#but i do my best to sit with him daily & have sensory time

[psychiatricwarfare]

one of our fav clients hasnt been acting like himself all week & everyone's super worried about him. the nurse checked him out n found nothing & he shook his head 'no' when we asked if he felt sick but he's been sleeping all throughout program which he's never done before. we hope everything's okay with him & he gets better soon, we miss my daily sensory sessions with him.

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.8k (help???)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Married couple, Wife!Reader, burnout, overstimulation (not sexually), arguing, angst followed by fluff, kiss and make up, virginal fingering, kisses galore, EVENTUAL SMUT, pregnancy sex, bit of body worship (he loves your pregnant body) cowgirl position, sensory deprivation sex.

𝐀/𝐍: I poured my heart into this one, not that I don’t always do but this one in particular just hits closer to home. And yes it’s a vent fic so very very self indulgent.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re tired. He’s tired. There’s only so much stress you can withstand before you reach your tipping point. Luckily your husband is here to keep you grounded

It started off with a throbbing in your head and as irritating as it was, it wasn’t bad enough to disrupt your daily routine. But as the week rolled on, the throbbing sensation began to get worse.

You were becoming easily irritated and it didn’t help with the workload you had to tackle. Even Miguel noticed a change in your mood but whenever he would bring it up and ask you about it, you would deflect his questions and tell him you were fine.

You couldn’t bear the thought of burdening him when your struggles especially when he had his own responsibilities and duties to fulfill.

You knew that if you admitted the stress you were feeling, he would insist that you rest, which was the last thing you needed, especially with how much you needed to get done this week.

You tried your best to ignore the nerves that were stretching to their limits now, but it was proven more difficult with each passing day. You would feel a sense of dread as soon as you got out of bed, mentally bracing yourself for the overwhelming day you had to face.

Your mind was preoccupied now as you reached over the high shelf for the spice jar. Your stomach was jutted out with the new life brewing inside of you, making it harder for you to manoeuvre around.

Just as your fingers brushed against the jar you were after, a sudden voice tore through the room, snapping you out of your trance.

“¿Qué dije sobre pedirme ayuda?” Miguel called out before he went over and stood behind you to take the spice jar you were reaching for. “What if something fell on you?”

“I don’t need help,” you insisted, reaching over to reclaim the jar back from him.

Miguel arched his brow in mild amusement. “You’re struggling to reach the spices, and you’re saying you don’t need help?”

“I’m fine, I’m trying to make dinner,”

“I know I know. But I’m here now so you don’t need to do that tonight,” You knew he was trying to emphasise the fact that he willingly took the time out of his day just to be with you.

Normally, you would be beyond appreciative towards his gesture. With his duties back at Spider Society HQ breathing down his neck all the time, it was a rarity that you both had an evening together like this.

He would either be saving the city or in another dimension, and although you would still be able to contact him through your watch, it would never be the same as having his physical warmth with you.

But right now, you were driven by your stress and too wrapped up in getting the job done to be in the right state of mind and properly enjoy the night.

“Why not? I can still cook you know,” you resorted, pouring some of the spice in the pot before stirring the content.

“And yet, I don’t want you to.” He said firmly before he turned you around to face him and rested his hands on your growing belly, silently conveying his concern for your wellbeing. “Now go sit,”

As the food continued to bubble on the stove, you retreated from his touch defensively. His face twisted in confusion as you questioned, “Why the hell are you doing that?”

His face fell further at your change in tone, “Doing what? Touching you?”

“No, treating me like I’m a basket case,”

“I’m treating you like the mother of my child. You’re pregnant and over exerting yourself,” he tried to reason with you. You attempted to conceal how much your senses were firing right now.

You couldn’t tell if it was the aroma of the cooking that was making you slightly nauseous but you were starting to feel agitated.

“I’m pregnant, not paralysed Miguel. I’m fully capable of doing this myself,” you could see the frown forming on his face and he definitely picked up the hostility of your tone.

“I never said you weren’t capable but I don't want you doing too much,” he argued back, his voice growing more insistent, mirroring your frustration. He wasn’t going to let your stubbornness sway him, even if it did irk you.

You could feel the heat of your vexation rising in your guts. You hated being interrupted in the kitchen especially when you were making dinner. Even if you were tired, you were still going to stand your ground and continue until you were done.

Throughout the last few days there had been a build up of tension that you have been bottling up and you refused to talk about it with him, even if he did ask you about it.

You had no safe outlet for your emotions and now you can feel it taking a toll on your daily tasks. It was almost palpable and you couldn’t control the sudden outbursts you were throwing at your husband right now.

A small part of you knew that he didn’t deserve this harsh treatment you were giving him. But that meek feeling of self awareness was quickly overshadowed by your clouded mind that was skewing your thoughts, unbeknownst to you.

Out of bitterness, you twisted the knob to switch off the stove before you turned to look at him. His annoyed expression didn’t falter, rather you could see his brows furrowed more. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn off the stove?”

“You wanted me to stop, didn’t you?” Now it was your turn to be confused, though you could still feel the lingering coldness.

He was so adamant on you not cooking so why is he still not satisfied when you turn the stove off? What was his problem?

“What are you trying to prove here?” He asked.

The question hit a nerve, the fact that he was insinuating that you had an ulterior motive just by a simple action. It was almost insulting. Was he trying to sound condescending just to throw you off?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,”

Ouch.

“Oh please, enlighten me,” There was an obvious edge to your tone and he glowered at that. You could tell he was really starting to get annoyed when you saw his fangs started to emerge from his canines, something that was only stimulated in the height of rage or arousal.

“Cut the sarcasm. You’re purposely getting on my nerves and it’s working. Now, are you going to answer my question?” His voice demanded clarity from you and you weren’t sure if anything you said would satisfy him.

“Like I said, I’m doing as I’m told. Why are you getting mad?” You snapped back. You didn’t want to admit that what he said made the shadow of sympathy you felt early crawl back again.

He wasn’t aware of the emotions you were keeping inside of you and probably thought you were purposely reacting this way just to pull his leg.

“You know damn well that’s not how I meant with my words,” he was practically growling now and you could see the crimson in his eyes flicker like a flame.

With a weary sigh you pinched the bridge of your nose— a habit that you both seemed to share. You didn’t have the energy to deal with this argument now, it was clear that it wasn’t going anywhere.

The throbbing in your head was back, but now it felt like a pounding sensation reverberating in your skull. Without another word, you turned to leave the kitchen leaving the half-cooked food behind on the stove.

“Where are you going?” You heard him call out from the kitchen before he took a few steps in your direction.

“To the room, I lost my appetite,” You headed your way up to the bedroom. You didn’t hear his footsteps following after you as you closed the door behind you.

You climbed into bed with the blanket over you and made yourself as small as your pregnant belly will allow you. There was a sense of bleakness that was shrouding you now— the underlying stress you’ve been feeling was still there but it wasn’t as overbearing.

With the silence in the room, you’d think you’d be able to calm yourself down a little from the heated interaction you just had, but instead your mind was still racing. You couldn’t stop yourself from straining your muscles no matter how hard you tried.

You tightened your grip on the blanket and buried yourself deeper into the sheets, trying to block out as much of the lighting from the room as you could. You didn’t notice Miguel entering the room until you felt an additional weight on the bed beside you.

For a long moment, all you could hear was his steady breathing and the occasional bed creaking before he spoke out of nowhere. “Well, at least the silent treatment is an improvement from earlier,”

The sarcasm was uncalled for especially now. It made your blood boil. To make matters worse, he kept going. His voice, that you always loved hearing, now sounded like an irritating ring in your ear. “Are you just going to hide under the blanket until I forget about everything?”

“Stop talking….please stop talking!” you pleaded, your voice was quivering and on the verge of tears. You felt like you were at a tipping point, standing on the edge of something already breaking.

The sensory overload from the argument along with the tension was still present, and you desperately needed silence.

There was a long pause and your pulse was thudding in your ears. Even if you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he regretted his words just from his silence.

“Do you want me to turn off the lights and go?” His tone quickly switched, a soft caress. You poked your head out of the blanket to look at him.

You felt guilt tugging on your heart after everything that had just happened moments ago. Your husband didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of all of this. The least you could do now was end the night on a civil note.

“Turn off the lights but don’t leave me,” you requested. Without wasting a beat, Miguel got out of bed to turn off the lights before he climbed back in to embrace you.

The room was dark but you could still see his silhouette against the Nueva York city skyline from the bedroom window.

“Could you hold me? Please?”

“Of course,” his voice was a soothing balm against your firing nerves. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the blanket away and moved onto his waiting arms as he leaned against the headboard.

You settled onto his lap and you felt his broad arms wrap around you. Your eyes started to leak with your heated tears and before you could stop yourself, you broke into a sob.

“Just breathe, I’m not going anywhere. Take your time,” He muttered against the crown of your head. You rested your head against his chest with his heart thumping softly near your ear.

The throbbing was starting to ease and the relief that followed after came in waves. All that weeks worth of pent up tensity was released in one night through your tears.

With the absence of the lighting along with the silence, it was easier to reach the mellow state that your body was screaming for.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” you rambled, a sense of remorse crashing down on you like a storm.

“It’s okay…I feel like we should talk about some things though,”

“Like what?”

“How we should handle potential fights in our marriage. I don’t really like the way we argue and get at each other's throats so quickly,”

You let his words sink in. The mere thought made your heart ache. The situation would’ve never escalated this far if you hadn't talked to Miguel earlier. Instead you let things boil over.

“It’s my fault…”

“Why do you say that?”

“I kept brushing you off when you wanted to be there for me,” you admitted, a bitter irony taunting your confession.

In retrospect, you’ve witnessed Miguel struggle to open up about his feelings while you were still in the early stages of the relationship.

Even during your marriage, it was a huge step for him to finally be completely emotionally open with you. You’ve noticed how much your relationship has flourished since then and how closer you felt with him.

But now the tables have turned tonight, with you leaving Miguel oblivious to the series of weary emotions you were experiencing. You knew it wasn’t healthy for you or the baby growing inside you to carry such stress alone.

“I noticed the way you were struggling the past few days. I just wish you were more vulnerable with me and not feel like you have to put on a brave face just for my sake,” Miguel explained.

“I dont…I don’t really know where to start,” You tried to rack your brain and coordinate how to express the tension you’ve been feeling the past few days. It was difficult to pinpoint on one thing and string the words together.

“Everything just feels so overwhelming and too much for my brain to handle…even the clock ticking makes me want to rip my head off,” you clutched onto his shirt, a feeble attempt to hold onto your crumbling composure. “I don’t know if it’s the hormones from the pregnancy or a burn out. Or maybe both,”

“I’m leaning towards burn out since you’re showing all the signs, you’re easily irritated and I can see you’re overstimulated from the smell of the cooking to the lighting in the room,”

“Maybe you’re right,” you agreed softly. A lot of issues could be contained just by not saying anything. You seemed to be acutely aware of your own hesitation when it came to voicing your emotions.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to share your feelings with Miguel; rather you didn’t know how to and feared the unknown reaction that may follow. You weren’t used to being this vulnerable.

You knew that you would rather hear Miguel share his emotions, even crying on your shoulder, than have him be silent. It was only fair that you took your own advice. Here you were advocating for openness, while grasping onto your own reticence.

“Could you do me a favour?” You asked in the midst of the silence that was shared between you.

“Of course,”

“I understand that you don’t want me to lift a finger especially while I’m pregnant but could you not try to intervene when I’m in the kitchen. I don’t like sitting around and I want to keep myself busy,”

You could sense the hesitance from him as he drew in a shaky breath before he spoke. “…yeah I can do that”

“You already have a lot on your plate,”

“I do, but promise me that you won’t leave me in the dark when you need something from me,”

“I promise.” You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. “I’m glad we’re on the same page Spiderman,”

Even if your view of him was obscured by the darkness in the room, you could still see his lips twitching up from your comment. “Mhmm that’s not an excuse for me to be a neglectful husband to you. So don’t act coy with me,”

“Oh I know. I’m just finding an excuse to be a smartass,” you teased him further by kissing along his jaw. Feeling his body tense from your touch, even if it was subtle, was a huge ego booster.

“Was that supposed to throw me off or something,” you could hear the groan he was trying to hide at the back of his throat as he spoke and it made your stomach flutter.

“Maybe,”

“Uh huh, you definitely did that on purpose,”

“I’ll do it again,”

“And I’ll kiss you right back,”

“Alright bet,” Before he could retaliate, you were bold enough to lap over his lower lip with your tongue. A low moan could be heard from him in response.

It was rare for you to initiate such a confident move like this but there was an undeniable spark and you didn’t want it to go just yet. The bleak mood from earlier was now forgotten and was replaced with arousal.

You pulled away to reposition yourself so you were fully facing him on your lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

His grip on your waist tightened in response drawing you closer to him until your bump was pressing against his torso. “You have no idea what you got yourself into,”

Finally with a longing that built in your stomach, you leaned in until your lips met in a fervent kiss. The weight of your doubts and anxiety was now completely diminished as you felt a magnitude that pulled you into bliss.

You felt him run his tongue over your lips and you parted them slightly in response. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, completely taking over your mouth with a low groan.

As you pulled away, breathless with desire, you couldn’t help but tease, “Too much or not enough?”

To which he responded, “Not even close to enough,”

“Good, then I’ll keep going. You’re not getting the upper hand here,” you were beaming at your own words.

But your confidence was cut short when you noticed his hand reach over and slipped under your pants and past your panties until his fingers were grazing against your folds.

Feeling the air that brushed against your slickness was enough to humble you. You didn’t realise how soaked you were until you felt yourself suction around him greedily as he pushed both his middle and ring finger in.

“You’re saying that now, just wait until I’m inside you,” he was taunting you, completely throwing you off but you would happily let his fingers do all the talking now, even if it was at the expense of your pride.

Your hand immediately reached to grapple onto his biceps to keep yourself steady. If it wasn’t for your restricted mobility from your bump, you would’ve started rolling your hips to ride on his fingers.

But instead you allowed him to do all the work. Your head rested on his shoulder and you moaned into his neck as the pad of his thumb rubbed against the sensitive nerves of your clitoris.

He dragged his fingers out, now wet from your arousal, and slowly ran it over your folds. The first thing you felt after he pulled his hands away from your cunt was his hard on, pressed against you.

You would’ve started grinding against him with how needy you were if he didn’t hold you still. He held you by the side and moved you off his lap so he could remove his pants and boxers before lying down flat on his back.

You didn’t need the light to know that his dick was standing on its end with beads of precum leaking from the tip. You removed your own clothes and felt the cold air slap on your cunt.

“Ven acá amor,” his voice was inviting and you’d be a fool to deny him.

You let him guide you, given his enhanced vision that allowed him to see in the dark. Both hands were on your rear, spreading your cheeks before you felt the tip nudge into your folds.

“Oh God-” you whimpered. You felt yourself stretch to accommodate him, sinking yourself lower until you were balls deep. Your hips flushed against him with your stiff clit pressed against the top of his groin,

“No divinity. Just your husband’s dick inside you,” A wide grin spread across his face. His hands were all over your growing belly, feeling the warmth of you and the occasional kick of the baby.

“Que bonita,” he said in awe. A sense of pride washed over him knowing he was the one who knocked you up, the woman he loved and the mother of his future child. “Muy linda tu barriga,”

You seemed to be more sensitive to his praises especially given the fact that you were getting cock drunk now.

Ever since your bump was starting to show, Miguel never missed the opportunity to praise you. He wanted you to feel proud of your physique and not be hesitant on your changing body.

His hands reached over to hold your waist before he piston his hips up and took control of the pace. You could tell he was holding back from going rough, handling you with extra care.

The feel of him thrusting inside was enough to knock the senses out of you until you were high from bliss. He was making sure you felt every sensation in full capacity, feeling every crevice of his dick being caressed by your silky walls.

His hands reached over to the back of your neck to pull you in until your lips met again. The kiss was disoriented and breathy as he was still trying to maintain his pace.

Each brush of his lips on yours was feeding into your ecstasy. You pulled away and nestled into his neck, taking in his dick so well.

“That’s it, let me make you feel good. Let me make you forget about your problems, amor,” he whispered lovingly in your ear.

“Miguel…” you couldn’t form a proper response, your moans of pleasure drowning out your voice.

He was so good at making feel this way, reaching optimal pleasure from his touches. With the absence of the lighting you allowed yourself to just physically feel everything he was giving you.

His broad head nudging into your cervix.

His soft whispers fanning against your ear.

His hands all over and worshiping you everywhere he could reach.

“God, you’re so easy to please,” You could tell he was reaching his peak. With one final buck from his hip, he dragged his dick to reach the depth of your cunt before he reached his climax.

You felt the contraction of your walls around him as he drenched his balls inside of you. His grip on you loosened and his dick slipped free from your grasp before deflating onto his thighs.

You whined from the sudden withdrawal and the muscles of your walls relaxed. There were still remnants of his cum that was sticking between your thighs but you would deal with that later.

Miguel kissed the top of your forehead before letting out a deep sigh. You both lay together in each other’s embraces, basking in the afterglow with your breaths merging together.

Amidst the tranquil intimacy, your stomach let out an unexpected growl, reminding you that you skipped dinner.

Miguel chuckled softly, “So, have you still lost your appetite?”

You huffed. “Well it’s suddenly back now that I’ve worked it up in other ways,”

Hot take: cooking together in the kitchen is NOT romantic 🙅🏻‍♀️🗣️ move out of my fucking way and let me work

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @monarchberrysblog @strawberryjuice9 @lazyjellyfish300 @quack-ie @ghost-lantern

@ginanet @superstar-t20 @roreadsfanfics @francesca-the-1st @vanillapinkrose

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@emelie-s-h @pretty-pink-princesss @safixiovi

Also reminder that I will be interacting and reblogging fic from my second account @lmaoyouwhore

[katboykirby]

As someone with autism, Satan with an autistic MC would be so wholesome and perfect...

Satan who makes sure a MC always has a jacket and a spare pair of plastic gloves handy to help them with their sensory issues.

Satan who takes over some of autistic MC’s chores, cleaning the dirty dishes and dealing with leftovers so that MC doesn’t freak out when they have to touch it.

Satan who never leaves MC’s side at large gatherings lest they get overstimulated and run off again. The last time that happened it took everyone so long to find them. Luckily, MC was alright. They were tucked away in a small room in the castle to hide.

Satan who is perfectly alright with sitting silently in your room while the two of you work on your own things. Maayyybeee he wouldn’t mind it if you wanted to scoot closer to him.

DOESN’T LET DIFFERENT FOODS TOUCH ON YOUR PLATE!! WILL START A RIOT IF HE FINDS THAT ANYONE HAS LET FOODS TOUCH ON YOUR PLATE!!

…ahem

Satan who doesn’t find MC’s tendency to disappear without a trace frustrating. He knows they like to go ‘exploring’ alone, wandering off for a short while before returning to his side per usual. Maybe when you grow close enough you’ll take him on a little journey.

Satan who admires you and your love for certain things. No matter how trivial they may seem, he knows that those are the things that make up the world for you. He’ll gladly listen to you talk about your interests for hours.

Satan who takes your relationship as slow as you may need. Sexual intimacy doesn’t equal love to him. He’s okay with you touching him and not the other way around if that’s what you feel comfortable with.

Satan who seems to be the only one who understands MC’s reluctance to physical touch. He avoids touching MC whenever possible. He shows his affection for MC in other ways.

Taking them to a quiet cat café.

Taking them to a new pop up event for their favorite anime.

Hell, he even downloaded Mononoke Land so that when they went on walks together he could catch spirits alongside them. (He’s their only added friend on the game so he makes sure to send them gifts daily.)

When MC shyly hugs him for the first time he thinks he might combust on the spot— it’s such a special occasion for him!

You think you’re a burden and nuisance because you’re so different, yet to Satan, that’s what makes you so perfect. It’s what makes him love you so much.

(p.s,,, if it wouldn’t bother you I could be 💚anon or bitchass autistic anon! I don’t know if you label your anons or not. :) )

((also don’t feel pressured to respond or look at this ask! I just thought you might like it.))

This is so, so lovely and I really enjoyed reading all of your thoughts. And nobody has asked to be a tagged Anon before! Of course you can be 💚 Anon!

I feel like I don't have very much to say in response, because you've already put everything into words so wonderfully. I'm not autistic myself, but I know that there's some overlap with ADHD (my own diagnosis) when it comes to certain habits or behaviours, and I do some of the things that you've described so I feel like I can relate to a certain extent.

I do think that all of the OM boys would be supportive of an autistic partner (or any of the personal struggles that their partner might have, be they mental or physical) but I do also believe that Satan would be one of the best at intuitively knowing exactly what his partner wants and needs without having to ask for anything to be explained or spelled out for him.

Whether you HC Satan as autistic or not, he does have a lot of his own habits and behaviours that are somewhat similar, and he's good at figuring things out on his own even from very small or subtle hints.

If he sees you carefully separating the different foods on your plate (something many of his brothers would be too loud or rowdy during mealtimes to notice right away) he would make sure to keep your food clearly separated the next time it was his turn to make dinner, and would make sure to separate your food every time in the future as well.

If he notices the way you gently (or not-so-gently) pull away from physical contact, he will always be sure to refrain from touching you without your explicit permission; something that his other brothers (like Mammon, Asmo, or Beel, for example) might take longer to figure out, since they're just so used to hugging you or putting an arm around you without even thinking about it. Satan isn't the biggest fan of all the touchy-feely stuff either (we often see him yelling at his brothers not to touch him in the games) so he knows how you feel, and he doesn't want to intrude on your personal space.

He loves that you always listen to him whenever he has something to say, especially when he starts gushing at length about the current book he's reading or about the cat he saw on his way from from RAD that day. Nobody else really bothers to pay him any attention when he starts rambling like that - Levi is really the only one who can relate, but Levi also has trouble keeping himself from interrupting and going into his own long spiels. And Satan loves listening to you when you tell him all about your own hyperfixations in turn. It doesn't matter what you're rambling about, Satan is hanging on to every word.

Satan is a very meticulous person who would take his time to deeply and carefully consider all of the best ways he could support you and make you feel comfortable, without making you feel patronised or condescend to. He'd never want to make you feel like a child he was taking care of, because you are both perfectly equal in his eyes. He knows what it feels like to be seen as less than, thanks to many years of hinself only ever being seen as his rage. He never wants you to feel like just a diagnosis or just a disability. Like his Wrath, your autism is a part of you, but it is not all of you. It is not your entire identity or all that you are.

He loves you so, so much ♡

[a-wolfs-bad-moon-rising]

I was in my feelings and then thought, wow I could right a fic about this. Including teddy bear Soap 😊

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Depressed!Reader

I Gotcha Lassie

(Mentions of Anxiety and Depression)

You can't tell if you feel nothing or everything. You want to cry. But you don't want to cry. Your chest feels empty but it feels heavy. Why are you feeling like this? Depression. Why are you scared of everything all of a sudden and super jumpy? Anxiety. It's an ugly battle you're fighting and trying to get out of is impossible. You still have a job to do though and you pull yourself out of bed and carry on with your day.

Your hygiene isn't always the best. You try to shower daily but you don't take extra measures. This is a bad episode. Buckle up because it's going to be a tough one.

~~~~~~6:00am~~~~~~

Your alarm goes off and your eyes shoot open. Hot adrenaline rushes through your veins and into your heart causing it to pump wildly, almost irregularly. You sit up in a panic grabbing at your chest as your lungs seem incapable of expanding. Sweat forms and beads down your head and you breath heavily through your nose.

And then suddenly the episode is over. You calm down realizing your surroundings. It's okay. It's okay. You tell yourself. You rub your eyes frustrated at your exhaustion. You spend all night tossing and turning unable to sleep, and when you finally fell asleep, your alarm went off.

You spent all night panic sleeping that you couldn't relax fully. Another day another dollar.

You pull yourself from bed and attempt to get ready. You tie your hair back to get it off your face and change into your uniform. You struggle to remember deodorant and brushing your teeth but you manage to get it. You trudge through your apartment trying to go through your normal routine but only managing some of it.

You give up and head out before you're late. On base you get to your duty station and get to work. The day blurs as comrads come and go. Issues arise and are solved.

Before lunch your stomach aches.

Right. You forgot breakfast. No wonder you have the shakes. You make a fist with your hands to stop the slight trembles. Only an hour to go and you can go to chow. You can do this.

Your eyes unfocus and you keep pushing on.

"(L/N)"

You keep messing with something in your hands. You've been working the last hour.

"(L/N)"

You still don't notice.

"(L/N)!"

You heart rate immediately spikes and your chest is filled with the familiar heavy feeling. You breathe hard and look up at your Captain.

"Sir?" You ask.

"It's chow (L/N) come now stop yer fiddlin." He says. You just nod and set the object down. You follow him to the mess hall. The scents wafting from the kitchen calm you temporarily. The food smells great especially after unintentionally forgetting breakfast. Oops.

You grab a tray and start to feel anxious again. You uses sensory techniques to help ground yourself.

I can smell the food it's (Food of Choice)

I can hear all the conversations. I can hear Ghost complaing about Soap

You chuckle.

I can feel the light gray tray in my hands. It's smooth and gray.

You look up.

I can see. Soap. His distince Mohawk. His pretty smile. His. What?!

You freeze as he approaches you. He makes your heart pound in both utter fear and the fact you're crushing on him. Your hands shake on the tray.

"Aftearnoon lass." He says with a perfect smile.

You blink nervous.

"H-hi Soap." You say sheepishly and look away. He keeps smiling and walks past to Ghost's table.

You calm your heart rate and get in line to grab lunch. You pile your plate and sit with your comrades and try to eat. Your depression has suppressed your appetite but you are determined to stay healthy. You notice throughout lunch Soap keeps giving you glances and small smiles. Everytime your heart flutters. It's a change from the palpitations that ypu feel from anxiety. Maybe you're overthinking it. He's a sweet guy. All smiles all the time.

But then again even when you weren't in this rut you noticed his looks. Nah you're definitely overthinking it. Especially now, if your depressed state you're more disheveled and definitely feel less attractive. You've felt very self conscious lately.

He wink at you.

Your heart jumps in your throat and you swallow it down and take a breath.

Back at work you just try to get through the day.

4:30pm and you're good to go. You sigh and head to your locker. You gather your things and turn to leave the building when you hear a familiar Scottish accent.

"Lass!" Your heart pounds and you freeze. You hear his heavy footsteps as his boots land on the floor. Before he reaches you, you face him and smile warily. He's smiling brightly at you not seeming to notice your discomfort. In reality, it's not him, you're struggling a lot at the moment and it's hard to manage.

"How was yer day lass?"

"P-pretty good Soap." You say

" 'eaded home?" He asks

"Yes..." your heart is beating hard, hammering in your chest so loud in your ears you're sure he can hear it. He doesn't.

"Wheel I won't beat aroun tha bush. I was wonderin if maybe you'd want to go oot with me?" He bluntly states

Your eyes widen.

"A d-d-date?" Now your anxiety spikes. No he doesn't this is a joke. You're not that pretty? You couldn't remember if you even showered this morning. Did you? Maybe. No this is overwhelming you don't like it one bit.

Soap laughs heartily.

"Yes lassie a date. Been wantin to ask you fer a while now." He states and smiles at you. You step back uncomfortable.

"I...uh....I can't....do this...now...I gotta go!!" You say panicked. Dates mean crowds and noise and people. The only reason you could handle being at work was you were used to these people before your depressive/anxious episode. You didn't want to be in public. And with that you turn and scurry away from him. He's left speechless wondering about your peculiar behavior. Ghost and even Price encouraged him. They claimed you swooned over him but this......implied something else.

Soap knew it had to be something else. No there's no reason why you'd do that. You liked him, he was sure of it.

Later at home you sit huddled on your couch, weighted blanket on your shoulders. You sip a warm drink and try to relax and enjoy your evening. You decided for the fourth night in a row not to cook and order in. You waited for your dinner to arrive.

You get a notification that it's delivered ans stand up to open your door. As you bend down to pick it up, your phone rings. You quickly get your food inside and grab your phone. It's an unknown number. You ignore it and let it go to voice-mail.

You open your food and whiff the aroma. You relax and your phone rings again. It's the same number.

Decline

Incoming Call

Decline

Incoming Call

Finally you get agitated and pick up. In a cool manner you answer and run your fingers through your hair.

"Hello?" You say.

"Lass?" You freeze

"S-Soap?" You ask.

"Aye lass. Yer a tough one to reach." He laughs.

"I'm sorry." You say and shift nervously.

" 'sokay lass." He says and then pauses.

"How'd you get my number?" You ask.

"Got it from Price." He states and you pause. That damn Brit.

"Ah." You say

"Yeah." Another pause and you look at your nails nervously picking at the skin with your thumb.

"So lass I wanted to ask....why'd ya leave in such a panic? It's just a little date, didn't expect ya to turn tail and run like that...unless you really didn't want ta go?" He says.

You sigh.

"N-no Soap it's not that...I....um..was happy you asked me." You say truthfully.

"Really? Then why so skiddish?"

"I....um....I'm shy." You say.

"Lass....that wasn't shy, you seemed scared out o' yer mind. Wheel, I've noticed for a while now yer more jumpy than usual..." He says. You take a breath.

"Just...anxious" you admit. "I've been...um....really depressed lately and...my anxiety spikes here and there."

"Go on." He encourages.

"I um....I don't want to be in public to long... too much noises....and people.. " you drift off embarrassed.

There's silence and for a moment you thought he hung up. Instead he laughs and your face flushes.

"Oh lass that's it? Thats great." He chuckles. "Not that you've been feelin this way. I'm sorry aboot that and that ya were stressin. We don' 'ave to to go out anywhere." He says

"W-we don't?" You ask.

"No of course not. I don' like stuffy restaurants anyway or tight suits. We can stay in at 'ome. Do ya like movies?" He asks

"Yes." You say quietly.

"Good! Ya can come o'ver ere and we can watch movies. 'Ell come in yer pajamas I don' care. I just wanna spend time with ya." He says and you giggle.

"Pj's are hardly a nice first date outfit Soap." You say. He chuckles.

"It sounds perfect to me lass. I can cook ya dinner 'ere. What do ya say?"

"I'd love to"

You both plan to have your movie date that Friday after work. Soap sends you sweet texts never pushing you too far and making you feel more comfortable. He asks your favorite scent, movies, snacks, the works. Though he still makes your heart flutter you feel more in love with him. You feel improvement in your mood and look forward to your date.

And with that you stand outside Soap's apartment on your pajamas. You feel stupid as if this wasn't his idea. You feel nervous like you should leave but before you can Soap opens the door. He's wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt.

"Ah there ya are lass, you look lovely tonight" He says. You laugh.

"Soap I'm in pajamas." You say. He grins at you.

"Aye but ye look comfy. And your fuzzy socks look cute." He adds and you blush smiling.

He let's you in, and you're hit with a smell of (Fav/Smell). You notice candles burning and look at him.

"Figured you'd like it. Might help ya relax some." He says. You smile at the thoughtfulness. You see his living room and he has stacks of blankets and pillows making a comfy spot for you two to watch movies. You see all the snacks you mentioned to him and a couple more. The room is dimly lit and relaxing and cozy. You notice your anxiety hasn't jumped since coming in. You turn to him.

"Thank you." You say earnestly. He smiles.

"I uh gotcha a wee present." He says and you perk up.

"Oh?" You say. He moves to get a (Fav/Animal) stuffed animal. Your eyes widen and you look at him.

"It's weighted. I read it helps with anxiety...thought ya may like it." He says almost shyly. You pick up the stuffed toy and hug it to your chest.

"I love it so much." You say. You never thought Soap would think this much about your anxiety. And it's so sweet that he's go to such lengths to ensure you're comfortable. Soap smiles at you holding your stuffed animal.

You sit down and watch movies together, occasionally commenting and shit talking the screen. You both playfully shove each other and laugh a lot. He throws popcorn at you to catch in your mouth and you make it a game. You relax more and more. You smack him with your stuffed animal and he holds it "for randsom" (a piece of candy). It's been a long time since you felt this calm.

A loud crash is made outside that has you reeling. You jump and shiver, your heart rate jumping. Soap immediately tries to help.

"Woah lassie calm down. Shhhh" He soothes.

"I gotcha." He gently touches your shoulders and rubs them carefully in soothing motions. You calm down and relax. You lean into him the smell of his cologne grounding you. He picks up your weighted stuffed animal and places it on your lap. You immediately hug it. This setting, the comfortable smells and snacks, the comfy clothes, is loads better than anything else. Later on you two cook together and you play around smearing ingredients on his face. He chases you and grabs you in a bear hug. You laugh harder than you have in a while.

Rain patters against the windows and you feel tranquil in the moment.

After dinner you continue your movie marathon, snuggling up to Soap. He wraps his arm protectively around you, thumb stroking your leg. You lay on his chest his heartbeat making your eyes flutter. You sigh deeply. He kisses your head and plays with your hair. Soon you both drift off while your movie plays on, long forgotten. You, curled up into Soap's side, laying on his chest, and his arms around you. His cheek pressed into your head. You don't sleep panicked. You don't wake up. You don't have nightmares. No. John MacTavish gives you a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long time. You sleep warm and comfortable. His body heat and overall presence comforting you. His chest rising and falling with yours as you all breathe in perfect sync.

This was the end to a perfect date.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wolf: Just writing that brought me so much comfort 😊

Soap: Aye it was sweet.

Wolf: It happens to me sometimes too and having someone to make it all better is the best thing ever.

Soap: True lass, I think the lassies will like it.

Wolf: I hope so.

Soap: It's okay to have hard times lassies, but do take care of yourselves. Shower, brush your teeth, eat plenty and drink lots a water. You'll get through it, you're strong. Soap is here for all of you and loves all of you.

Wolf: We all got this 😊

[donovankinard]

whumptober masterlist ✮

one month, 96 prompts, 51953 words, 9 pairings, several hundred tags, 31 fics, the 911verse and a whole lot of late nights have built up my completed whumptober. daily fics, spanning the month of october and containing physical and emotional pain for 911/ls characters, that have turned into a collection of some of my best works.

all 31 works for @whumptober 2024 are listed, linked and summarised under the cut ! includes a number of fics for @jeddieweek x

you're on the other side, as the skyline splits in two 1 - race against the clock: search party, panic attack, "if only we could hold on" mcd, la + tx, hen wilson & eddie diaz, 2.8k

Eddie’s good at his job, generally; he keeps a level head with his patients, he doesn’t take risks beyond what’s necessary, and he carries more compassion than the average person, he likes to think. And his friends are good at their jobs, too. He knows that. But when things get personal, when it’s Chris or Tommy or someone from the 118 on the line, he loses sight of it all. He loses the balance, the level head, the medical training and the firefighter training, it all goes down the drain. Marjan grabs his shoulder, dragging him out of the helicopter and further down the hillside, and all the way he feels like he can’t breathe; it’s not just the smoke that’s choking him out. Or the one where Hen’s gone missing, Eddie’s trying like hell to keep his head, and desperate times create panicked firefighters.

i'm home alone, and you're god knows where 2 - trust issues: amusement park, role reversal, "you got away with crime while the knife's in my back"no warnings, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1k

A small mumble, something incoherent, comes from over by the table; Carlos rounds the couch, flicking on a lamp and sighing lowly as warm light floods the room. The scene before him isn’t a regular one, but it isn’t something he’s not seen, either. Only once before, right after TK first officially moved in with him. That was one of the only times, really, that Carlos sincerely believed TK would relapse; between the closed-off air and the tinge of crushing emotion, he truly thought that that would be it. Not least because he wasn’t even sure what was wrong; he’d merely come home to find TK sitting on the floor in front of the couch, eyes bloodshot and phone sitting open in front of him. His phone, sitting open to Carlos’ texts. Or the one where TK’s past always feels like his future, and Carlos tries to undo the harm Alex did.

lay on the horn, to prove that it haunts me 3 - set up for failure: fingerprints, wrongfully arrested, "i warned you" no warnings, la, evan buckley & athena grant, 1.4k

Starting a fire, a flickering flame that eats away at not only someone’s possessions, but their past? Their home, their security, their memories? He’s spent more than half his adult life trying to save even fragments of people’s lives from the chaos of the flames, and anyone who would do the opposite, who would actively destroy them, doesn’t deserve even an ounce of his respect or kindness. So to be accused of such is not only a terrifying experience, but a personal offence, to him. Or the one where Evan Buckley is charged with arson, and he works out who his real family are.

forest that once was green, colored black by killing machines 4 - hallucinations: hypnosis, sensory deprivation, "you're still alive in my head"ptsd/discussions of dead characters, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

But when Eddie turned up, when they first became close, it woke Buck up a little. He educated himself; on the troops in Afghanistan, on the tumultuous violence and the horrific sights, on the experiences of incomparable emotional and physical agony. There was more than one night, after that first shift with Eddie, where Buck would spend hours twisted in his bedsheets thinking over the pages and pages of military history and soldier accounts and articles from Texan newspapers about Eddie’s medal. He was determined, really, to understand what the man had been through; that was the only way he knew how to help, was to understand, was to learn. Or the one where Eddie’s past won’t leave him be, Buck doesn’t know how to help, and the military took more than anyone’s inclined to admit.

i'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me 5 - sunburn: healing salve, heatstroke, "if my pain will stretch that far" no warnings, la, evan & maddie buckley, 1.2k

“Evan, you cannot keep doing this.” “Get off my back.” Evan seethes, pulling out of Maddie’s touch. Her hands are cold, as is the cream she’s applying; but her touch is pressing on his back, and the ointment stings on the burns, leaving Evan gritting his teeth. “I just forgot, okay?” “It’s not okay.” Maddie insists, grabbing his wrist and holding his arm still as she spreads the white cream down his shoulder, fingers careful but firm. “D’you know what these kinds of burns can do? Melanoma, DNA damage, abnormal cell development. Photoaging. Cancer.” Or the one where Maddie’s leaving, Buck’s pissed, and the burns on the outside aren’t the ones that hurt the worst.

i keep telling myself that it's them and not me 6 - not realising they're injured: unhealthy coping mechanisms, healed wrong, "it's not my blood" blood/injury, tx, tarlos, carlos reyes & mateo chavez, 1.9k

Carlos’ knuckles are rough and tender where they meet the fabric of Mateo’s shirt, and his eyes are bleary with tears, stinging and bloodshot from the dust blowing around them. Wind whips around his ears, almost taunting him with howls that feel like agony. The pouring rain does nothing to dampen the brown grit flying through the air around them, the smack of water on the road echoing through the street, accented by screams and the distant intonation of sirens. Or the one where Carlos has to get Mateo to safety, but his own pain falls by the wayside in the process.

are you with me, are you drifting through your doubt? 7 - only for emergencies; unconventional weapon, magic with cost, "it's us or them" injury/mental illness, la, christopher diaz & evan buckley, 3.5k

These thoughts, these ideas of who he is and where he fits in, seem to sit on him a lot now. They weigh on his mind, and they’re heavy now, looking at these photographs, until Buck gives a small whisper of some choice words that Eddie would not be happy to know he’s using in front of Chris. “What?” Christopher asks, looking over to Buck until a shrill yell comes from outside his rolled-down window, and he turns to see what’s happening; most people are still in their cars, but two cars ahead a man’s climbed on the windshield of a silver Ford, face twisted in panic and shirt stained in several places. Or the one where Christopher has a lot to learn, Buck can’t be the one to teach him, and the people society shuns are the ones they end up fearing.

all of your falling, does it get exhausting, have you gotten sleep? 8 - sleep deprivation: isolation chamber, forced to stay awake, "leave the lights on" mental illness, la, evan buckley/tommy kinard, 2k

But when he swings open the loft door, he knows immediately that this is not Evan at his best; the lights are all on, which is rare, because Evan usually packs it all in for the night before Tommy gets home. The house is cold and the heatings off, the curtains are all drawn but there’s a thick wooden cutting board abandoned on the kitchen counter, two knives set on it with capsicum, carrot and zucchini. Or the one where Evan cracks under the weight of his own thoughts, Tommy witnesses his worst times for the first time, and sometimes all you can do is be there.

i'll always be looking for you in the distance, wherever i am 9 - obsession: broken window, bruises, "frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble" post mcd, tx, carlos reyes & gabriel reyes, 1.2k

Carlos knows that this investigation is beyond just him; he isn’t just out of his depth, he’s going out of his mind. Every time he thinks he understands something, there’s a fresh piece of information that changes things, a fresh perspective he hasn’t taken, a fresh alibi that wrecks his theory. If anything, having so many clues and leads should be satisfying; instead, it’s pushing him in circles of suspects and innocence, every hour spent on the case feeling the same as the one before. A waste. Or the one where Carlos is investigating his father’s case, every street leads back to the beginning, and a window takes the brunt of his frustration.

when i scream, you're my echo, will you cry if i let go? 10 - blow to the head; slurred words, passing out from the pain, "i can't think straight" + A7: no-holds-barred beatdown blood/injury, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 1.5k

Of course, when everything happened with the illegal boxing ring years ago, Buck was angry. At Eddie for getting mixed up in it, at Lena for her involvement, at himself, for not knowing what was going on. Eddie was putting Christopher’s last remaining parent in danger, but he was also putting Buck at the risk of losing one of the most important people in his life, and the latter didn’t know whether he was even allowed to be mad at him for that part of it all. It was frustrating, and it was overwhelming, and it was the kind of anger that sat inside Buck, like rust growing over every part of his life until all of his loved ones were red with his pain. Or the one where Christopher’s gone, Eddie returns to fighting to cope with his frustration, and the anger in Buck’s chest changes form, but doesn’t ever quite leave him.

you're not even here, but you're doing my head in 11 - seeing double; convenience store, loneliness, "leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist" no warnings, la, christopher diaz & eddie diaz, 1.5k

And Eddie thought, when Shannon left and he created this strength, this solidity, that nothing would break it. That no loss, no pain, could ever cause cracks in the foundation that was steadily built on his fatherhood. It wasn’t inherent, that strength; it was something he worked for, something he learned, and something he’d begun not to even notice. It wasn’t going anywhere, he’d thought. But then Chris left. And the strength did, too. Or the one where Christopher’s still in Texas, Eddie’s still in the convenience store, and the space between them feels infinite.

when will it stop being cool, to be quietly misunderstood? 12 - starvation: underground caverns, cannabalism, "just a little more" ednos, la, evan buckley & his parents, 1k

This idea, this thing that grew itself in his brain, started out as a tactic. A plan. A way to make his father catch his eye, make his mother look at him; not just look at him even, not look at his face, but see him, really see him. See the parts of him that aren’t all that pretty, the pieces that he hates to see in the mirror, and want it. Evan’s only ever wanted his parents to want him the way other people do, the way Maddie does, and this was supposed to help him do that. Or the one where Evan Buckley would do everything right if it would make his parents care, but he’s had to come up with other tactics.

i'm so sorry, i'm so confused, just tell me, am i out of time? 13 - team as a family: familial curse, multiple whumpees, "death will do us part" blood/injury/mcd, la, bobby nash & 118 firehouse crew, 1.2k

“I’m telling you, my name is Henrietta Wilson and I’m with the Los Angeles Fire Department. I need to speak to Bobby Nash, he’s here, he’s the technical advisor, it’s urgent, please, I need to talk to him.” “You have to go through security–” “Hen?” Bobby practically shoots out of his chair, waving away the crew and ignoring the scoff of the director on the far side of the room. “Hey, she’s a friend.” Or the one where mistakes have been made, it could cost someone’s life, and Bobby just wishes he had been there.

and i still talk to you, when i'm screaming at the sky 14 - left for dead: hunting gear, blackmail, "because i want you to know what it feels like to be haunted" post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes & owen strand, 1.7k

Carlos isn’t sure how he got to that point, that moment; he thought he’d done it right. He thought that he’d figured it out, he’d found the bad guy, he could take the punishment into his own hands and dish out the consequences, and it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t affect TK, it wouldn’t affect their yet-to-be marriage, it wouldn’t hurt him. They’ve always been separate, in his mind; his work, his family, and his Tyler. They’ve been three separate things, three separate lives that he leads, and that was how he wanted it. He’s gotten too used to one not affecting another, he realises sharply, his second whiskey pouring down his throat. Or the one where Carlos nearly makes a grave mistake, Owen tries to help him with his grief, and a man being dead doesn’t make him innocent.

wishing these memories would fade, they never do 15 - childhood trauma: painful hug, moment of clarity, "i did good, right? post cd, la, evan buckley & bobby nash, 1.6k

Given the complexities of his childhood, Buck should, in all self-honesty, be more adjusted to this idea by now. He spent his fair share of time in the emergency room or the backs of ambulances – as well as one or two cop cars, but that’s mostly irrelevant – and thus has plenty of experience watching teenagers doing the same things he did, getting hurt the same way he did. It’s been eight years since he joined the 118, and he’s had thousands of familiar-feeling calls in that time – and far more than one motorcycle crash. Or the one where the civvies are like mirrors to Buck, childhood is better remembered, and Bobby seems to know just what to say.

this is the last damn thing that i hold close to me 16 - necrosis: swamp, wound cleaning, "no, i can't feel anything' injury/infection, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.5k

It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work out what an effort Carlos has been making since TK voiced his concerns of them drifting apart, and the improvement has been both significant and obvious; not just in their relationship, but in Carlos’ mood, in his demeanour. Getting through sex without falling asleep has definitely gotten easier, because they just went for two rounds for the first time since their honeymoon, and Carlos is still pressing languid kisses to TK’s neck. Or the one where Carlos is insatiable, TK’s paramedic instincts kick in, and they’re as strong as ever for all their flaws.

but tonight your apartment had so much appeal 17 - nowhere else to go: ruined map, shipwrecked, "we had a good run" + A2: communication barrier addiction (ref.), tx, tk strand & nancy gillian

She was hoping that would bring a smile out, but TK’s face remains fairly stony, the quirk at the corner of his mouth coming far more from a place of politeness than genuine amusement. Nancy gestures to the sofa, and TK sits while she grabs two sodas from the fridge, passing one to him and flopping onto her beanbag in the corner with the other. Or the one where TK and Carlos broke up, Nancy doesn’t know how to help, and sometimes the only place you can go is the best place you could be.

we're too young to drown, deep in dirty waters 18 - revenge: unreliable narrator, loss of identity, "i see what's mine and i take it" + A3: finding old messages post mcd/grief, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand & gabriel reyes, 2.1k

The photographs on the walls feature a Gabriel that never existed; a man who had no flaws, a man remembered by everyone as the smartest, the strongest. A family man, apparently. It all makes Carlos scoff mentally, but then the guilt overtakes him, and he returns a few days later to assist his mother with her latest panicked dilemma. Or the one where Gabriel left certain things behind, and Carlos isn’t sure how to feel about it all.

i don't know who i would be, if you ever leave 19 - blood trail: abandoned cabin, one way out, "is there anybody alive out there?" blood/injury, tx, carlos reyes/tk strand, 1.7k

TK tries not to involve himself in Carlos’ work with the Rangers; it’s complicated, and often confidential, and rarely as life-threatening as his own work. So he tries to stay two steps back, waiting for his husband to open up, to speak his mind, to share whatever case or suspect or civilian is the owner of the weight he’s bearing at the time. It doesn’t often happen, and when it does it’s usually very little, but if he has to go away for work he always makes sure TK knows exactly where he’s going, when he should be finished, and which Rangers or police officers should be with him. Or the one where Rangers Reyes and Campbell disappear during a work trip out to the hill country, and TK takes matters into his own hands to find them.

we ain't angry at you love, you're the greatest thing we've lost 20 - emotional angst: shoulder to cry on, giving permission to die, "it's not your fault" mcd, la, evan buckley/eddie diaz, 1.4k

Which shouldn’t be such a terrifying prospect, because Buck is known also for being one to go against the odds, to fight chance, and to win. But this time, Eddie’s not so sure. Eddie’s not so sure that Buck can come back from it, this time; regardless of his pure resilience, his determination, his stubbornness, Eddie just… doesn’t see it happening, not realistically. Not knowing what he does, about Buck’s injuries and about lightning and about loss and about death. Or the one where Buck was struck by lightning, Eddie knows that he needs to let go, and sometimes it’s a disservice to keep someone’s heart beating for our own sake.

i'm a falling star, a glimmer lighting up these cotton streets 21 - body horror: tattoo gun, spirit possession, "let the bedsheet soak up the tears" + jeddie week day one: LOVE MAKES A FAMILY no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.5k

“We knew he wouldn’t be all-in, straight away, though. Like, we knew that, we were prepared for that.” Eddie insists, waving at the space around him. And they did – when Christopher announced he was returning from Texas, Josh sat him down and opened the conversation of what this would mean for them. The answer was… Eddie didn’t know; but it would take Christopher at least a couple weeks to warm up to the idea, he’d guessed. “I mean, when Buck first started going out with Tommy, it took two months for Christopher to be okay with even speaking to him.” Or the one where Josh endures an awkward dinner, the jury’s still out on the Diaz-Russo family, and Eddie’s love is the best reassurance.

it's like a mountain that's been weighing on my conscience 22 - bleeding through bandages: tourniquet, reopening wounds, "oh thats not good" + jeddie week day two: TRICKS + TREATS blood/injury, la, josh russo/eddie diaz & christopher diaz, 2.1k

But this is Christopher’s first Halloween back in Los Angeles; he came home not long after Christmas, and in the months since January has returned completely to comfort in Eddie’s presence. The rift between them faded so much in the time back together that, despite Eddie insisting Christopher could go with his friends if he wanted, the teenager asked if he could go with Eddie, Josh, Buck and Tommy instead. Or the one where Christopher and his dad are finally back on balanced ground, but Eddie can’t help feeling like he’s about to wreck it all over again.

we were closer, now it's over, but it doesn't mean it's closure 23 - forced choice: public display, broken pedestal, "i'm doing this for you" post mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & eddie diaz, 2.1k

It’s no small feat, what Eddie did; the crowd filming outside caught every single moment of it all. Him running back into the building, the IC hollering through the radio for him to stop as dust billowed around the ground floor; the echo of cracking concrete grinding against itself, and the woman stumbling down the steps as it all gives way, an agonizing yell bursting out between the huge crash of rebar and aggregate before silence as the dust settled. Or the one where Eddie loses his life in the line of duty, and Buck realizes the realities of the loss.

every single thing to come has turned into ashes 24 - radiation poisoning: collapsed building, equipment failure, "i never knew daylight could be so violent" + jeddie week day four: MISSING YOU post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz/josh russo & bobby nash, 2.1k

Buck’s voice keeps Josh up at night; the splintering, cracking of his tone and the pain when he says Eddie’s name. The howling agony that seemed to rip from his chest, his grief like a creature clawing its way out, tearing flesh in it’s desperation. And then there were the faces, from every direction; pity, and fear, and the rough impress of grief on Maddie’s expression, because this isn’t just another man down, it isn’t just another mayday. It’s Eddie. Or the one where Eddie’s been gone for a month, now, Bobby wants to offer his help, and Josh can’t work out how he’s supposed to feel.

don't tell me about your problems if you're not tryna solve them 25 - surgery: stitches, being monitored, "it's for your own good" + jeddie week day five: PET PEEVES post injury/recovery, la, eddie diaz/josh russo, 1.4k

“Eddie, I love you. And as much as it scares the shit out of me, I want you to go back to work, I know how much your job means to you, and I know that you’re really helping people by being there. But if you go back in this state, then you might not be able to do that. Or worse, you might not make it home from your shift. So cut it out, this is for your own good.” Josh hates how sharp his voice sounds when he speaks, how every line is delivered with some sort of twisted fear, but not a single word of it is a lie. Eddie’s body needs time to heal, to recuperate. Or the one where Eddie’s cabin fever is getting to him, Josh is offering the best that he can, and the best medics make the worst doctors.

and the words i most regret are the ones i never meant to leave 26 - nightmares: breakfast table, parting words of regret, "i'm haunted by the lies that i have lvoed, the actions i have hated" post mcd/grief, la, eddie diaz & carla price & evan buckley, 1.2k

Eddie hasn’t heard anything from Chimney, or Maddie, or Buck, for that matter, since he left the firehouse; the last one seems somewhat irrelevant, seeing as the last they spoke Eddie essentially told him to fuck off in the middle of a supermarket, but the chill down Eddie’s spine echoes the disturbance in Carla’s voice. And if his gut is right, if the panic creeping like sweat across his skin is warranted, then something very, very wrong has happened. Or the one where Buck loses his life right in the middle of the lawsuit, and Eddie regrets all the last words he spoke.

at the end of every road, you were good to me 27 - voiceless: laboratory, muzzled, "i have no mouth and i must scream" post mcd/grief, la, christopher diaz & firehouse 118 crew, 2k

When Buck spoke at the funeral, it became really obvious to the fifteen-year-old – and to everyone else in the room – that he was not going to be the kind of person to sit down and allow everyone to talk over Eddie’s shortcomings. He’d been pointed and harsh about the video, and he’d tried to eradicate the weird sort of savior image that’s been painted in Eddie’s memory. And it worked, mostly – people stopped acting like Eddie was some hero who died saving someone, and started really treating his death like that of a fellow human. Painful and tragic, rather than heroic and brilliant. Or the one where Christopher is feeling the loss of his father, Buck is trying his best to help, and sometimes you just don’t know what to say.

if he ain't ever coming back, i'ma need some whiskey glasses 28 - denial: cctv, exposure, "they caught me red-handed" + A9: secrets revealed substance abuse, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.1k

Eddie realises exactly two things, when the pounding his head echoes back into realisation and his awareness brings itself high enough: one, he is in a bed - and two, it is not his own. The sheets against his skin are soft, an airy, light blue shade lit by the cloudy glare coming in from the window. The walls on every side are bare, painted a cool grey shade, and the furniture is all white timber. The bed creaks quietly when he sits up, and the room comes into somewhat of a focus. Or the one where Eddie got a little too out of it in a bar, Josh brought him home for the night, and it’s hard to feel valuable when you’re nobody’s first pick.

trying hard not to be, i'm better when you're next to me 29 - fatigue: labyrinth, burnout, "who said you could rest?" no warnings, la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.4k

And there’s something in it all, something tender and warm and caring, that Eddie loves; but it still sparks defensiveness in his chest and panic in his stomach and an independent sort of fight in every muscle in his body, pushing and pushing outwards and pressing against his brain so much it makes him dizzy, until it all spills over and bursts into too–harsh words and useless insults. Or the one where Eddie’s overworking himself just to avoid Josh, and the rift between them is more than physical.

made it out alive, but i think i lost it 30 - recovery: hospital bed, holding back tears, "what have i done?" + A11: Survivors Guilt mcd/grief, la, evan buckley & christopher diaz, 1.3k

The makeshift-hospital sheets are pooled around his hips, and the lights are a cool, sterile white, dim in the late evening; his lungs heave with his breaths, and he’s dizzy with the way everything rushes back, clarity and confusion hurtling toward him in one twisted package of a sudden flood of thought. He’s only slept for a few hours, but he feels like it’s been years – and yet he’s entirely unrested, all at once. Or the one where Christopher didn’t make it out of the tsunami, even Eddie can’t seem to blame Buck, and sometimes you just need to feel hated.

fights turn into making up, and making up turns into love 31 - asking for help: therapy, making amends, "i'm alive, i'm just not well" substance abuse (ref.), la, josh russo/eddie diaz, 1.8k

Neither of them miss the curious glance that Maddie gives them when they walk off, nor do they pay mind to it; Josh links his hand in Eddie’s and pulls him onto the floor, skin sparking like fireworks up both of their arms and the warm light of the bar bathing them in a golden glow. The bassline thumps beneath their feet, aching through Eddie’s bones and blending into the swarm of light and sound and their people around them, Buck and Chimney hollering every word of the song blaring from the speakers while Josh and Eddie jump around. Or the one where Eddie gets out of his head, Josh gets into his heart, and there’s truly never been a better dance partner.

my ao3 whumptober series my whumptober playlist

[rainbowcarousels]

Alright, listen, Daniel has been a little rough around the edges for me lately for a variety of reasons but @monstersinthecosmos is out here schooling me again. Like a few people know that the very first fic I read when i came back to VC came from @hekateinhell, it was part of vamptember but I didn't know that at the time (and this makes this my returnaversary) so I just talked to @birdblacksocialclub who basically said have you read @monstersinthecosmos yet and I devoured it over a few months.

It's hardly a surprise the same person reawakened by joy. I think it's easy to see Daniel as outside the story or adjacent to it because I think he's happy to be so, he's not trying to yank a spotlight to himself and I don't think he has had the desire to do so really so much as his relationship with fame is more nuanced but these little daily nuggets of joy just give snapshots into Daniel as his own person, as someone with a history and a future and a story - he doesn't need to intrude on someone elses, he has his own.

Everything is so sensory. I feel like he and Armand and Louis are twins in this, they are both descriptive and engaged by sensory experience - actually, I think it's more accurate to say he's closer to Armand in that I think they both experience it as mortals moreso than anyone else. I can feel the atmosphere. I can smell the smoke, feel the stickiness - it's visceral in all of the best ways.

Then there's Daniel's inability not to throw his all ussy into his stories, crossing lines and boundaries from the very beginning. This sits so perfectly with how I've seen him that I could scream. I'm willing to bet he explored those scars with fascination and tried to understand the difference in the sensory experience, an interesting mirror of his Armand experiences years later.

And the phone call is brutal but so well written, a one-sided conversation that tells you so much about Daniel - that he comes from a family that is well off enough that they're not fussed about blowing the money to see him, that Daniel is supposed to be at school but he's not, the disconnect between the life that he was supposed to have and the person he is and the distance being the chasm his relationship with his family falls into. He can visualise them, he clearly feels something but it falls away before it connects in the way it's supposed to from experience, from isolation, from being who he is. It's a quiet sort of disconnect yet also there's a tinge of desperation, bitterness.

This is so fucking powerful and I am eating it up.

September 1, 1973

Daniel’s phone rings at six in the morning. It only half wakes him; he hears it in his dream first.

What fully wakes him is the girl in his bed, and the humid, sticky fusion of their skin where she’s lying against him, her breasts pressing to his ribs and breath warm on his shoulder. She mumbles a noise that reverberates against his collar bone, and the pain sets in when his eyes open.

The headache, but that’s normal for Saturday mornings. His arm, though, bent out of place, because he was too drunk to notice when he fell asleep. The girl’s head pinning his bicep to the mattress. His fingertips tingle.

“...phone,” she mumbles against him.

He rubs his eyes with his free hand. Pale light outside glowing through the blinds. The window is cracked open so that fresh air flows in. Too cold, but it smells like sex and cigarettes in here. He considers closing the window before he considers getting up for the phone. Can’t reach it from here. 

The ringing stops. He shifts, frees his arm. Curls onto his side, away from his guest, and falls back asleep.

~~

Then at nine. 

It wakes him instantly this time, but the sun is in his face. He groans and turns away from the window in time to see the girl blinking awake.

The memory comes on slowly. He looks past her, to the table by the door, and sees his bag of tapes. Her name is Darla. She’s got burn scars on her forearms, and spent hours last night telling him about her life and how she survived a bowling alley fire. 

“Your phone is ringing,” she says. More awake than Daniel. She stares for a moment, in the quiet space between rings, then seems to remember where she is. She looks around for the edge of the bed sheet and pulls it over herself. Looks away.

“I bet it’s a wrong number,” Daniel says. “No one calls me this early.”

He sits up, stretches. Looks around the edge of the bed for his pants, his underwear, anything, but doesn’t see them. The phone is so loud he loses all sense of dignity, unable to listen anymore, unworried about getting out of bed and exposing his ass to her.

Too late, though, when he finally picks up. Just a dial tone. 

He shrugs, drops the receiver back onto the cradle, and goes back to bed.

~~

And at 10:15, but this time the girl is gone. The sheets beside him are still warm and he hears the water running in the bathroom.

Something could be wrong, maybe. At home. Maybe it’s his parents.

The last phone call with them didn’t go so well, though.

He reaches for his cigarettes on the nightstand, watching the phone as he lights one. Waiting. Whoever is calling keeps hanging up before his answering machine even comes on, so it must not be that important.

The machine beeps, this time, and the tape clicks, the red light comes on. “This is Molloy, leave a message,” his voice says from the recording.

There’s a pause. A man’s voice mumbling in the background. The sound of a door closing, and he can just imagine it, the way his mother would stretch the phone cord all the way out and close herself into the pantry for privacy. 

“Daniel,” she says. Just Daniel, and his stomach hurts. She sighs a moment later. “I forgot about the time difference, I’m sorry. Please pick up the phone, you’re going to kill me with the long distance charges.”

Her voice is garbled between the connection and the speaker. Full of static. He wonders if it’s why she sounds so exhausted.

“Okay, I don’t know, maybe you don’t come home on the weekends, I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing anymore.”

Darla opens the bathroom door and Daniel glances at her over his shoulder. She leans in the doorway, listening along.

“Well look, I need to know if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. Your father and I were really hoping you enrolled in classes again this semester, so if you keep the visit short that’s okay. We can pay for the flights. We just–”

His father is yelling something from the other room, and his mother shushes him.

“Please call me back, I haven’t heard from you in months. Your father misses you.”

Then it’s over.

Daniel scratches his belly. He reaches for his cigarettes to offer one to Darla.

She takes one, and lets Daniel light it, but then steps away. Nervous now that it’s daylight, fidgeting and twisting a strand of her hair.

“I guess I’ll head out,” she says. She takes a step back, grabs her bag from the dresser. Daniel takes a drag of his cigarette and stares at the answering machine. “I had fun.”

“Yeah,” he says.

~~

He’s listening to Darla’s tapes and taking notes when she tries again.

It’s 1:13pm, which means it’s 4:13 in Connecticut. He can picture it again, sees her in the kitchen. She’ll be starting dinner now, twisting back and forth across the kitchen with the phone cord as she works.

His stomach hurts again. He hits pause on Darla’s tapes. Reaches for the phone with one hand and his cigarettes with the other.

“Hello?” he mumbles around an unlit cigarette. 

“Daniel! Hi!” surprised that he answered. And not even angry, which hurts worse. Excited to speak to him. 

He lights the cigarette. “Hi, Mom.”

“Did you get my message?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he tries to think of a lie, an excuse. It takes too long, the silence gets awkward.

“I’d really like you to come home.”

“I know.”

“If this is about your father–”

“It’s not.”

“--he does want to see you. You know he was just… frustrated.”

“I think he used the words fucking ashamed.”

“Daniel…”

“What do you get out of this, anyway? Going to bat for him all the time. Aren’t you sick of it?”

Something clacks in the background. He imagines her setting her wooden spoon on the counter. Imagines the way she wiggles her fingers when she’s upset, how she sets her jaw, how she chews the inside of her cheek. 

“We would like you to come home for Thanksgiving. And I hope you enrolled in classes, but if you didn’t, we can talk about that later. If you can come a couple weeks earlier you can make it to your cousin’s wedding. She sent you the invite?”

“Yeah. It’s… somewhere.”

“You should really send the RSVP back, even if you’re family. It’s rude not to.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you enrolled?”

He sucks at his cigarette. Looks down at his typewriter. 

She sighs. He can feel it, through the phone, from three thousand miles away, the way she caves. He can see it on her face, even from here.

“Please come home.”

“Okay.”

~~~~

(JUST A QUICK NOTE but I'm basing my Vamptembers this year on what Daniel was up to in September 1973 and using @cup-of-lixx's Devil's Minion timeline for reference, some of which is canon and some is armandblr hivemind headcanon. For example it wasn't canon that it took place in September but I thought it would be really fun to do this so now it's decided !!!!!!!! K enjoy. Don't hold me to this I have ADHD I might be very excited for 48 hours and never touch it again, peace!)

[letarasstuff]

Too itchy, too loud, too bright

(A/N): This was not requested but I had to get this one off my chest, it started to bug me in my sleep (like Hamilton did to LMM).

Summary: How fast is Spencer able to connect the dots when his daughter complaints about the feeling, loudness and brightness of everything?

Warnings: Descriptions of sensory overload (I described like I feel when I get them and what the internet gave me)

Wordcounts: 1.1k

✨Masterlist✨ ________________________________

When Spencer starts his day, he never expects it to have this outcome. He wakes up his daughter, like every time he does when he is at home and not away on a case. Breakfast, brushing her teeth and doing her hair goes also uneventful. The young doctor likes to get her ready in the bathroom before dressing the girl in order to avoid toothpaste stains. The first mishap happens when the father wants to dress her.

“No Daddy”, (Y/N) screams and throws the shirt he put on her away.

“But Baby”, he tries to console her, “You need to wear a shirt. Or something else. What about the fluffy hoodie with the TARDIS on it?” Spencer hopes she agrees to that, because if not his options are running out.

Luckily for him she nods and lets him change her into the aforementioned clothing article. This is until she begins to whine again. “Daddy, it ITCHY!”

Patiently he asks: “Where does it itch? Is it the sweater or is there something inside that itches.” (Y/N) points to where the label inside the hoodie is. Spender sighs in relief. Finally he is getting somewhere, he thinks while cutting the label off. The father makes a mental note to do the same with all of her shirts.

Because of the whole clothing debacle the small family is running late, which results in them power walking to the train station. “Daddy, loud!” The girl stops and looks up to him. Given their small time window Reid just picks her up and starts walking faster. “Sweetheart, I know the streets are loud, but they are every morning. It will be quieter on the train.”

It seems like anything he does just upsets her further. “NO DADDY! YOU NOT UNDERSTAND” After her outburst, (Y/N) puts her head into her father’s shoulder and her hands over her ears. Only now Spencer connects the dots. The sudden realization makes him mad at himself, he deals with the human psyche on a daily level, but can’t see the symptoms in his own daughter?

“Oh Baby, I think I do now. Let’s get home, where it’s quiet, alright?” While screwing her eyes shut and clamping her little hands over her ears, she nods. As they find their way back with him carrying (Y/N), Reid shoots a quick text to Hotch saying he can’t come in today, because his child isn’t feeling well.

After he shuts the door quietly, he sees an answer from the Unit Chief telling him he hopes that she gets better soon. Spencer nods to himself at that, sure that Hotch thinks something different is wrong than what the case is.

“Ok Sweetheart, what about I shut the blinds on your window and change you out of your hoodie and leggings? Then I’ll wrap you into a little burrito with the soft blanket you got from Auntie Emily and I can read to you while you try to take a nap. You can even wear Daddy’s eye mask, if you want.” Worn down by even the short amount of time she was awake the little girl nods tiredly. “Yes please”, she says in a small voice.

Just like he said, Spencer dims all the light sources in her room, undresses her except for her underwear to reduce any kind of irritating material and swaddles her with the rather heavy blanket in order to make her feel warm and secure.

While reading a cute book named “Rumple Buttercup” by a guy that looks oddly familiar to him (gifted by Garcia for exact that reason), (Y/N) dozes off fairly quickly to Spencer’s relief. He takes a hamper he left next to her closet and takes all of her clothes out laying them in it.

While cutting off all the labels in them as he watches old reruns of Doctor Who on a low volume, a phone ringing startles him. “Dr. Spencer Reid”, the young agent answers it without looking at the caller ID.

“Woah, since when are we this formal? Do you want me to introduce myself with Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan or is Derek fine with Mr Three-PhDs?” Though Spencer knows his friend is just joking, it kind of ticks him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you, but next time I’ll make sure to take your call with ‘Yo, what’s up man’.” “Wait, what got your panties in a twist, Reid? I just wanted to check up on you. Hotch said (Y/N) doesn’t feel good and I wanted to know if I can swing by on my lunch break?”

Spencer now feels bad for snapping at him. “Morgan I’m sorry. It’s just- yeah. When you get here, can you get milkshakes? I’ll prepare lunch, if you are fine with dinosaur shaped nuggets and french fries.” With a laugh the older one takes the order and confirms the menu.

Not long after this Reid opens the door, he texted Derek to tell him when he gets there to avoid ringing the bell.

“Uncle DEREK!” An excited toddler greets him by the door, a blanket around her neck like a cape. “Woah, hey there my little hero”, he picks her up while getting into the apartment, “You feeling better?”

With a solemn face she nods. “I felt really overwhelmed, everything suddenly got really itchy and was loud and sunny. But Daddy helped me, he read to me and let me wear his cute eyes mask. I looked like an alpaca. Oh, Daddy said you got a surprise?”

After a sweet lunch with a very energetic (Y/N), who is afterwards sent to play in her room, Morgan sits with Spencer down. “You do know, what happened, do you?”

“I-I do. (Y/N) got a sensory overload and I tried to guide her through to the best of my abilities. I think it was mainly sparked by the reasons that she slept bad for a few nights in a row and my mom is not doing good right now and (Y/N) always kind of feels it when something is off. I also assume that the labels on her clothes ends the whole ordeal off. But I know how to prevent them and what to do when she has one. You don’t need to worry”, the father rambles.

After making sure that both of them are fine, Derek plays for a bit with his favorite (and only as of right now) niece before going back to the BAU. The rest of the day for the Reid family is filled with watching several Disney movies, reading books together and color some in. In other words: A day off in the Reid household.

Taglist: 

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid:

@calm-and-doctor

x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

[neurodiverse-clones]

Im wondering if you could do some Autistic Echo headcanons

And some ADHD Fives headcanons (bc I have always liked the idea of Fives having ADHD)

Please? I would really appreciate it

YELL HEAH OMG

Okay, so I haven’t been super active in the fandom for a while and I don’t really remember what headcanons I’ve talked about before. I saw that you’ve liked a couple of my posts and hypothetically I could double check those but where’s the fun in that? /j

Autistic Echo

One thing I love to think about in autistic characters is how they stim. I think Echo has a general energy-release stim of tapping his toe in his boot. I also think he stims verbally by reciting the regs.

Echo definitely experiences echolalia! I’ve actually written a fic on it, but I misrepresented echolalia in that fic so I’m not going to link it here. It’s a cute little nod to his name, of course, but also I like thinking about the different ways echolalia and palilalia present and I think Echo does it when he’s stressed (I’m projecting lol)!

He likes the weight and compression of his armour! It’s soothing.

He clearly has a hard time getting along with and communicating with other people. This isn’t really a headcanon so much as evidence to the overall autistic!Echo headcanon. I also like that he and his brothers ALL learn to communicate better with each other and get along, that the onus isn’t on the autistic-coded character.

I think he has a special interest in the regs! I think there aren’t a lot of things to have a special interest in when you’re a clone, and of the few options I think the reg doubles as a good way to feel a sense of order and organization, which a lot of us crave.

Another fic I have is about how he gets overwhelmed sometimes in the battlefield and experiences sensory overload! I don’t think it’s an all-the-time thing, or he just wouldn’t survive that environment, but I do think it’s something he experiences on occasion and his brothers do his best to protect him when it happens.

ADHD Fives

Oddly this is harder even though I also have ADHD and totally vibe with it! (Also ADHD Hardcase for SURE.) But I have a few!

I think he’s primarily hyperactive!

He TOTALLY self-medicates with caffeine. He drinks as much caf as he can get without getting in trouble or making himself anxious.

In some ways I think he’s actually found a lot of healthy coping mechanisms. Like, exercise is really good for the ADHD brain and easily accessed for a soldier, likely part of his daily regimen.

External routine is also awesome for ADHD! Although I headcanon him as ADHD-PH, I know that all ADHD is on a spectrum much like autism and he likely still experiences inattentive symptoms, and routine helps. I think that he actually THRIVES in the military, especially on Kamino where routine is strictly regimented.

I think Echo taught him to stim by tapping his toe in his boot! Get out that excess energy when standing at attention or parade rest for long periods of time.

He sits on the floor a lot! Floor-sitting and other forms of active rest are awesome for ADHD, and he finds it super comfortable.

Thank you so much for this ask! It’s giving me ideas for a modern AU (my favorite kind of AU lately lol). Hope you enjoy!

[imjeralee]

Not the same anon but I really liked your adhd hcs! Could you the same but with Diluc, Kaeya and Xiao please? (could you also add the fact s/o absolutely can't focus for shit on anything more than 5s before zoning out and they tend to be overstimulated very easily by their environment lol)

hi anon!! thank you so much! I’m glad you enjoyed it :) Not a problem, I guess this can be a part 2 ehe. I hope you like this one too. Please see below - 

Diluc

You’re actually one of the best workers he has in Dawn Winery, because you’re efficient and smart and bustling around like ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ

But you do tend to zone out a lot and sometimes you end up working so late into night and you don’t realise it but you had forgotten to eat dinner so you go to the kitchen and it’s like 3am and Diluc is there because he works late too and he’s also just finally getting the chance to eat so you are always having food together whilst everyone else is asleep :3

At work though, if you had forgotten to do something such as paying the bills, no worries, Diluc has a backup plan - the maids usually help with this 

You usually ramble away to Diluc about anything you think of, even when he’s working at his desk. He’ll just be sitting silently and occasionally throwing you glances every now and then as you pace the study up and down and gesture with your hands. You know he’s listening. 

You may be messy, but the maids help clean up after you 

If you can’t focus, Diluc will help organise your day because he is organised himself and has lots of deadlines and also he has trustworthy employees like Adelinde and Connor who can help come up with a schedule for you on a daily basis but Diluc keeps you close by his side which also means you most likely do a lot of things together and you work/stay very closely with him

In order to help you stay focused and on task, he wants you to accomplish one thing at a time and often Diluc will do this with you personally 

If he was in the middle of doing something else, he will pause to head over to assist you. If he’s not able to, he’ll get Connor or Adelinde to help

When you’re overstimulated because there’s too many people visiting the Winery or feeling really uncomfortable in general and your thoughts are darting all over the place, Diluc will take your hand and lead you away and to your special, quiet place where you can just focus on him and look at his face which helps you gradually relax and calm down

You might zone out a bit when he starts talking but then you notice the intricate details on the buttons of his shirt and the buckle on his belt and you’re like ‘cool’…. And start pressing your fingers over them and he’s like “…….”

He still loff you a lot though 

Kaeya

Somehow everything you lose always end up in his possession??? Like you might go up to him and go ‘Kaeya! I lost my sword! I don’t know what happened to it! Its just disappeared!!” And he will just whip it out from behind his back and be like “You mean.... this sword?” And you’ll be like “YESSSS gimme.”

“Nuh-uh, not yet.”

“Whaaaat?”

“You have to give me a kiss first.”

“Okay.”

It’s actually pretty cool and reassuring because you have no idea how he does it

And this is the kind of relationship you have with him so you’re never bored around him because of how unpredictable he is 

You tend to zone out a lot so he likes making up little puzzles and brain teasers for you whenever you’re with him and keeping you guessing all the time

If you ask a question he’ll answer your question with a question. Can be either infuriating or very stimulating. Hmm.

Also enjoys telling you ghost stories 

I suspect you and Kaeya may actually be a pretty messy duo because you’re both busy with knightly duties and shit and your house will be utter chaos. Kaeya has arranged for a knight to come around twice a week to clean up tho

He loves to act as your own personal assistant and remind you of things so you don’t forget, usually by coming up behind you and leaning down to whisper in your ear 

If you zone out again, he’ll feed you some candy or hold your hand so you can play with his long fingers and the studs on his gloves or he’ll make little ice crystals with unique patterns and make them float around in the air for you 

He’ll also allow you to play with his ponytail

He’s quiet on his own so he’ll be a good listener

When you are experiencing sensory overload, Kaeya will usually sort it out for you one way or another. You’re in good hands. Then you will go and take a nap together.

Xiao

Xiao is your mentor. He speaks so fluently and to the point and also expects you to be clear and concise when dealing with him and so unceremoniously end up helping you organise your own thoughts 

Otherwise, you might zone out often and very easily because there’s too many things going on in Wangshu Inn and it’s too much to handle but then the smell of almond tofu being cooked in the kitchen helps kick you back to reality and you’ll realise Xiao was standing there by your side the entire time 

Ok ok so we know from Ganyu that Xiao is punctual and hates tardiness so he’s good at reminding you about appointments/deadline if needed.

I mean he will drill this into your brain with an iron fist. Defy him if you dare

It also means he will inevitably come up with some practises and teach you how to be mindful, how to increase your awareness and also various breathing exercises

Aside from that, he will notice you lose things a lot esp when he finds random stuff littering the Wangshu Inn ranging from cheese and vials of whopperflower nectar so he will keep an eye on you from now on.

Or if he’s not around, he will ask Verr Goldet to take note of what you lost so she can easily and quickly replace it thanks to Wangshu Inn’s connections

Xiao observes what you do on a regular basis from the shadows and then returns to the inn and also ask Verr Goldet to check up on you every now and then and remind you when it’s time to eat because he noticed you often forget to eat

One day you might return to your room and discover that he’s actually left some food for you and there this note on it with the word “EAT” scribbled on it 

Your impulsiveness and the hectic and chaos that surrounds you works well with him because it’s not like he has a schedule either, I mean he often turns up in your room at 4am after fighting so many demons after 3 days straight and he’s in agony from all that bad karma but there’s you and you’re awake because obv you forgot to do something and went back to it hours later but now that he’s here and in your presence and you want to talk to him about your day and he’ll be listening to everything

And listening to your voice and the way you speak is actually really soothing/comforting to him and even makes his pain goes away

Then you’ll remember what you were doing and rush off and he’ll be back up and running and go off to destroy more demons so the world can sleep better at night 

or if he’s free, you drag him outside to go on an adventure and explore the area around the inn and beat up some hilichurls 

If you have some trivial task to do and need his help, he’ll just offer his assistance at no cost, quite simple as that

During his free time, he’ll try to find out more about stim toys to help you. 

Xiao will learn what triggers your overstimulation and purposefully help you avoid it or get rid of the problem before it actually happens.

[delimeful]

taking the fall (3)

warnings: imprisonment, interrogation, injury, mild blood, panic and sensory overload, dehumanizing language, ambiguous motives, morally neutral/antagonistic janus, snakes mention

-

His guest wasn’t eating.

Janus cast an irritated glance over to the terrarium, where the only “life” that could be seen was a clump of thick foliage in one corner.

He’d left the old fake plants in there as a taunt, but as soon as the tiny creature had ascertained that there were no snakes in the grass, they’d immediately bundled every bit of shiny plastic greenery into a makeshift nest and hid within it. He supposed he should have expected it, from one as industrious as these tiny folk all seemed to be.

Regardless of his guest’s reticence, he’d been setting small dishes of food in there whenever he himself took his meals, giving them some time to adjust to the reality of their situation. It had been a couple of days, however, and every miniature entree looked entirely untouched.

His prisoner seemed to be on a hunger strike.

It added more evidence to his theory that he was being misled in regards to his guest’s identity. If they were actually a victim in all this, why bother keeping quiet and refusing to give the answers Janus needed? Why go so far as to not even eat, for people who allegedly wouldn’t care if he lived or died?

No, things made much more sense if this was a gambit on the tiny people’s part, one of them volunteering to stay and play sacrificial lamb, distracting him for as long as the others needed. Their terror, their injury, their tiny bitter laugh, it could all be part of a ploy for pity on his end. Get him too invested in a puzzling prisoner while the others escaped.

The thought made his stomach drop unpleasantly. His opponents were exceedingly small, and he was one of the few who knew they existed. If they got away, he’d never see them again.

He couldn’t afford that.

Pushing his chair back, he approached the terrarium, casting an assessing eye over the food set out in it. Some of it could sit out, and had been there overnight, the best time for his guest to eat without risking even seeing Janus. But no. Not a single crumb out of place to indicate that anything had been eaten.

“Still alive?” he asked dryly, rapping a knuckle on the glass once.

There was a long pause, and then one of the leafy stems sticking out from the nest twitched twice. This daily question and response was the only communication he’d had with his guest since that first afternoon, and even this small, silent answer had originally been prompted by a threat of Janus reaching in there and checking himself.

“I notice that you’ve been refusing any sustenance,” he continued idly, and got nothing for his efforts. “Planning to die before you can give up any secrets?”

No response. Janus sighed as though put upon, and slid the terrarium lid halfway off. There were still no meaningful movements from the nest, though it seemed to be subtly trembling. It was impressive that despite the dark clothing that his guest wore, he still couldn’t make out exactly where they were even this close.

With narrowed eyes, he reached in and grabbed a few of the plastic leaves, tugging to pull the construction apart bit by bit.

He only caught the faintest flicker of movement before there was a sudden sharp pain in his index finger, and he yanked his hand back on reflex.

A weight came up with it, putting even more pressure on his wound, and it dropped as soon as his hand was just above the terrarium lid.

Seeing the dark shape attempting to scramble away, his other hand smacked down on top of it automatically, pressing it into the mesh with a small, muffled cry.

He glanced at his hand. There was a plastic thorn hooked in his thumb, the broad end chewed off and the point of it sharpened. His guest had attacked and used him as a makeshift lift in their escape attempt.

“Oh,” he intoned, voice dark. “Seems like you have plenty of energy after all, hm?”

---

Virgil took in short, gasping breaths, barely able to hear whatever threatening thing the human was muttering as pain radiated through his leg.

It let up just slightly as the pressure of the hand on top of him eased, his face no longer pressed into the cold wire netting of the cage’s top. Before he could try and string two thoughts together, the fingers were curling around him like a hawk’s talons, lifting him up and sending another jolt of mind-numbing pain through him. He might have whimpered.

So much for that escape attempt. He’d known it was a long shot, but his options had been limited after realizing that he literally couldn’t stand on the injured leg any more. They’d dwindled further with every day he couldn’t bring himself to crawl over to any food or water. Living outside, he’d survived on very little before, but it was a gamble every time.

He was flipped to face the light, the human’s head in silhouette above him. He couldn't make out it’s words. Everything felt overwhelming, made incomprehensible by the pain and the dark spots in his vision. His face felt hot. Was he bleeding?

Things went blissfully quiet above him, and then he was being moved. He wondered if the human was about to kill him, and the thought sent a much weaker pulse of panic down his spine than usual. He hoped it killed borrowers before feeding them to it’s snakes.

Something soft and dark dropped over him, and he thrashed for a moment before his leg reminded him how awful an idea that was. So he laid still instead, letting his terror shake through him in waves, until he wasn’t completely lost to it anymore.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, feeling at what was draped over him. Cloth, soft in texture and tightly-knit enough that not much light got through. Below him… a warm, living surface.

“Awake?” the human said, voice both closer and quieter than he’d ever heard it.

Another shudder worked through him, and he reached up to press his hands over his face, wishing none of this was real. His eye pigment had run, drying in tracks down his cheeks.

He wouldn’t be able to reapply it. The locket he stored it in was left behind with the rest of his stuff, tucked away into his oversized pack and left at the opening into the human’s home. It had probably already been torn through and picked apart by Mari and the other insiders.

The thought stung, somehow more personal than the nightmare of the situation he was already in.

“I believe I see now why you haven’t eaten,” the human continued with a surprising lack of snark. It must have seen his leg. He felt a little sick just thinking about it.

What had felt like a low-grade fracture through the adrenaline had ended up growing worse and worse without treatment, until the injury was a solid lump of swollen flesh and ugly bruising that twanged with agony at even the slightest shifts. He wondered if the human was going to use it against him. It would make torture exceedingly easy on its part.

“Continue with the silent treatment, and you won’t get any actual treatment,” it said, now sounding exasperated.

After another stretch of silence, the hand beneath him moved and tilted, sliding him off onto a flat surface. Suddenly desperate to know what was going on, Virgil yanked at the cloth, dragging handfuls of it down until he reached an edge and could pull it clear of his eyes.

The light in this room was dimmer, but it still took him a moment to adjust. He wasn’t in a snake tank, but on top of a low table in what looked like a sitting room, if he remembered the human terms right. The human was seated on the couch nearby, looking down at him.

“There you are.”

---

The tiny person shot him a furious glare, rendered mostly ineffective by the dark tear streaks that were still smudged along their face.

Janus wished his earlier reflexes had been a little gentler. He’d had a quite embarrassing moment of panic where he’d thought the grotesque worsening of their leg injury had been caused by his grasp, rather than simple neglect and lack of treatment.

Despite his patience, they didn’t reply, continuing to just stare at him. He stood, ignoring the way it instantly made them begin trembling again.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Feel free to move around and make your injury worse,” he instructed dryly, before turning and going to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

His thumb was still sensitive, the injury messily scabbed over with dried blood. He’d pried the thorn out with his teeth easily enough, but with his other hand occupied by a prone tiny person and their hyperventilation fit, he couldn’t properly treat it.

Upon his return, he saw his guest had abandoned his handkerchief and was halfway to the edge of the table. He rolled his eyes, and set the kit down before grabbing them by the shoulders and sliding them back over to the handkerchief.

“I was being sarcastic, you know,” he told them, and opened the kit to start cleaning his undersized injury. “I’ll be very unhappy if my only source of information dies a completely avoidable death for no reason.”

“Yeah, because I sure wouldn’t want to make you unhappy,” his guest bit out, and then looked as though they were deeply and immediately regretting opening their mouth. Janus didn’t know why; he personally took much better to sass than being stabbed.

“So you do know how sarcasm works. Color me impressed.”

The tiny person actually hissed at him, like the world’s most emo kitten.

“Yes, yes, I feel very threatened,” Janus retaliated by prodding them with the edge of an open tube of arnica gel. “Here. For the bruising.”

After another long glare, his guest spoke. “What do you want for it?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t it be argued that I owe it to you, for allowing the injury to fester while you’re in my care?”

“Your care--!” his guest cut themself off, taking in a deep breath through gritted teeth. “Terrible hosting etiquette aside, you weren’t the one who gave me the injury. Not your concern. So, what do you want?”

Janus wondered absently how tiny people qualified their hosts’ manners. He had certainly already failed by human standards, immediately imprisoning his guest and all, so perhaps it didn’t really matter either way. He wasn’t above taking advantage of a tiny person’s bartering honor system. “Answer three questions.”

“I get to pass on questions I don’t want to answer,” his guest countered quickly, apparently having expected this.

“You get five passes,” Janus allowed. Seeing what they refused to answer would be informative in itself.

“... Fine.” With another glance at their injury, they grabbed the tube sharply enough that they almost overbalanced. “Ask.”

“Where are the others living?” Janus asked, just to set the stakes high.

“Pass,” his guest answered, not even looking up from their task. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you defending them?” he tried.

“I’m not defending them,” they shot back, vitriol thick in their voice. “I just don’t want you to get what you want. That’s one question.”

“Ouch. I’m hurt, really.” Janus tapped his nails along the table idly. “What’s your name and pronouns?”

This did prompt them to look up, face pinching up in confusion. After a moment, they returned to their baseline expression of scowl and retorted, “That’s two questions.”

“It’s one sentence, it counts as one question,” Janus lied smugly. They still looked close to passing, so he gave them a nudge. “Unless you want me to make something up? I’m very creative, I assure you.”

“I use he,” he finally grit out, “and you can call me V.”

“For Vendetta?” Janus mused, and received an utterly baffled look for his wit. “I suppose your movie repertoire isn’t that expansive.”

“Two questions,” V said flatly. “One left.”

“Yes, I can count.” Janus glanced at V’s gel-covered leg. “You have to rub that in for it to work.”

V’s expression flickered to one of despair, but he bit his lip and started to slowly massage the gel in. Janus wondered at how easily he’d believed him.

“What do you call yourselves?”

“Pass.”

“Where did you live?”

“Pass.”

“How do I bait the others out?”

“Pass.”

“Why do you hate me more than the ones who allegedly put you here?”

V’s hand slipped, and he winced and paused for a moment. “... Pass.”

There was certainly a grudge there. Too bad Janus had no idea what it could be about. Oh well.

He set a hand on the table, leaning over V. “When do the others plan to leave? As specific as you can get, please.”

“Pa--,” V cut himself off, and Janus could see the moment he realized he had used up all his get-out-of-questioning-free cards. He patiently waited out the tiny person’s fit of frustration.

“... I don’t know.” Janus’s smug grin dropped, but V continued after a speculative pause. “I don’t think they’ll leave before the season's turning. The spring thaw has been slow this year, and they’re-- not suited for it.”

Janus felt some of the tension drop from his shoulders. The start of summer. He had time, and the advantage of a weather forecast app. That was good news, even if he’d had to wrangle it out of his guest. He had time.

“How interesting,” he said lightly, and capped the gel to put it back in the box. V’s hands were clutching the edge of his coat tightly, as though guilty or angry. Or perhaps just stressed. “Let’s get some food in actual range of you, then, shall we?”

[spencers-dria]

Can you maybe write something where the reader meets spencer in prison and when they get out, they meet up and they have really rough and kinky sex like you can literally go as dirty and kinky as you want

Four Feet Apart

🎉150 follower celebration! Day 6

Spencer x fem reader

Content/Trigger Warnings: 18+ Smut, oral female receiving, anal play, blindfold/sensory play, and handcuff/restraint use, protected penetrative sex, mentions of murder, prison

The beginning is a little angst, little fluff, plenty of smut!

“Alright inmates, listen up! There’s been some budget cuts. For the time being, the old west wing building will be taken by overflow from the women’s prison.”

The guard’s voice was overtaken by wolf whistles and hollers.

“That’s enough! Now you will not share a building with them. You will not see them during meals. However the courtyards do share a fence. If you are caught harassing them in any way, you will be punished accordingly!”

The announcement had caught the attention of just about every inmate, except one. Spencer Reid had bigger problems to worry about than women. He didn’t get them outside of prison, so why should he worry about them on the inside. He needed to worry about how to stay safe, stay alive until his name was cleared. That is, until he met you.

_______________________________________

I sat on the bleachers, popping some bubble gum as I searched for some worthwhile eye candy. The sun was a bit hot so I shrugged my button down off my shoulders, opting to tie it around my waist, leaving me in a white tank. This of course leads to many wondering eyes and a few whistles from the men’s side of the fence. I’m not even sure what i’m looking for, but none of the men giving me the time of day have it. I finally notice a slender man sitting on the men’s bleachers, just a few feet away from the fence on his side. I scoot up , slipping my fingers through the women’s chain-link side. Of course I could never touch any of them, with each side having about four feet between their respective fences. But there were no rules against looking or talking even.

“Hey. Think too hard and you’re gonna mess up that pretty face of yours.”

He looks up a bit startled, but his posture changes once his gaze lands on me. He almost looks shy, which seems in direct contrast to his rugged look. But once I look in his eyes, I see depth and warmth and kindness that belongs far away from this place, and it hurts me for a moment, to think of what will happen to him here.

“I don’t bite. The name is Y/L/N. Got in for killing my ex husband. How about you?”

He blinked, speechless at first.

“Doc- I’m uh, Spencer Reid. They think I killed someone too…”

“Well, didn’t you?”

He shook his head. Based on the look in his eyes, I want to believe him I really do.

“Did you know that incarceration of women has been growing at twice the rate of men’s incarceration?”

“Now how in the world would you know that?”

He simply shrugged.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just looked like you could use some company is all.”

He looked like he wanted to respond, he really did. But before he got the chance, the women were called back inside.

I give a quick salute. “Nice meetin ya Spencer Reid. See ya when I see ya.”

___________________________________________

The next time I saw him he looked different. Scared, fragile, and a bit bloodied up.

“Hey- what uh- I mean, are you okay?”

He refused to look up or give much of an answer. But he was sitting in the same spot, close enough for us to have another conversation so I have to believe he wanted to talk again.

“I’m guessing you’re relatively new. It happened to me too ya know. Especially when I wouldn’t just go along with everything they asked.”

That drew his attention, and I could see tears in his eyes.

“You can’t let them see they get to you, that you’re scared. I learned that long before I got here though. That’s why I killed him ya know- he hurt me and I couldn’t just take it anymore. Police wouldn’t listen. I just wanted it to stop.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I shrugged it off. I’m paying my time but I’m safer in here than I ever felt with him.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Now he has my attention. I nod, trying not to seem too excited to be sharing schoolyard secrets with the handsome stranger.

“I uh, was in the FBI. I was framed by a, well you can almost call her an arch nemesis of sorts.” He laughed to himself. It was a warm sort of laugh that filled me with butterflies. “I was just trying to get medicine for my mom. She has Alzheimer’s and schizophrenia. She was getting worse and I-“ his words are quickly cut off by the sounds of sniffles.

“Why are you telling me this?” I don’t mean it to be rude, but I had to know.

“I guess you could say I’m good at reading people and- you’re not a bad person. I trust you.”

In that moment, our eyes met again, but something new was there. Desire? Lust? Caring? Who knows. But that was the start of something. Of daily meetings, and quiet longing.

Day after day we would sit by our fences, sharing stories of our lives before prison. I learned that he was kind, hard-working, and actually quite funny. Spencer Reid was the best company I’d had in years, and not just within the prison walls.

He also told me about the rough time of it he was having on his own side. I gave him pointers where I could. How to get in with the right people, how to avoid the wrong ones, and how to get himself safe when necessary.

At one point, the politics on his side did endanger his life, and that’s when we came up with the plan together. A plan that would help take down the very man targeting him while getting Spencer somewhere safe for now. This meant I wouldn’t see him while he was in solitary, but we both knew it was necessary.

We never spoke about exactly what it was we wanted but- it was there. We devoured one another with our eyes. Biting and licking lips, drawn out breaths, and lingering gazes. We knew.

I watched him change overtime. His hair and beard grew yes, but so did this darkness in his eyes. The soft, Bambi-eyed boy was seemingly gone, replaced by a man who needed to hurt someone, anyone. And oh was I ready to let him hurt me.

I waited by the fence each day for his return, but it never came. I finally decided to ask around until I heard something that thrilled me but also left a huge gaping hole in me.

“He left.”

I couldn’t be happier for him. Had they cleared his name? From the sound of it, federal agents, friends of his had come to retrieve him. I could only hope that he was safe and happy.

Then one day I received a letter.

Dear Y/N,

I miss you. Just you. You made my time there worthwhile, worth missing. There’s so much more I wanted to say to you, and a letter just won’t do it justice. I have a feeling you’ll be out on parole sooner than you think. Come find me when you can. I’ll be in D.C..

Counting the days,

Spencer

____________________________________________

Parole? I had at least another year before that could even be a consideration. But I started counting too, which didn’t last long. Imagine my surprise when I got out on parole only two weeks after receiving the letter.

Did he- no he couldn’t, could he? Spencer had been gone for months. Clearly he had cleared his name, thank goodness. I knew I needed to see him as soon as possible.

I couldn’t leave the state, but luckily I didn’t need to. With what little I had, I made my way to D.C.. I figured I’d start out at the return address on the envelope, the one I clung to like my life depended on it.

With a bag slung over my shoulder, I raised my hand with the letter to hesitantly knock on the door, completely unsure of what to expect on the other side.

My mouth fell open at the sight before me. Spencer Reid in a cardigan, a tie? I had never seen him outside the prison. He looked so put together. And all I could think about was how much I wanted to tear him apart. I did my best to suppress my lust in hopes of a civil and normal greeting.

I don’t know what I expected. Tears, hugs maybe? We stood there staring at each other for who knows how long before I finally spoke. I’d had a well rehearsed speech in my head. One I’d had two whole weeks to work on since he sent the letter. But that all went out the window the second I saw his face again.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Who was I kidding? We could see it in eachother’s eyes, the same desire from before, but stronger somehow. Maybe because it was quite literally within reach. Months of daydreaming about what it would feel like to touch him, kiss him, get absolutely railed by him.

The man I had met initially was so gentle, timid. I watched him change in that prison. I had initially imagined ruining him, breaking him for my own pleasure. By the time he left I wanted something completely different. I wanted him to do the breaking. I wanted him to use me for his own personal pleasure. And he knew it.

He grabbed my face to pull me in for an all consuming kiss that quite literally took my breath away. I had to pull back, gasping for air before I could get any words out.

“Missed you too.” I smiled.

“Can we take this to my bedroom?” The words came out rushed, as though he might die if he couldn’t have me in that very moment.

I give an enthusiastic nod. A small squeal and uncharacteristic giggle leaves my lips as he scoops me up in his arms, whisking me away to his bedroom.

“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he pants, frantically removing his clothes. “Can you get undressed and lay down on your stomach for me?”

I follow his orders without question. He leans down by my ear and asks one question. “Safe word?”

“Cherry blossom.”

“Anything off limits?”

I don’t even have to think. “No, I trust you.”

Next thing I know I feel soft silk over my eyes as he ties a blindfold in place. This allows me to focus on the sounds of whatever else he is preparing. I hear a distinctly familiar jingle of metal, which is confirmed as it touches the skin of my wrists. Handcuffs. I wiggle my hips in delight, which earns me a playful spank.

“Like what you see?”

“I definitely can’t complain.” I can almost hear his smirk.

His fingers dig into my hips before pulling them up in the air. I feel cold air hit my core immediately.

“Fucking beautiful.”

Without any warning I feel a finger coated in cool lubricant coating my other opening.

“Try and relax for me, beautiful.” His fingers run through some of my hair, dragging across the skin of my back and I feel my muscles immediately follow his command. I attempt to mentally and physically prepare for whatever could be coming next.

I feel him work in what feels to be a decent sized anal plug. I’ve tried them before but only by myself. I’m already enjoying the added stimulation. My hips jolt when he suddenly brings his head down to lick up through my slit and I can’t help but yell.

“Fuck!”

“Mmm you like that, dirty girl? You’re quite literally dripping for me.”

He says it so calmly, I can hardly wrap my head around how smooth he’s being.

“Yes sir, please!” I beg.

“Please what, hmmm? What do you need?”

“Need you to eat my pussy please sir!”

Damn I sound absolutely pathetic. To think I ever considered myself a feminist. So much for my leg up on domineering men. Here I am willingly let one take me, have me anyway he wants. And that’s just the way I want it too. For Spencer Reid, I would be anything he needed.

“Good girl.” The two words have me writhing in pleasure with the combined sensation of his tongue back on the place I need it most. He sucks and laps at me like I'm his favorite dessert . He reads my body like a book, every movement and moan. He knows just what I need, when to let up, when to push harder. It’s unfair just how talented his mouth is.

And then, I’m coming undone on that beautiful mouth of his. Too bad I can’t see it. But oh it’s all I can imagine as waves of pleasure wreck my body and he’s running his fingers down my back, squeezing my ass as he gets in his final victory licks.

There’s a distinct sound of a condom wrapper, and I appreciate the consideration. I feel him sit on the bed next to me, against the headboard perhaps?

“Come sit on my lap.” His voice is dark and commanding, and my body is already responding with a fresh dose of arousal.

“But I can’t see sir.”

“No excuses. Come sit on my lap or you won’t get to come again.”

Not only can I not see, but my hands are still handcuffed behind my back. Not to mention my knees are weak from my most recent orgasm. This oughta be interesting. I try to scoot on my knees towards where I had heard his voice, only to lose my balance once I bump into his legs. I fall face first into his lap. Not the worst position to be in. I hear a soft, dark chuckle above me.

“Poor pathetic thing, are you already too weak? Can you handle another one?”

I swear, I never knew I was into degradation and humiliation. I don’t even know if I truly am, it's just something about him, about Spencer, that turns me on with everything he does.

“Yes sir, please! Please I can handle it! Let me try!”

I feel his fingers grasp my jaw, pulling my face up till I’m sitting on my knees again. I can feel his breath on my face and I wish I could just lean in and feel his lips on mine. My wish is granted for just a second. I feel his plush lips brush against mine, but they’re gone just as quick.

“Pretty thing. Let me help you, hmm.”

His long fingers wrap around my hips and guide me till I’m sitting in his lap, one leg on either side.

“Do you think you can ride me without your hands for balance?

“Yes sir!” I nod with an embarrassing eagerness.

“Show me, baby.”

I raise up and with his guidance again, lower myself until he’s making sure my other hole is filled as well.

Each bounce against his lap is adding pressure against the plug, combined with the bump of his cock against my cervix. With no sight, I’m so in tune with every sensation, especially the way his fingers feel roaming every inch of my body. He’s pinch my nipples, grabbing my ass, tugging at my hair. I may have been the one begging but he was clearly just as desperate.

When he decided he needs more, Spencer grabs my hips and starts thrusting up into me at a completely

ridiculous pace.

“You look so pretty bouncing on my cock. See for yourself, little girl.”

Before I have time to realize what he means, his beautiful fingers are ripping the silk away from my eyes, only to be met with absolutely heavenly eyes. They’re golden, warm, filled with lust but also something kinder. They devour my body like I’m his goddess. I absolutely love watching him enjoy the view. He licks his lips hungrily as he watches my breasts bounce and the way he looks sliding in and out of me.

Spencer pulls me in so he can leave a trail of kisses along my shoulders and neck. I love the way my face feels buried in his soft curls, he smells of lavender shampoo and it’s intoxicating. When he pulls back he’s got a knowing smirk on his face.

“What?”

In seemingly one move, I’m off his lap, on my back, with my hands pinned over my head.

“But the hand cuffs? How did you-“

Instead of answering he silenced me with an all consuming kiss. We’re biting, sucking, moaning, on one another like animals in heat. I can’t help but feel sorry for his poor neighbors.

He keeps my hands pinned above my head while realigning himself ready to pick back up where he left off. Before I can even register what’s happening he’s pounding into me like it’s his fucking job.

“You feel that? You feel how perfectly I fill you up? So pretty with my cock in you. Fuck- you take it so well!”

Words are gone from my mind. I’m left with moans, tears, and one name. Spencer.

“Spencer!”

He lets go of my arms and they instinctively wrap around his neck as I use my legs around his hips bringing him close.

“I’ve got you pretty girl. I’m here. Be a good little thing and come for me. Come on.”

I’m wrecked, shaking and moaning, unsure if I’ll ever be able to stop. He’s right there with me, filling me up in the best way. The pleasure is intensified by the extra pressure from the plug. I cling to him for dear life as I ride off my high, enjoying the way he looks above me. He’s angelic with the light sheen of sweat causing his skin to glisten in the low lighting, the natural sparkle of his eyes, the way his curls fall in his face, the pretty pink lips softly parted as he pants.

He’s dominant but also so soft and kind with me. It's clear tonight he cared about my pleasure just as much as his own. Maybe I don’t ever have to let him go. Maybe we can just stay here, twisted up in one another, blissfully unaware of all our troubles and the world around us.

I’m embarrassed at how much I whine as he gets off of me and slips away into the bathroom. I don’t know why I was surprised when he returns with a warm washcloth and lotion. He’s cleaning me up, tending to my wrists and any other spots sore from friction, and removing the plug. All the while he’s littering my skin with gentle kisses, all along my back and shoulders, my hips, my chest, my face. I’ve never been so pampered.

“Are you okay?” His voice is sweet and smooth like honey, leaving me tingling in the wake of its sweetness.

“Never better.” I leave kisses across his knuckles and he gives me that look again, like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

After some convincing, I get up to use the bathroom, returning to a very sweet looking boy waiting for me under the covers, looking up with puppy dog eyes. I see the man I first met in the courtyard months ago. The one that stole my heart. I slip into the spot next to him, and we tangle back together, skin against skin. It’s so warm, soft, inviting and I think I’ll stay forever.

[chiafett-moved]

I know you have written stuff about meltdowns/shutdowns in the past with the bad batch (which by the way THANK YOU) I’m just wondering how do they teach omega to cope with it, like both seeing it and having it happen to her? I know mine weren’t like. Fun to watch lol. Anyway thank you for ur content I love it

Hi anon! I'm glad you've enjoyed my autistic star wars content lmfao.

I think Hunter probably has the hardest time watching her have meltdowns. Even though he has them, too, it's a different experience when you're watching someone else go through it, and he's very protective of her. Even though he knows that what she needs is to be allowed to get the energy out and that the best approach is hands-off, he wants to be able to do something because his kiddo is suffering. Usually, he ends up going for a walk and coming back when it's over.

Echo and Wrecker are hands-down the best at dealing with it. Echo is a very level-headed person, and he's good at providing enough support and safety without overwhelming her. Wrecker gets anxious, but he' very good at being a comforting, safe presence and giving deep pressure hugs.

Tech and Crosshair are both a bit emotionally distant and have a tough time connecting with the rest of the team, let alone a child, so they try and leave Omega alone with Echo and Wrecker when meltdowns happen. They're more helpful than they think, though, and Omega will often seek them out after the fact and give them hugs (which definitely doesn't help because Crosshair would never get anxious when some random kid is having a hard time, Crosshair definitely does not worry about Omega at all, Hunter, stop laughing).

Though Hunter isn't the best at helping during meltdowns, he's definitely the one to teach Omega how best to cope with autistic life in general. He spends a lot of time talking to her about being unapologetic about how her brain works and being calm in the face of strong emotions. He knows how easy it is to get scared by a meltdown, and he reminds her to hang on and that everything bad will pass with time.

Hunter also does a lot of breathing exercises and meditation of the non-Jedi sort, which helps him sort through his emotions and gives him a foundation of good techniques to use when he gets overwhelmed. He teaches this to Omega, and they have a daily meditating session dedicated to just breathing and relaxing and sitting with yourself (results may vary, children aren't big on sitting still and concentrating).

At some point, Tech has the idea to make a whole sensory room, like a little closet filled with Good Stuff that Omega can go in to decompress. It's got weighted blankets and soft walls and nice lighting and all sorts of stimmy stuff. Omega fucking loves it.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 4: Anxceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 4: There is a trail of color only you can see that marks out where your soulmate has been.

Content warning: parental death from heart attack (none of the sides), homophobia, religious themes regarding said homophobia, concert, minor sensory overload (Virgil is technically autistic but it’s not explicit).

Word count: 3.3k

The last thing Janus Natter had ever wanted to do was return to his hometown. 

It only held bad memories that stemmed from living in a small town, of homophobia and school bullies and dirty looks from neighbours. Granted, he’d never actually been kicked out of his home after coming out, but word spread like a wildfire and the people in his neighborhood weren’t the most open minded. His mom didn’t talk to him; she blamed herself, and there were all too many nights he walked past her room and heard her praying and crying for the repentance of her baby boy.

So the moment he turned eighteen, he was out of there. Waved goodbye to the woman who stiffened every time he tried to hug her and moved halfway across the country, starting a new life for himself in a rundown apartment and a minimum wage intern job and not regretting it for a second. Everything seemed better for a while. A promotion followed a couple years after, and his apartment was upgraded to one that actually had a separate kitchen and dining room so he wasn’t eating on the counter anymore. Until he got a call from one of his aunts at three am, four days after Christmas.

Obviously, he cried when his mom died. He broke down as soon as he hung up the phone, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting the news slowly integrate into his system. Sure, they hadn’t had the best relationship, but she’d been a great mom up until he admitted the truth that drove a wedge between them. And he’d never really blamed her, knowing his own internal homophobia would only be heightened in her. But it still hurt that she hadn’t reached out whatsoever when she was put into the hospital after the first heart attack. Maybe he would have been there when the second one hit and been able to save her. Or at least say goodbye.

The funeral was rough. None of his family bothered to talk to him, and the one little cousin that ran up to give him a hug was swiftly pulled away. Not like he was expecting much else, but c’mon. It’s not infectious. At least no one commented on him crying again. 

He was on the first flight back out, and after a couple days off work to recenter himself, things seemed to back to normal. It wasn’t as if any part of his daily routine was disturbed. He wasn’t missing any motherly catch up calls, no little packages, no life advice, that he’d never gotten before, so it was almost easy to pretend that nothing had changed. Until he got another call. 

This time it was his uncle, calling in the middle of his work day, to tell him that he needed to come back home and clear out his mom’s house. He was reluctant at first. Why couldn’t someone else do it? What was so important that he had to do it? But the family seemed determined to distance themselves from the house as much as possible, and when his uncle insisted that “we’re all still in mourning, Janus,” as if to imply he wasn’t upset at the death of his own mother, he hung up the phone with a curt agreement to come back as soon as possible. He later got a text that stated the house was going to be put on the market in the coming week, so he needed to get there soon. 

That’s what led to him exiting a cab three days later in front of his childhood home, suitcase in hand, with a disgruntled expression. The house was much less threatening than it had always seemed when he lived there, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other houses on the block, but the memories of lonely nights of crying himself to sleep and craving a hug from his mother were at the forefront of his mind. You’re never going to get another hug from her. He quickly snapped out of it before the tears could rise, thanking the cab driver and walking up to the front door. 

His mother had taken his key when he left, claiming it was to give to a neighbour to water her flowers when she went on a cruise or something equally far fetched, but Janus figured she just wouldn’t want to be surprised by him visiting. This was, afterall, the first time she’d been free from his disappointing presence in years. Luckily, they’d always kept a spare under the plant by the door, now wilted and crusty and dropping leaves when he leaned it over, hand slapping the concrete underneath.

Nothing.

He picked it up off the ground entirely, sweeping the ground directly under it and then scanning the surrounding area with growing irritation. Had someone taken it after the funeral? How the hell did they expect him to get into the house? Oh yeah, come clean the house but we’re gonna take the key! Fuckers. 

A loud crash from behind the door startled him enough to drop the plant, the ceramic pot smashing on the stairs. Whoops. Another sound from inside, something that sounded like a chair scraping on the tiled kitchen floor, and Janus realized with mounting horror that the front door was open a crack. His family had all claimed to not be able to even come near the place, so… Fantastic. Someone had broken into a death house and he was going to have to deal with it. 

The wise choice would have been to call the police. 

So Janus pushed the door open and walked in, ignoring the sudden flurry of memories in favor of following the source of the noise. 

“Hello?” Yeah, smart, Janus, that always works in the horror movies!

Another scrape in the steadily approaching kitchen, accompanied by muffled swearing. As an almost last thought, Janus picked up the first small object he could feel on the entry table, acknowledging its heft and hoping it would be a suitable weapon without taking his eyes from the hall. Here goes nothing.

Then, in a move to top all stupidity, he turned into the room in a whirl, hoisting the weapon above his head, ready to beat down on whoever was rifling through his dead mother’s drawers. Only to freeze.

“Remus?”

“Janus, what the fuck!” The statement was said with a surprising amount of glee. Remus was the only person he knew who could turn swears into something joyful. 

Janus turned his gaze to the floor and the chair Remus was standing on, surrounded by a pile of glass shards. It looked to be the remnants of the entire glass collection, if the amount was anything to go by. Remus gave another shuffle of his chair, the loud shriek sounding again, as he tried to scooch closer without stepping on the shards in his bare feet.

“Why are you holding a banana?” 

It took him a solid second to process Remus’ question before he looked down at his own hand, his fingers curled around the metal banana from the decorative fruit bowl in the entry. 

“No reason. Why are you in my house, destroying my dinnerware?”

“Help me not step in glass and I’ll tell you.”

Finding a broom was easy; it was still in the same place it always had been before he left. Cleaning the glass took longer, what with Remus’ flurry of questions and Janus’ focus between answering him, sweeping, and not whacking Remus on the head with the broom handle. Apparently it didn’t take long for him to become annoying again.

Still, the grinning man had been the one and only reason he’d had trouble saying goodbye to the town, the only person who still gladly befriended him after coming out. He hated to admit how much he’d missed him.   

When the floor was clear, Remus hesitantly stepped down off the chair, wiggling his toes on the ground.

“Why did you take your shoes off when you came in? It’s not like anyone’s gonna be pissed if you track mud in anymore.”

“I didn’t wear any.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Remus shared a softer look with him, the manic smile drooping, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Was Janus’ incredibly eloquent response. He shook his head, and Remus accepted the subject change with no questions, “So why are you here?”

“Well, I heard you were coming to clear the place out eventually, so I thought I’d get here early and start. Help you out.”

“And…”

“... And snoop around a little bit.”

“There it is.”

“Not like, bad stuff! Just… I don’t know. Deep, dark, family secrets.”

Janus sighed, taking in the kitchen for the first time since entering. “The biggest secret this family tries to hide is me.”

“Dark.”

“Mmhm.” He gasped as two arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the most physical contact he’d had in… years.

“Welcome back, Natter.”

“Yeah, well,” He cleared his throat of voice cracks before continuing, “I only got two days off work. So I’m not staying long. I somehow need to completely clear this place out in 48 hours,” He ran a hand down his face, pulling away from the hug reluctantly, “You wouldn’t actually be interested in helping, would you?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Remus ignored it completely. “You’re only here two days? Inconceivable!”

“You’ve been watching Princess Bride again.”

“We gotta hang out!” The pleading expression on Remus’ face was almost enough to sell him on the idea.

“Weren’t you listening? I literally don’t have the time.”

“I’m going to a concert tonight in Brookton. Come with me!” Remus continued as if he hadn’t spoken, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Just one night, Jan. Pleeeease? I’ll even come here and help you the rest of the time.”

With an affectionate snort, he shook his head, “As fun as that sounds, I’m broke.”

“I can get you in.”

“You’re not paying for me.”

“Who said anything about paying?”

Janus raised an eyebrow, though it was more like how a parent would scold a child than surprise. They’d always gotten into trouble together as kids, and this was just… a level up, in a way. Not that he condoned it.

“I know one of the security guards. He’s one of my hookups, and he happens to owe me a favor or two.”

  Wait. “You’re gay?”

“Shit, I didn’t tell you?!” Remus shrieked, grabbing Janus’ hand and dragging him to the front door, key waving in his face, “I’ll tell you all about it on the way. C’mon, it’s an hour drive.”

Well, looks like he didn’t have a say in it. And he’d be lying if he claimed he hadn’t missed hanging out with his old best friend… or just a friend at all, really.

“Fine, but you’re stopping by your place to grab shoes!”

-----------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t a small venue by any means. It wasn’t Beyonce big, but enough to know that if he lost track of Remus, he’d be fucked. In his rush out the door so soon after a morning of traveling, he’d forgotten his charger and his phone was conveniently dead. Janus kept a careful eye on Remus, following the bob of his neon green and black jacket through the crowd and only distantly wondering what band they were actually about to see. The gremlin kept pushing through, ignoring the annoyed shouts of people he shoved, leaving Janus to hastily apologize each time as he followed in his wake.

When Remus slowed just for a moment, stretching on his tiptoes to find a good spot over the sea of heads, Janus lunged forward and grabbed his sleeve. The taller man raised an eyebrow.

“As fun as it would be to get lost, I’m not in the mood.”

“Ah,” Remus’ eyes settled on a spot near the stage, one that Janus couldn’t see being a head shorter than him, “Good timing. Hang on tight.”

And hang on he did, because Remus fully embodied the physicality of a snow plow and plunged back into the crowd with new ferocity. Janus just closed his eyes and blindly let himself be led, letting the bubbling breathiness of a laugh escape his mouth. It had been too long since he’d just been able to have fun like this, without the threat of work and bills in his peripheral. The chatter was deafening in the best way possible, drowning out his worried thoughts, and the flashing lights that were still visible through his closed eyelids was invigorating. The promise for more elated him. 

When Remus finally stopped, Janus didn’t get the memo on time and ran into his back full force. He grunted and opened his eyes, focused on his throbbing nose, before realizing how close to the stage they really were. The taller man was staring down at him, grinning maniacally, seemingly impressed with their placement as well. 

Then a flash to the side caught his attention, and his throat went dry.

“Remus, look me in the eye and tell me you see that.”

His eyebrows scrunched in confusion before he followed Janus’ line of sight, seeing nothing but the dense crowd. “See what?”

“The light, the light trail…” Janus inhaled sharply through his nose, grip on the other’s sleeve tightening, “It’s my soulmate. He’s here somewhere.”

“Your soulmate? Seriously?”

“Yeah, I…”

“Well, fuck! You’re welcome, eh, Natter? I told you you should have come!” He gave Janus’ arm a light punch, smile widening. “Go find him!”

Janus seemed hesitant, eyes flickering between Remus and the deep purple light trail, weaving between the people and heading towards the back of the venue. “How will I find you again after?”

“That’s a problem for future you. Go, you idiot!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going! Just don’t leave without me!”

He was off before he could hear Remus’ answer, ducking under raised arms and trying his hardest to follow the quickly dissolving trail. Now that he had his eye on it, it had decided that it was time to disappear, and he was quickly losing sight of it. 

No, scratch that, it was definitely getting brighter now. And more concrete around the edges, instead of fading out. Was he close? He weaved past another small group of people, eyes following the purple line until-

There.

Holy shit.

He was stunning, that was the first thing Janus noticed. The purple trail stopped at him, covering him with a faint lilac aura before fading completely, content with it’s work. At first he thought the slight tint to the other’s hair was left over from the soulmark, before the lights switched and he realized, no, his hair was dyed purple. The most eye catching thing, though, besides his makeup, was the bulky pair of… were those headphones on his ears? At a concert? Granted, it hadn’t started yet, but still.

Apparently he was standing in one place for too long amongst the constantly moving hoard of people, and his stillness got the attention of the boy in front of him. He gasped sharply when they made eye contact, shocked from what Janus assumed to be the soulmark that probably surrounded him. And then he started hyperventilating. Bad.

“Shit! Okay, hey, calm down, okay? It’s fine-”

He was cut off by a loud riff of an electric guitar, almost immediately drowned out by the screaming fans that surged forward like a tidal wave. The boy in front of him curled in on himself, hands pressing into the headphones around his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise. Despite his more cautionary side, Janus reached forward and took his arm, guiding him gently towards the door.

“Let’s go outside and talk, alright?”

Maybe following a stranger outside alone wasn’t the smartest idea but… Virgil had seen the soul mark, a gentle yellow glow around this man that quickly dissipated, leaving behind a man sharing an equally shocked look on his face. So that had to mean he wasn’t totally bad, right? Either he was his soulmate or some kind of guardian angel, and neither of those were necessarily bad options. 

As soon as they stepped outside the main arena, it was as if the tight band around Virgil’s chest loosened. Not gone completely, but enough that he could catch his breath. He reached up and pulled his ear defenders off his head, relieved that the quiet was enough that he didn’t need them anymore. They were definitely a life saver, but sometimes the way they muffled noise was indescribably uncomfortable as well.

The man noticed his immediate relief, letting go of his guiding arm and slowing his pace so Virgil could walk beside him. 

“I’m Janus.” 

“Virgil.”

In a blur, they ended up outside the venue, sitting on the curb directly outside the main doors. Virgil was fiddling with his ear muffs, eyes trained on the inky darkness surrounding them. Besides the dull resounding of the bass echoing from inside and steady stream of traffic just out of their view, it was reasonably quiet.

“So, you live in Brookton?” Janus finally broke the comfortable silence, leaning back on his hands.

“Yeah. Not for long, though.”

“Oh?”

“Planning to get out soon. Don’t know where, don’t know how. But I’m not much of a ‘small town’ guy.”

“Brookton counts as a small town?”

Virgil hummed, finally placing the head gear down beside him and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of fast food from the variety of food trucks around the area. It was a strange cacophony of oil and salt, oddly enticing even if just the scent was enough for his skin to break out. 

“What about you? From around here?”

“Sort of?” He explained his story in as few words as possible, flying over his mom’s general unacceptance and her death, and the fact that he had to clean out her house in two days. “Less than that now, I guess. One and a half. It’s gonna be hell.” His head fell into his hands, fingers rubbing at the temples as if to soothe the headache he was expecting.

Virgil was a good listener, nodding along to the right parts and avoiding those stupid sympathetic looks he was so tired of. It was a nice relief to actually feel listened to, not pitied. 

“My parents are kind of similar. It doesn’t feel like I have much to complain about, though, because… I mean, they didn’t kick me out. Don’t openly hate on me. But it still sucks. They don’t even acknowledge me half the time.”

“Exactly! And then you see people who have it worse, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit for feeling upset!”

“Good match, universe.” Virgil flopped onto his back, purple hair splayed out on the concrete. “It’s the subtle homophobia for me.”

“Ah, you’re a ‘meme person’.”

“Sucks for you, you’re stuck with me now.”

“I’ll manage,” Janus joined him on the ground, suddenly disgusted that he was still in the same outfit that he’d flown in today. He hated the smell of plane, and he must reek of it. But Virgil didn’t seem to mind his general disheveled appearance as he made an abstract comment about the moon being full today, and how that generally meant bad things. Janus made the mistake of asking him what he meant, which turned into a full blown lecture on mythology and cryptids, one that Virgil didn’t have the capability to control. It made him smile though, seeing the emo so utterly delighted to explain it, and he realized with a start that he was going to get to enjoy this man for the rest of his life. Two people who could talk, matched with a person who loved to listen equally as much. Virgil had been right. Good match, universe.

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

If the turtles’ S/O is autistic and is experiencing a meltdown? I suggest research on it

I did a fair amount of research on this and talked to a few people with autism and even my brother in law who works with autistic children and experiences their meltdowns on a daily basis. However, I’m no expert in this, I just looked up a few things so again, if this is offensive, if you feel like this infantalizes people on the spectrum or if something about it just doesn’t sit right with you please, please, please tell me and I will issue and apology and take this down immediately. This blog is supposed to be a distraction and it’s just for fun so I would never want to cause anyone any offence. I’m trying my best and that’s all I can offer.

Leo

Leo is so confused when you meltdown in front of him

it was supposed to be a fun day out at an amusement park

but all the sounds and smells and visuals got you and you started experiencing sensory overload

he doesn’t really know what to do at first so he asks

you tell him you just need to leave so he takes you away from everything immediately 

once you’ve calmed down you both have a very frank discussion about what happened and how to avoid it in the future

you explain sensory overload to him and he kind of gets it, everything can just be too overwhelming for you sometimes

he understand perfectly and makes sure to take your needs into account in the future

Raph

I can see have as having mild anxiety so he gets sensory overload all too well

He makes sure to ask what you need and get you away from what’s triggering you

he wants to know how to avoid stressing you out so much in the future so even though he isn’t good with words, you have a conversation about what can cause it for you

he gets it

the world is too big and loud and full of stuff sometimes

he makes sure to take you to a dark part of the lair that’s quiet and sits which you while you cal down further

he’ll hold you but only if you’re ok with that

Mikey

Mikey doesn;t understand a lot so it can be difficult communicating with him

but feeling like you’re not communicating properly can cause a meltdown in you

Mikey absolutely hates seeing you in distress so distractions are always the way to go for him

he has a lot of sensory toys on him at all times which he brings out and lets you handle

so things like playdough and slinky toys to distract you

once you’ve calmed down he has a talk with you about what just happened and you explain everything to him

he doesn’t fully understand but tries his best and does whatever he can to avoid causing that again in the future

Donnie

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Donnie is on the spectrum

when you’re having a meltdown he makes sure to ask you clearly and precisely what you need in that moment

he does whatever you ask whether that be taking you somewhere dimly lit and quiet to calm down or taking your focus away from the trigger

He makes sure to note down what and when it happened to see if there’s a trend over time or places as to what causes the meltdowns

he really makes sure to listen fully to what you’re saying so you know that your communication isn’t lost on him

he just wants to make sure you feel safe and stress free so you don;t have to go through that again.

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Day 9

Prompt: When you write something on your own skin it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

Word Count: 1,896

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01,​​​ @spoopy-turtle,​​​ @lizluvscupcakes,​​ @more-fandon-than-friends​, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain, @8-writes Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12, @8-writes

“It feels like the whole world is closing in. I’m starting to get claustrophobic.” Logan saw the words appear on his leg. Lying in bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, most of his skin was covered in black and purple ink. He paused, his black pen hovering over the skin just below the purple.

Finally, he put pen to skin. “That’s understandable. Sometimes, you just need to distance yourself from the world. Put up a barrier and exist behind it, give yourself a mental personal bubble and stick to it. Have things you enjoy set aside in a way that you can interact with them without having to interact with the world.”

The purple gave a dot of acknowledgement. Logan knew Virgil would eventually tired himself out and fall asleep so waited for any indicator. Soon, the ink left a small dot before a trail dropped off the limb, cutting through the previous conversation. Logan chuckled, knowing his soulmate had fallen asleep.

He stood, crossing to the bathroom and sitting on the edge of the tub as he took a washcloth to the pen marks. He smiled, thinking of the many conversations he’d had with Virgil. He’d known his name his whole life, or so it felt. In reality, he’d been five when ink had first shown up on his arm. It was a simple hello from Virgil’s parents to test if his soulmate was older or younger than him. Logan had run up to his mom and she and Mama wrote on his other arm.

After that, he was encouraged to write little notes to his soulmate on his arms, telling him about his day and things he’d learned in school. He was told that Virgil wouldn’t be able to respond for a few years but that didn’t stop him from trying.

He was eleven when he first got a response. It was shakily written, clearly by a child holding a crayon in a fist. He’d been so happy, running to Mama to show her. Mama had encouraged him to write back and he could picture the giggles that arose from his soulmate.

Soon, they were holding full conversations. Those progressed to late night conversations, pens sliding off skin as sleep took over, the hurried scrawls of notes or ideas, getting to know his soulmate by his personality and penmanship, getting to see that penmanship change as he learned how he wrote best, getting to know his mood by his wording and the spacing between letters. He got to know his tastes in food by his grocery lists, his daily activities by to-do lists. He saw when tears or rain obscured important information and made sure to write it higher up so it wasn’t smudged. This was usually accompanied by hearts and stars from Virgil drawn next to them as a way of thanks.

He made sure to do the same, writing grocery and to-do lists on his arms, chuckling when Virgil thought it was his own list and started crossing things off. His favorite thing to do was to play simple table games on his arms, tic tac toe, dots and boxes, sprouts, and others. They both eventually solved little arguments of who won which game by choosing different pen colors.

At one point during a day, it must have been when he was about fifteen or so, he got a note on his arm that Virgil had been diagnosed with ADHD. He’d researched as much about it as he could in the hopes of helping in any way he could. He’d give reminders, encourage Virgil to write task lists on his arm, even if it was ‘I need to make dinner in fifteen minutes’ so Logan could give a reminder at the five minute mark. He noticed when Virgil didn’t respond and would ask if it was a bad sensory day and would use a different pen in case that was triggering his hypersensitivity.

One day, he noticed a building number written on his arm when he woke up. It was a very familiar building number as it was his place of work. He smiled as he adjusted his tie, going into work with a spring in his step. When he got to the break room, he thought he’d ask around. “Does anyone have a Virgil for an appointment?”

He got a few smirks from coworkers but some others gave him genuine smiles. “Is it your soulmate?” Someone asked, clear teasing in her voice.

Logan nodded, a smile creeping across his face. He twisted his arm, letting the rest of them see the note with the building address. “I woke up to this and assumed. So, does anyone have an appointment with him?”

Patton raised his hand with a giggle. “I do! It’s a one o'clock appointment. I’m pretty sure you’ve got a one-thirty appointment. I’m willing to swap with you.”

Logan nodded as he poured creamer into his coffee. “That would be fine, thank you.”

He went back to his office and completed paperwork, dealing with the few clients he had in the morning. He went out and grabbed a quick lunch during his noon break before sitting in his office, trying not to stand every five minutes to look for Virgil.

Finally, the clock struck one and his head swiveled to the door. His secretary knocked on it and he called for him to come in. Roman peeked his head in. “I have a Virgil Storm that Patton said is for you?”

“Yes! Send him in, please.” He tried to keep his excitement to a minimum but after falling for his soulmate twelve years ago, he was excited to see him for the first time. He stood as his soulmate entered, a shy looking young man in a purple and black hoodie with ripped black jeans.

“Virgil Storm, welcome.” He reached over the desk for a handshake, the address clear on his arm.

Virgil raised his head, eyes locking onto the purple writing that matched the pen he usually used. He shifted his gaze to Logan’s eyes. “Logan?” His voice was hesitant, as if he were already regretting the decision to ask.

Logan nodded, his attempts to contain his smile succeeding for the most part. “That’s right, soulmate.”

Virgil smiled, dropping his hood as he sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Logan sat as his soulmate looked around the room. Logan couldn’t take his eyes off the man, his hair tousled from the hood, his shoulders looking more relaxed than when he came in, he looked nice. Finally, he turned back to face Logan. “So, law office, huh?” He smirked.

Logan nodded, folding his hands on his desk. “Yes. I find the work . . . fulfilling.” He reached for the documents Patton had provided for him earlier. “So, what caused you to need a lawyer?”

Virgil seemed to draw in on himself. “Well, I want to get custody of my younger brother from my parents.”

Logan nodded, making a note on a clean sheet of paper. “Okay, and do you have any reasons to know that they are unfit parents? Any reasons to believe that you would be a better guardian?” He looked up, an apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry, dearest, you must understand that these are standard questions.”

Virgil squirmed slightly in his seat. “Dearest?”

Logan nodded, avoiding eye contact. “I have no excuse for that one.”

Virgil’s hand came across the desk to rest on Logan’s. “I wouldn’t expect an excuse. I guess I just didn’t expect an exclamation of love so soon after meeting. Then again, we met when I was born, didn’t we?”

Logan looked up at him and saw a look that his own face must have mirrored. “That’s right. I’ve known you all my life and couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.” After a period of silence, he cleared his throat and straightened the papers. “We should get back on track.”

Virgil nodded, settling back in his chair. “Right. Uhh, they are abusive to him. I’d never been abused by them but when Remus came knocking at my door with some large bruises on his wrists, I knew I had to do something.”

Logan nodded. “Okay, are you aware of a moment of instigation of the abuse? You mention not being abused yourself so I’m wondering if there is a specific thing about your brother that your parents saw but didn’t like.”

“He’s transgender. That’s the only thing I can think of that they don’t like about him. I mean, I’m pretty alternative and emo myself so I can’t imagine them snapping over something as simple as a teenager who plays music too loud or watches too many horror movies.”

Logan jotted a note down. “Okay, can we circle back around to my question of how you could make a better guardian? This is a simple argument we can use in court against your parents.”

“I have a stable income that is capable of providing for two people, he’s already been living at my place for a few weeks at the moment, and . . .  I’ve contacted my soulmate.” Logan looked up from his notes just in time to see Virgil wink at him.

“Flirt,” he muttered as he went back to his notes.

Virgil leaned forward, his face confident. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Logan shook his head. “Nothing.” Looking back over his notes, he underlined certain things before looking back up at Virgil. “Okay, I think I’ll need to talk to Remus for a little bit but other than that, I think we might have a strong case. I will have to ask that you are not in the room while I talk to him but you can wait directly outside. The only reason for this is so I know he’s speaking of his own free will and isn’t allowing you to speak for him, which is something your parents might try to hold against us.”

Virgil nodded. “May I ask why you need to speak to him?”

“It’s to make sure that he understands what’s happening and is okay with you taking custody. I also have to ask him some cursory questions to know the extent of the abuse. I might also have to have some pictures taken of bruises as evidence for court.”

Virgil nodded, making a note on his arm. Logan smiled. Once that was done, Virgil leaned forward. “Are there any rules against dating your lawyer?”

Logan smiled along with him. “None that I can recall. Why, are you thinking about it?”

Virgil smirked. “Only if he’s willing to date me back.” Logan nodded, leaning forward in a silent invitation for a kiss, which Virgil accepted.

The case took a few months and was hard fought, but Virgil eventually got custody of Remus. He and Logan continued to date until Virgil and Remus moved in with Logan. The lawyer was the one to propose, much to his coworkers’ enjoyment. The wedding was a simple one but they were happy in their life. Logan asked Remus if he would prefer to be under only Virgil’s custody or if he wanted Logan to have joint custody and, when told Remus preferred the second option, quickly petitioned for joint custody, which was easily obtained. Their life was a busy one but it was happy, and it was theirs.

[alienwlw]

I saw your post about it's okay to not be okay and read your tag about what kang tae did right/wrong in regards to sang tae and was wondering if you're going to write about it because I personally would love to read it if you do.

yeah i can elaborate a little more - feels like the showrunners did a fair amount of research bc there’s a lot in place in the moon boy’s lives that works really well for sang-tae. i like the way there are emotion cards hanging up the house for sang-tae to practice emotional recognition (this alone wouldnt be effect for someone with asd but we can assume it’s part of a program bc gang-tae talks about practicing with his own face to make exaggerated expressions that sang-tae can read so that sang-tae recognizes how gang-tae is feeling so it seems like emotional recognition is something being worked on in general for sang-tae). there’s also sang-taes stegosaurus on his bag which i’m sure is a huge emotional support for him to have with him at all times.  sang-tae also has his little closet tent in the house when he needs to have some sensory deprivation and additionally we’ve seen gang-tae use his sweater to throw over sang-tae when he started having a meltdown in the book store. i’d say under different circumstances i would never presume to touch someone with asd and hug them the way gang-tae does in that moment but it’s fair to assume sang-tae trusts gang-tae enough to let him and obviously everyone is different so gang-tae clearly knew it was going to help and then moved sang-tae away to a dark quiet room where he could stay until he was ready to come out - which leads into my next point which i brought up in that previous post and that’s gang-tae’s patience. he’s willing to sit outside of that room for as long as it takes for sang-tae to get back to himself and feel better and that’s great - in instances of full crisis that’s exactly what you need to do. we’ve also seen sang-tae taking the bus on his own which is great, and he works at that pizza place with someone who he knows and knows him which is also great because he does read as higher functioning to me and that means he should have those things and have his own life and job etc. which then leads into the problem which is more that the moon boys struggle with co-dependency (from both sides) and that gang-tae hasn’t done enough to cultivate independence in sang-tae. he also hasn’t done enough to figure out a way to teach sang-tae that he sometimes can’t get everything he wants (bc our wonderful precious gang-tae has done everything since that moment at the lake to give sang-tae the world and that’s beautiful but it’s not what he needs). in asd intervention there’s something called a “tolerating no” program where you literally are teaching a person to accept being told no by systematically denying them access to something so they learn the skills to emotionally tolerate it (this is a super cool and complex intervention and you aren’t just heartlessly denying someone something to make them upset, it’s a literal skill that is integral to independent survival and if you’re interested in learning more about the process you can watch a video explaining it here) - there are also things like waiting protocols built around or parallel to tolerating no programs - where you can teach someone to wait first for just five seconds and then slowly and systematically over time you increase the delay - all this is to say that there are systems in place for sang-tae to be increasingly more independent and learn emotional control for better daily functioning if gang-tae were to seek them out but instead, and this was another great moment in the last episode, he and sang-tae are tied to each other like they’re in a three-legged race. so in conclusion, gang-tae is a wonderful and loving brother and he’s coping as best as he can considering the trauma of his youth and the burden of having to become a parent to his own brother - it’s totally understandable that his reaction to this was to put his whole heart into taking care of sang-tae and giving him everything he wanted, it’s just also unfortunate that this wasn’t the best of healthiest path for either of them and now they both can’t function without the other.