#caretaker array

[siryl]

The Array, designed by Jim Martin and Dan Curry for the Star Trek: Voyager pilot, digitally recreated by Eaglemoss Publications for the Official Starships Collection.

[alphamecha-mkii]

Star Trek: Voyager - Caretaker's Array Concept Art by Dan Curry

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Oct 27th

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1. Hiii, i have a request for the next ITMF: please recommend some lengthy canon divergence fics in which lan xichen gets told off for believing JGY over LWJ. Like the fact that he believed someone from another sect (especially the Jin) over his own brother is called out.

Ofcourse wangxian pairing with a happy ending for them.

Extra plus if it's not jiang cheng friendly or not jgy friendly.

Thank you 🙏

Discarded by teawater (E, 187k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it’s not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ) if they don't mind a WIP

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 163k, WangXian, JFM & WWX, JC & WWX, WRH & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LWJ, LWJ & NHS, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Genius WWX, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Angry WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Angry LWJ, One-Braincell WangXian, Idiots in Love, Requited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Soft WangXian, Married WangXian, Soulmates, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Immortal WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, not gusu lan friendly, Immortal LWJ) its not the Main Focus, but LX issues gets adressed

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) link in #8 there's an epic scene where lxc calls himself (and the more toxic Lan rules) out, and dedicates himself to being a more proactive sect leader, set after canon.

Arrayed by FirefliesNLightningBugs (M, 5k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, LSZ found by LXC, LSZ keeps his memories, alive JYL & JZX, canon temporary character death, WIP) shows lxc slowly realizing that he did this and that was stupid from his pov, set post 1st siege of bm.

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2. Hello! IMTF fics that deal with self-discovery. Whether it be coming to terms with being queer or gender stuff or kink. Just grappling with identities and the social tumult that comes along with navigating them, purity culture, cisheteronormativity, etc. Just smth along those lines.

Thank you!!

KILF (Knits I’d Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, WangXian, Modern, Established Relationship, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, sex worker WWX, Fashionista LWJ, in this house we support sex workers, Fluff and Smut, they're horny and in love, mental health, therapy is good actually, Domestic Bliss, tender kink, Fiber Arts, autistic LWJ, neurodivergent WWX, switch rights, Nonbinary NHS, a soupçon of gender, get in losers we're introspecting about queerness, Genderfluid Character, Gender Exploration, perhaps slightly more than a soupçon of gender, Hurt/Comfort, past trauma, But They're Working Through It, aggressive mutual caretaking)

reports of my heterosexuality may have been exaggerated by sysrae (E, 8k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, getting together, straight boy LWJ, disaster gay WWX, heteronormativity, hockey player WWX, little angst)

Pride and Prejudice by sami (T, 3k, WangXian, Pride, Parades, Cats)

❤️ save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae (E, 33k, wangxian, modern w magic, college/university au, fake/pretend relationship, single parent WWX, homophobia, light angst w/ happy ending, idiots to lovers, fluff)

without your new eyes by anaphoricae (E, 66k, WangXian, Modern, Didn’t Know They Were Dating, Sexuality Discovery, Self-Discovery, Literal Sleeping Together, (there is so much sleeping in this fic), mentions of WWX/others and LWJ/others, Drunk LWJ, Teacher LWJ, WWX is a… throws dart… computer scientist, No Angst, Jealous WWX, Flirty WWX, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, WWX’s Love Language is Physical Touch, [Podfic] without your new eyes by anaphoricae by LadyEn)

this body is a gift for you by loosingletters (T, 1k, MXY & WWX, Trans Female WWX, Trans MXY, Canon Divergence, Gender Identity, Self-Discovery, Gender Roles)

The Sculptor by Eleanor_Fenyx (M, 27k, wangxian, LQY/WQ, LWJ & WQ, SL/XXC, modern, lavender marriage, period typical attituted and terminology, mute SL, queer themes, queer families, slow burn, getting together, intimacy, artist WWX, professor LWJ) autumn flower by ScarlettStorm (E, 78k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic vague north american setting, transwoman wwx, transwoman lwj, Gender Experimentation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gender Dysphoria, followed by gender euphoria, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, switch rights) Its trans fem lan zhan descovering herself and how to let herself be true to herself, and wei ying (also transfem) was a big part of cracking her egg. It's still ongoing and it's really good!

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3. ITMF fics that explore wwx’s cultivation - canon dynamics, preferably not cql compliant please!

🔒 Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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4. Hello! And thank you so much for all you do!! I’m in the mood for a fic set in canon universe where wangxian start a friends with benefits kind of thing, where they start having sex without discussing their feelings.

Always Light My Way by cqlorphan (E, 27k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Friends With Benefits, to lovers, wherein dual cultivation may be counted as a benefit, Jealous WWX, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, angsty sex, Versatile | Switch WangXian, Bottom LWJ, Service Top LWJ, Topping from the Bottom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, the angsty sex happens in the beginning but they get past it dw, Oblivious LWJ, archer WWX, Smart WWX, Porn with Feelings, Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dual Cultivation)

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5. ITMF a fic similar to hyperballad by azuresummer please!

🔒 姻緣 | this marriage was always predestinedby saccharinings (E, 43k, wangxian, Cheating, Infidelity, not between wangxian, WWX is married and LWJ persuades him to cheat on his husband with him, Dark LWJ, A/B/O, Feminizing Language, Exhibitionism, Size Difference, WagnXian Have a Breeding Kink, Stomach Bulge, Possessive LWJ, Manipulation, WWX Wears Lingerie, Rape/Non-con Elements, for one part, Hair-pulling Kink, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Mirror Sex, Vibrators, Phone Sex, Rimming, Edgeplay, slight choking kink, Light Bondage, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, LJY’s Big Fat Crush on Milfxian, Pregnant WWX, WangXian Endgame, Spanish Translation) maybe. It has some common elements but ah no murder I think. A Wen does get screwed over.

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6. Hey its for the ITMF.

"A harmony between qin and se" by alaceron is one of my all-time favourites. It'd be great if you could recommend some wangxian fics with household intrigue and scheming. Lwj being a simp as a bonus is even better!! (doesn't matter if wwx is a male or female)

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7. ITMF fics where WWX and LWJ end up accidentally married. Or ones where they end up married because of political/economic reasons. Canon era fics are preferred but will accept modern era if it’s the “we got married for tax benefits but i’m actually in love with you” kind of trope. Mpreg only if it’s really good please.

a long time coming by syriala (G, 2k, WangXian, Getting Together, Pining, Accidental Marriage, except it's not so accidental, Supportive LXC, Fluff)

30 Days of Secret Marriage at Cloud Recesses by starandrea (T, 43k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Bunnies, Gusu Lan Forehead Ribbon, Accidental Marriage, Coming Out, Falling In Love, supportive family, Fluff, Happy Ending, the whole story is happy)

🔒 the world passes by but for me there is only you by beeswaxing (E, 82k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it of sorts, golden core reveal, accidental marriage, love confessions, horny teenagers, pining, fluff, everybody lives, first time)

play your love songs all night long by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Marriage of Convenience, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, One Big Happy Family, Sharing a Bed, (platonically for 13 years), Therapy, in the grand tradition of the untamed most of this is flashback, Pegging, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings)

Only Fools Rush In by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 27k, WangXian, Modern, Woke Up Married, alcohol use but no sex happens while drunk, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, what happens in Vegas etc etc)

What If….. Jiang Cheng Understood? by ToxicAngel13 (M, 66k, WIP, WangXian, Ribbons, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WangXian Get Married in the Cold Springs Cave, Protective JC, Confused WWX, Angry LWJ, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Uncle LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, YZY Bashing, POV JFM, Not JFM Friendly, Hurt/Comfort, Protective NHS)

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern AU, Accidental Baby Acquisition,Kid Fic, explicit in much much later chapters, green card marriage (but not really), pining for your own husband, endless pining, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Nothing else bad or traumatic happens to the baby, [Podfic of] The Simplest Way Forward by knight_tracer) LWJ is in love when they effectively get married for tax purposes, and WWX gets there, and of course there's lots of pining for your husband

🔒 Two Weddings and a Family Reunion by scifigeek14 (T, 36k, wangxian, canon divergence, shotgun wedding, politics, everyone lives au, fix-it, feelings realization, family feels, marriage proposal, marriage of convenience)

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8. Hello! I am new to the fandom, I just finished watching the drama and I want more!!! I have been recced to your blog for fic suggestions? May I please have suggestions for canon compliant stories that are mostly light hearted (no heavy angst please)? I really enjoyed the mood in the first part of the show when all the characters were energetic and goofy teens, so perhaps some fics set then? I want more of the world, clans, costumes, etc. World building is maybe the right word? Thank you so much!

It’s Only Time by etymologyplayground (T, 8k, WangXian, Epistolary, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, It’s About The Yearning., Getting Together, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Humor) this one is tagged as Post-Canon Canon Compliant so I hope it's okay

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics)

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9. ITMF: No JGY redemption. Like, he has many choices or someone give him another path to take but he still choose the unforgivable one. I dont want it from JGY's POV. I want it to focus on WWX story like in canon i guess? Thanks!

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10. For itmf, I'm craving some angst with a happy ending fics! Established relationship wangxian where they fight and/or break up and both of them are hurting a lot, but they make up and get back together. Thank you!

🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

estuaries by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 34k, wangixan, modern, breakup/makeup, pining while fucking, single dad WWX, angst w/ happy ending)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 108k, wangxian, modern, angst w/ happy ending, romance, persuasion au, separations, pining, miscommunication, depression, self-harm, reconciliation, smut)

💖 love wakes me by dea_liberty (E, 46k, wangxian, modern, angst w happy ending, childhood sweethearts, misunderstanding, famous LWJ, coffee shop owner WWX, found families, grand romantic gestures)

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11. (This part added to fic finder, fic might be decay by antebunny)

Also, if you know any fics with similar plot (like Wei Ying being forced to cleanse from RE for "his own good" and getting hurt instead), i would appreciate the recommendations! Thank you 🍁 @shellennium

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12. I am hoping someone has fanfic with

A. Wei Wuxian becoming miserable after marrying into the Lan sect, a bit of lxc/lqr bashing but with them eventually realizing they were wrong, also if Wei Wuxian tries to commit suicide it would be better

B. Fanfics in which wwx doesn't want to have children but is forced because he is lwj's husband

C. Wwx having a parental figure for the first time, I don't want it to be the Jiang parents but anyone else is fine

Also, no jyl or long lwj bashing, please

12A)

Practical Considerations by teawater, the_anthropologist (E, 97k, WangXian, JC & WWX, LXC & WWX, LQR & WWX, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Spouses to Lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Politics, Scheming, Lán Elders are assholes, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, eventually BAMF LXC, learning to make decisions, Learning Self-worth, Self-Esteem Issues, Sweet Wangxian, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, JC is a big asshole, he improves somewhat but it’s open-ended, WWX learns to stand up for himself, Quote: Come Back to Gusu With Me, POV wwx, POV LWJ, POV JC, Golden Core Reveal, Teacher wwx, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Sunshot Campaign, WWX Protection Squad, Feelings Realization, WWX protector of the twin jades, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Protective LQR, Demonic Cultivator WWX, WWX is Loved, Married WangXian, Genius WWX, Everybody Lives)

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gusu Lan Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

12C)

safe here with me by xcourtney_chaoticx (G, 3k, WangXian, Family Feels, Good Uncle LQR, WWX Goes to Gusu, Fluff, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Food Issues, Endgame WangXian)

Scars of Lightning by The_peregrine_falcon (T, 6k, YZY & WWX, WWX & WRH, WangXian, YZY’s A+ Parenting, Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Wen WWX, zidian, YZY is a bitch, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Heavy Angst, Lotus Pier, Nightless City, Young WWX, Muteness, Hurt kind of comfort)

藍色的花，紅色的蘭 {Lan se de hua, hongse de lan} by Admiranda, AshayaTReldai (M, 45k, WIP, WangXian, Orphan WWX, Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends, wwx raised in the lan clan, softer lqr, Good Uncle LQR, Good lan clan, Good Older Sibling LXC)

🔒 crying like a fire in the sun by Reverie (cl410) (T, 10k, WangXian, SongXiao, BSSR/LY, Runaway WWX, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Die, rogue cultivator WWX, Angst, Post Cloud Recesses, Not YZY Friendly, Happy Ending, BSSR is WWX’s grandmother instead of grandmaster)

Crimson leaves by barisan (T, 4k, WangXian, WWX & OFC(s), WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Rogue Cultivator WWX, WWX gets lesbian grandmothers, WWX learns about his parents, WWX is a Wen, (Through his lesbian granny but still), Getting Together, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Pre-Canon, Genius WWX)

All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 93k, WRH & WWX, WangXian, WN & WWX, WWX is a Wen, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Society Level Victim Blaming, Victim Blaming)

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13. Hii, so I'm looking for fics kinda enemies to lovers but not exactly 😅 like one of them is reluctant to get together at first? Or at least it looks like it, like in All The Roads or The earthquake in the room, both the I highly recommend btw. Thanks a lot @akutamichan

baby let’s take the long way home by plonk (Not rated, 10k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Abortion, Mpreg, With A Twist, Enemies to Lovers)

🔒 no certainty of doors between us by betts (T, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Roommates, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Confessions, Idiots in Love, dubiously consensual spooning, Enemies to Lovers, Sharing Clothes, Hurt/Comfort, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, wwx’s casual intimacy meets lwj’s touch starvation, wwx doesn’t know they’re enemies, lwj doesn’t know they’re dating)

varied my velocities by fantasiavii (E, 58k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ballerina LWJ, Football/Soccer player WWX, Enemies to Lovers, Top WWX/Bottom LWJ, Dom WWX, Angst with a happy ending, Internalized homophobia)

🔒 The Second Jade of Lan’s late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana (E, 41k, wangxian, First Time, LWJ’s Horny Grip, LWJ does not know what hit him, and yet somehow he still realizes it before WWX, canon wangxian dynamics, college AU, LWJ starts off annoyed at WWX, But quickly discovers both his competency kink and a caretaking kink, Genius WWX)

Documented Fact by Scrippio (T, 7k, WangXian, LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, Modern with Magic, College/University, Professors, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Fluff, OYZZ POV, Humor) which features married Wangxian but everyone believes they're enemies.

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14. This account is a treasure!!! What I’m looking for are the post WWX resurrection fics that address Wangxian age gap. Can be fun, kinky, healing, basically anything. @feanarotherindion

Help, My Dad Is Fucking Someone My Age!! by sweetlolixo (T, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Humor, Crack, Fluff, Romance)

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15. I recently read fic While covered in mud by merthurlin. And I really love badass Huaisang who takes matters into his own hands earlier in the story. Is there any more fic where Huaisang went into Burial Mounds like that? Or just awesome badass scary Huaisang in general. I have huge need to read some badass Huaisang who will get recognized for his mastery too.

Story-Shaped by lingering_song (T, 13k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, Post-Canon, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Inventor WWX, Found Family, NHS needs a new hobby, And apparently that’s spoiling his Wei-Xiong, Mentioned Character Death, Alcohol, Protective NHS, WangXian Endgame, Not JC Friendly, Not particularly gentry sects friendly overall tbh)

💖 demons run when a good man goes to warby Miranda_Aurelia (T, 20k, wangxian, LWJ & NHS, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, angst w happy ending, NHS & LWJ friendship, not JGY friendly, dark LWJ, revenge, (presumed) major character death, not LXC friendly)

The Lost Cause by KouriArashi (T, 18k, JGY & NHS, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Murder Bros, NHS is a boss bitch, JGY is a hot mess, Everybody Lives, except the people who suck, (lookin at you JGS and JZN))

The Threads of Fate by WaitForTheSnitch (E, 78k, WangXian, WIP, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Not Everyone Dies, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Good Uncle LQR, Protective LWJ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Pining LWJ, WWX in WWX's Body, JC & WWX Reconciliation, is it reconciliation if WWX doesn't know they were estranged?, Oblivious WWX, WWX Deserves Better, WWX Deserves Happiness, Siblings JC & WWX, Supportive JYL, Protective NHS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Comic Book Science) If the requester doesn't mind a WIP, the frequently updating The Threads of Fate is another good one that features a brilliant Nie Huaisang.

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16. itmf for fics where lan wangji is very forward? in terms of flirting or expressing his adoration/ attraction for wei wuxian

can be canon or au or even modern au!

(just no side jc/wq please)

🔒Tangible by apathyinreverie (T, 2k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Humor, Possessive LWJ, First Kiss, Getting Together, the library scene)

Tripped at Every Step by brooklinegirl (E, 28k, WangXian)

dream of a funeral; hear of a marriage by defractum (nyargles) (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, First Time, Fluff and Humor)

loveliness by orphan_account (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Pining, Teen Romance, Getting Together)

body and soul by TooSel (E, 41k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Marriage Proposal, Everyone Lives AU, Cultivation Sect Politics, Yílíng Wèi Sect AU, Adoption, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect)

❤️ Standing Engagement by x_los (M, 18k, wangxian, misunderstandings, accidental engagement, sunshot campaign, golden core reveal, accidental relationship, WQ lives, everyone lives au, Mojo’s post)

Give Me One Good Honest Kiss by thunderwear (T, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, horny LWJ agenda, LXC is suffering in LQR’s name, [PODFIC] Give Me One Good Honest Kiss by thunderwear)

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17. ITMF where WWX agree to come to gusu in exchange of wen remnants protection. I want WWX accept the lan condirion to lock him up. I want him to live lifelessly/aphatic/just living because he is nit dead yet. Or maybe like in Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi.

Bonus if LWJ/LXC/LQR managed to make WWX scream at them and tell them whats wrong with him in anger. Thanks

The Forsaken Jade Statue by SaiaiSaiko (Not Rated, 7k, WangXian, Curse Breaking, Curses, WWX Goes to Gusu, Dark Gusu Lan Sect Imprisonment, Seclusion as Imprisonment, YLLZ WWX, Older LWJ, Older LXC, Cursed LWJ, petrification, Hopeful Ending) Wei Wuxian in 'Seclusion' for the Wen's protection and stumbling over Lan Wangji cursed to be a statue

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[tteotlma]

Trust in the Tension

--buried impulses flare into a fierce, unspoken surrender that no barrier can contain

"Nurse"!Logan x Patient!Reader (11.5kwc)

tw; 18+ MDNI; nsfw, power imbalance; caretaker/patient dynamic; dubcon (dubious consent); explicit sexual content; oral sex; choking; hair-pulling; biting; rough physicality; coarse language; mention of mental health struggles; tears/overwhelm.

a/n: PLS BE AWARE THIS IS A PIECE OF FICTION. (I AM DEEPLY AnD GRAVELY AWARE OF THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION IRL BUT again THIS IS FICTION JUST HAVE FUN or skip.) i also didn't intend for this to be so long... but its been a month since my last fic

not edited entirely; pls like & reblog

Your vision pulsed to the sound of your heartbeat as you took in the scene around you.

You hadn’t asked to be here. 

The facility was nice— too nice. Plush furniture, warm neutral tones, windows big enough to let in the light but so obviously locked for safety. Despite the place feeling more like a high-end retreat, than a mental health facility that didn’t stop the feel of the walls caving in. 

Still in an unknowing state of shock you sat stiffly in the common room, arms crossed, back rigid, posture so straight it was almost defiant. It wasn’t lost on you that you were the only one not participating in whatever exercise the group facilitator had planned. 

You clenched your jaw as you stared straight ahead at the painting of random splatters on the far wall, the rest of the people fading away in the background. The painting, an aggressive array of white, red, and black splatters meticulously painted to convey some sort of emotion provided you a great sense of comfort. You couldn’t put your finger on what that feeling was but you could feel it— deep in the pit of your stomach. You felt the facilitator's eyes on you, but you ignored it trying to wrap your head around how you got here in the first place. 

It wasn’t voluntary, that's for sure. No, you were here because your parents begged, pleaded, and finally pulled out the we’re worried about you, sweetheart card. They’d finally worn you down, leaving you too exhausted to fight. 

Not that exhaustion was new to you. 

Professional Burnout was the sanitized phrase they’d slapped onto your file. As if snapping at a coworker who spent months undermining you somehow made you unstable. As if the outburst wasn’t deserved. 

One crack, you thought bitterly, and suddenly I’m the problem. 

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted your brooding. You glanced up just in time to see a man step into the room, a clipboard in hand and a toothpick hanging lazily from his mouth. He was tall and rugged, with broad shoulders that stretched his uniform and thick sideburns that framed his jaw. He looked like he belonged anywhere but here—on a construction site, maybe, or some smoky dive bar.

His eyes caught yours, sharp and assessing. You didn’t look away, narrowing your gaze in return.

He stood there for a moment, the toothpick rolling between his teeth, sizing you up like he’d already figured you out. You hated it.

“Logan,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was deep and gravelly, with a rough edge that matched his rugged appearance. He tapped the clipboard against his thigh, tilting his head slightly. “You got a name, or are we just gonna keep starin’ at each other?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, folding your arms tighter across your chest.

His lips quirked, just barely. “Keeps things polite. But hey, if you’d rather I call you ‘sunshine,’ that works too.”

You glared at him. “It’s [Y/N].” 

“[Y/N],” he repeated, his tone deliberate, like he was committing it to memory. “Alright then, [Y/N]. Here’s the deal. I’m the orderly assigned to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t go stir-crazy or claw anyone’s eyes out.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

“Thanks,” he said, completely unfazed. “Let’s try something new—how about you actually join the group? Sitting there like a statue ain’t doin’ you any favors.”

“I’m fine right here,” you replied flatly, eyes drifting back to the splatter painting.

“Fine,” he echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

He stepped closer, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. The closer he got, the more imposing he seemed, like he took up all the air in the room. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart. You can act all tough and keep everyone at arm’s length, but it doesn’t make the time go by any faster.”

You finally looked up at him, bristling at the way he loomed over you, like he was daring you to challenge him. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” he said, leaning in just enough to lower his voice, “is that I’ve seen plenty of people like you. Wound so tight you’re about to snap. Keep it up, and you’ll be stuck here a hell of a lot longer than you need to be.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms. “Maybe I like my space.”

His grin was infuriatingly small, almost imperceptible. “Sure you do. Let me know how that works out for you.”

And just like that, he turned and walked off, leaving you fuming. You weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or sink deeper into the chair just to spite him. Either way, you had the distinct feeling that Logan wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

—

Later that day you found yourself sitting in another goddamn plush leather seat. You sat stiffly in the chair, arms crossed and jaw tight as Logan settled into the seat across from you. He had the same clipboard as earlier, only now he looked far more official—still rugged and casual in demeanor, but with a sharpness in his gaze that said he wasn’t here to play around. 

“Alright (Y/N),” he started, clicking his pen. “This is just a standard intake. I know you did it before coming here, I just gotta get some background myself, so we know how to help you.” 

“Help me,” you muttered under your breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Logan raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “First question: How are you feeling?”

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair. “Fantastic. Couldn’t be better.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied dryly, jotting something down on the clipboard. “We’ll circle back to that. What about your usual stress levels? On a scale of one to ten?”

“Zero.”

He glanced up, his expression unreadable. “And what do you usually do to blow off steam?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Work. Run. Avoid people.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Not exactly workin’ out for you, is it?”

Your glare could’ve cut glass. “What’s your point?”

“No point,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Just gettin’ to know you.”

He finished scribbling and set the clipboard aside, leaning forward slightly. “Last question. You think you belong here?”

You faltered, his sudden intensity throwing you off balance. “What does it matter what I think? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But if you’re gonna be here, might as well make it worth somethin’. Otherwise, you’re just wastin’ your own damn time.”

The weight of his words hung in the air as he stood, gathering his clipboard and pen. “That’s it for now. I’ll see you around, sunshine.”

As he walked out, you couldn’t help but feel like Logan saw more of you in that brief exchange than most people ever did—and it unnerved you.

—

You felt the weight of Logan’s questions long after the session ended. Sure they were simple questions but it’s not like it wasn’t anything he couldn’t look up himself if he tried. The way his eyes had fixed on you, intense and unyielding, had unsettled you more than you cared to admit. You tried to shake it off, but it lingered like a bad taste, gnawing at the back of your mind. 

When you walked back to the common room, the group session was finally finishing up. Everyone slowly filtered out, but you stayed behind. You didn’t want to be around people—didn’t want anyone to see how much you were clenching your fists or how your jaw was tight enough to bruise. 

Sitting back down in your (un)claimed seat, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back to stare at the painting on the far wall. Your mind kept drifting back to Logan’s words, his calm, almost knowing demeanor. You hated how easily he had gotten under your skin. 

It wasn’t just the questions. It was the way he looked at you, like he understood everything without you saying a word. You didn’t want to think about that, either.

You stood abruptly, deciding a walk through the facility might clear your head. But when you stepped into the hallway, you saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, a smirk barely hidden behind his usual indifference.

“Lost?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You didn’t answer, trying to walk past him. You didn’t need another interaction, especially with him. But he moved just enough to block your path.

“You think you’re just gonna keep brushing me off, huh?” he said, voice low and amused.

“You really love to push buttons, don’t you?” You didn’t bother hiding the irritation in your voice.

His grin widened, but he didn’t press you further. Instead, his gaze softened, almost unreadable. “I don’t push buttons. I just call it like I see it.”

You glared at him, biting back a retort. But when he finally stepped aside, giving you space to walk past him, you couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and frustration. 

—

The next time you saw Logan, it was in another session. Group therapy again. You’d kept your distance as much as possible, staying silent while the others participated. You weren’t interested in talking about your feelings—not to strangers and definitely not to Logan.

As the facilitator guided the group through an exercise, you sat stiffly, arms seemingly permanent crossed. You tried to block out everything and everyone, focusing on the wall in front of you. 

You were here, just like your parents had wanted. That should be enough. 

Logan had been observing you quietly, and when the session ended, he was the first one to walk over.

“You gonna keep that scowl on your face all day, or are you gonna get over yourself?” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of concern underneath, like he was watching you closely.

You didn’t want to feel anything anymore, didn’t want to stay caught up in the mess of emotions or the frustration building inside you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe you, and you could see it in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

Before you could snap back, the door to the group room swung open, and the others filed out. Logan stepped closer, his presence so commanding that you felt the air grow heavier around you.

“Why don’t we step outside for a second?” he suggested, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to coax you into something you didn’t want.

You glared up at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

But something in his eyes—some unspoken understanding—made you pause. Against your better judgment, you followed him out into the hallway.

Once the two of you were out of earshot from the others, Logan stopped and turned to face you. The air between you was thick, charged with something you couldn’t name.

“You’re acting like a kid,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? Well, maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m fine when I’m not,” you shot back, your voice sharp and biting. The frustration you’d been holding in for days boiled to the surface, your words barely contained.

Logan’s gaze softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He was too used to dealing with people like you. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a lot of tension in you, huh?” His eyes trailed the length of your body. 

You didn’t respond, the anger started to bubble up again, your hands clenched at your side but something about his steady presence seemed to disarm you. Maybe it was the way he didn’t back off, didn’t try to force anything.

He only took a step closer, and for the first time, you didn’t flinch. His hand moved to your shoulder, the touch firm but gentle.

“I’m not here to push you, [Y/N],” he said, his voice low. “But you gotta know—holding all that in? It’s gonna eat you up.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to control the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. “I don’t need advice,” you muttered, feeling vulnerable in a way you hated.

“I don’t need advice,” you repeated, except the words coming out sharp, and defensive this time. You hated the way your chest felt tight, the vulnerability creeping in from where Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder. 

The warmth from his touch spread across your skin, and for a moment, it felt like it was sinking into your bones, grounding you in a way that made your stomach twist. You didn’t need anyone grounding you. You didn’t need him to make you feel this way.

Logan’s eyes softened just a fraction, but his expression remained steady, like he was waiting for you to crack. “You sure about that?” he asked again quietly, his tone almost too calm.

You felt it then, the tension pooling inside you, the anger at yourself for even considering his words. You were independent. You didn’t need anyone to fix you. You hadn’t needed anyone before to figure things out. And you especially, didn’t need some wannabe shrink to start telling you how to manage your life.

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand and removed it from your shoulder. You did it quickly, as if his touch burned you, trying to ignore the way his heat lingered on your skin. You told yourself it was about reclaiming your space, but deep down, you couldn’t deny the way you resented the way his warmth had made you feel—like you weren’t enough on your own, like you needed him, and it made you bitter.

You didn’t meet his eyes as you moved away. The weight of his gaze felt like too much, like he could see right through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered for what seemed like the umpteenth time, turning away before he could say anything more, before you could let him see how much you were feeling.

Each step you took away from him was deliberate, quick. You weren’t going to let him break you down, weren’t going to let him see how much you wanted the relief he might even be able to offer. You didn’t need him. You’d never needed anyone, not like that.

The hallway stretched out in front of you, a quiet reminder that you could handle this—you could handle this.

—

The next few days passed in a haze. Every session, every group exercise felt like you were just going through the motions, barely containing the storm brewing inside you. You could still feel Logan’s hand on your shoulder, the way it had made you feel both furious and small, and it gnawed at you. You told yourself you were fine, but the anger lingered, thick like smoke in your lungs.

You were sitting in the group room again, the usual chatter around you fading into white noise. Your focus was elsewhere—just trying to survive the hour without having to say a word. You were about to tune out completely when you heard it.

“She’s just another fucking drama queen.”

The voice came from across the room, a low murmur between two of the other patients. You didn’t need to hear more. You already knew they were talking about you. The words were sharp, cutting through the air with a venom that dug deep into you.

You snapped your gaze in their direction, fury immediately surging through you. The mocking tone, the casual dismissal—it was too familiar, too reminiscent of the shit you’d put up with at your last job. You could feel the rage flooding your chest, hot and suffocating. It was a sensation you knew too well, one that had always pushed you to the edge before.

And now, it was back.

The room started to shrink around you. The noise of their laughter, the snickers, the sideways glances—all of it evaporated as your anger took over. Your fists clenched so tightly your nails dug into your palms.

You didn’t care anymore. You needed to make it stop. You needed to hit something. You tried grounding yourself, but it was too late. Your body had already taken over. Your legs were pushing you forward, jumping over your seat in a split-second decision. You saw red, your entire body screaming for release, for someone to just stop dismissing you. But before you could close the distance, a firm hand shot out, grabbing you mid-air.

“Hey!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos in your mind—or in the room, it was hard to tell—his voice sharp and commanding.

You felt his strong arms wrap around your waist—hard, like steel, pulling you back. You let out a shout of frustration, trying to twist free, but Logan’s grip didn’t falter. It was like he was two steps ahead, as if he had already anticipated your move, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen. His voice was in your ear now, low and unwavering.

“[Y/N], enough,” he said, his tone hard but not cruel. “This isn’t the way.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Logan yanked you backwards with a force that left you no room to fight it. In an instant, he’d pulled you out of the room, dragging you down the hallway with such speed that no one could have comprehended what just happened. There was a stunned silence behind you as you were pulled out of the room, your feet barely touching the ground as Logan kept a firm hold, his steps echoing through the hallway.

“Let me go!” You tried to struggle, to twist your way free, but his grip tightened, holding you firmly as he pushed you further from the group.

“No,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Not until you calm down.”

You were breathing hard, the adrenaline coursing through you. Your pulse was a drum in your ears, and you could feel the heat of your anger radiating off you in waves.

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” you spat, still trying to break free. “I don’t need your fucking help!”

You tried to tear his arm away, but Logan’s grip tightened, his body pressing into yours as he moved with precision, dragging you down the hallway without a word. The moment you realized what was happening, the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. Your anger, your rage—it all crashed down as you found yourself being physically restrained, the helplessness burning in your chest.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you down another hall, his face impassive, but you could feel the tension in his body as if he was just as ready to snap as you had been moments ago. But he wasn’t letting you. He wasn’t letting you lose control.

“Let me go!” you snarled, struggling against his grip, but again, Logan didn’t even flinch. He kept moving, keeping you contained, his presence too overwhelming for you to break free from.

When he finally stopped, it was in a hallway, somewhere far enough from anybody that no one would hear you—no one would witness how you’d almost cracked. He barely released his hold on you, but not before pushing you back against the wall, his body still towering over you, blocking your every escape route.

“Take a breath,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was speaking to someone who might break apart at any second.

His grip on your arm softened, but only just enough for you to feel the tension in his hand. He wasn’t letting go, but he was giving you space to breathe, to calm down if you could.

“You’re better than this. So stop acting like a fucking fool, [Y/N].” He said, his voice lower now, almost like a warning.

Your chest was still heaving, your body still tense with frustration, but hearing him say that—hearing him treat you like more than just a hothead, like you were capable of something better—suddenly made it all feel worse. The tears you’d been holding back started to burn at the back of your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. Hated that you felt so weak, so fucking out of control.

But Logan wasn’t looking at you like you were broken. He wasn’t judging you, even though you knew you deserved it. He was just… there. Silent. Waiting.

You wrenched yourself out of his grip (despite both your dismay) and took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Just… don’t touch me,” you muttered, your voice raw and unsteady.

Logan said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence between you was thick with something unspoken, something neither of you could easily put into words.

But it didn’t matter. You couldn’t let it matter. Not now.

You turned and walked away, not looking back. 

You barely took a few steps before the frustration began to bubble up again. You had only just started to walk away from Logan, but the moment you stepped around the corner and out of sight, it felt like the world was pressing in on you again.

The laughter from the group still rang in your ears. “Drama queen.” The words clawed at your skin, digging into you like a constant reminder of everything you hated—being dismissed, being belittled.

You were done. You couldn’t keep holding it in. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you spun on your heel, slamming your hand against the wall. The sharp sound of your palm against the cold surface echoed in the hallway, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the helplessness—it was all too much.

“Fuck!” you hissed, breath coming in sharp bursts as you stared at the spot where your hand had just struck the wall, feeling the dull sting radiating through your knuckles. 

You couldn’t keep it together anymore. It was too much. You were tired of being on the edge, of trying so damn hard to be perfect at everything—at work, at life, at keeping it all together. Everyone depended on you to do everything. Always being there, and put together.

But right now? You didn’t want to be. You didn’t want to hold it in anymore. Your body was shaking with the weight of it all—the frustration of being forced to be something that was overwhelming, the anger at yourself for letting it all pile up until you exploded.

You wanted to break. You wanted to let go—but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t afford to. You’d kept it locked away for so long, keeping everything in check, trying to make sure no one saw the truth behind the mask. Who knew what would happen if you let yourself slip away, even just a smidge. You were already forced to be somewhere you didn’t want to be, you couldn’t risk losing anything else. But the anger… the helplessness… It was too much. You were suffocating, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that’s when it hit you: This is why you were here.

You couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t keep pretending that you had it all together. You were falling apart at the seams, and the pressure—the pressure of trying to control everything—was finally breaking you.

You spun around, not knowing what you were doing, just feeling the surge of emotions all crashing in. You needed to hit something again, harder. You needed to feel something, anything, that would make it stop. But before you could even move an inch, a voice cut through the chaotic storm inside your mind.

“[Y/N]?”

It was Logan.

You didn’t even turn to look at him. You didn’t want him to see you like this. Hell, you didn’t even want to see yourself like this.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” you snarled, voice hoarse as the tears welled up, but you fought them back. Not yet. Not here. Not now.

But Logan was already there. In an instant, his hands were on you, trying to turn you, pulling you against him, his arms firm and unyielding. You tried to twist, to pull away, but his grip was too strong. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to break—because you did.

But you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let anyone see how much you were falling apart. You were so fucking tired of pretending to be fine, you were ready to break but not in front of him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Logan tried to pacify your struggles, as his hold on you failed to waver. It wasn’t like before. It wasn’t about controlling you. His presence was heavy—comforting in a way you hadn’t let yourself experience in so long.

The tears came the more you struggled in his grip, despite all your efforts. Hot and fast, they burned your face, dripping onto the linoleum floor, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. You wanted to stop them. You hated it. You hated feeling this weak.

But Logan just held you as your body went slack. His grip tightened, pulling you into him. Not to silence you, not to force you to do anything, but to hold you steady, to keep you from falling completely apart.

“I told you not to touch me,” you choked out through the tears, voice breaking as you finally let yourself give into him, your body shuddering against his. You were shaking—not just with the anger anymore, but with the helplessness that had been buried so deep.

You tried once more to push him away, weakly, but it was like fighting against a wall. His chest was too solid. His presence was too overwhelming. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want him to see the cracks.

But there was no escaping it now. The reality of everything you’d been holding inside came rushing at you, and it hurt. It hurt more than you could even process.

Logan didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just let you break in silence. His arms around you were steady, not demanding. They didn’t try to pull you back from the edge. They simply were. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe as you were.

When he finally loosened his grip and you finally pulled yourself away from him, still sniffling, you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes. You couldn’t look at him like this.

“Please, don’t touch me anymore,” you muttered, voice shaky, and with that, you turned away, your feet dragging as you walked down the hall. You didn’t look back. Not once.

But you knew, in that moment, something had shifted between you. Something in you had cracked.

And Logan knew it too. He didn’t stop you this time. He didn’t chase you. He just let you go.

The silence in the hallway hung heavy in the air after you walked away. Logan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the last few minutes settling over him. He hadn’t expected the tears, the rawness that tore through you, but the way you’d fought it all—fought him—made something click in his mind.

He didn’t follow you. He didn’t try to force anything. Instead, he gave you space. Because deep down, he understood.

He didn’t move from where he stood immediately. He wanted to give you time. You needed it. Needed to process it all.

When he finally did move, it was slow. The hallway was too quiet now, too empty. His hand rested on the wall, his mind replaying the moments that had just passed, trying to piece everything together. What did you need? He hadn’t known before, but now? Now, something was different.

—

It had been a few days since you’d broken down in the hallway. Logan hadn’t pushed you since, letting you process things on your own, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you’d finally let your guard down, even if just for a moment, before retreating again. He’d stayed close but careful, offering support in quiet ways, waiting for you to let him in.

You walked into your room, your steps slow, your mind racing. As you sat on the edge of your bed, you couldn’t stop the image of Logan holding you from replaying over and over in your head. The warmth of his embrace still lingered on your skin, even though you had pushed him away.

A soft knock at your door interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You knew who it was but, if you looked at him again, you weren’t sure you could hold it together. You needed space. You needed time.

Another knock. A little louder this time.

You dragged a shaky breath into your lungs, wiping your face with the back of your hand. You hated this—hated the fragility of it all. But the pressure inside you hadn’t subsided. You could feel the ache in your chest, the pull to break again.

“[Y/N]?” Logan’s voice came through the door, low, steady. “Can I come in?”

You stayed quiet. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone. You wanted to shut him out. But you couldn’t. You knew deep down you didn’t want him to go away. Not now. Not after everything.

The door creaked open slowly, and Logan stepped inside, his eyes cautious. He didn’t push, didn’t say anything. His presence was still heavy, but it wasn’t demanding. The door shut behind him with a soft thud, followed by a small discernible click. 

He didn’t ask if you were okay. He didn’t offer any words of comfort. He just watched you, letting the silence hang between you. You felt the familiar heat rising in your chest, the uncomfortable feeling of being seen too clearly, but this time, it wasn’t like before. He wasn’t trying to fix you.

You could feel the distance between you. He was there, but he wasn’t pushing.

He shifted, taking a step closer, but not too close. It was a subtle offer, a quiet invitation.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, every breath you took loud in the otherwise still room. Logan didn’t rush you. He just stood there, his hands loose at his sides, his presence calm, steady, like an anchor in the storm of your thoughts.

“I thought I told you to leave,” you said, your voice wavering despite the steel you tried to inject into it.

His lips twitched, a barely-there smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You didn’t say a word, sunshine. Just figured you might need someone who’ll stick around—Help take care of you.”

You hated how much his words hit the mark, hated how the rawness inside you stirred at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Logan took another step closer, his boots soft against the floor. The click of the lock earlier seemed louder now, echoing in your mind.

“You’re my nurse,” you whispered, like a warning, but your words lacked conviction.

“I am,” he agreed, his voice low but even. “And that means takin’ care of you, even if you fight me on it. Especially if you fight me on it.” The tone in his voice emphasizing the last part—as if the fight you put up brings a rush to his blood. 

You scoffed, your instinct to push him away rearing its head. “This feels like more than taking care of a patient.”

His gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. “Maybe. But does it matter? You’re not by yourself anymore—not in here. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not. Let me help you.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. He saw too much, and yet, you didn’t feel the urge to run. You felt… understood. The wall you’d built around yourself since arriving finally cracked, just enough for his steady gaze to slip through.

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head, your hands clenching the edge of the bed. “I’ve always had to hold it together. Always. If I let go—” Your voice broke, a sharp crack in the stillness.

“You won’t fall apart,” Logan interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. He crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on his knees, his body just close enough to block out everything else. “You’ve been doin’ this on your own for too long. Let someone else shoulder some of it.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers brushed against yours where they gripped the edge of the mattress, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“Logan…” Your voice trembled, a mix of warning and plea.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “Just let me help.”

You closed your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the heat radiating from him was impossible to ignore. The way his thumb traced over your knuckles was gentle, but there was an unspoken promise in his touch.

He shifted closer, his legs brushing against yours now. The tension in the air thickened, your pulse quickening as his steady gaze roamed your face. There was something in his expression—something deeper than concern. His job might have brought him here, but the way he looked at you was anything but professional.

“Logan,” you said again, this time softer, your voice barely a whisper.

He leaned in slightly, the rough edge of his voice brushing against your skin. “Let me in, sunshine. Just this once.”

Your walls wavered, the vulnerability threatening to spill over. The ache in your chest was unbearable, the pull to let go stronger than your fear. He wasn’t just offering to help; he was offering himself.

Your breathing grew shallow as his hand slid up, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the bed and into his. You opened your eyes as you let him guide you, avoiding all chances to truly look him in the eyes, his movements slow, and deliberate, until your hand rested against his chest.

He shifted and his other hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a slow, grounding motion. “Let me take care of you. All you’ve gotta do is trust me, sunshine.”

Your lips parted, words caught in your throat as his thumb slid lower, grazing your bottom lip. You froze, your mind racing, but Logan didn’t push further—he just waited, his touch firm but patient.

The shift was subtle, but it was there—the change in the air between you. He wasn’t just offering comfort anymore. He was asking for surrender, for trust in the most intimate way.

And God help you, you were ready to give it to him anything he asked for. 

The tension between you crackled, thick and electric, but his touch remained steady, grounding. Logan’s thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, slow and deliberate, before tracing the edge of your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried—there was no rush, no demand—just an unspoken invitation.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like he was coaxing you down from a ledge. “Ain’t so hard to let someone else take the reins for a bit, is it?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers trailed down, brushing the side of your neck. The warmth of his palm lingered, the weight of his hand firm enough to quiet the chaotic swirl in your mind, but not enough to drown out the muffled sounds of people passing by your door.

“I… I don’t know how,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

Logan huffed a soft laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Yeah, you do. You’re already doing it.”

His fingers shifted, sliding to the back of your neck, and you leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. He drew you closer, just enough to feel his presence envelop you entirely. Your knees brushed against his thighs where he stood in front of you, and the heat radiating off him was impossible to ignore.

“Relax that jaw of yours,” he said, his tone still light but with a teasing edge. After caressing the nape of your neck his hand comes back to your jaw and squeezes until your lips part.  “You’ve been clenching it so tight, it’s a wonder it hasn’t locked up yet.”

You blinked at him, caught between embarrassment and curiosity. His eyes, dark and steady, met yours, and for a moment, you swore he could see straight through you.

“C’mere,” he murmured, tugging gently on your wrist until you slid closer towards him.

The shift brought your bodies even nearer, his hands bracketing your thighs now, his thumbs brushing circles over the fabric of your pants. His touch was careful but deliberate, testing your boundaries while coaxing you further out of your shell.

“Let me take the lead,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate.

You swallowed hard, feeling the ache in your chest ease as something entirely new unfurled in its place. Trust. Need. A quiet kind of surrender you didn’t know you were capable of.

“How?” you finally gave in and asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small smirk, but his gaze stayed steady, unwavering. “Like I said… starting with that jaw.”

His hand moved, knuckles grazing your chin as his thumb pressed gently against the corner of your mouth. The motion was slow, teasing, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

“Open up for me,” he murmured, his words a low rumble that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

The command was quiet, laced with care, but the underlying edge of authority had your pulse spiking. Your lips parted instinctively, your breath shaky as his thumb slid along the inside of your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise slipping out like it belonged there.

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit, warmth pooling in your chest—and lower.

Logan shifted closer, his other hand steadying your jaw as he studied you, his expression unreadable but intent. “We’ll take it slow,” he said, his thumb retreating as he brought his hand to the hem of his pants. “Just let me guide you.”

Your breathing hitched as your eyes flicked down to his hands, the way his fingers deftly worked the knot of his drawstring pants. The quiet rustle of the fabric filled the space between you, a sound that felt louder than it was.

Logan’s movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though he was waiting for any sign of hesitation from you. When your gaze lifted to meet his, you saw no rush, no impatience—just the same steady calm that made it impossible not to trust him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice grounding you even as it sent your pulse racing.

You swallowed hard, your jaw relaxing further at his words, at the way his presence seemed to envelop you completely. His hand returned to your chin, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing against your skin.

“Atta girl,” Logan praised softly, his lips curving into a faint smile, as his thumb caressed your skin. “That’s it. Just breathe for me.”

The tension that had coiled so tightly in your chest loosened a fraction as you exhaled shakily. His fingers traced along your jawline, the touch soothing and deliberate, coaxing you to focus on him and nothing else.

When his drawstrings tangled free, Logan leaned in closer, his free hand bracing against the edge of the bed beside you. His proximity was overwhelming in the best way, his warmth and scent filling your senses.

“This ain’t just about me, sunshine,” he said, his voice low and sure. He takes one hand, and brings it to your neck. His thumb finds the pulse point beneath your jaw and he brings you in closer. “This is about you learning to let go. To stop holdin’ on so tight it hurts.”

You nodded faintly, swallowing against his palm, your body responding before your mind could catch up. There was no space for second-guessing, no time for overthinking—not with the way Logan looked at you, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

“Good,” he murmured again, his tone like gravel smoothed by honey. “We’ll go slow, but I need you to trust me.” He nuzzled the side of your head, his breath tickling your skin as he slowly let go of your throat. 

Logan’s hands moved, sliding down to catch yours. His touch was firm but not forceful, the rough calluses on his palm grounding you as he pulled your hands away from your lap. He brought them up, pressing them flat against his chest.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice low and steady as your fingers splayed over his warm skin through his shirt. His familiar heartbeat thrummed steadily beneath your touch, grounding you, centering you. “That’s all you gotta focus on. Just me. Nothing else matters right now.”

You nodded faintly, the tension in your shoulders coming to a still as he kept your hands there for a moment, letting you adjust.  Suddenly, a loud slam down the hallway caused you to jump and turn towards the door. He quickly grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. “What did I just say?” He quirked, all you could do was look at him, heat blooming from your neck up. 

Then, slowly once he made sure you weren’t looking away, he began guiding your hands downward.

The motion was deliberate, unhurried, as though every inch was a silent reassurance that you could stop at any time. His hands covered yours, his thumbs brushing the backs of your knuckles as he slid your palms down the planes of his torso, over the firm muscle beneath his shirt, until they rested against his hips.

Logan gave you a beat to take it in, his gaze locked on yours. His breathing was measured, but you could see the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw, the restraint he was holding onto so tightly.

“Still good?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, rougher now.

“Yes,” you murmured, barely trusting your voice as heat pooled low in your belly. You unconsciously squirmed, in anticipation, in heat who knew.  

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried the same weight of approval. He waited, giving you one last chance to back out before guiding your thumbs to join his, beneath the elastic of his scrub pants.

“Easy,” he murmured, the word a quiet reminder as he guided your hands to push the fabric down slowly, exposing more of his skin. The sliver of skin burned against your fingers as you ghosted them along his body. His abdomen tensed under your touch, his breathing shifting slightly as he exhaled through his nose.

Logan let the pants hang low on his hips, one hand trailing up to cup your jaw again, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “We’ll go nice and slow,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth again. “No rush, sunshine. Just follow my lead.”

With that, he took your hands again, guiding them lower until they brushed the waistband of his boxers. His movements were steady, deliberate, as though showing you exactly where he wanted you without rushing you.

“You feelin’ brave?” he teased softly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes held nothing but warmth and patience.

You nodded again scooching closer to the edge of the bed, and the brink of insanity, your chest tightening with anticipation. His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Then show me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Let me see what you can do.”

Logan eased back slightly, just enough to give you room to move, but his hand lingered on yours, a steadying presence as he guided your touch. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his waistband, and with a deep breath, you pushed the material down further, revealing more of him inch by inch.

The air between you grew heavier, the tension palpable as his arousal became impossible to ignore. Logan’s hand left yours, but only for a moment, trailing up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before cupping the back of your neck.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” he murmured, his voice warm and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced lazy circles at the base of your skull, grounding you as his other hand rested atop your forearm, giving you control but silently encouraging you to keep going.

You shifted slightly, your hands trembling as they moved to rest on his hips again. Logan watched you closely, his gaze steady but dark with something you couldn’t quite name. His chest rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm, as though he were holding himself back, letting you set the pace.

When your hands brushed the bare skin of his hips, Logan inhaled a shaky breath, a faint sound escaping him that made your pulse spike. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your temple as he murmured, “Don’t overthink it. Just take what you can, sunshine. I’ll guide you through the rest.”

Your fingers curled into his skin as you leaned forward, your breath brushing against his lower abdomen. Logan’s hand slid from your neck to your shoulder, a subtle but firm anchor as he shifted slightly, giving you better access.

“Atta girl,” he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The words sent a wave of warmth through you, and you felt your hesitation ease, replaced by a quiet resolve to follow his lead.

Logan’s hand moved again, this time to rest over yours as he guided one of them lower. He didn’t stop until you were cradling the solid weight of him. Your touch lightly teasing the ache that pulsed beneath your trembling hand. Logan guided your hand to palm the rigid heat beneath his clothes,  wrapping your fingers around him. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, and you felt the faintest tremor in his muscles as your touch sent a jolt through him. 

“Slow,” he reminded you, his voice tight but still soft. “Just like that.” 

The tension between you was thick enough to cut with a knife, every shift of his body, every measured breath, drawing you further into the moment. Your fingers trembled as they traced the contours of his arousal, the fabric of his boxers doing little to disguise the heat and weight beneath. Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, not in impatience but as a subtle reassurance, his silent way of telling you that you were doing exactly what he wanted.

His hips shifted just barely, an almost involuntary reaction to the way your hand brushed against him. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. His thumb traced another soothing circle at the base of your neck, the grounding motion a stark contrast to the fire building between you. “You’ve got me, sunshine. Just keep going.”

Emboldened by his words, you pressed a little firmer, your palm smoothing over the outline of him, taking your time to explore every inch. The way he exhaled sharply, the muscles in his abdomen tensing beneath your other hand, made you feel a surge of confidence. You dared to glance up at him, and what you saw made your breath catch. His head was tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, the faintest flush coloring his cheeks. His eyes, though darkened with desire, never left yours, his focus sharp and unwavering.

“You’re taking  your time, huh?” he teased, his smirk returning, though it was tinged with a rawness that made your chest tighten. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You swallowed hard, your hand faltering for just a moment before finding its rhythm again. His reaction—the way his body leaned into your touch, the low sound he made in the back of his throat—was intoxicating. It spurred you on, your fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers again before slipping just beneath, your fingertips meeting bare skin.

You felt him twitch ever so slightly, and your cheeks twinged with excitement. There was something happening inside of you that you weren’t quite sure what to think of it. You knew what Logan was doing would’ve been demeaning as hell anywhere else, but here, now… all you wanted to do was give in, succumb to whatever it was he wanted you to do. He asked you to trust him, and so far he hasn’t shown you a reason not to. 

Your heart thudded in your chest as the realization hit you: you wanted this. More than anything, you wanted to give yourself over to him, to see what it felt like to let someone else carry the weight for once. If his touch—barely there—was enough to leave you trembling, what else could he make you feel? What more could he show you?

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, your breath quickening as your fingers finally curled around the rigid, throbbing length of him, pressing more firmly against his strained need. Logan’s soft groan rumbled through the air, stirring something deep in your chest—a quiet, unfamiliar hunger that threatened to consume you. You let yourself sink into it, letting the weight of the moment guide your movements, every brush of your touch unraveling a part of you you didn’t know existed. 

“Good,” Logan murmured, his voice warm and gravelly, the rough edge of it sending a shiver down your spine. “Just like that, sunshine. You’re doin’ perfect.”

You inched closer to the edge of the bed, the pull to be nearer to him overwhelming, almost instinctual. Kneeling now, you practically sank toward the floor, chasing the heat radiating from his body like you couldn’t bear the space between you.

Logan shifted, and before you could fully close the distance, he was pulling back. The loss of contact jarred you, a quiet whine of protest nearly escaping before you caught yourself. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm but gentle, stopping you in your tracks.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady. In one smooth motion, he grabbed a pillow and tossed it to the ground between the two of you, the soft thud breaking the tension for only a split second.

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide, blown out with something you couldn’t quite name—but it was there, raw and undeniable. The way he’d stopped you, how casually he’d thrown the pillow down, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did—your chest tightened, and your jaw slackened just slightly. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, yet you swore you could taste the heat rolling off him.

Logan’s eyes flickered down to your throat as you swallowed, the barest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He let out a low, rough chuckle—one that felt like gravel and smoke—and before you knew it, his hand was cradling the back of your neck, fingers splaying out against your nape and jaw in a way that had you forgetting how to breathe. The strength in his grip was tempered with something careful, deliberate, and when he tugged you forward, you melted into it willingly, chasing the pull like it was magnetic.

His lips found yours in an instant, the kiss deep and consuming, all heat and desperation that made your head spin. Logan kissed you like he was trying to unravel you, his mouth moving against yours in a way that left you pliant and eager, gasping against him. With every subtle pull of his hand, you followed, inching forward without thought, his control and your surrender melting together.

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your knees on the pillow, face to face with the aching strain beneath the thin fabric of his boxers. You blinked up at him, lips kiss-swollen, as the realization coursed through you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Logan watched you closely, his thumb brushing slowly along your jaw where his hand still lingered, as though grounding you there—reminding you that this was him, guiding you, coaxing you forward.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice dark and edged with something thick and raw. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, smirking when he noticed you shiver. “Go on. Hold me again, sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands trembled slightly as they curled around him once more, this time with more confidence, more purpose. Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths, though his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke again.

“Good. Now, let me feel those soft lips of yours.” He guided you closer, the weight of his palm on the back of your neck a constant, steadying anchor as you leaned forward. Your lips brushed along the shaft first—tentative, testing—as though learning every inch of him. Logan’s breath hitched, and when you pressed a lingering kiss to the tip, his reaction shattered any lingering doubt.

A deep groan spilled from his chest, half a breathless chuckle, half a helpless sound that made your stomach twist in the best way. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound shaky as his muscles tensed.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he muttered, his hand tightening at your nape. You swore you felt him tremble for just a moment before his voice turned low and rough again. “Sorry, baby. Can’t help myself.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make your scalp tingle, and with a gentle but deliberate motion, he pushed the tip past your parted lips. The first inch of him filled your mouth, the taste of him flooding your senses, and it was enough to make your mind blank entirely. 

He stilled, his hands firm yet tentative as they guided your gaze up to meet his. The look in his eyes sent a wave of heat coursing through you, pooling low in your belly and making your thighs clench involuntarily. A faint whimper escaped your throat, and you squirmed, trying in vain to adjust the soaked fabric pressing against your folds.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Logan murmured, his chest rising and falling heavily, his voice low and rough with restraint. “You’re makin’ this real hard for me.” He paused, his thumb brushing along your jaw, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trust me to take good care of you, right?”

You nodded without hesitation, a small, ragged sound catching in your throat as heat prickled across your cheeks. You felt obscene—completely undone under his gaze—but the way Logan looked at you chased away every last shred of doubt.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his hands sliding up to cradle the sides of your neck, a gentle yet possessive hold that left your pulse fluttering wildly. Slowly, he guided you closer, his touch steady as he coaxed your mouth open.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb sweeping over your jaw, encouraging it to drop further. A strained exhale left his lips as he eased in deeper, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. “Oh, yes—” Logan’s voice broke into a rough, shaky breath as he bottomed out, and your eyes fluttered shut as you adjusted to the weight of him.

“Come on, baby. I know you can take it,” he urged softly, his voice laced with both praise and challenge. Your hands rose instinctively to grip his thighs, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his pants as you let out a muffled moan around him.

The sound seemed to undo him further. Logan groaned low in his chest, his hand shifting to the back of your head to hold you there just a moment longer, as though savoring the feeling. You tried to quiet yourself, but the excitement coursing through you was impossible to contain—soft, needy noises escaped despite your efforts, vibrating against him as he held you still against his body.

Logan’s grip tightened at the nape of your neck, his restraint snapping like a taut wire. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, “fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.” His hips began to move—slow at first, testing your limits—before he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He bucked into your mouth with a sharp, unrelenting rhythm, his breath coming harder and faster with every thrust. The sound of his low, guttural groans mixed with the wet noises of your mouth, the lewdness of it only spurring him on. “So perfect,” he praised, his voice cracking as he drove himself deeper. “You were made for this, weren’t you, baby? Look at you—”

The words tumbled out in a broken mix of curses and praise, his hold on you steady but possessive as he guided your head to meet each snap of his hips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat constricting around him as your nails dug into his thighs, but the way he sounded—so utterly wrecked—sent waves of pleasure through you, making you moan around him.

“Fuck,—oh, baby, just like that—” Logan’s voice was strained, raw, his head tilting back as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He was on the brink, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his edge, but before he could lose himself completely, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking you back with a sudden, desperate motion.

You gasped, panting heavily as your lips parted, your chest heaving as you blinked up at him. His eyes were blown wide, dark with hunger, his lips slightly parted as though trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Logan hauled you upward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a heated, sloppy kiss. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming every inch of you as he groaned against your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue.

The kiss was frantic, all teeth and heat as he walked you backward, his hands gripping your waist before spinning you around and throwing you onto the bed. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you, his hands tugging at your clothes with a singular focus, stripping you bare with rough, hurried movements.

“Goddamn,” Logan muttered under his breath, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin as he sat back just long enough to yank his own shirt over his head. The sight of him—bare-chested, muscles taut and flexing as he moved—sent a fresh rush of heat pooling between your thighs.

Logan’s hands were on you in an instant, his lips crashing down against your neck as he kissed, nipped, and licked his way down your body with a ravenous intensity. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you. His teeth scraped over your collarbone before his tongue soothed the mark, leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips trailed lower, his hot breath teasing against your chest as his hands slid up, cupping your breasts with a firm, deliberate squeeze. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Logan grinned against your skin when you arched into him, his lips wrapping around one taut peak as his fingers rolled the other, coaxing a breathless moan from your lips.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. His eyes burned with unrestrained hunger as his hands roamed your body, exploring every inch with rough, greedy caresses. “Already fallin’ apart for me, huh?”

You barely managed a nod, your head spinning as his mouth moved lower, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. His hands gripped your thighs, prying them apart as he settled between them, his gaze locked onto yours. The sight alone—Logan on his knees, his broad shoulders pinning your legs open, his lips glistening as he licked them—made your breath hitch.

“Goddamn, you’re a dream,” he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and desire. He dipped his head, his stubble brushing against your inner thighs as his tongue flicked out, teasing along your folds. The first swipe of his tongue sent a shudder through you, and Logan groaned deeply, the sound reverberating against you.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmured, his lips wrapping around your swollen clit and sucking lightly, drawing a sharp cry from you. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as he worked you over with unrelenting precision.

Logan alternated between long, slow strokes of his tongue and quick, teasing flicks, relishing every sound you made, every twitch of your body beneath him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he buried his face deeper, his nose brushing against your sensitive nub as his tongue dove inside you.

“God,” he growled against you, his voice rough and dripping with approval. “You’re so fuckin’ sweet, sunshine. Can’t get enough of you.” He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your arousal as he grinned up at you. “Look at you, practically undone for me already.”

You writhed beneath him, your body trembling as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his fingers replacing his mouth to keep the steady rhythm against your clit. “Logan,” you whimpered, your voice high and desperate, your thighs trembling as heat coiled low in your belly.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice like velvet, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. “Let go for me, baby. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You were barely holding onto a thread of sanity, your head spinning, your breath hitching as Logan’s relentless tongue and fingers pushed you higher and higher. Your nails scraped against his scalp, and Logan groaned in response, the vibration sending you tumbling over the edge.

Your body arched off the bed as the pressure inside you built to an unbearable peak, every nerve ending ignited under Logan's expert tongue and fingers. The pleasure crashed through you like a tidal wave, your thighs trembling violently as you cried out his name, your hands fisting in his hair.

"That's it," Logan growled against you, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction as he continued to devour you. "Let it all out for me, sweetheart."

Your orgasm tore through you, so intense that your vision blurred, your entire body trembling as if it couldn’t contain the raw ecstasy coursing through you. Logan didn’t let up for a second, his tongue working you through the aftershocks, prolonging every wave until you were left gasping and shuddering beneath him.

Before you could catch your breath, Logan was on you, his body a solid weight over yours. His hands gripped your hips, and in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you, stealing the remnants of your orgasm and turning them into something even more feral.

“Fuck,” Logan rasped, his voice rough as his hips snapped forward with an unforgiving pace. “Still so tight, baby. I’ve gotcha—just let me take care of you.”

The sensation was overwhelming—his thick cock filling you completely, his relentless rhythm pushing you further into the mattress with every thrust. Your cries mingled with the sound of skin meeting skin, your nails clawing at his back as he moved with a desperate hunger, biting and sucking at your neck, leaving marks that burned and thrilled in equal measure.

“You feel that?” he murmured darkly against your ear, his teeth grazing your earlobe before his lips trailed down to your jaw. “This is what you were made for—bein’ mine. My perfect little thing, takin’ me so damn well.”

His hand slid up to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it with a possessive grip that sent a shiver through you. He applied just enough pressure to make your head spin, his eyes locked onto yours, burning with raw intensity. “Look at you, sunshine,” he praised, his voice low and gravelly. “So fuckin’ beautiful when you let go—when you give yourself to me.”

Your moans turned into gasps as he choked you lightly, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck, coaxing you to surrender completely. Logan’s lips found yours again, devouring your cries as his hips slammed into you, his movements erratic and desperate as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

His teeth sank into your shoulder, a primal growl rumbling through his chest as his hand slid down to your thigh, gripping it tightly to spread you wider for him. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, and the sheer force of him sent you spiraling again, your body clenching tightly around him.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it,” Logan groaned, his voice breaking as he felt your walls flutter around him. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so good for me. Gonna make you mine all over again.”

You cried out as another orgasm overtook you, this one more intense than the first, leaving you trembling and incoherent beneath him. Logan’s movements didn’t falter; if anything, they grew rougher, more possessive, his thumb pressing into the base of your throat as his teeth found the tender skin of your collarbone again.

"That's my girl," he growled, his voice sharp with pride and need as your body writhed beneath his. "Look at you, squirtin’ all over me—so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body gave out beneath him, your vision blurring as the pleasure consumed you entirely. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your cries filling the room as Logan’s relentless pace pushed you to your limits.

Logan’s hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he kissed you deeply, his tongue dominating yours as his hips drove forward with punishing intensity. His free hand roamed your body, squeezing, groping, claiming every inch of you as he chased his own release.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive, his breath hot against your ear as he gave a final, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. His body tensed, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he came, his hips rolling through his climax as if he couldn’t bear to leave your warmth.

Logan collapsed over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmured softly, his voice still tinged with raw need. “So fuckin’ good, sunshine. My perfect girl.”

Logan’s grip tightened around your waist, his breath ragged as he held you in place, your body still trembling beneath him. His chest heaved, his lips brushing against your ear as he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, savoring the feel of you around him. His voice was low, a dark satisfaction lacing every word.

“See how good it feels to let go, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips curling into a smirk as his eyes bored into yours. "I told you, just had to trust me."

You didn’t respond with words, your gaze locking onto his as you fought for breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. The only sound in the room was your uneven breaths and the faint, rhythmic pulse of his dick still buried deep inside you.

His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you forward with unrelenting force. The kiss he claimed you with was messy and possessive, his tongue dominating yours, tasting, owning you in every way. His grip on your neck tightened slightly, making it harder to breathe, but you didn’t care. You were lost in him, completely, mindlessly, heart in your throat as he claimed you like this.

You were on top of him now, your body straddling him, both of you entwined in a messy, raw dance that didn’t need words—just the wet slide of your lips, the heat of his skin, the desperate shallow thrusts that made everything blur. His kiss was greedy, ferocious, as though he needed you to know that you were his—his plaything, his perfect girl.

You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of him still deep inside you enough to keep your thoughts scattered and incoherent. Logan didn’t pull away. He kept you close, his tongue in your mouth, tasting, owning, until you could barely keep your eyes open, your body consumed by him —sloppy, messy, and completely possessive, as if the world could end and all that mattered was this. All that mattered was you, beneath him, in his arms, on top of him, held and claimed by his every touch.

And as you melted into the kiss, body trembling and mind slipping into a daze of pleasure, everything else faded. All that remained was the feel of him, the sound of his breath, and the heat that still burned between you.

---

a/n: smooches! (reblog pls)

[boombox-fuckboy]

any podcast recommendations for guys Going Through It. im a sucker for whump and i’ve already listened to TMA and Malevolent sooo

Fiction Podcasts: Characters Going Through It / Experiencing the Horrors

Gore warning for most, here's 15 to get you started:

I am in Eskew: (Horror) David Ward is arguably the Guy Going Through It. Stories from a man living in something that very much wants to be a city, and a private investigator who was, in her words, "hired to kill a ghost". Calmly recounted stories set to Eskew's own gentle, persistent rain. The audio quality's a bit naff but the writing is spectacular. If you like the writing, also check out The Silt Verses, which is a brilliant show by the same creators.

VAST Horizon: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Thriller/Suspense Elements) And Dr. Nolira Ek is arguably the Gal Going Through it. An agronomist wakes from cryo to discover the ship she's on is dead in the water, far from their destination, and seemingly empty, barring the ship's malfunctioning AI, and an unclear reading on the monitors. I think you'll like this one. Great sound design, amazing acting, neat worldbuilding, and plenty of awful situations.

Dining in the Void: (Horror, Sci-Fi) So, the initial pacing on this one is a little weird, but stick with it. A collection of notable people are invited to a dinner aboard a space station, and find not only are they trapped there, but they're on a timer until total station destruction: unless they can figure out who's responsible. And there's someone else aboard to run a few games, just to make things more interesting. The games are frequently torturous. If that wasn't clear.

The White Vault: (Horror) By the same creators as VAST Horizon, this one follows a group sent to a remote arctic research base to diagnose and repair a problem. Trapped inside by persistant snow and wind, they discover something very interesting below their feet. Really well made show. The going through it is more spread out but there's a lot of it happening.

Archive 81: (Horror, Weird Fiction, Mystery and Urban Fantasy Elements) A young archivist is commissioned to digitize a series of tapes containing strange housing records from the 1990s. He has an increasingly bad time. Each season is connected but a bit different, so if S1 (relatively short) doesn't catch your ear, hang in for S2. You've got isolation, degredation of relationships, dehumanisation, and a fair amount of gore. And body horror on a sympathetic character is so underdone.

The Harrowing of Minerva Damson: (Fantasy, Horror) In an alternate version of our own world with supernatural monsters and basic magic, an order of women knights dedicated to managing such problems has survived all the way to the world wars, and one of them is doing her best with what she's got in the middle of it all.

SAYER: (Horror, Sci-Fi) How would you like to be the guy going through it? A series of sophisticated AI guide you soothingly through an array of mundane and horrible tasks.

WOE.BEGONE: (Sci-Fi) I don't keep up with this one any more, but I think Mike Walters goes through enough to qualify it. Even if it's frequently his own fault. A guy gets immediately in over his head when he begins to play an augmented reality game of entirely different sort. Or, the time-travel murder game.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenobiologist and a xenoanthropologist visit a dead city on a distant world, and find something awful. You hear her logs first-to-last, and his last-to-first, which is interesting framing but also makes the whole thing more painful. The audio equivalent of having your heart pulled out and ditched at the nearest wall. Listen to the supercut.

The Blood Crow Stories: (Horror) A different story every season. S1 is aboard a doomed cruise ship set during WWII, S2 is a horror western, S3 is cyberpunk with demons, and S4 is golden age cinema with a ghostly influence.

Mabel: (Supernatural, Horror, Fantasy Elements) The caretaker of a dying woman attempts to contact her granddaughter, leaving a series of increasingly unhinged voicemails. Supernatural history transitioning to poetic fae lesbian body horror.

Jar of Rebuke: (Supernatural) An amnesiac researcher with difficulties staying dead investigates strange creatures, eats tasty food, and even makes a few friends while exploring the town they live in. A character who doesn't stay dead creates a lot of scenarios for dying in interesting ways

The Waystation: (Sci-Fi, Horror) A space station picks up an odd piece of space junk which begins to have a bizzare effect on some of the crew. The rest of it? Doesn't react so well to this spreading strangeness. Some great nailgun-related noises.

Station Blue: (Psychological Horror) A drifting man takes a job as a repair technician and maintenance guy for an antarctic research base, ahead of the staff's arrival. He recounts how he got there, as his time in the base and some bizzare details about it begin to get to him. People tend to either quite like this one or don't really get the point of it, but I found it a fascinating listen.

The Hotel: (Horror) Stories from a "Hotel" which kills people, and the strange entities that make it happen. It's better than I'm making it sound, well-made with creative deaths, great sound work, and a strange staff which suffer as much as the guests. Worth checking out.

[rungssparemodelpieces]

Enrichment

Takes place in @tinydefector Merformers AU either as a side story or separate continuity! Thank you for the inspiration!

The scent of salty brine filled the air as it was just another quiet day at the marine centre. With few eyes to observe the Oceanides at the center, be it for research or recreationally, a pair of blue eyes decided to take up the mantel as Rung observed the few humans that were wandering around, finding their interactions quite assuming as he liked to compare how similar their behaviors were to Oceanides. He liked watching people and would sometimes try to mimic some of their mannerisms such as a hand wave or a grin though these have been met with mixed results or confusion from the caretakers feeding or observing him. He knew from experience furrowed brows weren’t a good sign but he was still trying to learn how to at least communicate back in a way they could understand.

With Rung being an older Mer, he would stay back more at the center, balancing the solace he got in his alcove with hunting and interacting with his pod. Though he didn’t seem like the most active member, he did show a habit of decorating his area with an odd array of trinkets, some assumed to be from previous hunts such as large and unknown bones or manmade items like used car parts or toys that were either lost or dumped into the ocean. The marine centre has tried to remove or replace the pollutants but Rung has been rather shown to have an attachment towards these items. To counteract this, you were instructed to work on finding other items for him to collect and display that were found in his natural environment.

It was enrichment, or so that’s what Dr. Quin called it and for an Oceanides so old, it was a good way to keep his skills sharp and to give him exercise while staying around the area. When Rung went out hunting with his pod, you would dive in and scatter these trinkets for him to find. You’ve even buried or hid a few to see if he could find them and problem solving how to get them out. Rung seems excited to find new treasures for his trove, chirping and showing you when he found one before going back for more.

This arrangement has been your personal project for months as others focused more on the lone baby and the next generation of Oceanides. So far you’ve found success with shells, bones, coral, and oddly shaped rocks but it seemed as of recent, he was struggling to find items that were near him or even in plain sight, feeling around until he eventually found the object in question. In light of this new problem, you’ve been taking the day to observe him, wondering what you could do to help his decline in his quality of life here.

It seemed the answer was closer than you speculated as while adjusting some rocks around Rung’s sleeping area, a small splash caught his attention as he saw a strange piece of plastic flutter down, swimming over cautiously as the object hit the sandy floor with a poof. Once the sand settled, he noticed the item was an odd contraption he noticed some humans wore on their faces, perhaps to assist with their vision or to distinguish one from another.

Carefully, Rung picked up the glasses and out of curiosity, placed them on his face. It took a few tries as the sides of the frame poked at his gills but eventually, he was able to place them comfortably on his face. Looking through the clear glass, it became very apparent to him that the theory this device helped with vision was correct as he looked around, seeming the lagoon around him in better detail.

The stones and shells that lined the sand became more defined and he was able to notice more of the colorful details the small fish that fluttered in and out displayed. With this realization, Rung started to happily swim around and look around the lagoon with a new, clearer perspective.

~~

Meanwhile, you were helping an intern at the marine centre pick up some papers as she bumped into you, barely able to see over their own papers. The fledgling intern, Donna, squinted hard as she tried to find all the notes that had scattered in the collision.

“Is something wrong?” You asked as she seemed to be panicked, scrambling to find something more important than her notes.

“I- I can’t find my glasses,” Donna muttered as she tried her best to find them, her searching more erratic before she turned towards the open water, fear clear on her face, “I think- I think they might have fallen in when I bumped into you.”

You gave her a pat on the shoulder in an attempt to reassure her there was nothing to worry about. “It’ll be fine, we can get them back, Shrimp’s easy going and won’t mind if we pop in to retrieve them.”

With that, you leaned over the railing briefly, trying to get a hint of where Shrimp was before noting the flash of orange and white darting the water below, deciding to call out to him to see if he would respond or if he was in distress.

“Shrimp!” With the call of his name, Rung poked his head out of the water, his blue eyes appearing much larger due to the glasses he was wearing. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you called him over, finding the image quite humorous.

“It seems Shrimp decided to try on your glasses,” you commented to Donna before leaning down closer to Rung’e eye level, a bittersweet smile on their face as you held out your hand. “I’m sorry I have to ask but I need those glasses back.”

Rung dipped his head mostly in the water at this request, not wanting to lose this tool that he was just starting to enjoy. A rumble of his gills caused the water to ripple out around him as he pouted in disapproval.

“Look, I’ll ask Quin if we can find you another pair but Donna needs those back so she can see,” you asked him, the Mer still not relenting as a burb of bubbles left his mouth as if sighing.

“I promise I’ll get you another pair, you have my word.” A few moments later, he conceded, handing the glasses back before retreating under the water before you could thank him, obviously sad about returning the glasses but seemingly understood that Donna needed them back.

Returning the glasses, Donna thanked you before scurrying away, your focus returning to the lagoon for a brief moment before returning back to the facility proper.

~~

“You’re requesting glasses, is that correct?” Dr. Quin attempted to clarify as she looked at your request for numerous pairs of waterproof glasses. The request was odd, to say the least, but she wanted to hear you out first before making her decision.

“Yes,” you stated before explaining yourself, “Earlier today, Donna’s glasses ended up near Shrimp in the lagoon and looking the video feed from that time, it seemed he not only enjoy playing with them but benefited from wearing them. He was swimming around excitedly and interacting like he could fully see his environment! I think giving him the option to choose and wear some would help him greatly… and I did promise him I would give him another pair to wear.”

You rubbed your arm nervously, knowing it was a long shot, but seeing at least one Mer so happy, especially with priorities being with the future generations of Oceanides, it made you feel like you could at least help one in the long run, a minor victory on the road ahead.

“Then we better find him a pair that works,” Dr. Quin stated as she signed her name for approval, a hum in her voice before being cut off by a hug and thank you from you, a pat on the back signaling you to lighten up on the embrace, “And besides, I don’t want you to break a promise.”

Excited, you thanked her once more before starting the process of finding glasses that might fit an Oceanides more comfortably.

~~

Rung poked at the sand that lined the floor of the lagoon, prodding under the dark blur he assumed was a rock or perhaps an clam before he heard you call him by the nickname you gave him, curious as it wasn’t feeding time yet. Perhaps it was another medical check, especially given his age.

Either way, he swam to the surface to find you kneeling down by the shore, a strange box in hand and an excited look on your face. “Hey, Shrimp, remember that promise I made about the glasses? Well, I kept it,” you mused before handing him a pair, “I hope these work for you.”

Upon realizing what you had, Rung excitedly took the glasses, putting them on and… frowning it seemed these frames made his vision worse, taking them off as the blurriness hurt his head.

“Oh, it seems those don’t work for you,” he mused, offering a different pair to him, “I have a few pairs until we find the right ones for you.” Through some trial and error, it seemed he found the perfect pair, big blue orbs staring at you as he swished his tail happily, the air being filled with a few melodic hums of excitement.

Though through your eyes, Shrimp was excited to see clearly again, Rung was ecstatic that the first thing he saw clearly again was your face. The way that your hair clung around your face, the light crisp from the sea water, the smile on your lips, slightly chapped from working outside and in the water, it was all so incredible to him. You were incredible to him and it made him feel something, something deep and primal that stirred inside him as he trilled in thanks before diving back down to the depths. He was searching for something, something that would interest you, something that would show he had interest in you, and maybe, just maybe, be able to communicate what you mean to him.

[aceofcupsbiggestfan]

Aphrodisia

~ 4-7 Hekatombaion ~

In celebration of Aphrodite Pandemos (Aphrodite common to all people) not much is known about Aphrodisia. The festival itself was celebrated largely in Delos, Cythera, Thebes, Elis, Sparta, Corinth, Athens and most towns in Cyprus. It is important with the coming of this day that the modern Hellenic Polytheist examine which festivals they reside with most. Celebrate the gods in the way that suits you best, even if the festival is absent of the calendar you most closely draw from.

The festival was said to be instituted by Theseus, as a way to represent the unified people of Athens under her epithet. Many modern Polytheist prefer the idea of celebration of every person drawn to the Goddess. Aphrodite carefully crafted each and every body, therefore we are all inherently beautiful. Common to all people, our Lady is. Many rather celebrate her as a divine mother, caretaker, friend and most importantly Goddess, on this day.

Aphrodisia begun with a sacrifice of a dove to her altar. The blood from the dove cleansed the temple. No other blood sacrifices were to be made the rest of the festival, as it would dirty the blood of the dove. Afterwards, people would carry imagery of Aphrodite and Peitho to be washed in the sea, a common epithet and image of Aphrodite. The festival itself celebrated both goddess.

Many people would offer an array of different symbols, the most popular being that of a live white he-goat.

Aphrodisia is a wildly popular festival today. Many other worshippers have their own posts! Go check them out and give love! Worshipper to worshipper <3

Traditional Offerings:

Fire

Flowers

Incense

Baked Goods/Bread

Sea Water

Aphrodisiacs

Traditional Acts:

Cleansing Statues

Cleansing your body

Offerings to Aphrodite

Offerings to Peitho

Khaire Aphrodite! Khaire Peitho! 🐚🩷🌊🕊️

[mychlapci]

🔌 talking about Jazz buying Soundwave’s silence with pics of ageswap Prowl from Sunstreaker has me actually going insane. That whole ask had me transcending but that last little aside paragraph made me crazy. Just thinking about Soundwave flicking through image files of Prowl, palming his modesty panel in anticipation. Him seeing the slow progression of events, the steady escalation to the current point, through the pics and short vids. Imagining what must have happened in between.

The first, Prowl humiliated and flushing from his position between Sunstreaker’s legs—a PoV from the frontliner. The trainee’s spike wilting from an embarrassing premature overload. Another, a brief clip of Prowl begging his mentors not to lock his ‘little spike’ up. The follow-up photo of him angry and teary opticked, spike ringed and sounded (and still achingly hard) after a successful trial run where Sunstreaker actually got to overload. A vid from Prowl being sparkling sat by Ratchet for the first time, toying with his spike while being timed. Ratchet’s voice crooning humiliating encouragement. Soundwave is… *entranced* by the imagery, stroking his spike mindlessly as the slideshow continues.

Prowl, milk-drunk as he nurses from first Ratchet and then a whole host of other mechs. Sleepy and dependent and trusting and safe. Sometimes there and hands stroking that ringed spike, sometimes not. Prowl sucking on his training dildos, thighs trembling as his plug and his mentors reward him. A close up of the trainee in a high, mewling overload. The one that makes Soundwave come is Prowl warming Optimus Prime’s spike, especially the squirming and helpless whining as he loses control and wets all over the mech’s lap. But the slideshow continues, and Soundwave just… keeps stroking his sensitive spike. The control appeals to him, of course, but the *caretaking* aspect being tied up in the dominance and humiliation is crossing some wires up there for sure. And Soundwave loves it. Watching this mechling slowly submit via attrition, diving deeper into blissful, thoroughly spoiled submission and dependence on the mentors that watch over him. It’s a heady thought for a host model in general. It doesn’t help that Soundwave has compatible fetishes.

Prowl in his first dress, cheekplates flushed with energon as he curtsies for the camera. The fluffy petticoats shifted to reveal the silky white panties. Another of just the array. A string of pearls disappearing between Prowl’s valve lips—a delicate thong for a spoiled little mech. Prowl in a dress, holding a plush petrorabbit. A vid of him humping his toys in his sleep. The look of devastation on his face when he lost pussy privileges, followed closely by Prowl mindlessly grinding on a giant teddy. And Soundwave’s overloading again to the silly trainee fragging the toy in front of the *entirety of Autobot high command* whimpering and embarrassed as they encourage their desperate little mech.

Soundwave can’t help masturbate to the pics again and again, the idea so delicious. And Prowl so blissful and sweet, radiant and pudgy with all of the attention and milky. It’s the perfect fantasy… a loudmouthed brat of a cadet blossoming into a precious, subby little mechling. Trusting and accepting of his mentors’ direction. It’s just a fantasy, but Soundwave can’t help slowly turning his visor to Rumble and Frenzy. They’re grown, of course. But then so is Prowl… and the mental image was delicious. Something soft and sweet to spoil. Brats to train into needy “bitlets.” The first time Soundwave overloads to the idea of his cassettes begging him not to cage their spikes, he knows he’s sold. Maybe the autobots’ little mechling would like some playmates. He’s going to need to lay down some groundwork.

Of course, unlike Prowl who “hates” it but turns into a pile of submissive goo, Rumble and Frenzy “hate” it and compensate by being even brattier. Maybe boss will give up on it and free their little spikelets if they’re too much trouble. Never mind how safe and secure it feels to know that Soundwave still wants them no matter how naughty they are. Plenty of teasing spankings that leave afts stinging and panels warm. Embarrassing time-outs in the corner where anyone could come in and see them. Humiliation, but dedication in return. The arousal keeps building with nowhere to go, and soon they’re humping each other’s caged cocklets as Soundwave watches indulgently. Promising an overload if they’re good little mechlings who play nicely together. It’s all a plan to get them too pent up to fight it and then letting them ruin their stamina by overloading again and again. As many cycles of this as it takes until they prove to themselves that they need their boss to control their overloads, because they keep rubbing their spikes raw. Until they’re whining that it isn’t fair Prowl can touch his little spike, begging for the privilege of a ring so they can torture themselves.

It won’t be long before Jazz is receiving a slideshow in return. —☀️

ouhhh it's probably not the best idea to provide the decepticons with such sensitive materials, but they're lucky Soundwave is a freak. Seeing how well they've trained their little cadet has him brimming with ideas. He's never seen a bot beg to have their spike tied up and plugged, usually they beg for the opposite... hrghh Rumble and Frenzy aren't quite as soft and pliable, always putting up a fight, but Soundwave can make good boys out of them <33 Once they're begging for him to control their overloads, he knows he did it right.

[vesearlee]

──── 𝑺𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰𝒏𝒌

To treat an ailment, you first had to identify a cause and enact treatment to better the patient’s physical or mental state. After years and years of knowing him, it was lucky you were the best doc-tor around to care for him.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── Zayne x F!Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ── 2.0k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ── Fluff, caretaking 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ── @sgt-seabass 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐒 ── American Beauty by Thomas Newman 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ── HERE 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ── I am a caretaker by nature, and this just wouldn't leave my mind, like at all.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 ── Medical Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ "Close your eyes." • G5 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Always there when they need them ── MASTERLIST ── Gingerbread Edition Bingo (@fandom-free-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Doing Their Makeup • G2 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Covered With [Makeup] • B1 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Deep Breathing • N4 ── MASTERLIST ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Fairy Lights • I1 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt/Comfort Bingo (@sweetspicybingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Taking their mind off of it • N2 ── MASTERLIST ── Hurt and Comfort Bingo (@hurtcomfort-bingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Caretaking • N2 ── MASTERLIST ── Eclipsing Bingo (@eclipsingbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Taking care of the other • O4 ── MASTERLIST ── Language of Flowers Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo) ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Drawing in between scars ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Being taken care of ── MASTERLIST

─── 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ───

The evening was slow — echoed car horns and shouts from people in the streets below quietened by the height of Zayne’s apartment. It had only been twenty minutes since you received a text from him stating simply that he would be home shortly; no emojis or tone conveyed, which only meant that it was a long, long shift. 

Surgeries were abundant, you knew this for sure as you watched Zayne come home for only a few hours at a time, wiped and exhausted to only get a few hours of rest before he would be called back for another critical case or life threatening surgery. 

It was worrisome, and the tight feeling in your chest as you observed his hunched shoulders and the growing, dark bags beneath his hazel eyes only worsened. You knew that his reserves were beyond depleted, and the determination to make him put himself first — for once — was overwhelming. 

With that in mind, you hummed and hawed, deliberating how best to pause the world he lived in, just for a little while. “Candles…?” The clink of glass jars against each other filled the silence of his bedroom. You looked around you briefly, stopping only to stare at the comfortable couch that was pushed up against the floor to ceiling window, and it hit you. “Candles,” you repeated more certainly, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. 

The couch would serve as a resting haven — piled high with cushions, pillows, and blankets of the fluffiest and softest varieties. The warmth would be irresistible to Zayne, it was one of the few weaknesses he willingly showed to you, and there would be no use in letting that information go to waste. Beside the couch was a small coffee table, where you placed your tools of choice. 

A simple array of make-up brushes and a selection of eyeshadow colour palettes sat neatly in place — the thought of the ebony ink drifting across Zayne’s pale skin made you shiver with anticipation. It was yet another weakness of his: the gentle touch or brush of your fingers over any part of his body, but most notably his neck and jaw. 

“You’re gentle,” he’d said once, and in an undertone, low enough you almost didn’t hear, continued with, “more than I would be with myself; more than I deserve.”

That train of thought earned him a hard kiss to silence the words. 

From then on, the thought of decorating Zayne’s skin with designs and patterns grew more appealing. Nothing too brash and large to overtake your canvas, but delicate and beautiful, to match the wound fibers of his existence. 

The flicker from behind the curtain caught your eye, and the warm white lights that cascaded down from the ceiling grew sharper. “I could use those…” You stepped closer towards the curtain, and gently moved a few hanging strands out from behind the fabric. “As my light source.”

A click from the lock of the front door caught your attention, then the soft click of dress shoes on tile followed soon after. “Darling?”

“I’m here,” you called, rushing from his bedroom and then into the hall to greet him. Only you paused in slight shock — it was so much worse than you could have imagined. 

Zayne was drawn, his face pale from exhaustion; the light in his eyes reflected the soft lighting of the living room rather than absorbing it, a hard sight to see. The briefcase in his hand was placed onto the hall table with a solid thump — no doubt burdened with endless paperwork, and the coat over his arm was placed haphazardly on the hook. He smiled, a genuine though strained gesture, and you walked forward. 

“Are you okay?” Your hands held the outer side of his elbows, and you tried to ignore how cold he felt, or how he seemed to lean into the touch far too desperately. “What happened, c’mon, come with me.” 

He followed wordlessly, until his bedroom came into sight. “No– No, I… Don’t want to sleep yet.” There was a slight tug back against your grip, and you frowned at him before opening your mouth to retort. “I have missed you,” he cut in before you could speak. “I want to just sit with you, please. Not to talk, just to… To be with you.”

The crack in your heart rapidly spread from its precarious place to the core of your being, shattering you from the inside out at his plea. It wasn’t so much as the words that you grew emotional over, but the utter need in them — Zayne never, ever voiced a need beyond what was acceptable in your relationship, and having known him for so long you could read his queues, but that was all washed away. 

“Of course,” you replied quietly, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his scarred knuckles. “Of course, baby. C’mon, I have a surprise for you.”

The mention of a surprise allowed a slight bit of life to flicker in Zayne’s eyes, and you laughed softly as you pulled him towards his bedroom. “Do you want to change?” Silence answered your question, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found his eyes half lidded. He was almost asleep standing up. “Oh, Zayne.”

Carefully, you pulled him towards the end of his bed and helped him change from his rumpled work attire to more comfortable pajamas. A henley shirt and grey slack fit loosely on his tall frame, and you watched with a soft smile as he rubbed at his eyes. “What’s the surprise?” he asked tiredly, staring at you through one opened eye. 

“Over here,” you said, gesturing at the couch. “Come sit, and you can relax with me, just for a little bit.”

“Mm.” His slippered feet shuffled over the dark carpet, and he settled on the couch before he looked up at you tiredly. “Can I…”

“You can rest your eyes, sweetheart, close them,” you whispered quietly. “Just relax and let me work, alright?”

It was by the grace of his trust in you that his tired eyes slipped closed slowly, and his head tilted backwards to rest against the back of the couch. The quiet clink of your tools didn’t even startle him, the rise of his chest remained slow, deep, and steady — if you didn’t know any better, you would have guessed he was already fast asleep.

“I’m going to start now, it may tickle,” you warned quietly, and you shook the bottle of liquid once, twice, before unscrewing the cap. He arched a brow in curiosity at the clicking noise, but he didn’t open his eyes. “But I need you to sit still.”

Zayne didn’t reply with words, only a slight nod, and with that as your consent, you gently lowered yourself onto his lap. Your thighs rested either side of his, while the back of them brushed against the fabric of his sweatpants as you settled down. 

Whether it was by instinct or need, Zayne’s hands moved from the couch cushions to hold your hips, the pad of his thumb rubbing up underneath the shirt you wore to touch your skin. It sent a small thrill down your spine, but you ignored the feeling, intent on focusing on what lay before you. 

With his chin up and head relaxed backwards, you could stare at your canvas more thoroughly to map your plan. “A snowflake here,” you murmured, brushing the tip of your index finger just above his collar bone. “Another one here, maybe here too,” you continued, enjoying the feel of him shivering at your touch. 

“Don’t tease,” Zayne croaked, his voice hoarse and strained now that he had a chance to rest it. 

“I’m not!” The tip of the brush moved easily over his skin, and you bit your lip at the sound that escaped his part lips — a choked, surprised gasp that made his ears flush pink. “Just sit still, and let me work.”

“Fine,” he breathed, squeezing your hips once. 

The silence swelled around you, but it was comforting to feel the presence of his sleepy demeanour while you helped him relax. The occasional sniff or shiver going ignored as you painted over your canvas, the tickle of the brush fibers minute against the cool, inky liquid. 

It was only when you managed to finally complete the final line that you were able to sit back and admire your work. 

Snowflakes of all shapes, sizes, and designs artfully decorated the curve of his neck and down to his collarbone. They stretched with the slow deep breaths from his lungs, and every time he cleared his throat, the elongated snowflake shifted with the movement of his Adam's apple. “I think that part’s done, love.”

“Mm.”

You reached over the arm of the couch to grab the palettes of eyeshadow and a selection of precise brushes. “Time to colour now, okay? You still with me?”

Zayne’s eyelids fluttered, then one opened a slither. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

“Okay, okay. Yessir.”

The brush of the softer fibers made him hum contentedly, and you resumed your painting — blues and greens populated his skin more than any other colour, but no dark shades could be seen. All of the pigments were only shadowed with saturation, it was a testament to his growth and grown control of his evol that you strived to capture, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the progress of it. 

Before long, a masterpiece was spread from the very tops of either shoulder, towards the lower part of his jaw. Each line represented a battle or a memory, either sweet or melancholy in nature, and you smiled as you read the story spread over his skin. 

“I think it’s done,” you declared quietly, and you reached out to brush the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip. “You can wake up now.”

“No.” A slight huff made his chest heave, and he kept his eyes closed. “Don’t stop, please, it was nice.”

You stared at him, the light from the cascading source beside him gave the snowflakes the illusion of moving, dancing over the skin as he breathed deep. “I mean, I can…” 

The coolness of his palm startled you, though you didn’t drop it. A small scar on the outer side of his hand, down from the pinky, was particularly pink in the yellowed light. They were old, far older than what would be thought as irritation, and you nodded decisively. “Okay, I’ll keep going.”

The brush in hand felt familiar as you held his hand up to your face, and you started the motions over his skin, careful to not put too much of the inky black over the raised pink line. 

Zayne’s hand suddenly jerked out of your hold, and you gasped. “What the–?”

“That tickled,” he said simply, one eye open and bore into your face. “Be gentle.”

“I am,” you insisted, smiling nervously. “Just sit still.” Zayne rolled his eyes and returned to resting once more, allowing you the chance to continue, only this time you held his hand tighter in your grip. “Thank you.”

“Mmph.”

You continued to work, drawing circles where the contours of his fine muscles allowed, until a semblance of a winter scene took shape. A small snowman with a large, round base sat atop the line of his scar, while two of the smaller scars were strategically placed where the arms of the snowman would be, only, you drew three small lines either side to create fingers. 

A small top hat was decorated with a snowflake, while an artistically curved breeze threatened to blow it off of his head. In the background were mounds and mounds of snow, with snow angels carved into the larger, lined lumps. 

“What do you think?” you asked quietly, holding up Zayne’s own hand to his face. 

He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes, and he smiled back at you. “It is adorable, much like you.” His free hand grabbed the collar of your shirt and pulled you forward, gently coaxing you close. “Thank you.” 

Your lips met his in a soft, chaste kiss, one you wished would last forever. 

[lord-squiggletits]

Hello! This was for your ‘ask me megop stuff’ post, which I realize I’ve lost track of october so if you’re not looking for those anymore feel free not to answer!! But in case you still want asks!

-How do you think megatron and optimus each react to being sick/who is the worse patient? Or how do they react to each other being sick? (in a scenario where they were in proximity to each other, could be during or post war)

-Do you have any headcanons about hearts of steel megop? Ik there’s not a lot there in canon but still, megatron cannon looks cool XD I have been contemplating if plug n play would work the same way because I’m not sure if a cannon and a train have cables the same way? Or if it’d work the same because they’re alien tech anyways!

-In the spirit of the season, what do you think each of them would wear for halloween if a scenario occurred where they had to dress up, or how do you think they would get out of wearing a halloween costume?

Sickness: I've actually thought about this before and even thought of writing a fluff piece for it in NATP-verse! Idk about who's the better/worse patient, but I think Megatron is actually the best caretaker simply bc Optimus is so active and powerful (their equality is a reason they're attracted to each other after all) that it's rare for Megatron to get the chance to be nurturing and protective towards Optimus. And I think, because IDW Megatron in particular deprived himself of attachments for so long, the act of caring for another person is especially novel to him and so he just loves doing it. Optimus is there all sick and grumpy bc he can't jump off buildings or w/e but meanwhile Megatron couldn't be happier... even the tedious/gross stuff just makes him so happy to have a chance to care for Optimus 😭 I think they're both equally bad patients for the same reason (tough, independent leaders not used to relying on others), but Megatron makes an especially good caretaker/they're both in better moods when OP is sick and M is in charge bc Megatron's latent tenderness simply gets a chance to jump out

Also, this is why it's a really good reason that in Addicted to You, Megatron is the one who overdosed while Optimus is the one who's taking care of him. Bc I think if it was the opposite way around, sore interface array or not Megatron would be doing the hell out of Optimus bc he simply would not be able to resist the combination of needy, desperate, affectionate Optimus PLUS getting the chance to take care of his needs? Actual heaven. (This is basically what happened in Megatron's OP-threesome wet dream anyways so I'm sure that's not a surprise sldkjlsdf)

Hearts of Steel MegOP: None, sadly 😔 I actually haven't read the comic (if there's a full comic? I've seen concept art but that's it). Also yeah, I think that even when they take on Earth vehicle alt modes, they only superficially look like Earth vehicles and their actual composition and interior guts are still Cybertronian. So, cables.

Halloween Costumes:

Joke answer #1: Them showing up to a Halloween party is scary enough as it is, so they just come as themselves

Joke answer #2: They come in dressed as each other (like, paint swap and wearing fake kibble stapled to themselves) and do absolutely uncanny impressions of each other's voices and mannerisms

Joke answer #3: They don't dress as each other but they pretend that they had a personality swap through some unknown technological mishap (or maybe they actually did personality swap) and they fucking prank everyone else bc everyone at the party genuinely can't tell if Megatron and Optimus are telling the truth or lying about the personality swap, or they're like trying to find the hologram devices bc clearly they're actually disguised as each other and there's no way that Megatron could reproduce Optimus' quiet, bleeding-heart self-effacing nature or that Optimus could reproduce Megatron's loud self-righteous declarations, right? lksdflsdk it could honestly go either way as to whether or not they actually swapped or are just pretending

Honestly, I'm not sure I have a NON joke answer for this one akldfjls I hope these answers were satisfying!

[reds-writings]

Ooo any grump/sunshine day to day with old man Rust!!! Maybe fluff prompt pt.2 #3 or #6!

You’re writings for Rust are incredible please never stop! <3

i mostly combined 3 and 6 with this ask and went with something kinda new?? this features a nurse!reader with a bit of an age gap taking place but nothing crazy. i love the sunshine/grumpy trope so i hope you enjoy!! (also I'm trying out using a placeholder nickname for the reader so i don't have to use y/n as much so pls let me know if y'all enjoy that at all)

When Marty first sprung the idea of a temporary at-home caretaker on Rust the man had half the mind to think the blonde was just being a tremendous chain-yanking shit. But his friend was dead serious and it was less of a ‘think on it’ idea and more of a ‘I got Maggie to pull some strings and a nurse will be coming in next week’ idea. No matter how much Rust reared and protested Marty insisted that he have someone to keep an eye on him since Marty couldn’t be his personal maid for much longer given that it had already been a couple of weeks since their hospital visit courtesy of that fucker Childress. 

Rust didn’t want a damned nurse. He wasn’t some pathetic geriatric fuck in desperate need of some lousy assistance. Sure, anytime he moved too much or stood for too long he felt like he’d pass out from the pain of the wound that nearly took up his whole abdomen but that didn’t mean jack shit. Marty brushed off any complaints without so much a blink and kept reassuring that it’d do the grump some good to have company other than himself or the neverending onslaught of his usual doomsday-esque thoughts. The day you showed up at Marty’s door bright and early on a Monday morning with a smile too genuine for Rust to fully comprehend, you were not at all what he was expecting. 

Not that he really had any expectations to begin with. Maybe that you’d be older. More seasoned. Not nearly 10 years or so his junior. Certainly not possessing such a radiantly pleasant disposition that no one else seemed to harbor anywhere around these parts. He wasn’t above immediately clocking the beauty you exuded but eyeing younger women was more of Marty’s MO than his own. 

You seemed untouched by the vast ugliness of what the world fostered. There weren’t many moments where you didn’t have a look of general felicity painted on the soft planes of your face. It was a habit of yours to wear brightly patterned or colored scrubs that he, at first, deemed a semi-loathsome eyesore (which then eventually grew on him). An array of silly patches and pins allowed on your work bag full of the necessities you slung along for the day’s endeavors with him. Kitschy socks you kept as a hidden surprise within the confines of your clogs that you’d show to him even if he never gave the inclination that he cared about something so trivial. Your unmoving cheeriness translated to a certain form of naivety that had something ugly burning beneath the prison of his ribs. At first, he thought he just felt this brand of annoyance towards a preconceived notion of cluelessness you carried but over time it found itself melting away into a subconscious need to shelter you from the horrors of earth. 

It took plenty of time to chip away at that impossible exterior of his but with your incessant refusal to let his initial gruffness and straight-up disregard of your presence deter you he had no choice but to give in to your efforts of friendly engagement.

Given that there wasn’t much to do for him care-wise besides keep his wounds clean, change bandages, make sure he didn’t collapse, and keep up with any meds he was prescribed post-hospital stay you took on the role of making the passing days a little more interesting than they’d usually be if he were by his lonesome. You’d find little non-exertive exercises to do in the afternoon to keep his muscles from getting too weak. Drag him along to the grocery store to shop so that you could try out some new recipes you saved online. You were steadfast in making g sure he wasn’t just surviving off the cigarettes and beer he’d stubbornly sneak behind your back. You also made it a goal to keep up with trimming that bristly mustache of his and making sure his hair didn't get too unruly. You’ve gone as far as to bug him about letting you practice your braiding skills so that you could fulfill your niece’s creative hairstyle wishes but no dice. One day you’d wear him down enough into agreeance. That was becoming easier, though, wearing him down for just about anything. One look at those doe-ish eyes and the battle he was prepared to fight had already been lost. Rust had a feeling you were more clever than anyone probably gave you credit for but there was no use in acknowledging that your stare was having an increasingly strengthened hold on him. 

To say Marty was absolutely tickled by the noticeable change in his friend’s demeanor throughout this new development was an understatement. It was about time there was something Rust somewhat enjoyed besides stewing over the point of humanity’s existence or yapping on about unsavory ideas involving shit like damnation. It didn’t take long for your attitude and delightful qualities to earn you the nickname Sunny. Marty deemed it exceedingly fitting and even Rust found himself playing into it much to everyone’s surprise. Hearing it from him had a splendid giddiness sparking throughout your system more than you’d like to admit. 

Today you’d driven him out near the water where you both could sit and read for a while. You always stressed the importance of fresh air doing him some good and he never complained. If it meant getting him out of Marty’s bachelor pad here and there he’d let you drag him anywhere as far as Timbuktu. As chatty as you could be, you stayed mindful of any moment of solitude he may require during these daily visits. Sometimes it was nice to just exist and absorb the ambiance the outside world had to offer in each other’s presence and for that he was grateful. 

“You’re starting to walk better on your own, Rusty.” You broke the bubble of serenity, looking up from your book –some light read of a romance– to fix him with a small smile that quirked the corner of your lips. The sun’s fading light drenched your figure in the hues of impending dusk and some nagging part of him found it to be an effortlessly alluring sight despite its simplicity. You’d have to be calling it a night soon but what was a few more stolen moments in each other's company? 

“Yeah, s’gettin’ a bit easier I suppose. Soon enough I’ll be back to mostly functional as opposed to some lame cripple.” He replied in dry amusement, dog-earing the page he was on to bring his full attention to you. Marty often gave him flack for his outgrown hippie look but it added some sort of rugged appeal in your opinion. Not that you’d ever find the courage to forgo any sense of professionalism by making your whims involving Rust Cohle known. But as he looked at you now with weathered blue you couldn’t help but give in to the ideas of something beyond this current format of companionship. 

“Cripple is a bit of an exaggeration. You’ll be up and at em’ before you know it. Though it sucks I won’t be of much use no more.” There was a twinge of sadness in your voice and he hated the frailty of it.  

“Ah…don’t worry, Sunny. There’ll be some other helpless old soul who’ll need you around.” 

“That’d imply you’re just some helpless old fart in the throng of said souls. Which you’re not. Plus, none have ever entertained me as you do.” You chirped in that playful matter-of-fact way you often do. 

“Entertainin’. Hm. That’s new.” He shook his head before looking out toward the water. 

“Even if your physical health will no longer be of issue I’ll make it my new mission to spruce up that self-deprecating brain of yours. Not that I’m necessarily trained within the realm of mental health but I can youtube it or something. I have my ways.” You wiggled your fingers in jest as if casting a spell. In truth, it was as if you already had when you came around all those weeks ago. 

“Can’t get rid of you that easily I’m guessin’.” He shot back in a lousy attempt at a joke. Whether you could read his poorly hidden desire to keep you around or not, he couldn’t tell.

“You know by now I’m like a leech. A cute, fun leech! It’ll take a lot to get rid of me for good,” You paused with a bout of slight insecurity, “unless you don’t want me around to bother you longer. I know I can be a bit much sometimes-”

“You can stick around, Sunny. Can’t have Marty as my only friend. That’d be plain sad.” He was playing it off cool, unaware of the barrage of butterflies he had set off in your chest with that simple statement. 

“I might have to alert the masses now that you consider me a friend. This is by no means a small feat– wait does this mean I can practice my braiding finally?! My niece is getting antsy and I-”

“Don’t push your luck.” He had to look away from the blinding beam of your cheek-splitting smile as he moved to stand up. Without fail, you rushed to his side to place your dainty hand into his so that you could help. The small action sent lightning down the length of his spine. The warmth of your joking jabs about your newfound title of friendship encased his whole being. He couldn’t help but think back on the conversation he’d had with Marty outside of the hospital, about light versus dark. Perhaps you manifesting into his orbit was another indicator that the light just might actually be winning. 

[rotworld]

20: Instinct

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you're the primary caretaker of a lorleian child who was raised in captivity. to help her learn how to survive in the wild, you've had to enlist the help of an adult lorleian with extremely territorial streak.

->original work. explicit; contains dub-con, mentions of child neglect/abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, murder, breeding kink and dirty talk, tentacles, terato, mentions of hard vore/cannibalism.

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It’s a two hour drive from the Marine Life Rescue Center to the particular stretch of beach where Awimi has her rewilding lessons. The journey requires preparation: a custom child’s car seat, upholstered with soft absorbent padding that maintains moisture. A barrel of saltwater solution with an attached spritzing nozzle that dispenses in five-minute intervals. An array of increasingly complex plastic puzzle boxes, central chambers stuffed with shrimp and minnows. The van smells like a fish market but you only notice for the first ten minutes. You take a snaking coastal highway, the windows rolled down to let in the sea breeze, the scent of brine and the squawks of gulls. 

“I’m hungry,” she complains. You can hear the squeal and creak of plastic coming from the backseat, and the sounds of her suckers popping off of things.

“You’re going to eat so many fish in just a little bit,” you assure her.

“Want fish now.” 

“There’s fish in your box.” 

“Want better fish,” she insists. One of her tentacles scoots down the side of your seat, playing with your seatbelt. “Fish that move.” 

“Soon,” you promise. “I bet Ishi’s saving all the best ones for you.” 

She pouts. “He better.”

You glance at the mirror frequently to make sure she hasn’t unbuckled her seatbelt and started sliding around. So far so good. She’s hard at work on one of the puzzle boxes, her enormous eyes and squiggling pupils trained intently on a stubborn sliding mechanism that she keeps prodding and picking at. It’s no wonder she’s so hungry with how big she’s gotten. Her tentacles used to dangle off the edge of the car seat without touching the floor and her hair-like head tendrils were just short, wiggling nubs. 

Malnutrition and time spent in a cramped enclosure have impacted her growth and she’ll probably never be as large as an average adult of her subspecies, but she might get to be your size, at least. You’d worry a lot more if you weren’t certain she won’t be facing the open ocean alone.

“What are you most excited about today?” you ask her.

“The reef!” she says. Bored of the puzzle box, she passes it from her hands to her tentacles. They keep working on it even as her attention wanders to the rolling waves outside. “It’s pretty! And the water is good! And there’s lots of fish, and shells. Ishi is really good at shells. They should be easy to open but they’re not. You have to be really strong. Ishi is the strongest.” 

“He is,” you agree. “But I bet you’ll grow up to be really strong, too. You’re already stronger than me.”

“Really?” She sounds suspicious.

“Yep. You remember that sardine jar I gave you last night?” 

“Tasty,” she says.

“I’m not supposed to give you the whole jar,” you admit. “But I couldn’t get it open.” 

Awimi grins. Her teeth are like rows of spikes. 

There’s always a moment of tense, solemn silence when you pass beneath a rocky cliff with a view of the water. There’s an exit lane snaking up a steep hill to a sprawling, empty parking lot. The words “SEA SAFARI” are no longer mounted atop the decrepit ticket gates but their ghost remains in faded paint stains. You only saw the place once, and only in the midst of it being gutted and drained following a series of ruinous lawsuits. Awimi had crammed herself into the corner of a completely bare and featureless enclosure. She was clearly sick, her tentacles pale pink like raw clam when they should’ve been maroon speckled with white spots. Her chromatophors sparkled a warning when you waded in. She bit your hand when you offered her food and wrapped her tentacles all around your arm, suckers pulling harshly at your skin. 

When you didn’t do anything—didn’t move, didn’t yell, didn’t try to hit her—she blinked her large eyes, banded like colorful marbles, and her suckers loosened. She was so small and weighed so little that you could lift her up and carry her in your arms, her tentacles winding around you like the straps of a harness. The Rescue Center had brought a tank to transport her but she wouldn’t get in. You spent the entire ride back with her clinging to your chest, misting her with a spray bottle while she tried to camouflage herself with the colors of your shirt.

“No more bad place,” Awimi says quietly.

“No more,” you promise her. The property’s already been sold as part of Sea Safari’s liquidation. They’re going to build a new shopping center aimed at summer tourists. “No one is allowed to catch you and put you in a little tank anymore.” 

“What if they try?” she asks.

“Then we’ll stop them. So will Ishi. You know how strong he is.” More accurately, he’d kill them. He’d do it for a lot less. “Almost there,” you say. Awimi flicks her tentacles impatiently. You hear the snap of the puzzle box opening and then the crunch of shrimp. 

Your destination is a shingle beach. Rocky, far from anything and bearing a horrific reputation of drownings and disappearances, it’s a quiet place that’s made for the perfect meeting spot. You park at the top of a steep, dirt hill and strip down to your wetsuit. Awimi is out of the van the moment you open her door, flinging off her seatbelt and oozing out in a flurry of excited movement. She’s a bit floppy on land but she’s perfectly capable of getting where she needs to go. She’s snuck out of her enclosures at the Rescue Center more times than you can count to grab a midnight snack from the freezer down the hall, the only evidence of her brief adventure a trail of puddles on the floor.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” she says, suckers pulling at your ankle. You check your scuba gear one more time before you follow her down the bumpy slope. “Ishi’s here! Ishi!” 

That’s unusual, you think. Usually he waits at the cove. When you look down the beach where seafoam trickles over the rocks, your stomach clenches in fear and revulsion.

There, at the very edge of the water, you see an enormous creature perched on the rocks. It’s an adult lorleian, the same subspecies as Awimi. His head tendrils are fully grown into gelatinous strands, smoothed back from his face and plastered flat to his back and shoulders like wet locks of hair. The webbing between his fingers is thicker than Awimi’s and not quite as transparent, and his torso is covered in old scars—everything from shark bites and serrated squid tentacle scrapes to knife wounds. He’s much larger than either of you, his lower half a mass of squirming, enormous tentacles, each one long, thick, and wrapped around a man in a waterproof coat who flails like he’s fighting for his life.

“Wait here for just a second,” you tell her.

“Why?” Awimi says. 

“I have to ask Ishi a grown-up question. It won’t take long, I promise.” She pouts until you grab a puzzle box from the van, and then you rush down the beach. You hear awful gurgling sounds the closer you get, muffled screams and groans of pain. The man is almost entirely engulfed in the slithering grasp of unyielding tentacles. He thrashes and wails, limbs trapped, the full weight of a lorleian pinning him face-down in the shallow water rushing over the rocks. 

“Ishyr,” you say, your voice firm. 

The lorleian looks up and a shiver runs down your spine at the predatory coldness in his gaze. Like Awimi, his eyes are large with swirls and speckles of fantastic color. His pupils are long and narrow like a leering glare, constricted in the harshness of surface sunlight. “Yes?” he says, sounding bored. 

“Stop.”

“Mm. No.” He holds your gaze while his tentacles squeeze tighter. One of the man’s arms is wrenched behind his back at an unnatural angle and then yanked out of the socket. You hear him try to scream, shoulders trembling and heaving. “He brought a crab trap. To steal my crabs. Isn’t that illegal?” 

“Yes, but you can’t—”

“Then stop me.” Ishyr hunches over his prey possessively, leering at you. “Go on,” he says. “Try it. Come a little closer.” You don’t think he’d kill you in front of Awimi but you’re not certain. There’s no safe approach. His reach is long enough in every direction to catch you before you’re close enough to do anything. He watches your frown deepen with faint amusement and makes a rumbling sound, a grating purr that sets your teeth on edge. “Mhm. That’s what I thought.” Ishyr doesn’t dislocate the other arm. He wraps a tentacle all the way down, shoulder to wrist, and squeezes. You hear a series of sharp crunches as bones snap and shatter beneath ripping skin, blood darkening the man’s sleeve.

You move in sheer desperation, lunging at Ishyr. You don’t even get within arm’s reach before he has you encircled, two tentacles wrapped around your body with a threatening, bruising grip. He drags you closer until you’re ankle deep in the rising tide, seafoam tickling your ankles. 

“That wasn’t smart,” he says. “You could die. I could strangle you. Snap your neck. Hold you under until you drown. That’s always fun. I could even do this.” His claws seize the man by the hair, dragging his head out of the water so you can see his bulging, terrified eyes and the tentacle threatening to break his jaw. You can see it bulging beneath the skin of his throat as it undulates and slithers deeper but you know he’s keeping it tightly compacted. The same way you might clench your first, Awimi and Ishyr can flex their muscles and alter the thickness of their tentacles. Useful for dragging prey out of tight spaces. “I can reach all kinds of things like this,” Ishyr murmurs. “Things you really don’t want me to reach.” 

“Don’t,” you beg him. “Ishyr—”

He never looks away from your horrified gaze as he unclenches his muscles. The tentacle instantly expands to its full girth and you hear several things crack and pop inside the man’s body. Blood trickles from the ripped skin at the corner of his mouth. His eyes roll back in his head and you desperately hope he’s unconscious. Ishyr lets his head drop back into the slick stones gracelessly and something else crunches unpleasantly. He smirks at you. “Today’s lesson is how to open shells. Isn’t it?” A tentacle wraps around the man’s neck and twists sharply.

Your stomach churns. Ishyr lets you go and you stumble away from him, nearly losing your footing. He calls out to Awimi in Enteroctal Lorleian, a language of melodic trills and chirps that’s almost ear-piercing on the surface without water to muffle it. Awimi slowly scoots down the beach, glancing between the two of you. “Do you have to do that in front of her?” you whisper. 

“Does she look upset to you?” he asks. 

She doesn’t. Nervous, yes, the way she always does when you argue, but her eyes fall to the dead man as Ishyr snags the back of his shirt with a tentacle and starts to drag him into the water. She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted, or even confused. She looks hungry. That’s the look she gives her puzzle boxes when she can smell fresh fish inside. Her suckers lap at the blood on the rocks. It doesn’t matter that it’s human. It’s flesh, and Ishyr killed it, so it must be meant for eating.

“Can I try?” she asks shyly.

You pointedly ignore the smug look Ishyr gives you. “Yes,” he answers in Lorleian. “But you have to open it yourself. I’ll show you.” 

It’s an uncomfortably long swim to Ishyr’s cove, but only for you. Awimi blossoms once she’s in the water. She unfurls her tentacles in a big, shivering stretch and then she spins and flits around with bubbles jetting behind her. You can’t hear what she says to Ishyr or what he says back. Everything is muffled to your ears, Lorleian sounding like musical warbles and grunts. But she’s smiling, laughing with high-pitched tinkling sounds like dolphin squeals, her tentacles grabbing playfully at his, and Ishyr is so gentle with her. His tentacles make little grasping curls where they touch her skin, rubbing with featherlight gentleness the same way their subspecies strokes their soft, vulnerable eggs. 

In the waving green stalks of a kelp forest, Ishyr suddenly comes to a stop, lower body flared defensively. He passes the corpse to his hands and engulfs Awimi with his tentacles, hiding her completely from view. Another lorleian drifts by—big, thick with muscle, a gray back and shoulders with a white underbelly. You recognize the sharp-tipped fins of a shark knifing through the kelp. It circles you once, then twice, slightly closer. Your heart leaps into your throat when something loops around your ankle and pulls. 

Ishyr drags you over with a tentacle until you’re close enough to grab with his claw, long fingers wrapped all the way around your neck. You struggle when he lowers his mouth to your neck, dagger-like teeth pricking your wetsuit. He makes a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than you hear, a vibration quivering all across your body. The other lorleian circles one more time, staring at you intently, before it sneers and swims away. Ishyr waits for some sign invisible to you before he suddenly lets you go and starts swimming again, his tentacles parting to allow Awimi to swim back out. 

He keeps you close after that, you notice. He looks back to make sure you’re still following several times, gesturing impatiently with a curl of the nearest tentacle. 

The next time you surface is on the sandy beach of the cove. Ishyr and Awimi stop swimming and start snaking along the ground, pulling themselves out of the water. There’s a scattering of large rock formations and tide pools with small, colorful creatures darting around, and the mouth of a sea cave up ahead. Bones litter the shore, sun-bleached and picked clean. Some animal. Some lorleian. Some human. Ishyr drags the corpse with his tentacles, leaving a soggy, blood-speckled trail up the beach. He stops to glance back over at his shoulder. 

“Might want to wait out here,” he says. 

You don’t argue. You can smell dead fish and decay, and you have no desire to see his food stash again. He chirrups at Awimi and she makes a similar sound back, much higher in pitch. You swear he almost smiles. 

You wait in the shadow of the cave’s entrance, watching the tide roll in and wisping clouds drift by. It’s peaceful here. Nothing but the whisper of the ocean and the faraway song of seabirds. You see crabs scurry around and small fish dart back and forth. A pod of dolphins cruise by in the distance, followed by a group of sleek gray lorleians. Coves like these are common spots for lorleians to rear young, whether they’re laying eggs in shallow nooks and burrows or whelping in the sand. It’s odd that Ishyr is the only one here, using it as a place to store his extras, but maybe he wasn’t alone once. 

All those months ago when he first saw you with Awimi in your arms and tears in your eyes, maybe that’s why he showed himself—sliding slowly and carefully up the beach with a pensive expression—instead of just swimming away.

Their voices echo from further in the cave. Ishyr uses a very different tone with Awimi than he does with you, evident even when he speaks Lorleian. The sounds are longer and drawling in sharp contrast to Awimi’s quick trills. Patient, you think. He goes slow and he listens intently. You also hear some truly sickening sounds—the shredding of meat, the crack of sinew, the wet slurp of soft tissues and slippery organs sliding around. 

It’s easy to lose track of time. Eventually, the chatter stops and the wet noises of a body coming apart fade to silence. You risk peeking deeper inside, only to find Ishyr very carefully depositing Awimi in a tide pool. She’s fast asleep, her tentacles curling and uncurling in unconscious motions. They cling to Ishyr’s arm when he sets her down until he plucks them off with his own, the gentle grip of his suckers seeming to soothe her. Ishyr strokes her head-tendrils. 

“Say something when you come in,” he mutters, keeping his voice a low, quiet hiss. “I don’t like surprises, especially here.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper. He glowers at you over his shoulder. “How is she?” 

“Mm. She’s doing well.” That almost sounds like pride in his voice. “Very stubborn. It’s a good thing. She doesn’t give up, even when she’s frustrated. She speaks better. Do you practice with her?” 

You wish you could. You don’t have the right organs to make the noises necessary for Lorleian, but you’ve studied to understand as much as you can. “There are recordings online,” you say. “I play them, and then we both try to figure out what they’re saying.” 

Ishyr sloughs towards you, tentacles squishing wetly against the stone floor. He flicks his hand towards the entrance of the cave and you follow, easily keeping pace beside him. His tentacles keep wandering over and sliding against your legs. You wonder if he even notices he’s doing it. Awimi’s the same way—her limbs all have minds of their own and sometimes grasp or smack things when she’s not paying attention, acting on their own impulses. 

“Do you have young of your own?” Ishyr asks. He doesn’t look directly at you but he watches you carefully out of the corner of his eye. 

“Me? No,” you say, startled by the question. 

“Mm. You could.” One of his tentacles slithers up to your thigh and you almost stumble. “Very easily, you could.” Ishyr snags you by the waist this time. You’d be more frightened if you weren’t so confused. His tentacles aren’t squeezing like they usually do. They’re loose and slippery, suckers plucking at your wetsuit and caressing your body. “Take this off,” he says.

“Wh—huh?” you ask. 

Ishyr cups your chin and makes you look him in the eye. “Take this off,” he repeats with a sharp smile. “Or I will rip it off of you.” 

“Ishyr, what—are you—wait a second!” You pull frantically at his tentacle when one of his suckers tugs threateningly at your sleeve. “What are you doing?” 

Another tentacle winds up your thigh, the tip settling directly between your legs where it starts to stroke and writhe. You completely lose your train of thought at the sensation of his suckers clinging and releasing in short bursts. It feels like a kiss, like a hot, sucking mouth trying to get at your sex through your clothes. “Is it not obvious?” he asks, claws grasping your jaw.

“It’s unexpected,” you insist. “Do you even like me? Like, in any way?” 

He regards you with narrowed eyes, searching your face for deception. “I haven’t been subtle.” 

This is news to you. “You threaten me every time I see you—”

“And yet you live,” he says wryly. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. More bones on this beach.” A tentacle drapes over your shoulder, the suckers honing in on your nipples and teasing them, pulling gently. The more you squirm, the more you’re surrounded by grasping, groping limbs. You’re surprised when he presses his lips against yours. They’re slick and salty, sharp teeth nibbling at your lower lip. “You’re here,” he murmurs, hot breath warming your mouth. “In my cove. My territory. I’ve invited you here, over and over, and I’ve let you leave alive. Either you’re kin, or someone trusted.” 

He starts tugging at your wetsuit again and you find yourself complying. This doesn’t feel real. The truth is you’ve snuck a few glances at Ishyr in the time you’ve known him and had some thoughts you’re not too proud of about his tentacles. Never in a million years did you imagine he’d be hooking his claws around the zipper of your wetsuit and tugging it down with such hunger in his eyes. 

“I’ve been contending with my instincts,” he admits. “But probably not the ones you’re thinking of. There’s a part of me that wants to bite when I see you doing stretches on the beach. You expose your neck…your belly…weak spots. Very enticing.” His tentacles squeeze those spots he likes so much while he speaks, suckling at your neck and wrapping around your stomach. Your face feels hot. Was he there when you did your warm ups before getting in the water? You don’t remember seeing him. Unless he’d stayed in the water, lurking somewhere just out of sight without saying anything…

Once your zipper’s down far enough, his tentacles are all over you. They’re helping, you think, trying to peel it off, but they’re also touching, fondling, feeling like tongues and fingers and firm hands and something else all together, all at once. Ishyr doesn’t waste any time. You’ve still got one leg in the wetsuit when you feel his suckers toying with your sex. You gasp and the tip of a tentacle fills your mouth. The taste is strange and briney, the texture slightly bumpy. 

“Shhhh,” he whispers. “Awimi is sleeping.” It’s infuriating how calm and collected he is, not even panting as he encloses you in constant pleasure. A tentacle rubs your sex while another toys with your entrance, the rest coiling sensually around your chest and hips and thighs, suckers sliding wetly over your skin like thousands of tongues. “Had you ever seen our young? Before her? I bet you hadn’t. We’re very solitary and the shore is too dangerous for the little ones. For us, when we see a happy, healthy hatchling swimming alongside a beautiful mother…a dedicated father…a lorleian, strong enough to rear young and protect it…” He shivers with a groan. “Mm. I would’ve mated you in the sand the day we met if we were the same species. Given the little one a sibling…or two…or more.”

He’s getting excited the more he talks about it, pulling the tentacle out of your mouth and replacing it with his tongue. The sensation of being covered in him, draped in licking, sucking kisses and caressing hands, pushes you rapidly towards climax. He must be able to tell because you hear him moan into your mouth and then everything gets harder, faster and more intense. The tentacle engulfing your sex feels like it’s pulsating, the suckling sensation making you buck your hips and whimper against Ishyr’s tongue. He wraps around you firmly, urging you to rut against him harder, to ride the wave of ecstasy as long and hard as you can. 

“If I could breed you, I would,” he murmurs, nipping the corner of your mouth. He trails kisses along your jaw to your ear, curling his tongue around the lobe. “You wouldn’t leave here empty. No, you wouldn’t leave at all. You’d be so, so full, it would only be a matter of time. Mm, you’re lucky I can’t. Seeing you with my eggs might ruin me. All I’d be able to think about is breeding you again, and again, and again.”  

He pulls you against his body when you come, your chest pressed to his and your hips pumping frantically in the wet, pleasurable warmth of his tentacles. You’re still catching your breath when you realize he hasn’t stopped babbling, muttering in your ear about breeding and eggs and how unbearably sexy you’d be guarding his little translucent bundles of joy. He stiffens suddenly, tentacles suddenly going rigid before his whole body relaxes and he sags against you.

“Ishyr? Ishyr!” you hiss. He’s too heavy and you both end up on the floor of the cave. He’s not bothered about it, if the way he immediately wraps around you is any indication. “Did…did you…?”

“I had to calm myself,” he mutters, his speech slightly slurred. “Can’t mate you today. We need time. You have to take Awimi back when she’s finished napping.” 

“Time?” you ask, intrigued. “How much time?” 

Ishyr rolls onto his side and brings you with him. You’d call it spooning if he wasn’t somehow on every side of you simultaneously, warm and comfortable. “Mm. The better part of a day, ideally.” 

“A day?” you echo, incredulous. “Do lorleians really mate that long?” 

Ishyr smiles. It’s wide, sharp and threatening, the same way he smiles when he casually threatens to bash your skull open against the rocks for questioning what he’s teaching Awimi. Did he think you’d realize he was kidding somehow? Was that its own strange form of flirtation? “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?” he purrs, tracing your lips with his claw. 

You meet him halfway when he leans in for another kiss. You guess you will.

[deviant-doughnut]

Introduction Post!

Hey there. I’m Deviant-Doughnut, and I go by J (he/him). I’ve been lurking in the whump community for a while and I love it, and have finally worked up the courage to do a little introduction post. I’ve loved whump, without knowing the name for it, for so many years, and I’m hoping to take part in a writing event soon and add my voice to the array of wonderful whump writers I’ve been appreciating here.

I’d also love to make some new friends in this community, so please feel free to follow me or reach out to me so I can follow you back ☺️

Minors please DNI, there is NSFW content on this blog.

My Whump Writing So Far

Please heed content warnings. Asterix indicate snippets which contain NSFWhump.

100 word drabbles (includes some NSFWhump)

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Augusnippets 2024

Day One (Forced To Watch)* | Day Two (Whumpee Wearing Caretaker’s Clothes)* | Day Three (Flashbacks) | Day Four (Whipping) | Day Five (Feverish Caretaking) | Day Six (Car Accident) | Day Seven (Waterboarding) | Day Eight (Found Family)* | Day Nine (Hypothermia) | Day Ten (Begging For Mercy)* | Day Eleven (Breaking The Conditioning) | Day Twelve (Trapped) | Day Thirteen (Drugging)* | Day Fourteen (Protective Caretaker)* | Day Fifteen (Throwing Up) | Day Sixteen (Humiliation)* | Day Seventeen (Forgiveness) | Day Eighteen (Apocalypse)* | Day Nineteen (Collared)*| Day Twenty (Homemade Meal) | Day Twenty-One (Medical Complications) |

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One Shots/Random Whump

Between One Pair Of Hands And Another *

More to come…

——————————

Beloved Whump Tropes:

1. Defiant whumpee 2. NSFWhump 3. Knives 4. Whipping 5. Captivity 6. Psychological Whump mixed in with the physical 7. Team Leader Whump 8. Lab rat whump 9. Forced to watch/forced to whump 10. Shock collars

💛

[mariipun]

Adventures of Wally & The Gang (plus their Caretaker)

Off Script Shenanigans 

Warnings: None. Humor, wholesome content.

Word Count: 1,513

Brief Description: The Welcome Home cast is alive and live alongside humans. You have been contracted to be their Caretaker, tending to their needs, schedule, and keeping them from (getting themselves into) bad publicity. The gang has some downtime on set, entertaining themselves or each other with nonsensical activities to pass the time as the Technical Director works on fixing the issues.

Welcome Home belongs to @partycoffin [in no means is my work canon]

Dedication: @kandavers 

[ /I hope this gives you a little serotonin boost, I’m cheering you on from my side of the world! ]

.

.

The studio was as energetic as ever. Production had halted due to technical difficulties that needed to be resolved. You lazily sat on one of the deck chairs, elbow on the armrest, cheek leaning against your palm as you scanned across the set and watched some of the cast members. You were glad to get a break and off your feet.

[Eyes first land on Sally]

Sally was going over the script, suggesting certain scenes to be revised with the Director, and penciling in changes.

Sally: “I just think we really should include a song during this scene, making it more—lively, ya know?”  

You overheard her conversation, chuckling as the Director gave her a puzzled look. You weren’t sure how much more ‘lively’ the show could be with the beautiful array of bright colors and every other episode already containing musical numbers. “Oh! Maybe even a dance sequence—”

[Eyes pan towards Poppy]

You watched as the red fluff of feathers hummed to herself, sitting near a basket of props. You couldn’t tell what she was doing exactly, but it looked like she was probably knitting something? Well, she had her hobbies outside of teaching children their ABC’s.

[Next, you saw Julie]

Julie: “Howdy-ho neighbors! Come tour the Welcome Home set with me!”

A small smile formed on your lips as you watched the bubbly puppet hold her phone slightly above her face as she chatted with fans on her live feed.

Your eyes trained on her for a minute as she walked about, introducing some of the wardrobe designers and makeup artists that work on her outfits, looks, and so on. As she moved on, you kept watching as Julie draped an arm around Wally’s shoulders before he could snatch up one of the apples sitting at the spread table, adjusting her phone so both were in the frame of view.

Julie: “Wally Darling, say hello to everyone!”

Wally: “Well hello dear neighbors! Hope you’re all looking forward to the next episode.” He waved, smiling.

Barnaby soon came up from behind the two with a large grin, saying hello as well. You could tell the chat was going absolutely insane getting to interact with them. You giggled at their antics, happy that they got to spend some time with people from all around the world, even if it wasn’t during one of their face-to-face meet-and-greets.

Probably one of the many things you admired about them.

Although sometimes crazy (and difficult to handle), they were always dedicated to entertaining the masses with wholesome content. On camera anyhow. It was your job to make sure no scandalous rumors ended up in the media; constantly protecting their image off screen. You’d hate to see the show canceled, especially since you were dedicated not only to the basis of the show but because you deeply cared for them.

Julie: “Oh! Barnaby, someone asked how many things you’re able to juggle at once.”

Barnaby: “Well, let’s see. Hey, lil’ buddy, toss me a few of those apples will ya?”

Julie released her light hold on Wally, flipping the camera so she could point the phone toward the pair. She stepped back as Wally began gently tossing a few apples in Barnaby’s direction. The blue mass caught them with ease, beginning to juggle. 1…2...3…4….

Barnaby: “Ha! Too easy, c’mon, toss me a few more.”

Julie: “Oh, oh! Someone also said to make it more challenging.”

Wally: “Guess we just have to give our dear neighbors what they’re asking for.” He muses, scanning the spread table and grabbing one of the bananas, then tossing it toward Barnaby.

Again, catching it with ease, Barnaby chuckled as he nodded toward the soda cans. Wally picked one up, tossing them his way.

Barnaby: “…5….6!” The juggling continued, items being tossed a bit higher to make some space as he caught and tossed, and tossed, and tossed.

Julie: “Think you can handle any more?”

Barnaby: “I’m the Great Barnaby B. Beagle, nothing can stop me now!”

Wally looked over, pondering what to toss his friend next. He decided on some sunglasses, then grabbed one of the bowling pin props and a small stress ball out of a box one of the stagehands was carrying as they scooted by.

Wally: “…7…8….9….”

You continued to watch, tilting your head up slightly as Barnaby’s juggling began to waver and then steady.

Barnaby: “Let’s make it an even 10. Toss me one more please.”

There weren’t many other options readily available until Wally saw one of the saran-wrapped sandwiches on the table. Picking it up, he tossed it but misjudged the distance as Barnaby jolted to catch it. Stepping forward, he caught it, but it threw off the balance of the juggled circle and the items began slightly leaning more and more until Barnaby began staggering toward you.

You perked up, stiffening. You noticed he was moving toward one of the cables on the floor, which was unfortunately not taped down to prevent a tripping hazard.

Caretaker: “Barnaby, wait—”

Too late.

Barnaby: “Whoa--!” The puppet’s foot was caught underneath the cable, the apples, banana, sandwich, sunglasses, bowling pin prop, stress ball, and can of soda flying in your direction.

Everything crashed down around you, save for the soda can, which plummeted right in front of you. The sheer velocity of the aluminum can hitting the ground had enough force to burst, a steady, but violent stream of soda onto your face. (Did everything that went wrong have to be an overly exaggerated gag bit?)

You held your hands out to try and shield yourself, aggressively coughing as you accidentally inhaled the fizzy beverage through your nose. After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped blasting in your face.

Both Wally and Julie were immediately by your side, asking if you were okay, while Barnaby repeatedly apologized from the ground. You could hear the commotion around you as Sally ran to grab a towel, Poppy squawking in concern somewhere in the background.

Wally: “Care, are you okay?” He asked, reaching over, and gently placing a hand on your arm. “Are you hurt—” He stopped, eyes widening slightly as you began to laugh under your breath, which soon turned into loud, boisterous laughter.

You didn’t quite open your eyes since the soda stung, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Doubling over, you just couldn’t stop yourself from cracking up. Both Wally and Julie sighed in relief, smiling as you confirmed you were okay. As you calmed down from your fit of laughter, you thanked Sally for the towel and wiped your face.

Wally: “Well, I’m glad you’re alright Caretaker. It’s also nice to see you having more fun.”

Julie: “Yeah! You have such a wonderful laugh! You should do that more often.”

Barnaby: “Pfft—you call that a laugh? It was more of like a goose hon—” His mouth shut automatically as you gave the blue puppet a warning glance. “Uh.. ha, ha, ha. I mean, your laugh is fantastic Care!” He backtracked before standing and looking you over. Placing his hands on his hips, he shifted his weight to one leg, smiling down at you. “But, it does sound refreshing to finally have you let loose.”

You shake your head, wrapping the towel around your shoulders.

Julie: “Oh! Right!” Julie swapped her phone camera again, leaning closer and placing you both in the frame. “Hey, hey neighbors! Crisis averted! They’re A-O.K.! But let me also introduce you to the most important member of the Welcome Home Cast! This is our dear Caretaker! They work super hard!”

Wally: “That’s right. They always take great care of us.” He adds, leaning closer despite the threat of getting his felt sticky.

Sally: “And they’re super cool!”

Barnaby: “Not to mention, a real spitfire.” He nudged your shoulder gently once he made his way to you.

At this point, Poppy, Eddie, Howdy, and Frank had appeared, joining in the cascade of praises. You were a bit too stunned to speak, not quite used to being complimented so much. You definitely weren’t anticipating this. You were skeptical at first, but their words were truly genuine as each of the cast members looked over to you with smiles reaching all the way up to their eyes. You heard and saw the swift pings of comments from the fans, not being able to read all of them, but catching a glimpse of the ‘hello Caretaker’, ‘keep doing your best’, and ‘you’re incredible’.

Caretaker: “I… thank you….” You replied sheepishly, feeling your face begin to flush. You reached up, grabbing one of the ends of the towel that was wrapped around your shoulders, bringing it up to your nose to hide the blush that had formed.

All cast members, in unison: “No, thank YOU, Caretaker!”

[Bonus]

You would later clean yourself up and ended up scolding Barnaby, Wally, and Julie about the dangers of carelessly tossing so many things in the air without properly considering their surroundings. Someone could have seriously gotten hurt after all. 

[dearmailman]

Could you do some general agere headcannons for Jonsey Bea and Franny (Julie’s siblings)

If not that’s ok!

Please and thank you! 👋😅

Howdy neighbor!

I wrote up a couple of fun ones just for you! 💌

Bea Joyful

Bea is a downright princess when she regresses! She likes to dress up in pretty clothing and play pretend as the ruler of her very own kingdom.

Bea likes to play dress up with Julie especially! The two of them have very big closets with a massive array of pretty clothes to use for fashion shows. Franny and Jonsey love to watch them pose and clap for them!

Franny is her caretaker most often, and their usual sisterly squabbling seems to melt away. Bea would always trust her sister to care for her when she's vulnerable or afraid.

Bea likes to have tea parties with her stuffed toys! She does voices for everyone of them, dresses them in some of her own fancy clothes, and helps them look pretty as a picture for the special party.

Being a rainbow monster, sometimes Bea's regression can get a little animalistic - she tends to 'bury' her favorite toys under her blankets to protect them, to get very very hungry, and to want to knock her horns against things, no matter how unladylike she would usually find it!

Bea likes nicknames a lot while feeling small - 'princess', 'baby', and 'little miss' are her favorites. Jonsey calls her 'missy prissy' sometimes as well, lightheartedly!

Jonsey Joyful

[I use they/he for Jonsey!]

Jonsey tends to lose speech when he regresses! He has selective mutism in general, and regression tends to be a cause of speech loss for him.

They very much enjoy playing with blocks while regressed - both to build with and to chew on when he has the wooden ones! Why, his caregiver will have to watch out for them eating a block whole!

Jonsey is a flip, and also enjoys being a caregiver when the situation allows!

He loves to build little cities with his blocks and destroy them like a big scary movie monster!

Franny, Julie, and Bea will drag them into dress up games quite often, not that they're complaining - playing with his sisters is always a delight, let alone while regressed!

Franny Joyful

Franny is a caregiver! She takes care of her siblings when they regress, and would be happy to care for any little one she meets! She may seem grumpy on the outside, but little ones always melt her heart.

Franny loves to use sweet nicknames for her tiny friends, 'lovey', and 'sweetie', 'little [mx.] nifty', and 'pretty pearl' are some she uses often!

Dressing her little one up to be pretty as a picture is Franny's favorite game! Bea and Julie are the ones that got her very into play fashion shows, but Franny is very much a fashion girl herself.

sfw interactions only

[whumpwillow]

here have a thing

warnings: past torture, death mention, bugs mention (mosquitos), blood, associated misery

—

They were, in theory, alone.

The group made their way through what they’d thought was a deserted mangrove. That was the primary reason they’d chosen it as the landing pad for their airship, as the sonar array hadn’t detected any other vessels in the area, nor were there any nearby settlements. They planned it this way so they could avoid coming into contact with any other people.

That was, until they came across the man stumbling through the forest, covered in blood. Leader drew the stun gun from his waist belt and pointed it at the man, who took no notice of them. Friend subtly positioned himself in front of Caretaker, but she could still see the gory images played out in front of her.

The man was alone, and wearing nothing but a tattered pair of work slacks. His chest and feet were bare, save for the grievous wounds that marred them. His body bent forward at the waist, head hanging low, and his muscles contorted with each strangled breath. He’d put his forearm to a tree next to him and seemed to be trying to regain balance or stability or energy or something—Caretaker couldn’t tell. She didn’t know how he was even alive right now.

His head was downturned and his hair, wet and sticky with blood, was so plastered to his skin that his face was indiscernible. Blood streamed down it, as well as from numerous other wounds on his body.

They were…not the sort of wounds one would get from being lost in the forest. They were too precise. Intentional.

“Stay back,” Leader said, in his usual stern but smooth baritone.

The injured man flinched, having registered the sound, but all it did was quicken his breathing. Leader took a step toward him.

Caretaker couldn’t stop staring. Eyes wide, she observed every gash, every burn, every bruise. The wounds were fresh and weeping, but it had to have been a few days at least that the man had been wandering through the forest. He was covered in mud that mixed with the crimson that dripped from his wounds, likely having infected them already. Little red dots scattered across his skin showed that he’d been food for the mosquitos, and small scratches on his arms and legs looked more like the injuries gotten from foliage rather than…direct intent.

How he got the other wounds…Caretaker didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Who are you?” Leader asked.

The injured man didn’t respond. His arms and legs shook something fierce, and had been the entire time. Whether it was from exhaustion or fear, Caretaker didn’t know.

“Looks like he got pretty fucked up,” Friend chimed in. “He one of ours?”

Leader grumbled something under his breath. “Blackdoor would do that.”

Caretaker pushed herself out from behind Friend and moved quickly up to where Leader was standing. She put a hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes.

“Come on,” she said. “Put the gun down. He’s clearly hurt.”

Leader eyed her stonily. His gaze flicked from Caretaker’s face to the nearly doubled-over body of the injured man and back, though the hand holding the gun never wavered or shook.

“It could be a trap,” he said.

Caretaker put a hand on her hip and used the other to gesture to the mysterious man. “Does it fucking look like one?”

Leader didn’t respond, except to reach to her as she moved forward to go to the injured man. He lifted his head minutely, but with the blood and his hair plastered to his face, she couldn’t make out what he looked like. But she knew he was watching her.

“Hey,” she said. “Do you need help?”

She raised a hand to touch him but he flinched back, stumbling over a root and falling to the ground. Leader shouted and darted forward, and Caretaker felt herself being pulled away from the spot before she could even blink.

She fumbled with the roots and leaves for a bit, but Friend came up behind her and put his arms on her shoulders to steady her. Leader had one foot on the injured man’s chest and was pointing the stun gun directly at his face.

“What are you doing here, Whumpee?” he shouted.

Whumpee. the assassin.

Caretaker shivered. She’d only encountered him once, but she’d been through enough danger at the hands of Blackdoor to know they didn’t mess around and they didn’t hold back.

Whumpee held up his hands over his face. “Pl-please, please, please—you can’t—I’m not—please—I’m—,” he begged, words coming out in short gasps.

His hands shook as he tried to protect himself from whatever he thought was coming. Caretaker could still barely see his face through the blood. Leader didn’t relent, trying to question him on his intentions, but they all already knew what his objective was.

To kill Caretaker.

She stepped up beside him, ignoring Leader’s protests. “What happened to you?”

Whumpee didn’t respond. The begging seemed to take precedence and Caretaker turned to look at Leader, wondering if she had enough persuasion skills to get him to put the gun away.

“You’re hurting him,” she said.

“He was sent to kill you,” Leader said. His eyes blazed with something dark and obsessive. “He fucking killed my brother.”

Caretaker knew Leader had been consumed with revenge ever since the attack that had killed his brother, orchestrated by none other than Blackdoor’s very own assassin. She’d seen the way he stared out the window of the airship as they moved through the sky, the light in his eyes giving way to something else entirely as he talked about how he’d get his revenge. But this wasn’t the way.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the building tension. “Yes, I know. I was there. I saw him die on that operating table too,” she began. “But we can’t kill Whumpee here. We can get vital information from him about Blackdoor.”

Friend drew up behind Caretaker and peered around her shoulder to look up at Leader. “And about Team Member! I need to know what he did with Team Member!”

Whumpee groaned, writhing in the mud under Leader’s boot still placed on his sternum. Caretaker glanced down at him and then back at Leader, not wanting to think about how much it must have hurt those bruises staining every inch of skin she could see that wasn’t already covered in mud and blood. Deep purples, blues, greens, and browns made him look more like a piece of abstract art rather than a person.

“…scaped…” Whumpee murmured, almost inaudibly.

Friend crouched down. “What’d you say?”

Whumpee turned his head weakly in Friend’s direction. “He escaped…she let him go…when she caught me.”

He panted heavily, drawing in breaths with great effort. It seemed speaking even this little bit had exhausted him.

Caretaker gave Leader a look that she hoped conveyed to him that he should at least take his foot off the assassin’s chest. Leader understood and acquiesced, stepping back. He didn’t holster the stun gun.

Whumpee took in a deep breath once Leader’s weight was off him, but then immediately whinged in pain. His face crumbled like paper. Friend twisted his mouth to the side, a look of displeased understanding on his face.

“His ribs are probably broken. Sucks to take in a breath when it feels like you’re getting stabbed,” he noted.

Caretaker crouched down next to him. “Who caught you? Did the Eighth Chasm do this?”

The Eighth Chasm leader had a temper to match her fiery red hair. Caretaker would never have expected her to do something like this, but she also had never actually met the woman, so she supposed she couldn’t make such snap judgments. Leader had been the one to feed the information to her, and as much as he liked to think of himself as rational and stoic, he often let his emotions color his perception of things.

Whumpee shook his head, creating a sloshing noise of his hair going back and forth in the mud. “Montrose family,” was all he said before letting the silence hang in the air between the four of them.

Caretaker looked up at Leader, wondering if this was someone new he would tell her about, but his face displayed as much confusion as hers likely did. Leader’s eyebrows knitted together in concentration, but he finally shook his head.

“Is that part of Blackdoor?” Friend asked.

“Why would Blackdoor do this to their own operative?” Caretaker responded to Friend’s question with another question. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Whumpee heaved another strained breath. His eyelids fluttered, closed, and then opened again after a long pause.

“They didn’t like Blackdoor operating out of New York City…said it was their territory,” Whumpee said. His bottom lip trembled, but he didn’t seem to realize. His eyes glazed over for a moment before he spoke again.

“They sent one of their operatives to kill me and Septimus…hah, and all this,” he gestured at his battered body. “This was just for fun.”