#reader with sensory issues

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Soap learning that you have sensory issues, especially related to touch and skin to skin contact, which is why you’ve been avoiding cuddling with him.

Soap bursting into your room with a genius idea, that if you both wear over sized hoodies (‘borrowed’ from ghost) will that help you to enjoy cuddling again??

Because the layers of soft Good Feeling material will offset the icky feeling of bare skin, while giving freedom to wrap arms around things. And if soap can wrap his arms around you and hold you tight, he can help you stim by gently rocking you side to side, and so on

[mothtral]

i feel sunday would be a little scandalized, maybe clutching his rosary if his partner wore revealing outfits similar to silver wolf or lingsha. tiny shorts with no tights underneath, a crop top that reveals their chest. there’s so much skin uncovered, compared to his face and neck being the only visible parts of his body. (they definitely steal his coat when it gets so chilly which is another reason his face turns a bright red.)

[eddieandbird]

Eddie had the honor of taking you to your first concert

[ewwap]

Doting Yandere x Transmasc Reader

Y/n's tongue traced his teeth, rubbing the slimiest parts in disgust. How long ago had Oliver kidnapped him? Y/n hadn't kept track, too focused on the fact he hadn't been able to brush his teeth this entire time. Y/n's eyes soullessly dragged from their firm position looking at the floor to Oliver's face, comforting, and in Y/n's mind, in complete contrast to the heinous actions he had committed. Oliver noticed Y/n looking at him and like a puppy, his face lit up.

"It's alright Y/n." He soothed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder--who had no will to flinch away anymore. "I'm taking care of you here. You don't need to worry about anything any longer."

Oliver smiled sympathetically as if he was not the one who created the situation Y/n was now in. Of course, he did, being so rich and coddled--Y/n was the first person to not act like a yes man and let Oliver get away with anything he wanted. God, Oliver had been waiting for someone like that. Someone who wouldn't suck up to him, someone real.

Something snapped in Y/n over the line of Oliver taking care of him. He grit his grimy teeth and glared.

"Taking care of me? Hah." Y/n scoffed. "For the entire time I've been held up in this manor of yours I have not been able to brush my teeth once! Do you want my teeth to rot? Hmm? Do you want my jaw to ache from cavities and my teeth to turn black?"

Y/n's hands balled into fists. However, there was not much else his hands could do--being restrained in expensive cuffs.

"Not only that--I haven't been able to wash my face! Do you know how oily my face gets when I don't take care of it? It disgusts me. You disgust me." Y/n turned his head away. "And you have the gall to say you're taking care of me."

If Y/n had looked at Oliver's face he would've seen an expression of pure guilt and utter defeat. Y/n felt two strong arms warp around him, one hand wrapped around his waist and the other patting his head. Y/n remained defiant in looking away.

"I'm sorry Y/n... I'll do better." Oliver buried his face in Y/n's neck, embarrassed at his incompetence.

How was he supposed to be everything Y/n needed if he was too drugged by Y/n's presence to remember to brush his teeth? No, he had to do better.

______________________________________________________________

Y/n sulked in his golden prison, looking out the window at the gardens that were so well maintained. He looked at the flowers, blooming with vibrance. At that moment, he felt like a wilting lily, drying up because its master had neglected to water it.

Oliver opened the door, making sure to close it and wait for the click as it automatically locked. He drunkenly took in the sight of Y/n, but his heartbeat flattened at Y/n's lack of a smile.

"Love... I've done some research. I've found the most luxurious products for your face type--I even found the perfect cleansings for your hair! Oh, and of course, the toothpaste, quality, of course." He paused. "Only the best for you, Angel."

Soon, Oliver had Y/n in the en suite bathroom, his love in a fluffy bathrobe on a stool.

'Say aaaahhh~" Oliver held out the toothbrush, wetted after applying the toothpaste per Y/n's preferences.

"I can brush my teeth myself." Y/n glared at the toothbrush, feeling babied.

"I'm not sure I can trust you out of the handcuffs yet, Angel." Oliver smiled sweetly "Remember what happened last time?"

Y/n practically growled.

"Fine." Y/n opened his mouth, allowing Oliver to brush his teeth.

Soon, Y/n found himself in a bath, bubbles and sweet-smelling oils in the warm water. He tried to remind himself it was fine, Oliver had seen him like this before. Still, Y/n felt uneasy. He knew Oliver would never hurt him, but one glance at Oliver's face reconfirmed he was restraining himself from doing something else.

Oliver tried to steady his breathing, god, Y/n was ethereal. Every feature so perfect. It took all of his strength to keep his blood in his brain. Of course, he had to wait. He would wait forever for Y/n.

He took special care in scrubbing Y/n down, tracing Y/n's skin as if it were the softest material on earth. Accidentally spending longer than he intended to wash Y/n's thighs.

He hummed as he massaged the shampoo into Y/n's scalp. Rinsing before applying conditioner and lathering it in Y/n's hair. Y/n's perfect beautiful hair that he would find himself running his hands through. Oliver brought out a facial scrub to put on Y/n, coincidentally caressing Y/n's face as he rubbed it in and washed it off.

Oliver brought a cream out and traced Y/n's top surgery scars, marveling at how a body could be so perfect. How even a scar--which he had been taught was an imperfection or a flaw--could be so beautiful.

Finally, Oliver scooped Y/n up before wrapping him in a warm fluffy towel. He placed Y/n down as if he weighed nothing and dried him off softly, taking extra care with Y/n's precious face and hair.

______________________________________________________________

Later, Y/n was dressed in soft comfortable clothes, a new pair of handcuffs linking his hands together. Oliver was snuggling with Y/n, clinging to him like a koala. He sighed dreamily, as always, Y/n was right. He took a deep breath, drinking Y/n in. He was so beautiful like this. He looked at Y/n's resting figure, slight unease on his face even in his sleep.

"Don't worry love. Nobody will hurt you here, I'll give you anything you want. The world is at your fingertips, all you need to do is ask." Oliver pressed a kiss onto Y/n's forehead. "My angel."

[thefearedashantis]

Buttered Noodles 

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Summary: James is understanding of your food sensitivities

Warning:  food sensitivity/sensory issue

*I personally dislike my food touching and creamy textures. Plus this is short and horribly written but what can be done.

- jermaine (シ_ _)シ

“That bush looks like a head of broccoli”

You don't say it because the bush necessarily looks like broccoli. It's simply the urge to talk nipping at you. The need to Distract yourself. Foods all that's on your mind at the moment. The bushes lining the street are the only things in your field of vision where its fixed out the car window.

Besides, what other food could a bush possible resemble but one of many tasteless greens.

James doesn't respond with anything other than a concerned glance. Usually on drives you'd be lounged out in the passenger seat, playlist cued up, serenading him with raspy heavy metal. But there you sit, stiff as a plank. Quiet except for the occasional mumble. Hands knotted in your lap placing wrinkles into your pretty clothes. Mouth pinned into a thin wobbling line. 

You'd met his friends before. They were kind so that wasn't the source of your stress. The trouble arose around the fact that it had been in a pub setting, where the only requirement was drinking and nodding along.

But this would be different. This was big.

A birthday dinner. Where you'd have to sit up straight at a dining table and contribute to conversation, answer and ask questions, smile. All while eating your meal in the same timely manner as everybody else. Not too slow and not too quickly. Not itty bitty spoonful's and not gaping mouthfuls. You'd have to pause between bites, swallow, have a sip of your drink and repeat. Not staring at your plate, make eye contact occasionally.

You've always been very sensitive with food. You grew up in a clean plate household. Only by the grace of the universe were you able to find someone as understanding about it as James. Exactly why you don't want to embarrass him in front of his friends with your pickiness.

You would try your best to stomach whatever was placed before you but boy would it be hard. When certain textures or smells or mixtures made your mouth watery and your palms sweaty.

Food touching. Utensils scraping. The mushy sound of chewing and the wet gulp of a swallow.

However, You'd grind your teeth and bare with the horrors if it meant making a good impression.

“I made sure to tell Moonie you have trouble with certain foods.” James is talking lowly as if afraid to startle you. 

“Huh?”

“Oh, I told Remus some of the things you don't fair well with-

Your eyes grow to twice the size in alarm "You shouldn't have put him out that way Jamie!"

The slight wobble of his head is done in apology. All you'd get, because he wasn't actually sorry. The movement sends his glasses slipping down his nose. You reach out on instinct to adjust them for him. "Its no stress mouse, he was happy to make sure you'd be accommodated"

And how would that appear. Everyone enjoying a full homemade roast dinner while James’ girlfriend poked and prodded at some frozen chicken strips and potato wedges? 

"I can eat whatever he prepares" Could and Would.

"You can. But you don't have to. Remember that." The grounding weight of his hand finds its place on your thigh and your shoulders immediately slump with a release of tension. "Take a breath for me love"

You've squeezed your fingers so tightly your nails have dug bloody crescents into your palms. They burn. Your face warms in a rapid flush. Maybe it wasn't too late to throw yourself from the car. 

"Yeah"

"If you start to feel icky we can always find you a safe food alright? It puts nobody out to make sure you’re well fed"

Icky. James' word for what was, in your head, unreasonable upset and stubbornness. There was a time when more cruel terms were hurled at you. When you sat in the kitchen until the morning doves began to coo. A plate of pasta long cold on the table. You liked pasta. Would have eaten the pasta if only the sauce hadn't been pre added for you. White and thick and slimy. Buttered noodles by themselves were delicious. But you weren't allowed to get yourself a fresh plate until you ate the one already given to you. Even if that meant going to school the next day on an empty stomach and not a wink of sleep. 

"Yes mum" You have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling at how thoughtful you actually found his actions, feigning upset by purposefully avoiding his gaze. He sees through this of course.

"There she is"

And you know by the crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he grins at you that James would gladly join in with any alternative option if it would make you feel more comfortable. Confident. All you had to do was ask and he'd do anything for you. 

[elslittlestories]

Will it ever be enough?

The Bad Batch fanfiction - Hunter x Gender neutral Reader (You)

Words count: 4,7k Read on AO3

This is an edited and extended version of "The morning after" 3-parts series I posted before.

Summary: Hunter goes into crisis after spending the night with you...You both try to work this out.

A reflection around sensory issues and asexual relationships, so not your typical romance!

In my AU, Tech survived and they all live happy on Pabu.

Warning: discussion of sex, but nothing explicit. I'd say it's okay for teen audiences.

I experimented with the second person writing and mixing two internal POV.

1 – The morning after

Slowly, Hunter lifts your arm from his waist and slips out of the bed, careful not to wake you up. A sigh of relief escapes him as he closes your bedroom door and he makes his way outside of your house. Your porch is a perfect spot to enjoy the morning light rising above the ocean. The fresh air helps relax his muscles.

If Tech were here, he’d say that Hunter learned something about himself and that’s enough to make last night’s experience worthy. Hunter’s not so sure. Well, it’s more that he’s not happy about what he found out. He can’t sleep with someone. At least not if that someone spoons him like you did all night.

It sorts of amazes him how this was the first time he ever had somebody in his bed. But he just spent sleepless hours thinking about it and couldn’t remember one. There wasn’t any mission in which they were forced to sleep against each other and he never had the opportunity, nor the envy, to get in bed with a stranger.

Sure, he held his brother until they fell asleep a bunch of times when they were kids, but he’d always sneak away to go back to his bunk. Omega has dozed off against him a bunch of times, but then he’d put her in her own bed. Beside he was mostly clothed and never really had to endure that skin to skin sensation. The stickiness of it.

Hunter shivers. No, last night was definitely a first. A first time for a lot of things…

He’s still not sure how it all happened. One minute he was dancing with you at a beach party—Omega had talked both of you into it—the next you were kissing him. He froze, brain gone blank, but everybody started to cheer around you, so he went on autopilot mode and mirrored you. And to be fair, the kisses were nice. As long as it was dry lips pressing against each other, that is.

Thanks to Tech never shutting up about the things he does with Phee, Hunter is aware of how romantic relationship are supposed to work. Although, he didn’t know it could go from kissing to have sex in one evening, unless it was one of those hook-ups in a bar some of the regs were bragging about.

You must have gotten caught up in the moment and he rolled with it, just like he does with any new social interaction he’s presented. If everyone is so keen about sexual intercourse, he figured it ought to give it a try. Now that he’s done it, he doesn’t understand what’s so thrilling about the whole ordeal.  

He flexes his fingers as another shiver ripples over his body. There’s a reason he wears gloves nearly all the time: he and textures have never been close friends… And last night had a lot of new textures! He trembles violently, the sour taste of disgust coming back to him. Closely followed by shame.

It was hard not to push you away, to go through it without having a full-on meltdown. Something tells him he shouldn’t be reacting like this. That it might hurt your feelings. But then he remembers the way your tongue felt in his mouth and shudders.

He can feel it coming. The overload. His skin itches. He wants to strip off the little clothes he has on. Maybe diving in the ocean would sooth him? The waist band of his briefs is digging into his flesh. A breeze of wind moves his hair, they brush his nape like a thousand shards.

He leaps to his feet, jaw clenched, hands frantically brushing his hair away from his neck. He needs that bath. Now! He only realizes he’s walking when the ground under his feet changes from the wood boards of your porch to the uneven gravel of the alley.

At some point during his descent toward the shore, he wonders if he should have left you a note, but the idea of turning around is sickening. He scratches the back of his neck. The feeling of his own sweat on his skin makes his want to rip it off.

In the far, Pabu’s port wakes up, but otherwise he encounters nobody. Thank the stars! He couldn’t find the energy to even nod if he met someone. Might even get violent if they so much as slow him down.

His bare feet hit the sand, a signal for his brain that he’s almost there. His chest tightens in anticipation, and he runs the last strides. A wave crashes on his ankles, he suppresses a moan, pulse racing. Two more steps and he’s thigh high in the ocean. That’ll do. He dives.

The pressure and cold of the water on his skin give him the expected respite, but already his lungs are screaming for air. He surfaces up, half blinded by hair clinging to his face. In a mess of harsh, uncoordinated movements, he pushes on his feet to get into deeper water and kicks his briefs off. This time he takes a long breath before diving and let the ocean cradle him. The itchiness turns into a light tingle, like he can feel his blood rushing to every bit of his flesh. He swims furthers, dives deeper to get more pressure, until his body feels under control.

The sun is floating over the horizon by then. Hunter knows he should go back to your place before you wake up. Part of him wished you were just a one-night thing, so that he could pretend he doesn’t care about any of this. But you’re a dear friend to him, have been for a while now. He cares about you. In ways he can’t quite grasp for all he knows, Omega aside, is brotherhood and soldiers’ comradery.

Shame creeps back into his chest as he swims toward the beach. What is he going to do? What is he going to tell you? He stands up when he reaches shallow waters and slowly makes his way to the deserted beach. The feeling of his skin drying out under the morning sun keeps his mind somewhat calm until he hears footsteps coming his way.

He tenses, senses in alert. It’s a light sound, they’re barefooted and alone. Most likely you. A glance back tells him his briefs are drifting out of reach. He’d give anything to have Wrecker’s easiness with public nudity right now!

“I figured you might need this,” you chuckle as you appear around the pile of rocks boarding the beach with a towel.

You have the decency to look at his face while he reaches for the cloth. He thanks you with a smile, despite the knots twisting his guts. You wait for him to secure the towel around his waist before you step in and wrap your arms around his neck with a:

“Good morning, handsome.”

You gently pull him into a kiss, pecking his lips. He complies passively, his cheeks burning up.

“I wouldn’t mind finding my bed empty every morning if it means being treated with that sight,” you add.

From the way you modulate your tone, he’s not sure if you mean his fluster or his nakedness. His confusion prevents him for anticipating what comes next and he can’t suppress a recoil when your tongue darts on him, asking for a deeper kiss. Whatever confidence you had until now vanishes from your face as you take a step back. Hunter mentally curses himself.

“Is something wrong,” you ask.

You seem more worried that sad or angry, which will hopefully work in his favor.

“I— Uh… I’m sorry, I…”

Too many words come at once to his mind and none of them reach his mouth. The pounding of his heart doesn’t help. He feels hot and cold at the same time, chest heavy, palms sweaty. You take another step back.

“Let me guess,” you say, bitter, “last night was a mistake? Just a one-night stand, maybe?”

Hunter opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. It does feel like a mistake, something he’s not looking forward to doing again. He compels himself to answer something and musters an unconvincing “No.”

“Don’t bother, it’s okay,” you wave him off.

This time the hurt is clear on your face and it’s a stab right to his chest.

“I should have known this was too good to be true,” you keep on, already turning away. “Guys like you don’t go out with someone like me.”

He should catch you, pull you into a kiss and pretend everything’s okay, if only to stop you from thinking you’re not worthy of him. He could, part of him wants to, but he doesn’t. He’s completely lost. He needs more time to think this through and avoid doing more damage. For now, maybe he deserves your spite…

As you climb back home, your anger swells, hot in your belly, tight in your chest. It’s hard to tell who you resent the most, Hunter or yourself. You slam your front door and pace around the living room, desperate to blow off some steam before you explode.

Cleaning should help. You pick up your top from the couch where you scattered it last night. Hunter’s shirt is tangled with it. Your heart shrinks. Tears threaten to escape your eyes. You’re so hopelessly in love with him…

No! You hate him! He deserves none of you pain! He wasn’t even good in bed, rumors had it all wrong about him. It wouldn’t surprise you if this was his first time. Blast, he probably thought he could use you for practice and discard you like trash!

You gather all his stuff, trembling with rage, and shove it all at the end of the pathway leading to your house. You don’t want to see him ever again! No matter what that small voice in the back of your head says.

2 – The week after

Hunter stands at your front door, staring at you while he waits for your answer.

“You’ve got some nerves,” you say.

It’s been a week since that party on the beach, the kiss you shared and…everything else. Maybe asking you to go for a walk—like he has done so many times since you met, like nothing happened… Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all. But he’s not ready to give up.

“Can we just talk?”

You huff, intrigued despite yourself. After all, he’s here, and he does look sorry. You refuse to let hope take over you, but you step away from the door to let Hunter in. He follows you and you both sat across the kitchen table.

“I wanted to apologize,” says Hunter with a slight quaver in his voice.

“Took you long enough,” you can’t help but grouch.

Although it doesn’t bring you the sense of revenge you were looking for. You hate to admit it, but you’ve missed him and part of you is happy he came.

“I know…I needed it. I left Pabu for a few days.”

“So I’ve heard. Omega said you and Tech had some errand to run.”

“We visited some friends. A married couple.”

Hunter pauses, hands fidgeting, before he adds, “For advice.”

The leap your heart makes in your chest makes you dizzy. This time, there’s no stopping the foolish hope that he might love you after all.

“You needed advice from a married couple,” you repeat.

“I…wanted to figure out if what I was feeling was uh…more than friendship?”

Again, his voice gives away his fluster. The contrast with his confident stance is unsettling.

“…and?” you breathe out.

“And…I—Hum…Are you sure you don’t want to take a walk?”

At this point Hunter can’t look your way and his body feels so restless he fears it might trigger another meltdown. He thought he’d taken every precaution to avoid it by wearing his most comfortable clothes and keeping his gloves on. This time it’s not over his senses that he’s losing control.

You take pity on him and agree to follow him outside. Your heart is throbbing, you could use some fresh air. Without a word, you head down toward the beach, keeping an awkward distance between you.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you say, making an effort of keeping your tone gentle.

Motion is already starting to ease Hunter’s edginess and when he starts speaking again, his voice is more gathered. What he struggles with is organizing his thoughts…

“It’s really important to me that you get that you are not the problem here. The reason I rejected you—it’s got nothing to do with you. I never wanted to make you feel like you didn’t deserve me. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Not that I want you to go with somebody else. Well, unless you want to. I’m not trying to force you into anything. I know I hurt and I’m sorry. So sorry.”

“Are you trying to say you…want to be with me?”

The words seem even more foolish said out loud, but your pulse is racing and every part of your body tingles. Your mind is already filling up the blanks for him. He must have panicked because it was his first time. A theory you forbade yourself to think about until now.

“Well, I—…I like you.”

It takes every last bit of control in you for not tripping on the sand.

“I would love to share something with you,” he adds, flexing his hands. “But…”

“Ah,” you say with the wrong kind of butterflies in your stomach. “Here comes the but.”

Hunter looks at you, broken. He searches carefully for his words, toes digging into the sand for anchor.

“I don’t think I’m fit for this kind of relationship.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your annoyance rising up again.

“I—…I can’t sleep with somebody.”

You stop dead. This discussion is reaching a level of confusion you would never have expected! Hunter turns around to face you, cheeks pink and eyes avoidant.

“Sleep, as in sleep? Or the naughty one,” you hear yourself asking without thinking.

“Er…both? It’s uh…I struggle with the skin on skin contact.”

“And you only found out now?”

“Well, I didn’t have much experience with that until the other night.”

His face takes a darker shade. You can’t believe your ears.

“Nobody ever touched you? Not even a hug?”

“I was always wearing clothes.” Hunter shrugs.

The reality of this man’s life fully sinks into you. Your throat tightens as you try to imagine a child growing up without ever truly feeling the direct warmth of someone else against him.

“Is it okay if I hug you now?”

His eyes widened and you decide you don’t need his permission. You pull him against you and squeeze hard when you feel his arms closing around you.

“That’s so sad,” you whisper.

“It’s no big deal, really,” he replies with an uneasy pat on your back.

You step back, surprised to find your sight blurred.

“This kind of hug works just fine for me,” he smiles.

“Is it because of your enhanced sense?”

“That’s Tech’s theory, yes. I’ve always had issues with touch and texture.”

“Oh…”

There’s a silence as you take the news in and link the dots with your memories from that night, the fact that he never seemed to fully be touching you. Not in the way you were craving for him to touch you.

Hunter resumes walking, you catch up with him to ask:

“How does it feel? The…sensory issues.”

He sighs and doesn’t answer right away.

“Like staring at the sun but you can’t close your eyes.”

Mindlessly, you look up at the sky and squint at the brightness. Something twist inside you.

“So you didn’t have a good time, did you?”

“Not really, no,” he answers with a silent apology.

It makes your guilt flare up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I could just tough it out.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work. We’re supposed to both enjoy ourselves!”

Hunter stares in the far and quietly says: “I’ve never been interested in that, to be honest.”

You frown.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“My friend warned me this pill might be the hardest to swallow,” he makes himself joke.

“I mean, have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

It’s his time to frown, so you add:

“You’re hot, Hunter. Half of Pabu must be fantasizing about you and you’re telling you have zero interest in- in- in…the thing!”

He rubs the back of his neck with a chuckle. He never quite understood what people saw in him in that regard, but his brothers have made him aware of it in various teasing ways. Until now he just didn’t realize the fact that he never ever reciprocated the attraction was unusual.

“But wait! What about kissing?”

He winces. You catch it.

“I don’t mind the…closed-lip ones,” he says as gently as he can, aware he’s close to hurting your feelings.

“You don’t mind them,” you repeat slowly.

While your broken ego whales about your inability to entice desire in a man, you’re more concerned about having forced Hunter into something he clearly didn’t want to do. The question escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“Was there anything at all you enjoyed that night?”

He gives you another of his apologetic, sad puppy look and you feel sick.

“But…” you add, “you were…hard.”

“I mean, the machinery is working.”

Somehow, his answer makes it even worst.

“And to be honest, I was expected something to kick in at some point, but…it just never came.”

He notices how pale you are and quickly adds:

“It wasn’t so bad. I wanted to give you a good time, though I’m not sure I did a good job with that…”

“First times are meant to be messy, but I wasn’t expecting to force you into yours!”

Hunter takes your wrist and waits for your eyes to meet his before uttering:

“Hey, you didn’t force me into anything. I overestimated my abilities and chose to go through with it anyway, so that’s not on you, okay?”

You nod, giddy from his strong aura and the feeling of his gloved hand on your skin.

“This sucks,” you mumble.

He let go of your arm.

“Tell me about it…”

You walk in silence until you reach the end of the beach and turn around. Hunter wouldn’t mind sprinting away, if only to get rid of the tensions in his body. He’s never felt more exposed in his entire life.

“Maybe I should give you some space to process all of this,” he says hesitantly.

“Yeah…”

“I— Uh…I’ll just go, then.”

He means to add he’ll miss you, but he doesn’t. After one last look and a shy smile, he bolts away. The run does help a little, but he’s got a burning question on the tip of his tongue, and he knows he won’t find rest until you’ve answered it. He speeds up, waiting for the rush of endorphins to wash over him and take away the dread that you might not want to see him for a while…

Another week passes during which you drive yourself crazy with projections and conjectures. Can you bear to stay friends with Hunter when you still love him? Can you live a fulfilled romance without sex? Can you make him more comfortable with physical touch so that eventually you do have sex? The last one makes you sick of yourself. You know all too well it wouldn’t be fair to him to hope he’ll change for you. Especially since he doesn’t seem to have any control on the issue.

Your friend has taken pity of you and dragged you to Pabu’s flower market before you drown in your own thoughts. She’s been advocating for you to turn the page and move on, arguing that you deserve better. You wish it could be that simple…

It’s her annoyed huff that gets you to notice a familiar face in the crowd. You weren’t expecting to see Hunter here! Nor the intensity of your body’s reaction. You’ve missed him so much!

You used to see each other several times a week, whether it’d be for evening walks or because Omega invited you to whatever activities they had planned. She and you have formed a close bond and you find real pride in the fact that she often comes to you for advice.

Of course, she is the reason Hunter is at the market. He’s holding a couple of plants in one side, Omega’s hand in the other. His eyes dart to you a few times. You can’t decide if you want him to come over or not. You haven’t made your decision yet!

Your friend pulls you into another alley and you lose sight of him. Your chest tightens. You’ve had break-ups before, you know the feeling of grieving a relationship. This is different. This feels like missed opportunity and regrets.

The next day, you find yourself standing in front of the batch’s home, shaking. The door opens on Hunter and you can hear music playing loud inside. Your first thought is that they’re having some sort of party, but a glance at the floor of the entrance tells you otherwise. There are no shoes scattered around, which means everybody is out.

Hunter shifts his weight to one leg, edgy. His hand is clasped on the doorknob, his heart pounding. You stare at each other in a heavy silence, eyes slightly wider than usual.

“Do you wanna go for a walk,” you finally ask.

He flinches.

“We don’t have to talk about us or anything,” you add quickly. “I just…”

‘Miss your company,’ is what you want to say. You hope he gets it. From the way his voice shiver when he answers “Yes,” you think he does.

3- The year after

You stand by your couch, a mug of caff in one hand, the over, covering your mouth as you yawn. In front of you, Hunter is yawning too. He rubs the sleep off his eyes and takes the mug with a thanks. You sit next to him, legs hug tight against your chest, and pull the blanket over you. It’s warm from Hunter’s body heat, smells like him.

He spreads out an arm over the couch behind you, props his foot, socks askew, on the low table and sips his caff in silence. From an open window, the sound of birds chirping and waves crashing fills the room. If you listen closely, you can also hear the fisherman coming back from their night out and unloading at the port.

You rest your chin on your covered knees, enjoying Hunter’s presence. You’re not sure how this became a habit, but every time he finds himself alone at home, he comes crashing at your place. You walk on the beach, grad dinner, watch some holovids and he sleeps on the couch. You sigh in content.

The peaceful moment is interrupted by Hunter’s commlink buzzing from the little pile of things he dropped on the low table yesterday evening. A set of keys, a small wallet where he keeps his change and a couple of pictures and, of course, the everlasting vibroblade.

Hunter grunts and pushes himself up to grad the commlink. His hand grazes over your shoulder.

“What is it Tech?” he asks, his voice still raspy with sleep.

“Morning Hunter. Is Omega awake? She isn’t answering her com.”

“She’s having a sleepover at Lyana’s. Why?”

“Oh, right. Never mind then.”

Hunter pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Tech, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. If this is another treasure quest with Phee, you need to consult me first, then Omega.”

“Right, right. I’ll send you the briefing and see that we reschedule departure for later today.”

Hunter sighs.

“No. You’re not.”

“You could at least wait to read—”, starts Tech without hiding his annoyance.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s got school tomorrow, so unless you can guarantee you’ll be back by 8 sharp, she’s not going.”

Before Tech can argue, Hunter ends the communication and flops back against you. You pat him on the thigh, suppressing a laugh.

“You’ve got this, Daddy!”

He shoots you a tired glare but the corner of his mouth hints the beginning of a smile. You fight against the urge to lean over and kiss him. A few months back, the frustration would have made you get up and busy yourself in the kitchen. You’re getting better at this. You want to. This friendship is the best thing you’ve had in a long time.

“Do you have plans for today,” asks Hunter after he emptied his mug and put it on the table.

“Nothing special.”

He turns to you with a full smile.

“I’m thinking of taking Omega and Lyana at sea. Crosshair found a spot where those green rays like to gather, if you wanna join…”

He stands up and stretch. He’s still uneasy when asking you out, but if the girls are here, it’ll feel less like a date.

“Sure!”

You plan your day over a breakfast that Hunter helped you set up and you agree to meet him at the port in an hour.

“Unless you want to come pick up the girls with me,” he adds tentatively.

“I’d love that,” you hear yourself answering too loudly. “It’s on my way if I am to get some take away for lunch at Polly’s anyway. Then, we can all choose what we want to eat.”

Hunter flashes you an earnest smile, heart beating loud. This is all he ever wanted. A simple domestic life.

“Just give me time to shower and change,” he says. “I’ll send you a message when I’m ready.”

You nod and before you can stop yourself you add:

“You know, you could leave a change of clothes here, and I can make room in the refresher for…”

Your voice trails off, heat coming up your face. You can’t read the look on Hunter’s.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I don’t mean to push you.”

He reaches you to put his hands on each of your arms. He’s awfully aware the two of you are walking on a tightrope, careful not to tip over.

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes too high.”

“I know,” you mutter.

He hesitates for a split second and pulls you into a hug. You sigh and lean against him.

“I like having you here,” you say.

“I like being here.”

In your head, he lifts your chin and gives you a passionate kiss. Your loins tingle.

“But I can’t give you everything you want,” he says, breaking the charm.

You bite your lips, squeeze yourself tighter on his chest until it feels like his heart is beating in yours. The tingle comes back. A reminder of what he’s asking you to let go. But then you never had trouble taking care of yourself. You’d be doing him no harm entertaining your fantasies by yourself while he’s out getting a shower. Everything else has been so good so far, it’s not a hard price to pay.

You take a step back, find his eyes and utter:

“I still want to give it a try.”

The smile that stretches his lips is shy at first, but it grows wider as his eyes get shinier. He takes your wrist up and bends over to kiss the back of your hand. His voice shivers when he says, “Thank you.”

 You pull him into another hug, short but tight, then usher him outside. Hunter stays on your porch a little longer, staring in the far, still smiling. Content. Maybe you two can make it work after all…Then he remembers he needs to snatch Omega before Tech or Phee get the chance to enroll her in their treasure hunt and he sprints home.

I hope you enjoyed it !

If you feel like it, let me know what you think about it.

[lazywerebat]

dwayne who would give his old shirts && hoodies to his trans boyfriend, later seeing one of his old fav hoodies is mentioned boyfriends dysphoria hoodie && new fav hoodie to wear almost every day.

dwayne would literally feel his undead heart melt && fall more in love with his beloved boyfriend <3:

[pennedmusings]

Thumb Fight

Summary: You are in a bar waiting for Sirius and the boys to show up, but the chaos and the hubbub of the setting make it difficult for you to have a good time. Thankfully, Sirius shows up just in time.

Note: fluff, comfort, Muggle!AU, Sirius and the reader are friends but with mutual pining! because I'm a slut for that. Gender-neutral reader. Neurodivergent reader. Not very well edited

Relationship: Sirius Black x Reader (mutual pining)

Warnings: Sensory overstimulation, sensory icks, crying, self-depreciation, reader is not very fond of themselves, mentions of drinking! reader almost has a panic attack (?)

Word count: approx 2K words

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated, comments even more so!

************************************************************************

The music was so loud you could barely hear your own thoughts.

It had been a pleasant hum before, a singer crooning softly from a corner, stuff that you could handle, stuff that you enjoyed actually. But as the night went on, the crowd got progressively drunker, and their tastes got progressively rambunctious. Right now, the speakers boomed with the heavy bass of some pop song. The crowd that had clamoured to put on “real” music instead of the Chris Isaak that you were so at ease with, now no longer cared for the song and wanted to focus on their chatter. People yelled at decibels far beyond the human capacity just to say hello to someone.

It was a Saturday night so the bar was packed to the brim, and you could feel several arms brushing past yours. You escaped the corner you had thought to seclude yourself in when a couple came in with each other’s tongues down their throats. You walked over to the bar and laid your hands flat against the marble when your skin came in contact with something wet. It was probably just condensed water from a cold drink, your brain tried to reason, but your instinct was to recoil in disgust and immediately wipe your hands off the cold, wet, annoying sensation on your hand.

It was a nightmare for you.

You flinched every time you so much as heard another glass hit the bar.

The glasses clinked.

The crowd roared.

Somebody said “hello” a little too loudly.

The bass pumped.

The door squeaks.

The bar top is wet.

Someone’s arm is brushing yours.

Too much, too much, too much, too much, too much, too much, too-

“Hey, hey, hey, puppy, what’s wrong?” warm hands lift your chin up and you almost flinch before realising who it is. Your eyes meet the concerned grey of Sirius’s. and as his eyes widen you realise how bad you must look in the moment. Surely, Sirius pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and starts dabbing around your eyes.

Oh, you didn’t know you’d started crying.

His thumbs smooth out the furrows of your eyebrows as he moves closer to you, as if he’s trying to shield you from the rest of the bar.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks softly, and you nod.

In no time he’s wading through the crowd, trying to create an opening for you to follow him out with. He holds your hands in his throughout the whole deal. Finally when you are both outside, the crisp, chilly autumn air hits you and you sit on the pavement in grateful silence. You don’t need to speak and Sirius doesn’t demand an answer as well.  

You lose track of time as you rub your hands over your body. Crack your joints, gnaw on your lip, braid a portion of your hair, and tap your feet to a rhythm stuck in your head. After a minute, or maybe 10, or  maybe 20, when you’re humming the same part of a Mitski song over and over again,  Sirius speaks up.

“You feeling better now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” the relief is evident in his voice, “ I got really worried seeing you like that.” He admits.

An apology comes out of you instinctively.

Sirius scoffs and settles down beside you, “it’s not your fault lovely.” He offers you his hand and you take him up. He quickly moulds your hands into a position for a thumb-fight and you are grateful for the distraction. Because he is sitting next to you and you can smell his cologne, and you can feel the heat emanating from his body; you might go into a different kind of panic attack if you focus on just him for longer. 

“It kind of is though,” you soldier on with your self-criticism. “If I wasn’t so fucked in the head, you wouldn’t have to leave everything and sit with me outside a bar.”

The thumb fight has reached a strategic impasse, both of you hold your thumbs poised, ready to attack, but none making the first move.

“For the record, I didn’t leave anything.”

You look up to his eyes for the first time since coming outside the bar. But perhaps for the first time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact. You try to hold his gaze but he is adamant to not let you.

“What do you mean? I know for a fact that James and Remus are in there waiting for you to join them.” you point out. The boys were supposed to get to the bar together, being the roommates that they are. They had offered to pick you up from your apartment so that all of you could be there together but you knew they’d have to take a detour to accommodate that. Besides, your shift ended earlier today so you figured that going to the bar was less depressing than sitting by yourself at home waiting for someone to pick you up. Maybe you should have taken Remus up on his offer after all.

“They’re twats who have separation anxiety.” He deadpans but both of you know he’s only teasing. He’d take a bullet for them through his heart.  

His face looks peculiar, unfamiliar in this setting because you’ve never seen him like this- all shy and red in the cheeks, avoiding eye contact, for once you’re the pursuer.

“Twats they may be, they’re still your friends. You should go inside with them. I’m much better here, you don’t need to stay.” You brush your thumb against his in challenge.

“Oh but I do,” the response is prompt, “need to be here to look after you. All alone, looking so pretty in the night, someone might steal you away. And where will be after that?” his thumb bashes yours away.

“You’ll all be much better off.” You huff.

He tsks very loudly and soon your thumb is pressed underneath his. You try to wriggle it free but he is a rugby player and his strength is not to be messed with. “ Quit it.” He warns.

There’s a pregnant pause. You’ve had this conversation before. Maybe not with the others, but definitely more times with Sirius than you could count. None of you say anything. You have long given up on trying to retrieve the thumb that’s stored underneath his firm grip.

“It’s rotten work.” You finally huff out.

He sighs, “Not to me. Not if its you.”

The stupid bastard knows Euripides. Great.

Anger and self-loathing forgotten you now try to get to the bottom of this enigma. “Pray tell, how did you know what to say?”

“I’m a man of culture-!” you smack him upside down. “OW!” he rubs the back of his head tenderly.

“You binge-watched all of Dance Moms in a week.”

“It’s a cultural revolution.” 

“You have the attention span of a very small baby without any object permanence, you did not go through all of Euripides.” You say decidedly.

“Okay, I did not. You just mentioned it one day and said that you liked it a lot. So I thought of reading it but I couldn’t get past the first page.” Here you crack a smile, “ so then I just went on the internet to find something popular from the book and this was the first thing that showed up. Of course, knowing you, I could bet that you would quote this at some point or the other at me, and I wanted to be prepared.”

The chilly London air feels so much hotter than before. Even though its late at night, you think you can see the sun trying to shine its way out from the darkness. Sirius Orion Black will kill you one day. You think he’s trying to kill you right now. With his stupid shy smile, his stupid grey eyes looking at the pavement like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, the stupid blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Oh so when I asked you to take the chicken out of the freezer that one day, it was too much work for you, but Y/N just mentions a book and you’re off cramming its Wikipedia page? Some roommate you are Pads!”

Both of you whip your head around at the sudden intrusion. James leans against the door with his arms crossed over his chest in a display of anger that you know is all fake. Remus is standing next to him with his hands in his pocket and a small smile on his face. They look like they’ve been here for a while now and the realisation makes you want to disintegrate into the asphalt.

Intrusion into your quiet time with Sirius it may be, but you are in a way grateful for it; the conversation was going into realms you aren’t prepared at all to face. You look towards Sirius and judging by his face, he’s relieved too.

“What are you lot doing outside?” Sirius demands nonetheless (your thumb is still firmly wrapped under his), “aren’t you supposed to be getting piss drunk today?”

“We were supposed to get piss drunk together” James explains with all the patience of a tired rugby player who’s been working without break for the whole day, “We ordered shots and everything but we couldn’t find you or Y/N, so we came outside looking for you.”

You feel heat rising to your cheeks. Oh, so your breakdowns were that predictable. Being perceived is a mortifying ordeal.

However when you look to James and Remus there is nothing but kindness, understanding, and concern in their eyes. That lessens some of the awkwardness.

(Sirius’s hand has now enveloped yours, and that’s doing wonders for the anxiety too)

“Anyway,” Remus begins with a long drawl in that usual ‘Let’s-get-to-the-point-shall-we’ way of his, “are we heading back inside? No offense darling Y/N but its fucking freezing out here.”

Despite his words, you know there isn’t any malice to his position. It’s his way of asking if you’re okay in front of everyone; if you’re okay to face the inside.  

Though the question is meant for you, you look to Sirius for some sort of inclination. You get nothing but a soft smile. You know what it means. You just have to say the word and they would camp outside and start a party by the pavement.

It’s overwhelming and heartwarming at the same time to think about how deep their friendship goes. To abandon everything simply because one person isn’t comfortable with it. You are beyond lucky to have this in your life. But however tempting the idea of leaving all this to go sleep in your bed might seem on other nights, tonight you find yourself looking forward to getting piss drunk with this group of men who crashed into your life like a storm.

Your hand is now being properly caressed and massaged by Sirius’s and you feel all the stress slipping away. The prospect of the daunting inside seems less and less like a bad idea knowing that you have him by your side. You need only make the smallest protest and he’ll escort you out immediately. No matter the amount of wet table tops, or too-loud people, you know that with him around none of your senses would have enough sense to make you feel anxious.

So you nod.

James lets out a whoop and Remus chuckles at his antics. Sirius- well, Sirius is smiling at you again before he’s hauling himself up to his feet. He takes a second to adjust before he’s pulling you up as well (by the hand he had never let go of).

The gates to the bar are swung open by one of the boys, and the inside is as you expected it to be: loud, with people clambering all over the place. But you don’t notice that not when Sirius pulls your thumb into another fight and the rest of the world blurs away.

[ts4ritsa]

Could I please get headcannons of Amethyst and Pearl with an S/O who has pretty bad sensory issues? Especially related to sound and textures.

Like, "I can hear the lights and if I touch the wrong fabric I will be Upset" kind of bad, if that's alright.

✧ amethyst and pearl headcanons :

with a s/o who has bad sensory issues (gn reader)

- Amethyst is incredibly understanding of your sensory issues, and always makes sure to ask before doing anything that might trigger them

- She loves finding ways to help you cope with your sensitivities, whether that means finding a quieter spot to hang out in or bringing you a soft blanket to wrap yourself in

- Amethyst is also very patient when it comes to helping you navigate sensory overload. She knows that sometimes you just need to take a break and recharge, and she's always happy to give you space or quiet time when you need it

- When it comes to textures, Amethyst is definitely a pro at finding soft, cozy fabrics that won't cause you any distress. She's always on the lookout for new blankets, pillows, or clothes that you might like

- She also understands the importance of routine and predictability for people with sensory issues — so she's always happy to accommodate your needs and make sure that you feel comfortable and safe

- Pearl is incredibly aware of your sensory issues, and always makes sure to check in with you before doing anything that might cause you distress

- She's very good at noticing when you're starting to feel overwhelmed, and she's always ready to step in and help you manage your emotions

- Pearl is also a great listener, and she's always happy to hear about your experiences and help you find ways to cope with your sensitivities

- When it comes to textures, Pearl is pretty picky about the fabrics she wears and surrounds herself with, so she understands just how important it is to find things that feel good to you — she's always happy to share her tips and tricks for finding soft, comforting fabrics

- Pearl is also very organized and structured, which could be helpful for people whose sensory issues thrive on routine and predictability; she’s always happy to help you create a schedule or routine that works for you if you would like one

[jazzy-man13]

Ratchet x GN reader

Reader has sensory issues and can't sleep, so the reader goes to Ratchet instead.

It was 1 in the morning and you couldn't seem to get any rest. You were uncomfortably warm, your hair kept disgustingly touching your face, and the sheets were just... wrong. Too many feelings and too many things touching you all at once. It was too much.

You threw the sheets off of you angrily and sat up. You wanted to scream- but somehow you managed to refrain. Sighing, you got out of bed and headed towards Ratchet's room.

As you entered, Ratchet took notice of you and looked up from whatever he had been working on. "(y/n)? It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He asked. "I tried," you snapped. You hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but it was difficult when frustration, discomfort, and exhaustion took over.

Immediately, Ratchet understood what was wrong. You often came to him when you were overwhelmed, and this time was no different. Setting down his tools, he made his way over to you. "The usual?" Ratchet asked.

You nodded. Ratchet reached his servo down to you, and you hopped on. He set you down on his desk and gently started combing your hair, wetting it with cool water and slicking it back to keep it out of your face.

Once he was done, you climbed back onto his servo. His metal was smooth and cool to the touch, the feeling of it being almost therapeutic. Your exhaustion finally caught up to you as you yawned and laid down in Ratchet's palm.

Ratchet sighed, looking down at you. "Well," he muttered to himself, "I guess a break wouldn't hurt." Dimming the room's lights, he sat down. With you safe in his servo, he leaned back comfortably in his chair and fell into recharge.

(Wrote this at 4-5 am bc I can't sleep due to sensory issues- please excuse any mistakes lol I'm not gonna check this before I post it)

[disenchantingwrites]

James Potter dating Reader w/ Sensory Issues hcs:

James Potter x Neurodivergent GN!Reader

A/N: James Potter is my comfort Marauder, and I’m having a bit of an issue settling into my new place, so I’m using my current Marauders hyperfixation to cope.

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

James was always aware of the fact people had different withstanding of different textures. Like, he didn't mind the feeling of a microfibre cloth, but Remus hated them.

When he started hanging around you, he didn't really notice until the first few dates.

It was small things that he brushed off, like how you recoiled when your hand brushed against the arm guard of his Quidditch uniform, or when you scrunched up your face at a stray mushroom that had managed to invade your meal.

Over time, James noticed that it was a lot more than just not liking how things felt.

It was one time, and he still feels guilty when he remembers, but he and the marauders had let off fireworks as part of a rather elaborate prank.

The lights and loud sounds had been too much for you, and you fled, trying not to shut down or have a meltdown.

He immediately noticed and rushed after you, only to find you in a corridor sitting against a wall with your eyes screwed shut and your hands basically pressing your ears back into your skull.

He tried asking if you were okay, but you could only shake your head, having already gone non-verbal. So he sat there with you, keeping a few centimetres between you in case you didn't want him to touch you.

Then you seemed to calm down in his eyes as you scooted closer, closing the gap, just leaning your weight on him.

"Was it the fireworks?" A pause, and then you nodded. "Sorry."

The next day you decided to explain to James how you had a lot of issues when it came to sensory input, sounds, lights, touch, smell, taste, all of it.

You then notice how he changes things that he does so that you're more comfortable. His arm guards? always always put away. The sweater that you hate touching? He never wears it around you (it wasn't all that nice anyways).

Even things in everyday life he makes adjustments to because he doesn't want you to feel overwhelmed.

No more mushrooms. No more sticky spots at the table because he makes sure they're covered if he can't move.

And if there ever is a time when you're overwhelmed, he takes you away and sets you up with any item he knows you're comfortable with during your overload episodes.

"James..." "Yes?" "This is great and all, but... can you come here?" "For a hug?" "Yeah."

James is always there to hug you. He's like a big bear.

The only issue is that he's slightly reluctant to let you go once he has you. But if you're really struggling, he's off, and he's away.

All in all, James is learning constantly how to improve and how he can help you whenever you need him, so he does make mistakes, but it's okay. you truly couldn't ask for anyone better than him.

[thefrogdalorian]

So I was really proud of my autistic flop of a self this weekend for successfully completing my first long distance drive AND surviving being in the biggest crowd of my entire life. Both things were very daunting but I managed to overcome them!

But monkey's paw and all that.... I think Covid is back for Round 3 :(

I feel absolutely horrendous. Sore throat, teeth-chattering chills, head fuller than Pedro Pascal's filming schedule.

Really wish I had a caring sweetie in beskar to bring me some soup and cuddle me warm rn😭

I HATE being sick (doesn't everyone) and my head is pounding too much to really look at a screen for too long, but if anyone has any Din x reader sick!fic recommendations I would love some comfort right now!

I'll hopefully feel better over the weekend but I hate feeling this awful so much :(

[heartbreak-sandwich]

💌Red Letters to Nowhere💌

A/N: Chapter 2 is FINALLY here! Thank you for being so patient with me. I've been having a hard time writing the longer winded chapters lately. In Chapter 2, your first day at your new school wasn't as bad as you thought it would be -- that is, until the day ends, and Billy is less than thrilled with your choice of new friends (angst incoming - no other content warnings for this one).

Read on Ao3 ❤️‍🔥 Chapter One 📖 Master List 🌈

💌CHAPTER TWO: Certain Type of People💌

You spit your toothpaste into the sink, rinsing the last of it down the drain, and jumped with a gasp when you straightened back up to see Billy standing behind you in the mirror. He chuckled and patted you lightly on the back before greeting you with sleep still lingering in his voice.

“Morning, new kid.” He smiled as he opened the mirror cabinet and grabbed his own toothbrush, slathering it with a thick line of toothpaste before getting to work, brushing back and forth vigorously, still smirking around his mouthful.

“Morning,” you mumbled, putting your toothbrush back in its spot in the cabinet and closing it, realizing Billy’s sharp, blue eyes still connected with yours in the mirror. “What?” you asked, your cheeks tinting pink at the heat of his stare. Billy just shrugged, still keeping his eye contact until he pushed past you to spit his toothpaste into the sink. You rolled your eyes and left the bathroom, trudging to Max’s room to make sure she was ready to leave for school.

Max was slinging her backpack over her shoulder, her skateboard resting under her opposite arm, and she looked up as you entered her room. You could tell she was nervous even though you were sure she would never admit it out loud.

“You ready?” She gave you a quick nod, and you turned back the way you came, making your way into the kitchen with Max on your heels. You grabbed the three pieces of toast you had prepared before you finished getting ready and handed one to Max who quickly crunched a bite out of it. You both traveled to the living room where your backpack was waiting.

Billy appeared just a moment later in his denim jacket with a cigarette ready between his lips, keys jingling in his hand. You handed him one of the pieces of toast, and he looked at you like you were insane.

“What’s this?” he asked around his cigarette, glaring down at the offering.

“Breakfast,” you answered, crunching a bite out of your own toast. He finally accepted the toast from your outstretched hand, squinting with suspicion at the kind gesture.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled before striding past you and Max to open the front door. He didn’t wait for either of you as he approached his Camaro, quickly sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine with a loud roar. “You guys coming or what? We’re going to be late!” Billy was already impatient. That didn’t take long.

You and Max exchanged a puzzled look before you both exited the home, closing the door behind you, and got into Billy’s car. The ride to school was silent with the exception of crunching toast until Billy grumbled.

“God damn, I can hear everybody chewing in this fucking car,” he hissed before pushing a cassette tape into the player and turning the volume up to an earsplitting level, Judas Priest’s You Got Another Thing Coming rattling the speakers as his led foot kicked in, and he sped down the road toward town.

When you reached the Hawkins High parking lot, the three of you got out of the car, and Billy didn’t look back at you or Max as he slammed his door, flicking his cigarette onto the asphalt and strutting toward the front of the building. The ogling eyes of each girl he walked past were so painfully obvious, it almost made you sick to your stomach. The worst part was the arrogance that oozed out of him with every swaggering step he took and every high five and clap on the back he received from the boys that approached him. He loved this.

“Ugh,” Max scoffed.

“Yep,” you said dryly, knowing she had just come to the same conclusion you did. The two of you exchanged a look before meandering toward the front of the building, Max hopping on her skateboard and veering off to the right to find the Hawkins Middle entrance.

After a visit to the office where Janice, the school secretary with way-too-long purple nails, presented you with your class schedule and a scrap of paper with your locker number and combination on it, you managed to find its location without having to ask anyone - thank God. You were busy fighting with your combination lock when you felt someone run into you from the back.

You stumbled forward, dropping the stack of papers Janice had given you as they flowed all over the floor. You immediately felt embarrassment wash over you as you squatted down to collect them, trying to put them back in order, and you noticed a pair of Nike sneakers and bent denim clad knees in front of you. A boy in a green sweater with tall chestnut hair was helping to gather your papers.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized, handing you the remainder of your paperwork. “Tommy doesn’t know when to use his inside manners.” He looked at you with friendly, hazel eyes and a warm, crooked smile. You both stood up at the same time.

“Don’t worry about it,” you finally said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush growing on your cheeks. “And thanks.” He nodded, his smile unwavering.

“Anytime.” He held out his hand. “Steve Harrington. You’re new here, right?” You took his hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Yeah, I am. I’m Y/N.” Steve nodded again and looked like he was about to say something more before a boy with short brown hair and freckles appeared at his side and punched him in the shoulder.

“Don’t be rude, Harrington. Are you going to introduce us to your new friend?” Tommy nodded in your direction as a shorter girl with long brown hair and a pink sweater slid out from behind him as he draped his arm over her shoulders. She blew a bubble and popped her gum as she eyed you up and down, waiting for Steve to oblige Tommy’s request.

“Y/N, this is Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins,” Steve said through a sigh as he gestured to each of them respectively. Before Tommy and Carol could join the conversation, the morning bell rang, and the sea of students started to part in different directions.

“I’ve got to get going,” you told them with a soft wave. “It was nice to meet you guys.”

“See you around!” Steve called after you as you beelined for your first class at the end of the hall. You sucked in a deep breath before entering the classroom, praying the teacher wouldn’t make you stand at the head of the class and introduce yourself.

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

By the time lunch rolled around, you were exhausted. You made your way back to your locker to exchange your textbooks for your copy of The Outsiders. You were ready for a break, so you decided to explore outside beyond the football field to find a place to read. On your way outside, you passed by Billy who was standing in a circle of people wearing expensive shoes and letterman’s jackets, all talking loudly about someone named Tina who was hosting a party that Friday. You met his eyes, but only briefly because he quickly looked away to refocus his attention on the conversation in his circle, obviously not wanting to be bothered. Go figure.

Beyond the football field, you found the edge of a seemingly thick forest. Breaking through the line of trees, you walked for a few minutes until you noticed a picnic table in a small clearing. It was a neat little spot, and you wondered what it was doing all the way out here. You didn’t see anyone else around, so you set your backpack down on the table and took a seat at one of the mossy benches, opening your paperback and immediately losing yourself in its pages.

After a few moments, the rustling of leaves startled you. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound to meet the gaze of a pair of friendly, deep brown doe eyes nestled beneath a mess of long, dark, curly hair.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, holding up a hand. “Are you…here to buy?” You stared at him, perplexed.

“Buy?” You furrowed your brows and continued to stare.

“Or not,” he deduced with a grin. “People don’t usually come all the way out here unless they’re looking for me.”

“Oh,” you responded flatly. “Sorry. I didn’t realize this was somebody’s spot. I just wanted a quiet place to read.”

“During the lunch hour?” He smirked at you and crossed his arms. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you before.”

“You haven’t. I just moved here.”

“A month into the school year?” He whistled loudly. “Rough.” He took a seat on the bench across from you, clattering a black lunch box onto the table in front of him. “I’m Eddie.” He held out his hand for you to shake, and you obliged.

“I’m Y/N.” He made surprisingly deep eye contact and smiled as he repeated your name.

“Y/N. Charmed.” You blushed slightly and hoped Eddie didn’t notice, but his grin made it obvious that he did.

You surveyed the patches and pins on his denim vest – Megadeth, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest. His style was different, alternative, and he noticed you eyeing him.

“You like music?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on the table.

“Sure. I can tell you do, too,” you answered with a cheeky smile.

“Is it that obvious?” He scoffed and looked down at his hands for a moment. “Do you smoke?”

“I never really liked the smell of cigarettes.” You scrunched up your nose at the thought, and Eddie cleared his throat with a chuckle.

“Uh, not that kind of smoke.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he waited for you to answer.

“I don’t get it.” Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Grass? Weed? Do you smoke weed?” You felt embarrassment rise to your cheeks as you responded.

“Oh, right. I have before, but it’s not a regular thing,” you answered, fidgeting with your book on the table.

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Eddie declared, opening his lunch box and handing you a small baggie with a tiny green nugget inside.

“Oh…thanks, I guess.” You gave him a kind smile as you pocketed your baggie and closed your book.

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie closed up his lunchbox and stood up from his bench. “Tragic news on the horizon.”

“What’s that?” Eddie let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

“It’s about time to get back to class.”

“Oh, right A travesty.” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and continued to make small talk with Eddie as you both marched your way back to the school, parting ways when you emerged into the foyer.

What you hadn’t noticed was a pair of blue eyes burning into you from across the parking lot as they watched you walk into the building with Eddie Munson by your side and a smile on your face.

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The rest of the day went relatively smooth, but you were glad to be heading home after so much excitement. Returning to your locker a final time, you collected your study necessities for the night.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greeted as you slammed your locker closed.

“Oh, hi,” you answered. Eddie’s smile widened when you returned his greeting. “I just wanted to ask you –”

“Y/N!” Billy’s voice boomed in the hallway over every other sound, causing passersby to stare in your direction.

“Billy.” Your voice was small. Why was he yelling at you?

“Time to go,” he said flatly, staring daggers into Eddie whose face fell into a frown.

“Sure,” you answered. “Just one second. Eddie wanted to ask me –”

“I’m not your fuckin’ chauffeur. I don’t wait. Let’s go. Now,” Billy demanded, his voice getting louder by the second, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“It’s okay. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Eddie conceded with a tight lipped smile and a half wave as he hurried in the opposite direction of where Billy stood. You scoffed and glared at Billy before pushing past him and stomping out to the parking lot.

Max was already waiting beside the blue Camaro when you arrived with Billy sauntering behind you with his usual swagger, taking a moment to wave at some girls who were giggling and whispering as they crossed his path. You rolled your eyes and opened the passenger door for Max to get into the back seat before seating yourself and slamming the door closed.

Billy’s mood was icy, and you could practically feel the eggshells under your feet as soon as he sat down.

“Don’t slam my door,” he said flatly, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Don’t be a dick to me in front of my friends,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson is not your friend.”

“Right. Because you get to decide who my friends are.” You glared out your window, wishing you could be anywhere else when –

“Hey!” Billy grabbed your wrist hard enough to get your attention and held it up as he spoke through gritted teeth, his menacing eyes searing into yours. “There are a certain type of people in this world you stay away from.” Billy’s grip on you tightened, and your eyes brimmed with tears. “And that guy, Y/N,” he seethed, squeezing harder. “That guy is one of them.”

Billy shoved your wrist back into you, and you turned your body to look out your window again. You could see Max’s worried expression in the side view mirror as a tear escaped and ran down your cheek. What the fuck was his problem?

The rest of the drive home was silent, and Billy didn’t utter another word or even look in your direction again until dinner time.

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You were setting the table when he entered the dining room and took his usual seat.

“Smells great, Susan,” he gushed with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Thank you, Billy,” your mom replied, pressing a hand to her heart. “It’ll be ready in just one second.” She hadn’t stopped talking about how impressed she was with Billy’s manners since she met him. You rolled your eyes at his display. What a kiss ass. You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your task and sat down across the table from him, but you avoided making eye contact.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Billy fidgeted with his knife, tapping and scraping it on his plate before sighing dramatically, tipping his chair backward onto two legs. You finally looked at him, and he was still staring directly at you.

“Did you want something?” You weren’t amused by his method of garnering your attention, and you were even less thrilled with the way he had spoken to you earlier. Billy leaned forward in his chair and rested his hands on the table, speaking in a hushed voice.

“I wanted to say sorry. For earlier.” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise at his apology.

“Okay, I guess. Thanks,” you answered tentatively, your eyes narrowing.

“I just –” he shifted in his seat again and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he chose his words carefully. “I have a reputation to uphold, you know? The pressure is indescribable, but it has its perks. If people see you hanging around with The Freak and they know you’re my –” he stopped as if saying the word “sister” might induce vomiting. “If they know that you live here, and we’re…associated, then I start to take the flack. Do you get what I’m saying?” You nodded slowly and scoffed, looking down at your empty plate.

“I understand what you’re saying, but I think it’s stupid,” you retorted. Billy’s expression didn’t change.

“It might be stupid, but it’s better to be on top than to be one of them,” he said dryly, leaning back in his seat again, looking at you through hooded eyes.

“To each his own.” Billy nodded at your response when your mom piped up from the kitchen.

“Come and get it!” Both of you rose from your seats and parted ways, Billy going towards the kitchen and you heading to Max’s room to tell her dinner was ready.

You poked your head in through Max’s door and rapped on the doorframe.

“Hey,” you said, stepping over the threshold into her room.

“Hi,” she greeted, looking up at you from her bed. You could instantly tell she had something on her mind.

“Dinner’s ready. You okay?” She nodded and looked away from you for a moment before answering fully.

“I just – I didn’t like seeing Billy talk to you like that earlier in the car.” Max locked eyes with you, and you frowned.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. He does.” Max was angry. Injustice never sat well with her, especially when it came to her big sister.

“He did,” you reassured, and her eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yep,” you affirmed, nodding slowly. Max was quiet as she processed the unexpected news, and she finally stood up, setting her comic book down on her pillow.

“Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Neither did I,” you agreed.

*Tag List: @lithium80sblog @justsimonrileythings @b1tchy3lf @jozstankovich @darleenjade @jenna-jd @peachyaliien @dananahenderson @strangerthing933 @yoyokiss97 @californiaboytoybilly - if you want to be added, let me know! 💕

[anxietycomments]

Do you have any fnaf headcanons for Foxy when a kid hides in pirate cove while the band is preforming cuz it's to loud/bright/crowded and their overwhelmed? If not sorry to bother you

HI UM- I’m sorry it’s been a while!! My creativity just decided to come back! I’m very sorry for not answering earlier :/

Onto the headcanons!!

Foxy with an Overwhelmed Kid! (You being the kid)

He’s scared

He obviously doesn’t know what to do at first, and his coding is telling him to usher you out of the cove.

But you hug him and say something like “it’s too bright out there”, and it’s like you activated human emotions in him

He sits down to the best of his ability, asking you if he can hug you

If you say yes, he’ll hug you close and help you calm down, checking with his broken x-ray vision to see if the show’s over or not.

If you say no, he’ll let you sit in a corner with a “blanket” (his hat. it’s very big it’s almost like a blanket. he’s hoping you like the texture), and check with his x-ray or by peeking through the curtains at the state of the show

If you feel like you’re ready to face the crowd, he’ll make sure that’s absolutely true before letting you out. He will not let you out if he thinks you’re not ready.

If you end up staying too long and worrying your parents, he’ll make sure it’s safe and that they’re safe before letting you out.

If your parents are gonna be mean and rude about you disappearing, congrats, Foxy just adopted you. He has no idea how he’s gonna “raise” you, but he’ll try his damn best.

If they’re nice, you get a free coupon to visit Foxy whenever you want, even if he’s broken! You’re the only kid he’ll let inside the cove, unless you say any other kid is your friend, then they can come with!

Is it obvious I love Foxy yet?

[writing-tics]

rules and regulations

(sound scary but they really aren't)

if you want to know who i am and why do i want to do this check this post [link]

ASKS

i will not answer if i feel like your question is rude, or you are fake-claimy.

I will avoid answering asks about Tourettes Syndrome, as i do not have it

as simple as that. I *want* to receive asks and make writing characters who are like me easier for you!

i want to consult on your character ideas/character designs(?)/story arc ideas, etc

i want to talk about my daily life with a mild form of tic disorder

my struggle with accepting them

how i use accommodations (for specific learning disabilities and sensory issues)

how others react

intimate relationships and tics

my opinions on popular shows depicting characters with my disorders

and i am curious to see what people without tics/specific learning disabilities/sensory issues want to know <3 [heart emoji]

2. BETA READING/SENSITIVITY READING

Yes, i will do it for free. Hopefully the exchange will go like this: i receive a free short story with rep of my disorder to read and you will receive free advice on how to make it better.

i will not spell check your work for obvious reasons, but

i WILL tell you whether your character is realistic, and whether you did a good job avoiding overused or harmful tropes, when it comes to tics/dyslexia/dysgraphia (also i can consult on Polish characters lol, it's always fun to read about Polish people, but i will give my answer on @eye-devourer in order to leave this blog more focused).

you can send me an ask with a paragraph of your work you want me to comment on. It will help if you add what things you want me to focus on.

if you want me to read a longer text (up to 3 pages) DM me. I can't promise anything, but i will see what i can do. We'll figure something out.

3. REQUESTS or suggestions

very much welcomed.

I feel more comfortable talking about my experiences, thoughts, and opinions, but if you want me to dig a little into the research/medical side of things i'd be more than happy to provide. Just remember that i am not a specialist myself.

4. SPELLING MISTAKES

i will make them. often.

be kind about it. i use a spellchecker, but sometimes i will misspell a word in such a way that even the spellchecker won't be able to help. I also struggle with homophones (whether/weather; flower/flour).

if you feel the need to notify me do it in notes of the post. Provide the correct spelling, so i can copy paste it in (i often literally will not be able to spot the difference between my spelling and yours, so copy paste is the only reliable option).

english is my second language. just remember that, when reading my posts

[thegodthief]

FWIW Dr. Bronner's ALL-ONE TOOTHPASTE (peppermint) is a no-foam, just enough mint to say there's mint, just enough sweetness to not be bitter, mild texture, easy rinse but effective toothpaste should anyone have sensory concerns and want an alternative.

It gets the job done without being obnoxious about it.

It does NOT have fluoride, so use a fluoride rinse if that's important to you.

But for brushing at work when I'd rather not announce that I'm brushing my teeth, this will do.