since they tend to disguise themselves as common sense. It's hard to disobey what feels like a direct order from someone in a higher position, akin breaking a set-in-stone law.

Daniil can relate to those feelings more than anything. He was in a similar position and had to challenge actual authority, ones who held the power to order his execution with a snap of their fingers.

Life loves nothing more than forcing you to break your own principles. He found out the hard way. Every pillar he adhered to, forced to crumble beneath him, leaving him contradicting the person he'd been for the past decade with every action his current self took.

So yes, he's staying by your side, picking you up whenever you fall down, yet making sure you still know how to walk on your own.

-

Lara Ravel

For as long as she can remember, Lara believed that to be loved is to be known. But even now, she has a hard time understanding her late father, comprehending what exactly was he thinking, wasting his life away in the army, compensating her with a life of luxury as if those things could ever make up for all the time they never spent together.

She knows she loves you deeply. She cares about you more than life itself, yet for the life of her, she can never understand you no matter how hard she tries.

It's agonising, watching you suffer through the turmoil of intrusive thoughts. Not knowing what to do or how to help, feeling useless, restless, desperate to help in any shape or form.

Her haste was her shortcoming. The more she rushed to offer what she considered help in various and starkly different forms, the more you felt the sudden pressure place on you increase.

Especially when some of her help is unwarranted and abrupt, foregoing asking you what you might need, instead choosing to guess what you must need herself.

It's suffocating how she keeps throwing things at the wall to see what sticks, bordering interrogating you about your state afterwards, hoping that maybe this time, she actually did something useful.

You know she means well, you know her heart is in the right place… but you'd be lying if you said you don't feel like one of her charity cases at times, something to fix just because that's what Lara always does to "broken" things, as painful as that sentence felt to sound in your brain, let alone think of yourself that way.

You don't know how to voice these feelings without sounding “ungrateful” for her overwhelming attention, and so they begin to fester inside your chest, giving way to resentment as you become more and more distant.

She asks you to explain, and sometimes it's really hard for you to do so. How could you explain something that you yourself can't seem to grasp? It just lives with you, constantly hovering and making itself known at the worst time possible. You've learned to endure.

Rarely does the anxiety make sense. It's more of an intense feeling that keeps gnawing at your brain, repeating that your day will be ruined, your life will end, if you don't do this one thing, and do it now.

Horrific ideas and intrusive thoughts about people you love that leave a sour taste in your mouth, making you feel vile and disgusting inside. Wondering why did something like that even occur to you?

It was never one of your own thoughts to begin with, but another tool weaponized by fear to pressure you into doing what it wants.

Making your skin feel as if it was on fire, the prolonged stress giving way to nervous movements and trembles, snapping at innocents who were simply at the wrong place and time, only for shame and guilt to follow after.

Bottling it in, because sharing it with others seems to do more harm than good at times, leading to either being faced with judgement, questions you don't have the answer to, or both.

As the distance between you two increases, Lara's ways of forcing help come to an abrupt stop. The further away she is from the picture, the easier it becomes to see it whole and realise just what she's been doing this entire time.

Self-awareness dawns on her like cold water. She's remorseful for her actions, for not realising she was only adding to your pain, pushing you away, and making you regret confiding in her.

You don't have to comfort or reassure her. She's not a little kid. She knows what she did was wrong… How blinded that she was by grief.

Lara promises you never to repeat her past mistakes. Asking if you'd let her mend this, the shared life between you two, to try and make amends before she loses the person she loves most.

While it's challenging having to go against her instincts to jump into action and do something to help, she persists through them. You watch her part her lips to say something before wordlessly closing her mouth, on separate occasions.

Try as she might, she couldn't understand the workings of your mind before, so now she's decided to completely abandon that approach.

Lara's more resourceful than people give her credit for, she was the first one to think of establishing a shelter on the first day of the now gone-by plague, planning and executing it within the same day, and coordinating donations from people whom she knew wouldn't refuse to aid her cause.

So when faced with a conundrum she can't find an immediate solution to, Lara does the one thing she wished someone would've done for her during those nights of staying up worrying about her father.

She earnestly comforts you as best she can. Merely extending her unconditional support, the kindest form of love she can offer.

Foregoing all logic and reason, she repeats that she's by your side and is here to stay, through thick and thin, even during the hard days where giving into every compulsion is the only way to stay sane, especially during those.

She's endlessly patient, never rushing you as you recheck and recount things all over again just to be sure, as you take precautions for unlikely danger.

Standing up to aid in your activity, whatever it may be, observing your rituals and adapting the ones that help ease your mind when done by others.

If it brings you comfort, then it's worth it.

Anything is worth your peace of mind to her.

Slowly, bit by bit, she begins to accept your fears as they are. You don't need to understand the innermost workings of a machine in order to operate it well, and Lara is getting really good at determining what's bothering you.

She stopped asking for explanations; these fears don't deserve the courtesy of one, and it seems to only further worsen your state. So radical acceptance became her new approach.

Acceptance of you, of your fears.

You forgot to pass by your neighbour's house on the way home, and now your brain is telling you that the whole town must hate you and wish you to leave? Oh, she believes you, although neither of you have the money to move to the Capital, and if the whole town planned to siege this house with pitchforks and torches, it's kind of late for either of you to go anywhere anyway, the train only arrives once a month.

But you know what you can do? Make some tea, go upstairs into your bedroom, lock the room, and get under the cover. She'll accept death by an angry mob, but not without a warm beverage first.

The two of you spend an hour in bed upstairs, drinking warm tea and cuddling next to each other, the night passes by uneventfully, and the next day your neighbour waves hello at you as you're taking the trash out.

She doesn't challenge your compulsive behaviour as long as they don't cause you or anyone else any harm.

You two live in a small sleepy town at the in the middle of nowhere, the world won't end if you spend a day inside, the townsfolk wouldn't bat an eye if you enter and exist the same store 7 times, everything is within reach and it's a short trip back home no matter where in town you end up.

While the world itself wouldn't end, your anxiety gets the best of you and makes it seem like your world will end if certain things aren't done in specific ways and sequences.

And that's fine in Lara's book, take as much time as you need, she even helps you break them down, the rituals, turn them into a written list of small tasks spread out throughout the day so you'd still have time to eat, sleep, and rest.

It might not be the same as never giving into the compulsion, but it's definitely bars above never satisfying the urge at all.

When you do miss some steps or fail to perform certain parts, the panic in the aftermath isn't as overwhelming as it used to be when you'd forget the entire ritual, it's more palatable, easier to endure.

You can love someone without fully understanding them, and while love alone is never enough by itself, all the effort, care, and patience Lara keeps putting in seems to make it work so far.

She keeps waking up every day and choosing you, choosing this life with you.

As you are, she wants to be with you as you are.

You've been trying your best, too, which varies from day to day. On some days, you've accumulated the necessary courage to take risks and face those fears. On other days, enduring and surviving alone consumes all of your energy.

And on some days, you don't even realise that you forgot to do a certain daily ritual until after the day has ended. The comfort of knowing you have the time and space to indulge your compulsive urges sometimes makes it… easier to postpone them, which can lead you to getting distracted and forgetting them whole.

The safety Lara helped cultivate in your shared house eases your strife. Likewise, she seems to learn a thing or two from you, becoming more accepting of herself, more comfortable with the idea that she can't help in every situation, sometimes sitting things out and being a shoulder of support is the best she can offer.

And that's fine, that's okay, it doesn't make her useless despite what the cruel parts of her brain tell her. How she should offer the same kindness and grace to herself that she extends to others.

That you're stronger than she ever realised, more capable too. Your experiences made you especially understand the less talked about aspects of the human condition, in turn, Lara finds herself confiding in you as well.

Sharing words and thoughts she would've never told another person, confessing about the endless nights she spent awake in bed imagining all the worst case scenarios that would have occurred just because her father was a few hours late home.

While she doesn't have the heart to ever stop you if your compulsive urges became centred on seeking her reassurance to function, the safety at home, preservation of simplified rituals, and breaking tasks down make it much easier to break out of that cycle by yourself, step by step.

-

Credits:

A great thank you to:

@polyhedrongf / Lena

And

@gamersagainstthemachine / atrickofthelight

For their invaluable help when it came to creating this fanfic, their feedback, ideas, and suggestions helped shape many parts of this story. They've both contributed greatly when it came to addressing OCD and the ways to approach it.

It wouldn't have been possible without them, so thank you from the bottom of my heart <3

[spidey-bie]

I really like the idea of hobie being my supportive best friend as a person who has OCD and anxiety issues. I know that if I were a spider person like he was and knew about the HQ and alternate universes I’d start obsessing over everything and give myself an existential crisis lol. the idea of one of my fav characters being worried about me and trying to support me comforts me tbh

OCD gang rise up.

That'd be so interesting of a concept. A spider person with OCD. Is this bad feeling my spider sense or is it just the ocd again? Am I being paranoid or is this something that I should actually be concerned about? Is this a compulsion or is this a new behavior caused by the bite? There are so many layers to this. We always talk about how the different spider variants are all autistic but what about other mental disorders?

I love this idea too (I might expand on this later who knows)

Even after you learn ways to cope with your obsessive thoughts and/or compulsions it still feels stifling and alienating having to deal with everything yourself. So having someone who's just by your side even if they don't understand what you're going through makes the challenge a lot less daunting.

Hobie seems like the type of person who'll just ask you what you want him to do. He'd never make assumptions especially since every person has different needs based on their neurotypes. If you want him to redirect you when you're obsessing over something all of a sudden he has a new song that he wants your opinion on. He wouldn't be straight forward with it but he'll remind you in roundabout ways that your unwanted thoughts are not a reflection of who you are inside. Like when he was trying to show Miles that HQ wasn't all that it seemed.

(This ask has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute lol.)

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[m3ntally-unstable]

When you read a really good fic but then after ur done reading it, realising that it was a part of a series so now your dying because now you’ve ruined it.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

03 Aphrodisiac

Zhongli x Reader / NSFW / Dubious consent because aphrodisiacs / Set far before the archon quest. Rex Lapis is actively ruling Liyue. He's called Morax in here / Reader is a member of a dance troupe

It must've been slipped into your wine, you helplessly concluded as you succumbed to the effects of the aphrodisiac. A feverish heat had been steadily spreading over your cheeks and your mind was becoming hazy as you waited for your fate. Eventually, reasoning and refusal would be beyond you. You didn't want to imagine yourself possessed by lust, begging like a shameless whore, but your dire situation remained. You had been delivered to Rex Lapis as a fragrant offering.

Your dilemma began the moment the god asked for your name following your performance. Was he aware that every harmless breath he takes has the power to stir up a storm in the lives of mortals like you?

The doors opened and multiple footsteps approached. Lanterns were lit and an incense burner was prepared. You didn't have to look to see who had returned to their chambers. The elaborate and expensive furnishings and decor surrounding you had disclosed to you whose bedroom this was long before he arrived. It could only be him, that one man in the audience tonight who held the power to alter the course of your life drastically with a few words. Rex Lapis stopped at the foot of the bed, gaze raking over your body in silence, possibly wondering what on Teyvat you were doing in his bed.

"It appears that my praise had been misinterpreted." The archon remarked with muted disdain.

He made a mental note to have someone find out who the leader of the troupe was tonight and have them questioned. This was not how he intended for business to be conducted in his jurisdiction. Also, he would have to replace some of the staff within these quarters seeing as something like this managed to happen directly under his nose without his prior knowledge.

While the archon pondered how how this came to be, your mind was occupied by other uncertainties. The troupe had labeled you expendable as soon as Rex Lapis showed interest in you. If you were to be sent away tonight, what would become of you? This must not be the first time something like this had happened. You wondered what happened to the offerings that came before you. Did he accept them, despite them being unsolicited? Did the archon have a secret harem that he kept carefully hidden from his public eye?

Rex Lapis dismissed all the servants in the room, leaving only you and himself. His brow furrowed as he leaned over you, softly brushing a hand along your face. Your skin was warm to the touch. He took note of your unusually flushed complexion and the heaving of your chest. It was clear that you had undergone some preparation before being brought to him.

"You're trembling, dear. What have they done to you?" You faintly hear him murmur. There was a hint of guilt in his voice.

His voice was the last thing you should be hearing, you thought. You couldn't deny that you found the velvety quality of it deeply arousing. The Lord of Geo was also a delicious feast for the eyes too, both face and body sculpted to perfection. Your mind wandered precariously, just as your eyes did. Rex Lapis stood before you, draped in overlapping layers of fine silk and glinting gold, but all you could think about was that statue you occasionally pass by on the outskirts of the city. It must've been carved during a time when the archon was less reserved, with his exposed torso chiseled in painstaking detail. Was he really like that underneath all these layers?

"You may stay the night in these chambers if you wish. It would not be safe for you to go elsewhere in this state. I shall rest on the chaise tonight." He assured you even though you were barely able to process the words he spoke.

Wispy moans drifted from your parched lips, curling enticingly against his ears. Sweat beaded against your skin, only to soak into the pillows you buried your face into. Your body writhed desperately in search of friction. You had to bite your lip for fear of sullying your archon's divine name. The last thing you'd want to do is mindlessly call out to a god to satiate such mortal urges. The fact that all of this was falling into the eyes of Rex Lapis had you wishing it was all just an incredibly twisted, shameless dream.

You could hear footsteps depart from the foot of the bed. When you thought he was about to leave you to your own misery, he returned, this time slipping a pillow between your thighs.

"This should help alleviate the discomfort to some degree." He supplied.

You jolted, skin tingling from the brief contact.

Surely, Rex Lapis's original intentions must've been to ignore your distress. His hesitation to touch you was certain at least. If he accepted you as a gift, it would only encourage other factions to follow such distasteful practices. The Lord of Geo couldn't possibly be seduced by an unsightly, babbling mess, no matter how needy and helpless you were. So how exactly did he end up stripped naked underneath you the next morning, covered in what could only be bite marks and questionable bruises of your own making?

"I see. You've completely forgotten." The Geo Archon realized, a tinge of disdain in his tone.

"Not intentionally." You defended yourself, effortlessly slipping into the pious role of a devout follower. "I would never dare to."

"Never?" He chuckled, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. "Would you like me to remind you of all the blasphemous deeds you committed last night?"

Your eyes widened at his accusation. How strong was the aphrodisiac? The lapse of memory in your head regarding the previous night concerned you, especially seeing how the two of you were tangled up in his silken sheets without a single piece of fabric separating your bodies. His body wore the evidence of your insatiable appetite. Your own body was practically unmarred in comparison. Was it even possible that he had not taken advantage of you in your less-than-rational state and simply volunteered himself to be the anecdote for the aphrodisiac? Was this god really that selfless?

"Rex Lapis…" You cleared your throat awkwardly. "I apologize for—"

"Morax."

"Pardon me?" You blinked at his interruption.

"Call me by Morax instead."

"I can't… that would be audacious of me, to address the Lord of Geo directly by name."

All of Liyue knew this to be the archon's name, but nobody called him by it out of reverence, using his title instead.

"You certainly had the audacity to use it last night."

Your face burned like a pile of dry timbers at his revelation. Oh, you wouldn't doubt it. You probably uttered that name in very inappropriate ways.

"Morax." You tested the sound of his name on your tongue. Yes, it definitely didn't feel like the first time you've said it. "Will you be keeping me here or sending me back?"

"Straight to the point hmm?" The archon hummed in approval. "Would you prefer to dance for me alone or share your gift freely? The choice is yours to make."

"Will I see you again if I choose the latter?" You gathered the courage to ask after drawing in a deep breath.

A smile spread over his lips at your question. He reached out for a jade belt ornament lying on his dresser, dangling it before you. It was an intricately carved piece, the craftsmanship exquisite as you would expect any of his other valued possessions would be. Was he gifting this to you?

"I may summon you to perform for a private audience from time to time. This would grant you entrance through the guarded gates."

"What if I'm not summoned for a performance?" Your heart beat erratically inside your ribcage.

"You're saying you wish to see me for other reasons?" His amber eyes darkened.

It was then that you remembered you were still in the archon's bed, draped over his body, very much naked. The aphrodisiac had long left your body, but heat spread through you regardless, as if his words alone were enough to rekindle the previous night's flames.

"Morax…" You gasp as you felt him stir beneath you.

His hand fell on your thigh, grazing the skin there with his fingertips. Your senses came alight, goosebumps following his featherlight touches.

"Now that you are no longer inhibited, you can tell me if you truly want this. My patience had been tested thoroughly last night."

"I…" Your lips parted as he guided your thighs over his hips. "I didn't force myself on you, did I?"

"You certainly tried." He chuckled. "It was an honest effort."

"Why did you let me do those things to you?" You couldn't bear to look at all those unsightly marks you left on him. What kind of monster did the aphrodisiac turn you into?

"Dear, I couldn't bear to watch you hump a bedpost and not intervene. If I had left you to your own devices, you could easily hurt yourself."

You did what? Surely Rex Lapis, a literal god would not make up something as outrageous as this, which could only mean he was telling the truth.

His hands fell on your hips as he gently guided your body to move against his. Heat pooled between your legs as you tentatively grinded yourself against him. Morax's breathing grew heavy as yours thinned into shallow wisps and sighs.

"Sing for me, my sweet."

"Morax…" You utter his name like a prayer.

"The way your body moves... Yes..." He groans as your soaked entrance catches the tip of his cock. Your hips roll in a hypnotic rhythm, swallowing him steadily until he was buried to the hilt in you. "Such an exquisite beauty."

He's generous with his praise, never withholding it. After that first night, he's learned how simple it is to satisfy you.

It all felt like a fever dream. All of these private visits had begun due to a single aphrodisiac-ridden night. Whether they were sustained by lust or something else, it mattered little whenever he was embedded deep inside of you, filling you with his cum and telling you how good you were for him, how beautiful you were when you came for him. As a performer, you lived on praise, was addicted to it. After all, it was one harmless praise that had landed you in the archon's bed. Perhaps that was the true aphrodisiac. As long as he used it often, you would always be wrapped around his finger.

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Waging A Mental War

Azriel x Reader with OCD

Summary: After the battle with Hybern, your mental health declined. The OCD you thought you had control over begins to consume you. Everything is wrong. Will anything ever feel right?

word count: 1500

The morning light spilled into the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. It was a sight that had once brought you peace, a gentle reminder of the world's persistent beauty, even amidst the quiet moments.

But today, as you lay in bed, your eyes followed their erratic paths with a sense of dread, your mind already racing with the tasks that awaited.

You knew you wouldn't find peace in the day ahead.

Your OCD had taken over your life since the war ended, turning simple routines into exhausting rituals that had to be performed to perfection.

The nightmares had lessened over time, but the intrusive thoughts remained, a persistent echo of horrors. Experienced and hypothetical.

You sat up, your body moving almost of its own accord, as it had so many times before. Your eyes scanned the room for any signs of imperfection, any items out of place.

The sight of your sword, leaning against the wall, sent a shiver down your spine. The blade gleamed, a stark contrast to the darkness of the memories it held.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the present. The compulsions grew stronger, demanding that you check the weapon, ensure it was clean and sharp, despite having done so only hours earlier.

The bed sheets felt like a prison, clinging to your legs as if to hold you back from facing another day. But you had to go on.

With trembling hands, you began the meticulous process of folding them, smoothing out each wrinkle, aligning each corner until not a single thread was out of place.

The scent of breakfast wafted up from the kitchen, a mix of roasting meat and baking bread that usually brought comfort.

Today, it was a call to hurry, to perform your morning rituals before the others awoke and noticed the extra time it took you.

You knew they didn't mean to pressure you, but their very existence felt like a weight on your shoulders.

How could you explain that the mere act of existing was now a battle?

Even here, in the warm embrace of your home, the whispers of doubt lingered. Were you truly safe? Would today be the day the enemy found you again?

Safety isn't real. My thoughts aren't real.

Your mind healers' words echoed through your head. Usually, it helped ground you, but today was an extra bad day.

As you descended the stairs, your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm setting the pace for the rituals to come. Each step had to be taken with care, the right foot first, then the left, alternating in a precise pattern to ward off the anxiety.

You reached the bottom and paused, your eyes darting to the floor. A speck of dust caught your attention, and your hand twitched, yearning to wipe it away.

But no, not yet. The order had to be maintained. That would mean washing your hands again. They were already dry and flaking.

You tried to smile at the others as they greeted you, but the effort felt forced, the muscles in your face protesting against the lie.

They couldn't understand the chaos in your head, the relentless need to count, to clean, to ensure everything was in its rightful place. It was a war you fought alone, even as they offered you companionship and warmth.

Azriel looked at you with concern. His eyes, once cold and unreadable, had softened over the months you'd spent together. He knew something was wrong, but even his understanding couldn't bridge the gap between you.

"You're taking longer than usual," he said gently, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

Yoy nodded, your throat tight with the effort of keeping your emotions in check.

"Just...just making sure everything's right."

He approached, his movements fluid and silent, a stark contrast to the cacophony in your mind. He placed a scared hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding.

"Let me help," he offered, his voice filled with genuine concern.

For a moment, the compulsions wavered, and you considered his offer. But the fear of losing control was too great.

"No," you replied, your voice shaking slightly. "It has to be me. It has to be perfect."

He searched your eyes, his own filled with a mix of compassion and frustration.

"Y/N, you're not alone in this. Let me share the burden."

You pulled away, the need to clean now overwhelming.

"I can't," you whispered, the words barely audible over the clanging of pans. "If it's not perfect, if I don't do it, something terrible will happen."

Azriel's eyes searched yours, understanding dawning.

"Your thoughts are lying to you," he said firmly. "You're not responsible for everything, not every outcome."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"They feel so real," you murmured, my voice tight with anguish. "It's like they're a part of me."

With a sigh, Azriel stepped back, giving you the space you needed.

He knew pushing would only make it worse. Instead, he picked up a plate and began filling it with food.

"Eat," he said, placing it in front of you. "You need your strength."

You stared at the plate, your stomach twisting in knots. The food looked delicious, but the thought of eating it without first ensuring that the kitchen was spotless was unbearable.

"I-I'll clean up first," you stammered, already moving towards the counter where dirty dishes were piled.

"No," Azriel's voice was firm, but not unkind. He took your hand and led you to the table, gently guiding you into a chair.

"You need to eat. Your health comes first." His gaze held yours, unyielding yet filled with care.

The others in the kitchen paused their work, watching you both with a mix of curiosity and concern. They had seen the changes in you, the way you flinched at sudden sounds or the way you checked and rechecked the locks at night. They had offered their support, but none of them truly understood the monster that had taken residence in your mind.

"Please," you whispered, the word a desperate plea. "I can't."

But Azriel's grip on your hand was firm.

"You can, and you will," he said, his voice a gentle command. "We'll start small. Just a few bites."

You nodded, the fight draining out of you. The others returned to their tasks, the sounds of their movements a comforting backdrop to the silent war waging within.

You picked up your fork, the metal cold against your fingertips. The food on your plate looked so normal, so innocent. Yet the simple act of taking a bite felt like defying an unseen enemy.

The first bite was torture, each chew and swallow a fight in itself.

But as the food settled in your stomach, the hunger you'd ignored for so long began to gnaw at you. With shaking hands, you took another mouthful, and another. The taste grew more familiar, less foreign with each bite.

The warmth of the food spread through your body, and for a brief moment, the obsessions receded. It was a small victory, but one you clung to with desperation.

The others had learned not to disturb you during these moments. They had seen the toll your compulsions took on you, the way they stole your joy and energy. They had offered to help, to take over some of the tasks that triggered your anxiety, but you had always refused. It was a prideful stance, you knew, but one driven by fear.

If you let go, if you allowed the chaos to seep in, you were afraid it would consume you.

But as you sat there, the weight of Azriel's hand on yours, you realized how much you had missed. The simple act of eating breakfast without first scrubbing the kitchen to an impossible standard was a small act of rebellion against the relentless voice in your head. It was a taste of freedom, one you hadn't experienced in what felt like an eternity.

"Thank you," you murmured, your eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"You're welcome," Azriel replied, his thumb making comforting circles on the back of your hand. "It's okay to need help."

For a moment, you allowed myself to just be, to feel the warmth of his touch and the solidity of his presence beside you.

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. Maybe he was right. Maybe you could fight this, with his support.

"Let's go for a walk," Azriel suggested, his voice a gentle nudge. "The fresh air might do you good."

Do you want to be in a Taglist?

🖤 Azriel ❤️‍🔥Eris ✨️General ⚠️Kinktober

@chunkypossum @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ysmtttty @nessiandefenseattorney @nocasdatsgay @secret-third-thing @azysmate @yennas-stuff @a-courtof-azriel @batboyrhyrhy @lilah-asteria @velarisnightsky444 @christeareads @thestarlightexpress @viktoriaashleyyx

Comment ⛔️ if you wish to be removed. No offense taken, I know how overwhelming notifications can be. 🥰

[moonstruckme]

I really love everything you write. Could you write with one of the Marauders or poly!marauders, whichever you think is best, where the reader has OCD (overchecking) where she often needs to check if the door/windows are locked before leaving, even if she doesn't wants to, but her brain always tells her to check it often. Or before bed where she needs to check if she turned off the stove and things like that? (if you don't feel comfortable writing, that's okay and feel free to ignore this request 🧡)

Thanks honey!!

cw: reader displays some symptoms of OCD

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 634 words

Despite the long day you’ve had and the way your eyelids are drooping, it takes Remus forever to get you to your room. You all but collapse onto the duvet, not even protesting when he slips your shoes off for you before coaxing you back up to wash your face and get ready for bed. (“You’ll be so upset if you wake up with your eyelashes sticking together and your outside clothes still on, sweetheart. And who’ll get in trouble? Me, naturally.”) Finally, when you’ve both washed the day from your faces, brushed your teeth, and changed into your sleep clothes, Remus reaches for the light, but hesitates when you sit up. 

“Did you see me lock the door?” 

Remus sighs, then feels immediately guilty for it. He’s not upset with you; it’s just frustrating, watching what your own fear will do to you when you’re already so exhausted. “Yes, dovey. I saw, you bolted it and everything.” 

You’re looking more and more awake by the second, though fatigue still clings to you. You begin to gnaw on your lip. 

“Want me to go check again?” he offers, knowing you won’t be able to rest until you’re sure. 

“No, thanks.” You purse your lips, vexed with yourself beneath your worry. You slide your legs over the edge of the bed, standing despite the heaviness that seems to encourage you back down. “I’ll do it. I should check the windows too. And you had a candle going in the living room, didn’t you?” 

You’ve already checked the windows, and the stove, and the oven. But you know that already; there’s no sense in telling you. Checking and rechecking is how you make yourself feel safe. “I put it out, but I’ll come with you to be sure,” Remus says, standing too. “For an extra set of eyes.” So he can reaffirm that everything’s been done when you ask again. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulders as you go into the hall, hoping your quiet is due to tiredness and not any of the guilty, self-deprecating thoughts that always seem to be churning in that head of yours. Remus walks with you through your home, placing a hand on each burner of the stove to prove its coolness, testing the handle on the door to show that it’s locked, and placing the lid on his blown-out candle so there’s no chance of it reigniting and catching on the nearby curtains. 

“Thanks for indulging me,” you say softly on your way back to the bedroom, casting a last glance behind you to ensure that you had, in fact, turned off all the lights. 

“Don’t mention it, dovey.” Remus drops a light kiss on the crown of your head. He pulls the sheets aside for you, sympathetic to the eagerness with which you relax into the mattress. “Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” 

“Mhm.” You curl up under the covers, looking at him with droopy, troubled eyes. “I’m sorry for being so paranoid.” 

Remus’s chest aches faintly as he takes your face in hand, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. “You’re not paranoid, sweetheart. You’re just trying to keep us safe, and I appreciate it.” Your brows come together disbelievingly, and Remus doubles down, reaching downward to wrap his arm around your waist. “I do! C’mere, honey.”

He tugs you toward him, and you help him out by rolling over, your back pressed to his front. Remus makes his chin at home in the juncture of your neck.

“It’s not always convenient, but you’re protecting us. I get that, alright? And it’s nice to know our home isn’t going to burn down on your watch.” You’re soft and warm against him, and Remus gives your tummy an affectionate squeeze. “Now we can both rest easy.”

[agir1ukn0w]

yes I'm still on my "ridley scott you'll pay for what you did to my boy geta, and also what tf have you done to his brother" bullshit

[gojossugarcandy]

I can imagine a situation where you had finally given the very difficult exam for which you had been preparing for an year or so.

After exam you were exhausted and very sleepy as your sleep schedule had broken up with you when you had started preparing for the exam.

When you and Levi had reached home, he asked whether you were too tired to have sex or not.

To be honest, you had been very sexually frustrated, so you didn't even wait for a second before pouncing on him.

Minutes later both of you were half-naked, sweaty, panting like animals on your shared bed.

Just as you were about to kiss again after removing all of your clothes, Levi says ''wait, have you cut your nails?''

'Umm, i guess no? Does it hurt? Oh so sorr-'

You get cut off by him leaving the room. You sat there dumbfounded by the situation when he comes back, though, with a freaking nail cutter.

''It didn't hurt me or so. But hygiene is very important''

He nicely took five to ten minutes to cut each and every nail, both from your hands and your toes.

Then he was like ''Let's continue it now'

But by that time you had fallen asleep.

Yeah, his OCD could really rub the wrong way sometimes

[madi-writes-things]

Francesca Pt. 1

Summary:

It broke Schlatt when he had to let Y/N go, But he would go through hell a thousand times if it meant he got to hold her again.

“If I could hold you for a minute… I’d go through it again.”

Word Count: 1.09 K

TW: Mental Illness, angst, ocd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, break up, pining, feelings of worthlessness, basically a self insert without a physical description, Based in Texas… because so am I

A/N: I’m totally ok, and definitely not scared of my mental illness… 👀

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

Y/N’s POV

My bags are packed before Jay gets home. I don’t want to make this any harder than it has to be. I should probably leave before he gets here, but he deserves an explanation. I’m not really sure what to say when he gets here, but he doesn’t deserve to be ghosted…

When the door opens I regret my decision to stay. He’s holding an H-E-B bag with frozen pizzas and ranch.

My favorite.

The second he locks eyes with me I break down. The bag falls from his hand as he rushes to pull me into a hug.

“What’s wrong pumpkin? What happened?” His voice is filled love and tenderness, very different from his online persona. It makes me cry harder.

“I can’t do this Jay… I-” He pulls me impossibly closer, mumbling a quiet ‘don’t do this’. “I already packed everything into my car. I can’t ask you to stay, I wouldn’t do that to you…”

He knows that I’ve been struggling lately, but I would never ask him to understand the extent of my anguish. I could never tell him about my hours spent researching. The notes. The fear of being alone with myself.

All I’ve ever wanted is to marry the man of my dreams, and have a big family. My mind constantly tells me that I can’t have it…

Nobody would want to deal with you, he’d get tired of it eventually. What if your kids are crazy like you? You don’t want to run the risk that he has to find you dea-

“You aren’t doing anything to me, you don’t have to do this�� we can get through this, we can get you whatever help you need… please…”

I’m doing this because I love him. I can tell when he sees the look in my eyes, he mumbles a quick okay before leaving to put the pizzas in the freezer.

I run to lock myself in the bathroom… I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“”“”“”“”“”

When I finally get myself together, I leave the bathroom on a mission to get out quickly. It takes me a while before I realize what’s happening.

“where the hell did you put my keys Jay?” I see him sitting at our table, set with two plates of pizza and two glasses of wine.

“You’re not driving right now… I just heard you have a twenty minute panic attack, you’re in no headspace to drive.” I know he won’t give me the keys, no matter how much I try to convince him. “Do you even have anywhere to go?” I just shake my head. He gets up and walks into our bedroom.

I can hear him on the phone with Ted, he’s asking if I can stay in LA with him. When he returns, we sit down to eat the now cold pizza.

“What did he say?” I didn’t necessarily want to move across the country, but we both know I wouldn’t be able to actually leave well enough alone if I stayed.

I can tell that he’s been crying, but I know that this is what’s truly best for him in the long run. “He said yes, obviously. I’ll drive you to his place, and catch a flight back.” I knew that there was no convincing him to leave me alone for extended periods of time… I wonder if Ted told him not to let me out of his sight.

He probably did.

After dinner Jay offers to sleep on the couch, but I tell him that I don’t want our last night to be spent in different parts of the house.

He holds me as I cry myself to sleep.

This is what’s best for him.

“”“”“”“”“”

The nearly twenty hour drive was silent, stopping whenever the gas gauge lit up. Jay always knew what to get me from the gas station, while I stayed in the car reading. About halfway through the ride he finally decided to play some music, our shared playlist flowing through the tense atmosphere.

I decided to take a nap at some point, and was awoken by Jay gently shaking my shoulder while handing me some food that he had gotten. “We’ve only got about an hour left… you need to eat, and I think we should talk about it.”

No. You can’t handle this, the car ride is hell as is… and now he wants you to talk about why you’re breaking his heart?

“There’s not much to talk about Jay… there isn’t any way to convince me that it was a mistake.” I can see the hurt look in his eyes when I say it, and I really didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh. “I love you so much… and I promise, this is for you.”

He starts to try and argue, before settling on asking about publicity. My only response is that we can deal with it separately. I finish my food, and finish the last few chapters of my book.

“”“”“”“”“”

It takes less than an hour to move all of my stuff into Ted’s guest room.

Ted is my best friend, and we’ve known each other for years. He introduced me to the job prospects of the internet. He introduced me to all of his colleagues when I was first starting on YouTube…

He introduced me to Jay.

After helping move everything in, Jay got ready to fly out. He said a quick goodbye to me, before going outside to talk to Ted.

They were out there for a really long time.

What if he’s convincing Ted that you are a horrible person?

What if they’re working together to get you put away?

What if you opened the window?

What if you jumped?

My phone is in my hand immediately, looking up the likelihood of injury/death from a second story jump. Very unlikely. Shit.

All of the sudden, the walls feel too close. The window is too far. I hear Jay’s Uber leaving, and everything starts to collapse.

This was a mistake. I just ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. It’s too late. He hates me. I should have just left a note and Jumped off the congress avenue bridge.

I can’t breathe.

I hear a soft knock at my door, and hear it creak open. Ted sits down in front of me, placing my hand on his chest. We work on breathing exercises that he taught me years ago. When I finally feel slightly normal, he pulls me into a tight hug.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable @bernardsbendystraws @sturniolo-fann @jnkvivi @stasiesturn

@h3arts4harry @slutforsturniolos @memento-rory

[orion4ever]

How would the OL:BA boys be with an MC who struggles with obsessive compulsive disorder?

Author’s Note: I have OCD , It causes me lots of turmoil because it causes me to pull at my eyebrows and eyelashes compulsively and causes me to have unwanted thoughts so this request resonates with me a lot! I hope you enjoy this and even find comfort in this request!

Pairing(s): Cove Holden x MC , Derek Suarez x MC and Baxter Ward x MC

🌊☕️⚽️

Cove Holden🌊

He tries his best to support you and doesn’t bat an eye to any ‘unconventional’ request you may ask him.

You would prefer if he washed his hands as soon as he entered your house? Understandable, his hands are probably covered in sand anyway

He doesn’t get annoyed when you repeat a conversation and he never minds reassuring you about anything.

He can understand the feeling of being overwhelmed and needing to do a ritual to relax a little.

If he sees you doing something compulsively like pulling hair out, cleaning the same spot, rearranging things, or anything like that he would take your hands and try to ground you.

He comforts you whenever you have intrusive thoughts. He knows you would never enact them but he understands that you are scared that you will and reassures you that you won’t.

If anyone even DARES and imply that you are a weirdo or a bad person for any compulsive thoughts or behavior that you open up about, he will not let it go.

The man will have a huge grudge and will rightfully defend you.

Cove gets so annoyed when people throw around the term OCD to describe none OCD behavior and will debunk what they are saying.

And a fun fact , people with autism have a high chance of also having OCD so there is a possibility that he also has it!

Cove is the sweetest man. He never lets you feel uncomfortable or evil about your OCD. There is a reason why it's called Obsessive Compulsive behavior and he will scream that from the rooftops.

Derek Suarez⚽️

An equally supportive man, as soon as you open up about having OCD, he pulls an all-nighter to research more into it to make sure he can properly understand you.

He asks you to list what triggers your OCD or anything he can do to make you feel more comfortable.

Like, if you ever have doubts or concerns about things you are uncertain about (like plans for the next day or school work you forgot the due dates to) then Derek would try his best to help ease your doubts.

Derek is already a pretty organized and clean guy so you don’t have to worry too much too much about him making messes or being disorganized.

He doesn’t mind you needing to close and open a door a few times to feel secure or you checking to see if you left any potentially dangerous things on(stove, open flames, etc)

It pains him every time you feel the need to distance yourself from him because your thoughts won’t leave you alone about hurting him. He just wants to give you a big bear hug and reassure you that you would never do that to him.

He has no hard feelings if you ask him to change out of his outside clothes, considering he’s probably been out playing sports and getting all dirty. He wouldn’t like it if someone sat on his bed covered in dirt and sand neither.

He reprimands anyone who has anything judgmental to say about your ocd and swiftly educates them about how wrong they are.

If he spots you doing a harmful compulsive behavior, like scratching or pulling hair then he tries and grounds you as well but mostly vocally since he doesn’t want to overwhelm or frustrate you.

He hates how taboo the topic of OCD is and opens up dialogues and conversations with his colleagues about it and hopes it can spread awareness of it. He hates how it has been watered down to “I need a clean room”.

Derek will always love you and everything he does is to make sure you are happy!

Baxter Ward ☕️

I am saying this as a Baxter fan but I feel like he would be ignorant about OCD at first. His parents probably raised him with the idea that “depression is just an excuse for lazy people” or at the very least didn’t think mental health wasn’t important. He probably thought the social media idea of OCD was basically what it was until he met you.

He now knows that ocd isn’t just being a germaphobe or needing all your pencils to be pointing the same way.

He asks you to educate him on it, what are your struggles day to day? What's the best way he can support you? Etc.

As soon as you educate him on what he can do better to support you, he instantly gets on it.

He encourages you to open up about what you're thinking about and reassures you constantly that you don’t scare him away with thoughts you can’t control.

He knows in his heart that you would never do anything to harm him or anyone else.

He is concerned about you hurting yourself though. He tries his best and makes sure you don’t do anything that would cause you harm.

Baxter never minds if you need to repeat an action because the first time didn’t feel right. He doesn’t truly understand the urge but he would never put you down for it.

When he does become more well-educated on OCD, he gets very snippy and annoyed when other people are ignorant or rude about it. He has first-hand experience on not being super educated and he knows it isn’t hard to read a few articles about it or the very least contain their mean words to their cruel mind.

He will always be there to support you , if your OCD ever gets worse , like maybe you went through something traumatic or your in an extremely stressful state of mind.

Baxter would kneel on the ground and lay his head in your lap. He wraps his arms around you and tells you that you're more than this and that he believes there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

[steddie-my-love]

Cleaning Frenzy

Mike Schmidt x OCD!Reader

a/n: i was just diagnosed with ocd and am really struggling with it so here’s a super self serving fic

cw: vague mental health discussion, mentions of anxiety, non-sexual nudity

—

your hands screamed in pain under the hot water of the faucet. there was no way of knowing how long you had stood in front of the sink scrubbing at the perfectly clean dishes in front of you but you knew it just wasn’t right.

behind you, the door opened and closed with the slight jingle of keys. He tried his best to be silent as he toed off his shoes, happy to slip into bed with you without a second thought but stopped when he saw the kitchen light still on.

“baby?” Mike’s voice called out in the silent apartment. You were normally asleep by now.

You stilled, not having realized the time. immediate overwhelm and shame gripped your throat as you looked down, taking in your cracked hands.

“y/n?” he asked a little louder as he turned the corner into the kitchen doorway. his eyebrows creased as he looked you up and down.

“Baby, what’s happening? are you okay?” he asked gently, speaking low as if anything louder would shatter you. A shallow breath drew through your lungs, doing everything to keep the creeping sense of anxiety at bay. “yeah i just- i couldn’t get the dishes clean and everything was so dirty and i just-“

“baby breathe” mike said, cutting you off as your mind began to spiral “you think you could put a hand on my chest?” he asked, not wanting to push you too far.

Your hand moved up, trying to touch him on his chest but you just couldn’t. There was no way of knowing what was on that fabric and it terrified you. Fresh tears sprung into your eyes as you tried again, desperately craving mike’s warmth.

“oh god, it’s okay y/n. you’re safe” Mike said, trying to soothe you “ how about we go and get clean then we can get some rest huh? that sound good baby?”

You nodded slowly, following mike as he led you to the shower. While you set up the water mike washed his hands before he pulled out two towels fresh from the cabinet. As you climbed behind the cloth curtain, mike hung up the two towels before following you in.

mike quickly took his loofa and scrubbed down his body, the smell of leather and pine greeting your nose.

Then it was your turn. you took the sweet smelling body wash off of the shelf and began to lather it in a wash cloth. your body was clean in no time, counting out the swipes over your skin making sure that everything was clean.

the panic seemed to drain out of you as you watched the soap bubbles fall, body losing tension quickly.

“ there you go baby” mike cooed as your eyes slipped closed, opening up his arms for you to fall into. immediately you leaned into him, chest warm against your skin. “you want me to do your hair or do you want to do it?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“can you do it please?“ you murmured, tracing patterns onto his skin as you avoided eye contact. Before you knew it, mike’s hands were in your hair scrubbing and detangling your locks. You must have started to doze off before you felt the water shut off on your back.

mike stepped out of the shower quickly to wrap himself in a towel before wrapping you up as well. in your room you both changed, mike throwing your hair in a loose braid to stop it from tangling while you slept.

“there you go gorgeous” mike said, kissing you on the forehead. At this point you were exhausted, eyes slipping shut as your energy caught up with you “one last thing!” he said, and before you could blink he had pulled out a small tube of cream and was working it into your hands. “there you go baby! i know how chapped your hands get after so much activity”

“thank you so much mike, i love you” you said, slipping under the covers next to mike.

“i love you too y/n, try to get some rest” Mike replied, but you were already asleep