#I feel like I'm getting sensory overload just from thinking about it and I can feel myself getting shaky and panicky | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sytoran · 10 months

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𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 | n.romanoff

you visit the strip club downtown with your co-workers to let off some steam, but it seems like you've caught the eye of none other than the 'black widow'.

🖤 pairing: sub!stripper!natasha x fem!cop!reader

🖤 word count: 3145

🖤 note: SMUT (18+), this one been marinating in my drafts like im preserving wine

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You don’t know why you let your co-workers drag you to a strip club on a Friday night, but you’re sure as hell not complaining.

There are plenty of women, everywhere. Women in bikinis, women in stockings, women in thigh garters. You're in wonderland, honestly.

Hey, cops needed to let off some steam too, okay?

The cheers and hoots surround your table as Carol gets a lap dance by a brunette stripper. The blonde woman is blushing – you didn’t know she could do that – but she’s having the time of her life.

As Carol slides a bill between the stripper's tits with no lack of embarrassment, you laugh and get up to go get another drink.

It wasn't an overly rare occasion for you to be letting loose, but it was infrequent enough that your co-workers quite physically hauled you to this adult entertainment facility after a particularly taxing case.

ULTRAVIOLET was the most popular strip club in Queens, New York City. They served both men and women, with sparkling reviews about customer service and atmospheric aesthetics.

Carol, Valkyrie, and Maria would simply not shut up about the 'Black Widow', who was supposedly the sexiest, most stunning stripper any of them had ever laid their eyes on.

"She fuckin' looked at me in the eye," Valkyrie had moaned on a Monday morning, speaking of this stripper they so revered. "I can't look at anyone the same no more."

You were about to make a quick-witted retort about Valkyrie’s dramatization of mere eye contact, but Maria had only nodded solemnly in agreement and you had to admit you didn’t take Maria’s judgment lightly.

Aside from the talk about the Black Widow, you were hit with the novelty of the strip club once you stepped foot within.

As the Commanding Officer of the New York City Police Department, 104th Precinct, the boundless freeness of this place was quite a sight to behold. What with the heavy music, and the beer-tinged scent of the air, and nude women – the sensory overload did wonders to take your mind off work.

"You here alone?"

You spin on the barstool at the sound of a sultry voice. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping to the floor at the sight of a breathtakingly gorgeous woman.

Scantily clad in matching sequined undergarments and fishnet stockings, stands a redheaded woman leaning against the bar counter, looking at you with magnificent green eyes.

"I'm not alone- I mean, not in that way, because I'm just here with friends. Well, co-workers, but they're my friends as well-"

Splendid job, Deputy Inspector Y/N L/N, you say internally. You can look in the eye of murderers and terrorists, but one look at a pretty woman and you're fuckin' gone.

"You're cute," the lady interrupts with a small tilt of her head, saving you from digging your own grave further.

You swallow harshly, feeling her manicured nails trace the curvature of your bicep.

"Just cute?" you ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. Her fingers move down to the collar of your white shirt, fiddling with the fabric. Call it stupidity, but you feel the urge to reciprocate the contact. You move your hands to her hips.

The lady smirks. "Hm, maybe not just cute. But I think you need to show me."

The redhead hasn't broken eye-contact all the while. Your eyes feel like they're burning. You slide your left hand down to the hem of her panties, and tug slightly. When her panties snap against her skin, she jolts with the impact.

You smirk with victory, pulling her in by her waist so your mouth is pressed against her skin. "I'll show you," you murmur, kissing the warm with a fervour you didn't know you possessed.

The woman's breath hitches and she pulls your head closer. You accept the invitation, beginning to leave a hickey on the sensitive spot of her neck.

After a few moments of your concentrated work on her neck, the woman finally lets out a sigh-turned-moan of pleasure, and you nearly pass out from how sexy it is.

She tugs your head away and pulls you in by the collar for a kiss. Your eyelids flutter close.

Your quavering breaths meet in a frantic harmony, and you want to explore her mouth, but she ends it as quickly as it begins.

"What's your name?" the redhead asks, warm breath on your lips. "Y/N," you say hoarsely, trying and failing not to sound like you were left high and dry.

You slide your hands to the bare skin of her torso, silently delighting in the way it raises goosebumps. You need to get more of her, feel more of her. "Do I get to know your name?" you ask.

The lights in the strip club suddenly dim, and the music takes on a far more sensual tone.

The woman slides out of your grasp like sand falling through your fingertips, and you're left with the ghost of her burning embrace. Your question remains unanswered.

"Let's give it up for our next dancer," the bar owner says into his mic, and the noise dramatically fades away. "The Black Widow!"

Blue and violet lights dance in your vision as the woman who had kissed you just moments before, approaches the stage, hips swaying in time to the music.

Your eyes narrow, and you down the bourbon in one shot. You'd need it.

When the beat drops, The Black Widow throws her head back and she begins to move.

God, it's criminally sensual, the way she danced, unlike anything you'd ever seen before. You couldn't put into words the allure she possessed.

The redheaded woman runs a hand over her own skin, dipping into every curve, as the music crescendos, and you know you're not the only patron with their heart thrumming in their chest.

When she begins twirling on the pole, you see men clearing out a month's paycheck for this divine woman, and honestly? You don't blame them.

Money gets flung onto the stage and catcalls get yelled as perhaps the most erotic scene unfolds before your very eyes.

When The Black Widow lifts up a thigh to show off her tight stockings, you're unable to hold back any longer, drawn to the stage like a moth to a flame.

Sitting back down into your original seat, leaving the empty glass of bourbon behind, all else fades away. Your world stumbles on its axis as the woman makes her way over to you, running a hand through her luscious locks of hair.

Your mouth dries up as The Black Widow turns around in front of you and fully bends over, exposing the delicious curve of her ass. You sink back into your seat, bringing two fingers to your lips in silent contemplation. Internally, you're fighting the goddamned World War II with your libido.

She's still swaying in beat to the music, and spins around as the sound of a saxophone starts playing. The last thing you see is a playful wink from the gorgeous woman before an ample asset of tits covers your vision.

Fuck, you're not going to survive.

Your nose quite literally gets buried between her tits as the woman climbs onto you. You would pay to see your co-workers' faces right now. How would you ever face them at work again?

“Get it, Y/N!” you hear Maria call in the distance, and a shrill whistle follows.

You smirk against the pair of tits in your face, inhaling the scent of her perfume, and her sweat, and simlply her. You let the stripper work her magic.

After a few more minutes of your paradise, she pulls away, skin flushed.

You regard her with a darkened gaze, pulling out your wallet. You stuff a bill in the side of her thong, making sure to snap the fabric in the same spot as you had previously.

The woman's face flickers in recognition. She shakes her head, then dips her head down to whisper in your ear.

"11pm. Room 8. Private session. Don't be late."

Like it was planned, the music comes to an end. The redhead doesn't wait for your response before she gets off your lap, raising her arm in acknowledgement of the roaring cheers. Her hips sway as she walks away from you, and you don’t even pretend that your eyes are glued to her curves.

Money gets thrown onto the stage once again, all in hopes of earning a fraction of what you had just experienced.

"Holy shit, Y/N, what was that?" Carol yells at you over the noise, slapping your back. You shrug plainly with a stupid smug smirk as Valkyrie whines in jealousy.

Oh, you were so fucking ready for 11pm.

"A private, fuckin' session for Deputy Inspector Y/N fucking L/N. Who would'a thought," Carol slurs, banging a shot glass onto the round table.

You roll your eyes at Carol's dramatization. It wasn't as if your status as Commanding Officer steered women away from you – in fact, some of them were quite into it.

But for your prevalently horny friends who had women over just about every week, you were considered starved of sweet pussy and were in dire need of quenching that thirst.

So when you broke the news that the most sought-after stripper in the most famous strip club in Queens, had just offered you a private session, lo and behold the chaos that ensued.

"Shit, girl, I would get down on my knees for that lady. You are one lucky bastard," Valkyrie adds in, ruffling your hair as you grumble.

"You'd get down on your knees for any woman, actually," Maria says, the usually composed woman more laid back in the environment of the strip club. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

Valkyrie lets out an aggrieved noise, sitting up to whack Maria's arm, but in her drunken state she misses and slaps Carol's drink out of her hands.

"Oi!" The blonde cries out indignantly, looking at the drink that had splattered onto her clothing.

Carol grabs Maria's martini out of her hands and throws it at Valkyrie in retaliation.

Before you know it, your three idiot friends have gotten temporarily suspended from the strip club for 'causing a ruckus'.

Just like that, and the clock ticks down to eleven o’clock.

It’s 11pm, and you're overly aware of your police badge at your belt and your gun in your holster.

Or at least, you were, until Natasha swung one leg across your lap and sat herself down with an unspoken grace, effectively sitting on your lap. In the privacy of the enclosed room, you unashamedly stare down at her cleavage, eyes several hues darker than they were before.

“See something you like?” Natasha asks breathily, running her hands over her full breasts, pushing them up to elicit a reaction from you.

The moving lights in the dark room cast shadows, and when you back look up with a sinful smirk and half-lidded eyes, Natasha swears she feels herself get wet.

All the air in your lungs dissipates when Natasha begins grinding on your thigh in beat to the music, hips moving skilfully in the sexiest fashion imaginable.

Fuck, this woman was going to be your demise.

Your hands feel like they’re on fire as you watch her put on a show, simply aching to move and touch. Natasha trails her fingertips down your tensed arms, running over the curve of your biceps. She smirks at the goosebumps it raises, her hands dwelling to the edge of your pants.

Your breath catches as her fingers find the outline of your police badge tucked underneath your shirt. The Black Widow looks up at you, expression a no-tell. “You on duty?”

“Nope.”

“Is that why you’ve got a gun in your belt?”

“Nah, that one’s just for pretty girls like you,” you respond slowly, hands tentatively going to rest on her thighs. When the smirk reappears on the stripper's face, you relax and let your shoulders untense.

“If you say so, officer,” she comments huskily, leaning forward to nip at your earlobe. The shiver runs through your bones.

You’re about to counter with a quick retort of your own before Natasha begins grinding on that bulge in your pants, treating your gun like it was a strap.

“Shit,” you say breathlessly, hands burning at being unable to touch. Behind your back, your nails were digging into your palms so hard you swore you had already drawn blood.

Fuck, it was torture.

Her pretty moans and breathy whines ring in your ears as she moves her hips roughly, a torment to your demise.

After a while, you come to the realisation that you can feel how wet Natasha is through her undergarments, soaked from having just dry-humped your thigh.

“Fuck me,” she says, and your throat dries up. “What?” you ask, dazedly, still staring at her bouncing tits in front of your face.

“I said, fuck me,” Natasha repeats, head tilting to the side, halting all her movements so you would look at her.

You splutter. “But the sign said–”

“What can I say, officer, you wanna make me break the rules.”

That’s all the confirmation you need before your hands can finally touch her, finally, meeting and warm skin and sweat droplets and everything you’d ever wanted.

You let out a huff of amusement as Natasha wraps her pretty lips around your fingers and sucks, making lewd noises with her tongue. Your ears burn, now, having been tainted with the beautiful symphony of this woman’s pleasure.

“You’re very naughty,” you comment, your other hand slipping under her top to reach her full breasts. Palming at the mounds in your hand, you face moves to the bare skin of her collarbone and begin kissing it.

“Don’t make marks,” Natasha says breathlessly, when you let your teeth nick the soft skin there, and there’s a pit of desire in your stomach that growls in frustration, but you know you have to respect her wishes and instead move your mouth down to her chest.

Natasha doesn’t remember when you slipped off her bra, but she isn’t complaining about your haste and instead throws her head back when your mouth latches onto her breasts.

“Mhm, that feels good,” she moans, weaving her fingers through your hair and scratching at your scalp. You hum in acknowledgement against her flushed skin, your tongue paying special attention to her hardened buds.

When both your hands move to the underside of her thighs and lift her up, Natasha lets out an embarrassing squeak at the sudden change of position. But as you lay her down on the sofa with your body weight pressing into hers, those whimpers turn into filthy moans.

You stall for a moment, hovering above her with your silver necklace dangling right above her face. She looks so pretty like this, her hair all splayed out, the sheen of sweat on her skin making her look tantalizing.

Natasha catches your swinging necklace between her teeth, winking seductively at you, and you’re snapped out of your moment, a laugh taking over.

“Have I told you that you’re incredibly bad?” you say, in between kisses scattered between her breasts, down her sternum and to her stomach.

“You- you have,” Natasha replies with some difficulty, as your kisses get lower and lower. “Maybe you should punish me for it, officer;”

She shuts up when you slowly spread open her thighs, revealing the dripping heat that is Natasha’s cunt. You maintain eye contact with her as you lower your mouth to her pussy, her lust-filled stare making your head spin.

When your tongue meets her cunt, it was game over.

“Fuck,” Natasha moans, already unable to continue looking at you in the eye, hands moving to grip the cushion of the sofa. Her thighs clamp around your head, and you’re suffocating, but in a way that feels so good you could die in bliss.

You lap at her dripping cunt like you were starving, like you would die without it. Natasha’s moans get louder. You move your mouth in rocking motions, pushing your tongue further in with each thrust.

“More,” she gasps out, and you quicken your pace, fingertips digging bruises into her plush thighs. In retrospect, you don’t remember how long you stay there, ravenously eating her out like your life depended on it.

When you feel her breathing get faster and more shallow, breathy little whines that get louder and louder, and you know she’s about to cum.

Instead of gently bringing her to a high, you internally say fuck it and decide that if this was the one chance you had, with the most sought-after stripper in Queens, you were going to make it an unforgettable one.

You move your mouth up to wrap your lips around her swollen, throbbing clit, and you suck on it, hard. In tandem with that, you easily slide two fingers in, curling them inside her to hit that sweet spot. Natasha positively screams, and you swear it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Her orgasm floods the lower half of your face and your fingers, and the little mewls of your name Natasha lets out as she comes down from her high is one you’d always remember.

Finally, you emerge from between Natasha’s thighs. Slowly, you kiss up her stomach and her breasts, up the way you came down from, and you meet Natasha’s blissed out face.

You take a moment to take in her tousled hair, her swollen kissable-pink lips, her smudged makeup, her shallow gasps for air, and the pure lust in her eyes.

Just like that, and another jolt of arousal hits you. Before you can act on it, Natasha pulls you into a messy kiss, hot and sweaty.

“You look so fucking good-” Natasha says in between the frantic meeting of your mouths. “With my cum all over your jaw.”

You bite back a growl at her words, wanting to let her know just how exactly good you can make her cum. Natasha catches your hand that slides down to her wet cunt, before bringing it up and placing a kiss on your fingertips. “Our time is up,” she whispers, nodding to the clock behind you that now reads 11.31pm. “One private session lasts 30 minutes.”

This woman was going to be the death of you.

You turn back to The Black Widow with dilated pupils, slowly reaching into your pocket for that leather Saint Laurent wallet, and the ghost of a smirk on your lips.

In the wee hours of twilight the next day, you leave the strip club with your wallet emptied, a searing cramp in your hand, and the memory of an unforgettable woman whose real name you hadn’t even known.

Boy, you had one hell of a story to tell your friends.

i think i'm not gonna taglists anymore, sorry yall. there's just so many usernames and i have to constantly update it :(

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#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha x reader #wlw smut #gxg smut #marvel #marvel women #x reader

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fcthots · 8 months

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Okay but I like to think that Jason's helmet has like noise and brightness controls so he can focus when things get bad.

If you ever have a sensory overload day when he's near, and everything is just too bright, too loud, too much, he'll gently plunk his helmet on your head, turned down to block out almost everything but still leave you aware enough of your surroundings to know he's there.

The quiet helps, your eyes don't hurt as much. And you feel safe knowing he's protecting you.

❄️

ANON THIS IS FUCKING EVERYTHING

this may be a little too self-indulgent but, fuck it, I needed this

It started when you fell asleep last night, not meaning to, so you had to take a shower in the morning. Then you had to wear the pair of stiff jeans because you had fallen asleep before you washed clothes. Then the seams of your shirt became incredibly bothersome and ever-present. All of this is to say: you were destined for failure today.

The Wayne family had agreed on a public outing to go eat and keep up appearances. Afterwards, everyone would head back to the manor to either get ready for patrol or just hang out. The entire family was invited and so were the significant others, hence you. It's not something you could cancel and Jason was so happy to ask you to go. You were determined to tough it out. For him.

You sat down at the table and your chair was uneven and wobbly. Ok. Ignore it. Move on. The lights were almost painfully bright. You tried not to think about it. The music was on loop but there was a small static gap when it looped and the song itself wasn't long, so the static was every minute. Ignore it. You were seated with your back to the door so you couldn't see when or where noises were coming from. Ignore it. There was a baby crying somewhere around the back of the restaurant. Ignor-

Someone taps you and your shoulders raise. Jason retreats his hand back immediately.

"Are you ok?" You can see the worry and calculation in his eyes.

"I'm okay." Your words sound grating to your own ears.

He doesn’t look like he buys it. "Do you want me to order for you?"

You nod your head and he has you point to what you want on the menu.

You hold polite small talk with the entire family and try to avoid touching the napkin that's texture felt like sandpaper. You can do this.

You ignore the shuttering of paparazzi photos from the window and the constant buzz of screaming from outside.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You can do this.

The waiter comes back and hands out the food. Yours is very clearly burnt.

But Bruce is paying for the food and it would be rude not to eat it, right? Yeah that's something that your mother told you.

You put it in your mouth and do your best not to gag at the texture. Jason narrows his eyes at you. Fuck, he's onto you. You smile and put your all into not gagging until he turns back to look at Dick, who is telling a story.

Nailed it.

Eventually. Finally. You get to leave the restaurant.

But it's already too late for you. You can hear cars wizzing by, horns, tires screeching, engines revving, people yelling, and all other sounds of Gotham traffic. You're thankful Jason drove his car today and not his motorcycle ir you think you would have died. Steph and Duke are engrossed in their own conversation in the backseat after they refused to ride back with Bruce after he disagreed with their opinions in some fight you didn’t get the full picture of. Jason eyes you warily, but doesn’t say a word.

It's barely 5 minutes before you're at the manor. You're sitting on the couch, back straight and legs together. Alfred likes the living room to be bright, so all the lights are on. Great for Alfred. Terrible for you. You swear there must be 50 people in this fucking family because you can hear each and every one of their voices.

The sounds are grating, the lights are too bright, Cass and Tim are tossing their gear at each other over the couch and over you head, the dogs are barking, someone is yelling, Dick squeezes your shoulder as he walks past (with good intentions), you can't fucking think-

Jason's helmet is slipped over your head. He's done it before, just not often, so you forgot it even had the function.

Everything is made dark. The noise, instead of sounding like its coming rom inside your skull, sounds low and distant. Cass catches her last piece of armor from Tim and moves presumably to go down to the cave.

It's like a sensory deprivation tank and you think you might just cry of relief.

You see Jason crouch in front of you. His voice, though quieter than it usually would be, is still clear.

"Better?"

You wordlessly nod your head. In doing so, you notice that everyone else is gone. When did that happen?

"Why didn’t you tell me?" You start getting nervous. You just knew how excited he was and didn’t want to ruin it for him. And you know he still would have wanted you to tell him, but you felt terrible. You anxiously raise your shoulders into a nervous shrug.

He sighs. "I shouldn't have asked. Questions only make it worse, huh?"

You nervously nod your head. He laughs.

"'M sorry, baby."

You shake your head no before he can continue that train of thought.

"You wanna go put on one of my big comfy shirts and we can put you in my bed?"

You nod again. That sounds like fucking heaven.

He holds out his hand and you take it.

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lanawinterscigarettes · 3 months

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Headcanons for Jennifer Check with an autistic S/O?

I love this idea so much- I took inspiration from some of my own experiences so this might not apply to everyone but I certainly did my best! I really hope you like it <3

Jennifer Check with an autistic s/o

Warnings: brief mention of meltdowns/sensory overloads, references to ableism/ignorant people, very brief (somewhat) joking mention of committing murder (it's Jenny, what do you expect), very salty and blunt language that I'm honestly not even sorry for

I honestly think Jennifer would appreciate dating an autistic person, especially if you're the type who's very straight forward or overly blunt about things

She probably thought you were a bit of a bitch at first I'm not gonna lie lol, but she makes that assumption about pretty much everyone when she first meets them

You'd seen each other around school before but your first real conversation was when you were paired up for some sort of science project. She was not looking or feeling like her typical hot and fabulous self, and while you weren't the first to notice you were the only one brave enough to point it out

"Have you been getting enough sleep recently? You have really heavy bags under your eyes"

Jennifer wanted to snap at you at first, thinking you were being sarcastic (because obviously she had bags under her eyes, she didn't need anyone pointing it out) but much to her surprise you didn't look like you were making fun of her. In fact, you seemed a little concerned

"Your hair looks pretty damaged." You continued, oblivious to the look of utter shock on her face that you would actually say something like that out loud. "If using both shampoo and conditioner is too much of a trouble I can recommend some two-in-one products. Or you can always use dry shampoo in between washes"

The woman was too stunned to speak. All she was able to do was mutter an awkward "thank you", something that you simply nodded your head at before turning the conversation back over to the project

She gained a lot of respect for you that day, as you were the only person who wasn't afraid to say what everyone was thinking (though she soon learned this was due to you not knowing what was and wasn't considered 'appropriate' to say)

Out of everyone, you're the one person Jennifer goes to (other than maybe Needy) when she needs an honest opinion on something because you won't lie to spare her feelings or try to flatter her

"Which tank top do you think I should wear to school tomorrow, the pink one or the black one?"

"Well, the pink one makes you look like slut. But the black one makes you look like both a slut and a bitch, too"

"Perfect. Black it is, then"

If you ever accidentally make a situation awkward or uncomfortable by your comments or questions you won't even have to worry about being embarrassed because she'll immediately come out with saying something so bitchy and/or vulgar that whatever you said looks innocent in comparison and is forgotten about right away

She'll get very protective if people try to purposely make you feel bad for the out of pocket things you say. After all, you're just telling people the truth, it's not their fault if they can't handle a dose of reality (her words, not mine)

Even though she loves to party she'll most likely either tone it down or just stop going altogether when she finds out you don't like them all that much because of the loud music, bright lights, small spaces crowded with lots of drunk people, etc. She'd rather be with you any way

Always lets you infodump to her about your newest interest or favorite thing, which truly shows just how much she loves you as she usually always has to be the one dominating any conversation she's a part of. Sometimes you wonder if she ever really listens until she gets you something relating to your latest hyperfixation and then you're like "ah okay so she does care :D"

Honestly she's such a trashy mcbling y2k girly (canon, she told me herself) that I feel like she's the type of person to buy you stim/fidget toys and then help you 'bling' them out by gluing on fake rhinestones and such because "you can't just walk around with boring accessories"

Is she the type of person to tease you/make a bunch of sex jokes if you have an oral fixation? Yes. Will she start carrying around lollipops, gum, chew rings, etc. in her purse to give to you when you're feeling distressed in a public place? Also yes

Totally understands if you don't like/can't eat certain foods due to pickiness, especially if this is after her demon possession. She goes out of her way to make sure the pantry is stocked with your safe foods and all your favorite snacks for whenever you come over so you won't run out of them

She may not be the best at comforting you if you're in the middle of a meltdown/sensory overload or if you start crying (especially if it's over something small) but she tries her best to be gentle, not wanting to accidentally make things worse. If you need physical comfort then she'll gladly let you wrap your arms around her and get as close as possible, but if not then she'll stay a safe distance away while trying to cheer you up with words of encouragement

Absolutely hates ableist people. Hates and will eat them /hj. She can't stand when people make you feel bad for not understanding certain phrases or not being able to pick up on social cues

If you're ever confused on something then she takes the time to explain it to you, and yes this includes her sarcasm. She can't stop being sarcastic for anyone, including you (sorry) but she can make accomadations so you don't feel stupid or left out

Jennifer finds your stimming so adorable, especially if you do it when you're excited to see her. The fact that you get so happy you have to make a physical show of it just to get the extra energy out warms her cold, otherwise unfeeling and bitchy heart

If you're a really physically affectionate person then she one hundred percent welcomes it and allows you to touch her at literally any given moment no matter where you are. If not, then that's all the more reason for her to feel special and loved if you ever do give her, say, a hug, especially if you have an aversion to touch

Speaking of which, if there are any clothes of hers that you don't like because the texture of it bothers you/makes your skin crawl then she simply won't wear them around you, and might even get rid of them so you can feel more comfortable touching her. This includes making sure her bed always has the coziest pillows and blankets and comfiest sheets for whenever you spend the night

Overall I think Jen would love you no matter what personality quirks you may have regarding being autistic, and she would never fail to tell you just how much she loves you for them

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

🏷 taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous (if you were crossed out it means I couldn't tag you for some reason)

#gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #autistic reader #x autistic reader #jennifers body imagines #jennifers body imagine #jennifers body x reader #jennifers body #jennifers body headcanons #jennifer check #jennifer check imagines #jennifer check imagine #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check headcanons #jennifer check hcs #jennifer check x gender neutral reader #jennifer check x autistic reader

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coffeeghoulie · 19 days

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Mushy May Day 13: "Just Wanted To Hear Your Voice"

Timezones apart, Mountain and Aether share a late night/early morning phonecall.

Thank you very much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for the divider. <3

(this could also be for the long distance extra prompt but i digress, enjoy the fic)

Aether wakes not to his work alarm, but to the drum fill in Respite, his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He shoots up, scrambling for it in a half awake haze. He fumbles to accept the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Mount?" He slurs, tongue not fully cooperating yet. His mind struggles with the timezone conversion, the rest of his pack, minus Sunny, halfway across the world. "'S gotta be late over there, what's goin' on?"

There's a deep sigh on the other end, made tinny through the speakers. "Hey, Aeth. There's no emergency. Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't apologize," Aether says, tension easing from his frame as he settles back in bed, phone pinned to his ear by his shoulder as he adjusts a blanket. He doesn't have to be to the infirmary until two hours from now. There's time. And if there wasn't, he'd find a way to make time. Anything for them. "I'm awake, sweet thing. How was the Ritual?"

Another sigh, edging on a groan. "Really fucking long. I don't even want to think about how many more of these we have left. I haven't had a chance to be outside for more than five minutes in a month, nova."

Aether hisses through his teeth in sympathy. He knows second hand what being cut off from one's element feels like, a phantom pain you can't quite shake. Quintessence is everywhere, so Aether's never experienced the loss of it himself.

It's easy for the rest of them to recharge; air a constant, water everywhere on Earth, fire easy to sate with heat. Dew's preferred method of recharging is near-boiling showers, taking advantage of hotels and venues and running their hot water bills sky high. It eases both his fire and what remains of his water.

Earth is a different story, especially when the pack is moving from city to city with barely room to breathe. It's always taken a toll on Mountain, but he takes it like a champ. Though Aether will always, always, always let him vent, knows how satisfying it is to let off steam.

"I'm sorry, Mount," he hums, clearing the sleep from his eyes. He'd been dreaming, something too realistic, almost able to trick his mind that he hadn't been asleep at all, that his mattress had been warm with three ghouls' worth of body heat instead of one.

"Why'd you think it's your fault?" Mountain chuckles halfheartedly. "You in charge of scheduling or somethin'?"

Aether hums. "Maybe. You don't know," he teases. "It's late over there, Mount. You want to hang up and get some sle-?"

"No!" Mountain cuts him off suddenly, distress sharp in his tone. "No, Aeth, please, don't make me hang up."

Aether can't see him, can barely sense their bond, stretched thin with distance. He can imagine it though, the way his shoulders slump, eyes pressing shut. "Not going to make you do anything. Talk to me, sweet thing. Anything you want, just let me hear you."

Mountain sighs, and he can just barely pick up the sound of a hand dragging down his face, scraping against his stubble. Mountain normally likes a clean shave, itchy, regrowing stubble an easy way to send him into a sensory overload. But being on tour makes it difficult to keep up with the upkeep. He wonders when their next hotel day is.

"Cue's halfway through her third blanket," Mountain says slowly. Aether doesn't need to feel the bond to feel the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "We made a stop at a craft store a few days back, she came out with a literal armful of yarn. Every color under the sun. I think she cleared out an entire color's worth of baby blanket yarn. She said something about making one for Aurora."

Aether hums considerately, reaching with one hand to the purple and navy blanket that had been pushed aside in his sleep. Still as soft as the day she had shyly handed it to him, the second one she had ever made, only a few months' summoned. She's come out of her shell since, but Aether rubs the yarn between his thumb and forefinger and remembers anyways. "Aeon's gotten theirs?"

There's silence for a second, and a quiet spew of Ghoulish cursing. "Just fucking nodded like you could see me," Mountain laughs, exhausted. "The second one she made was Aeon's."

"They like it?" Aether asks, biting back a yawn, tail going ramrod straight as he stretches his back. There's the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled back, and Mountain groans softly before the curtain is pulled again.

"Had to make sure they were still out there," he explains. "They're currently burritoed up in it on the couch with Swiss."

"Don't get up and do it now," Aether says, chuffing at the mental image of the new quintessence ghoul all cozy. "But in the morning, if they're still wrapped up, send me a picture, will you, sweet thing?"

A soft chuckle. "Of course, nova. Thank you."

"What for?" Aether says.

"I dunno. Just wanted to hear your voice."

Aether chuffs, reaching for his glasses. It's almost time for him to get up out of bed. "Thank you, too, then," he says, sliding his glasses on one handed. "I miss you all terribly."

There's a long sigh, which changes halfway through into a yawn. "I don't want to hang up, Aeth." His voice is as small as Aether's heard it in years, not since the last time the pack was thrown into upheaval.

"I know, Mount. I know. But you still need to sleep, sweet thing. Call me in the morning?" Aether offers, knowing that he'll probably be on his break by the time Mountain wakes, ever the early riser.

"I'll call you in the morning," Mountain says, still a little hesitant. "I love you, nova."

Aether smiles. "Love you too. I'll talk to you soon."

#dot's writing #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #mountain/aether #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #mushy may 2024

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irisintheafterglow · 8 months

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my social media has been filled with nothing but candid videos of hot guys playing scare actors so... happy halloween from scare actor!suguru

cw: mentions of eating and sweets, swearing

"god, i'm so tired. this is so tiring," an exhausted voice mutters from next to you on the wooden bench. the other side creaks from their weight, but you don't bother looking up at who it is. probably some guy must have lost his group of friends in the crowds, you figure. continuing to stare at your phone, the constant screams of terrified parkgoers slip in one ear and out of the other.

"mhmm. you can say that again," you reply with equal unamusement. you couldn't guess how long it'd been since your friends left you in favor of experiencing a particularly gory maze, one that you weren't interested in braving the headache for. it was just loud, the entire place, and the orange strobe lights casting ominous shadows in the fog was enough sensory overload for a lifetime. you continue scrolling mindlessly through your phone, spotting a lanky clown performer on stilts out of the corner of your eye. "not enjoying the spooky festivities?"

"i'm here on a dare, unfortunately." you can hear the frown in his voice and he lets out a long sigh.

"yikes. some friends you've got."

"tell me about it. what're you doing here by yourself?"

"waiting for some friends to get out of that one gory maze by the drop ride," you answer absentmindedly, entranced by a funny video of a husky fitting through a hole in a fence.

"blood king's palace?" damn. must be a frequent flier if he knows the mazes so well.

"yeah, i think so."

"i've got a friend working that one. maybe he'll run into your friends." it makes you smile, imagining your friends shrieking bloody murder while you snack on a purple sprinkle-covered funnel cake.

"i'm just here for the sweet stuff, i won't lie to you-holy fuck!" your attempt at a casual joke turns into a yelp of pure shock as you finally look up at the stranger on the other side of the bench. white-hot adrenaline shoots into your veins and it takes all of your willpower not to flee at that moment. you thought you were going to see just some other loser with an obnoxiously bright lanyard. instead, you're met with a skull-faced, sharp-jawed, man-bunned dreamboat that begins apologizing profusely for frightening you. after a few moments of steadying your breath with a hand over your heart, you take a good look at the intricate face makeup and note how enticing he looked in all leather. "next time, let me know before i look up that you're one of the scarers, yeah?" he chuckles sheepishly in stark contrast to his menacing appearance.

"sorry about that. i can get you that sweet stuff you mentioned with my discount." he pauses, dark eyes flicking across the passing visitors like he's looking for someone. "give me a sec; i'll be right back," he instructs before blasting off from the bench with a startling burst of speed. his knees slide across the ground first and sparks fly from the friction of the kneepads with the concrete. a terrified group of teenage girls make a run for it, only to be stopped by the same clown stilt-walker you saw earlier. before you know it, he's strolling back over to you with his hands in his pockets like nothing had happened, a few strands of stray hair the only evidence that he moved at all. "back to what i was saying," he continues and you laugh at the irony. "you feeling a candy apple or funnel cake? i can get both, if you want."

"you're gonna buy something for a total stranger?"

"if it means i can start over and meet you without the scary face paint, then yeah," he shrugs a lean shoulder and you fight the urge to drool. "i'm suguru, by the way." when you introduce yourself in response, he murmurs your name like he was committing it to memory. feeling your phone vibrate on your leg, you swear under your breath when you see the notification from your friends saying they'd finished the maze. part of you wanted to tell them to just leave you so you could keep talking to the handsome scare actor, but you knew they still wanted to spend the rest of the night with you.

"can i take you up on that funnel cake another night? my friends just left that vampire palace thing," you say regretfully, holding up the message for him to see.

"sure thing. can i walk you over there? i'll make sure no one bothers you, scarer or otherwise." his tongue dances over a sharp canine and you have to swallow thickly before answering.

"yeah," you agree quietly, heart pounding even louder than the lilting organ music. he smiles at you in relief and your brain short-circuits. "i'd like that."

for the next seven-something minutes while you walk across the park to find your friends, suguru slips next to you like a bodyguard, momentarily disappearing to scare some unsuspecting guests but always returning to your side. he walks with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, waltzing down the paths with you and leading you down shortcuts that seemed too frightening to brave alone. most surprisingly, the other scarers steer clear of you when you're with him. a brunette scarer with short hair in a tattered victorian gown calls after suguru teasingly when she sees him escorting you and the self-assured smirk that appears on his face was enough to make you pass out.

"can you tell your friends you're making a detour?" his question becomes rhetorical when you have no choice but to follow him as he beelines for the nearest funnel cake stand. he cuts the line and approaches the pick-up window; an unamused man with plastered-down blonde hair eyes him warily, scowling when suguru whispers something in his ear. other guests stare at him in awe but he only seems to focus on you, explaining something about working at the park with all of his friends, including the emo kid at the fryer. after a few minutes, his mouth quirks in that arrogant smile again when he nods toward the fresh purple-sprinkled funnel cake sliding across the counter. "alright, detour over. let's go find your friends."

you don't notice the phone number written on the napkin until after he's already disappeared into the fog, but he's determined to see you more than just during halloween.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#midi this one's for you #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x reader #geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 22 days

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AITA for telling the upstairs neighbor to be a little quieter at night?

I (26nb) live in an apartment complex. I am on the first floor. This apartment has a noise curfew of 10pm. I have a kid (5) who sleeps at 8pm. We have neighbors around us who also have kids around the same age who go to bed roughly around the same time (we've talked from time to time) including a new neighbor with a young autistic kid. My kid is also autistic. I am also autistic and schizophrenic. The neighbor directly next to us has a dog who tends to bark and howl whenever he hears loud noises. These are important to remember.

This girl moved in some handful of weeks ago right above me. Some days during the day I hear her stomping around REALLY loudly like crazy, and at first I thought that's fine because its just during the day no big deal. But then she started doing it late at night. First night I thought maybe she was still unboxing and stuff, nbd. But this kept going on for weeks from 8pm until nearly 2am every single day. And around 10pm-1am she would play loud music with heavy bass. This would keep me awake at night and prevent me from sleeping, and would cause me to have sensory overload very easily. My kiddo said it scared her to hear the banging and stomping and music upstairs late at night. One night at about 9:30pm, she started banging something FIERCE up there to the point where I actually started having an episode. I thought we were being broken into and I fell into a delusion that was remedied by my partner coming home and helping to ground me. That was my breaking point, and I ended up leaving a note saying, "hi! I wanted to ask if you could please keep the noise a little lower at night, we have young kiddos that live here too. Thank you!" I didn't leave anything to indicate who we were.

The next day she brought back the note to MY door saying "I'll try to be quieter. I didn't think I was that loud. I come home late. It was a Friday night and I was banging chicken at 8pm so I didn't think it was an issue. I just moved in and I'm trying to live my life. Sorry" and left two stuffed animals. Weeks passed and she is still, up to today, being loud late into the night and early morning. My partner can also hear it loud and clear and has complained to me about how disruptive she is. Some other neighbors have come forth saying she's so loud THEY can hear her when they come in through the main door. She's so loud that she's been causing the dog next door to bark like crazy, which is disturbing that poor neighbor as well. We are all kind of fed up with this girl.

Recently, there was a bunch of people who got their packages stolen... Her included. She left a note in the main lobby saying to bring her packages back. Today, we could hear her loudly talking on the phone outside while we were also outside, and she was talking to someone about available renting places outside of our city. We think she might be trying to move out already even though she just got here.

I think I might be the asshole because, between my note and her packages getting stolen, she probably felt unwelcomed here. I don't want people to feel unwelcomed, but I also want to be able to exist in my own home safely and comfortably. Maybe I should have left her alone and just dealt with the noise. My family thinks I was being rude to say anything at all, and my mom said I lost a potential friend by doing that. AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole

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drdemonprince · 9 months

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Can we really expand our window of tolerance as autistic people? I’ve been working on that kind of thing for so long and I can’t tell if I’ve made any genuine progress or if I’ve just unconsciously doubled down on masking :(

We can! But our expanded distress tolerance can't come out of nowhere. Something has to give. So for example, for me, I have way fewer sensory issues these days than I used to have, by a wide margin, and I have significantly less social anxiety and don't need much social recharge time on the level that I used to. I have more distress tolerance for sensory input and for social stressors now than I ever have before -- but this has required lifestyle changes and unmasking in order to get there. Let me break down both these improvements and how they happened:

Even as recently as a year ago, I would have terrible sensory meltdowns on a regular basis. But I haven't had a single sensory meltdown in months, maybe not even a single one for the entirety of 2023 so far? And that's because I have a) cut out caffeine, dramatically reducing my physiological stress levels, b) cut back on some workplace stress by reducing my commitments, c) stopped taking on additional projects outside of work that I didn't want to do and that only caused me stress (workshops and talks), and d) began working from home far more consistently, and made myself a wfh office that is more comfortable.

Now I operate from a really solid base of sensory comfort most days and I'm not overloaded with information or overwhelmed with obligations. This means I am far more tolerant of screaming people on the bus, the upstairs toddler slamming her feet on the floor, ambulances blaring by, noisy concerts, people bumping into me at the bar, etc.

I also am, for the first time in my life, clear-headed enough to recognize when I am starting to experience sensory distress, and can intentionally put on sunglasses or pop in ear plugs or remove myself from an upsetting situation more quickly. I had to experience what being relaxed and not overstimulated felt like, and get accustomed to living that way, in order to recognize subtler signs that I was feeling shitty and take steps to address those small annoyances before they exploded. I can handle a lot "more" in an intentional way now because I built my life to allow "less." My overall distress tolerance has still expanded -- but it's because I stopped masking and began attending to my sensory and stress regulation needs.

For the social piece, my distress tolerance has also gone up due to unmasking. If I was still motivated by passing as NT or being socially acceptable all the time, I'd be so overwhelmed being around people and worn down by every interaction. I also wouldnt be able to advocate for myself. But in the past few years I've become more and more openly weird and outspoken in my needs and true feelings, and I've recognized that the right people actually love me more when I do so and show up for me, and so being honest or even difficult to deal with is not really a threat.

This means I just don't experience much distress being honest or difficult to deal with anymore. I really can tolerate the discomfort of telling someone they're wrong or that I'm hurt without freaking out about being hurt or abandoned, because I've had a lot of good experiences with it and because I enjoy being unmasked so deeply that I just can't put my personality back in a bottle.

Masking lowers distress tolerance because it frays your nerves with stress and wears you out and bars you from ever getting to attend to and regulate your discomfort when there are signs of it happening. In order to increase your distress tolerance, you actually have to learn to better honor your discomfort early, and preventatively, so that you don't bubble over into a meltdown after days or weeks of ignoring your needs.

I think some people think distress tolerance is about becoming more tough, but it's quite the opposite. We become more resilient by getting better at recognizing and attending to our hurts.

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fandoms--fluff · 1 year

Text

Sister Figure

Female Salvatore reader x Katherine Pierce

Summary: Katherine helps you through a sensory overload

Warnings: Sensory overload

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

Katherine walked into the Salvatore boarding house, absent-mindedly looking to stir up some trouble with your older brothers. Though that was before she heard harsh breathing and crying emitting from upstairs, she heard it with her vamp hearing.

She started to make her way upstairs, the noise leading her to your bedroom where currently you're curled up in the far corner, having trouble breathing. Katherine quickly made her way over to you and started to rub your back.

She has never played around with you or hurt you ever since you guys met back in 1864. You remind her of a younger sister because when you got turned into a vampire you were only thirteen. So you still have childish tendencies but get along really well with Katherine and think of her as an older sister. Sure you have two older brothers but it's not the same as a sister.

"What happened?" Katherine whispered, gently lifting your chin up by her finger so she can look at your eyes filled with tears.

"It-It's too m-much. I-I can't stop th-thinking and everything w-won't stop moving. It-its too bright and-and-and-" you frantically said while shaking, not knowing what to do.

"All of your senses are heightened more than usual?" Katherine whispered.

You nodded and rested your head on her shoulder.

"I l-like touch. Touch is fine" you said.

"Alright hun, do you want to talk about what caused this to happen?" Katherine asked softly and pulled you closer to her, comfortingly.

"All that's happening. I can't keep up with it and it's triggering heightened everything in my body. Aren't I supposed to be dead. I just don't want to feel anything anymore" you ranted out your emotions.

"Im so sorry that you've been feeling this way y/n/n. Why didn't you tell me or at least your brothers?" Katherine asked.

"Don't want them to think I'm weak" you mumbled.

"You don't have to think that way, they love you so much. And if you ever think of turning your humanity off please promise, come to me before and we can talk about it" Katherine comforted you and kissed your forehead.

"Okay" you nodded, looking up at her with sleepy eyes.

"You tired?" She softly smiled.

You nodded again, "Can we lay down on the bed and cuddle?" You asked her sleepily.

"Of course we can, y/n/n" Katherine responded.

She picked you up and laid you down on your bed then got on beside you, opening her arms for you to climb into. Which you did, laying your head on her chest and wrapping your arms around her torso. Quickly you fell into a deep sleep, needing it badly while Katherine played around with your soft hair.

#katherine pierce #katherine pierce x reader #katherine pierce x female reader #katherine pierce x salvatore reader #katherine x salvatore reader #salvatore reader #sensory overload #thevampirediaries #the vampire diaries #tvd imagine #tvd oneshot #comfort #fluff #cuddling #imagines

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wanderingelvis · 1 year

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Hello love,is it okay for me to call you that? Sorry if it isn't,I was wondering if you can write an Yandere!70s or late 60s Elvis where the reader is naive and is dragged to one of his shows by readers friend or anyone she knows,you can choose and he notices her from the crowd but doesn't get the chance to go talk to her and maybe 1 week later he still has her on his mind and luckily he finds her talking to Jerry or someone and maybe he traps her like Rapunzel? Sorry if I'm asking for too much,it's okay if you can't do it! Maybe Priscilla isn't in here because I love her too much to have her heartbroken or anything like that!

Thank you for this! I got a bit carried away, I might edit it too but I hope you like it! 🧚

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻

word count: 4,641

pairing: naive f!reader x 70s yandere!elvis

warnings: cussing, yandere themes, mentions of abuse, emotional manipulation, stockholm syndrome

You and Elvis were like prey and predator, you were just too naive to see it. You were a lamb to his lion and the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were going to be his and only his.

Your older - and wiser - best friend, Betty, had taken you to one of his shows in Vegas, an experience like no other you'd ever had. The loud music, the bright lights, the screaming, was causing you to go into sensory overload and feel frightened and vulnerable. Elvis had noticed you as soon as he did his usual bit of turning the lights on the audience, he was practically bewitched by your beauty and the innocence that was positively radiating off you.

No girl had ever had that effect on Elvis, not in this way, not so instantly.

But Elvis wasn’t to meet you that night. You took off like a little fairytale character, running out of the auditorium as Elvis’ eyes followed you until you disappeared. You couldn’t handle the intense Vegas scene, it was too much for you to cope with and you needed some air. Betty had gone after you, consoling you as you repeatedly apologised for ruining her night and taking off like that but Betty was nothing but supportive, knowing that you were probably not ready for a show as wild as Elvis Presley’s.

Elvis couldn’t get you off his mind, your face was stuck in his head at all times. When he left the stage he was thinking of you, when he cooled off he thought of you, when he jerked off on his trailer he pictured you and as he fell asleep he thought of you.

By the third day of you relentlessly occupying his mind, Elvis knew Jerry had to find you. Funnily enough, both Elvis and Jerry recognised your friend Betty as one of the waitresses from the front of house at the International and Jerry hotel and it didn’t take long for Jerry to scout her out and enquire about you.

Blinded by the idea of getting close to Elvis, Betty gave up your location and contact details to Jerry in an instant and a day later, your phone rang furiously, again and again and again until you picked up.

“Is this Y/N Y/L/N?” A hoarse, deep Southern voice asked.

“Uh-huh! Speaking!” You said chirpily and Elvis melted at the sound of your voice. “Why? Who’s askin’?” You asked, twisting the phone cord with your fingers.

“Elvis Presley.” Elvis said as he heard a little, sweet gasp from the other end of the line, making him chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind me callin’, your lovely friend Betty passed on your number to me.”

“How do I know you’re really Elvis Presley and not Johnny from work because this could really be somethin’ Johnny would do.” You giggled adorably.

“You wore a white silk dress to my show, you ran out just as I began singin’ Suspicious Minds, guessin’ you ain’t too keen on that song, eh?” Elvis said and your stomach dropped, realising it really was Elvis.

"Oh gee." You mumbled. "I, um, I love your songs mister, I just, um, m'not good with crowds, it's silly, I know," You told the man.

"I don't think it's silly, I don't like crowds neither," Elvis agreed. "It's flatterin' to perform to a crowd but I hate bein' in them, I try to avoid them too." Elvis said, making you feel a little validated.

"I betchu get a lotta crowds, mister." You mused softly as if you were chatting to an old friend.

A deep chuckle could be heard on the other end of the line. "You can say that again, darlin'. But I sure was sad t'see you go so soon." Elvis said.

"M'sorry Mr Presley, m'sure Betty probably told ya, but I really am a big fan, I was real excited to see ya and I even wrote about it in my diary and everythin', it's just, it's just that I find crowds and all the loud noises and everythin' all a bit scary sometimes, and a couple of ladies," You paused and chewed your lip. "Well, they were just real big fans of yours I s'pose, pushed me outta the way to try to get to you and it was all gettin' a little intense see, and I just, it got a bit too much, I wish I did stay though, I said that to Betty too, that I felt real bad, I think I ruined her night really, I wrote her a real big sorry note and she says its okay but I know she's just bein' nice. Y'know I wish I'd stayed because that song you sing, Love Me Tender, oh boy, that's one of my favourite songs ever and I was real upset I missed it, you sing that beautifully Mr Presley." You babbled sweetly. "M'sorry, I've been ramblin' on and on atchu. I know some of it sounds dumb, a lotta people have said I'm dumb for not likin' crowds and loud music and, I mean, I don't really like it when people call me dumb, but I guess, um, maybe it is sorta."

Everything in the way you spoke confirmed to Elvis exactly what he'd expected; you were sweet, kind, naive and nervous.

"Now, now. You are not dumb for that and anyone who calls you that is frankly, an idiot." Elvis said, making you giggle. "How's about you and Betty come along down to the hotel tomorrow evening? I'd sure like to meet you without any of those crowds, maybe I can show you how to play Love Me Tender on the piano, I love that song too, little one." Elvis proposed, the pet name making your tummy do somersaults with nervous excitement at the sweet attention you were receiving.

You agreed, almost a little too eagerly, making Elvis realise that you were just like an excitable puppy, and he adored it.

He told you that he'd send his friend Jerry in a car for you and you bid him goodbye, running straight to your bedroom to write down as much of the conversation as you could remember in your pink diary.

You didn't sleep that night with so much excitement bubbling up inside of you. But, before you knew it, you were in a car with Jerry Schilling, asking a million questions about Elvis, the International and about Jerry too. Jerry understood straight away why you were so appealing to Elvis, you were everything that Elvis looked for, but Jerry knew Elvis a little too well and Jerry knew that once you were in Elvis' grasp, he'd never let you go. Jerry almost felt bad as you both sat in the car as he knew this would be the last time you experienced life as you knew it, everything would change when you stepped into the International Hotel.

Weirdly enough, Betty was nowhere to be found as you were escorted to Elvis' dressing room. The nerves were growing inside of you as you smoothed out your lilac dress and made sure no strays of your long, flowing hair were out of place as Jerry knocked on the door. That familiar voice could be heard from the other side of the door, calling for you to enter.

When you walked in, Elvis rose from his seat to greet you. He dominated the space, his aura was powerful and magnetic and he practically towered over everyone. His presence was overwhelming and instantly alluring and addictive.

As he approached you, you couldn't help but panic a little, you so desperately wanted to impress him, yet you'd never been in such a position before. Elvis on the other hand, thought you were simply adorable. You were as beautiful as he'd remembered and you had a gentle and shy demeanour, although from his brief conversation with you, he could tell that you could probably be very stubborn too.

Elvis grabbed you a soft drink after you both greeted each other, letting you relax a little as you took in the atmosphere. You chatted for a little while before Elvis offered to take you on a tour the hotel and the little recording booth that had been installed too.

"Shouldn't we wait for Betty? She'd like to go on the tour too, Mr Presley. I don't know why she's not here yet, but I s'pose her job can make her kinda busy, but I know she'd really wanna be here so I don't know what's holdin' her up."

"Sweetheart, please call me Elvis, I know I'm an old man these days, but you don't have to address me like one." Elvis laughed, making you blush. "But I'm sorry darlin', I thought Jer told ya, Betty said she couldn't make it? She said she was awful sorry but her boss had sent her for some trainin' thing or somethin', I don't know, I'm sorry no-one told you, honey." Elvis said, making you look up with confusion.

"Oh." You said quietly. You knew how much of a fan Betty was of Elvis and that she'd waited for ages to be allowed by her boss to have the evening off to see his show. "She must be real upset, she really wanted to go to your show." You told him.

"You think she'd like a signed picture of me, honey? I'll get one sent over to her straight away." Elvis told you, making you smile.

"Oh gee, that would be real kind of you, Betty would love that! Y'know, I even think she'd put it in a frame and keep it on display!" You giggled adorably. You admired how down to earth and friendly Elvis was for a famous musician.

You followed Elvis around the hotel, in awe of everything he showed you and loving every second you spent by his side as you began to feel oddly attached to him.

Elvis even taught you to play the melody for Love Me Tender on the piano, not getting mad or angry at you for messing it up - even on the twelfth try. That's when you let slip about your upbringing and how your parents would berate you and emotionally abuse you for not being able to pick things up as quickly as they wanted you to. Elvis didn't pry, but he listened intently to what you were telling him and working out how it made you behave and react and how he could use it to keep you as his own.

But when the magical day finally came to and end, the communication didn't stop then. You and Elvis would call each other all the time and he became all you thought about, day in, day out.

You visited him at the hotel several more times, spending hours together, giggling, teasing each other, reading, relaxing and trying to perfect that piano melody.

It wasn't until your sixth visit that you finally bumped into Betty again, dashing away from Jerry who would always escort you to Elvis to go see her at her waitress' post.

"Betty! Betty!" You said with a beaming smile, dashing up to her, only to be met with a less than friendly reception. Your smile dropped a little, noticing the tense atmosphere. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"I know. I've been tryna reach ya Y/N, but there are whisperin's that you're seein' Elvis Presley? Is that true?" Betty said with slight frustration in her tone.

"Uh-huh! He's one of my best friends now I think, just like you! I even made him a bracelet and he says he's gonna wear it on stage!" You giggled.

"Why didn't you tell me you were seeing Elvis Presley? I'm meant to be your best friend Y/N and I gotta hear from Darlene, the dishwasher that my best friend is bein' snuck in to meet the King? You know how much I loved Elvis, Y/N, you knew it would hurt me if you got together with him." Betty said, making you frown with worry.

You adored Betty, you always had and it was never your intention to ever hurt her - or anyone that matter.

"M'not together with Elvis in that way, he's just a friend and I tried to tell ya but when I tried t'ring ya back, I couldn't get through. But he gave you that signed picture of him as a sorry that you couldn't come to the tour with me, remember? He likes you, promise!" You said, trying your best to make her feel better.

"What are you talkin' about Y/N? What picture? What tour?" Betty said, bewildered and frustrated.

You chewed your lip as you began to feel a bit confused at everything, Elvis and Jerry had told you about how busy Betty and the rest of the staff at the International were.

"Y'know how you were doin' the training so you couldn't come with me on the tour and Elvis and Jerry sent you that signed autograph picture of Elvis remember? Elvis told me that you told Jerry you couldn't come? He said that you'd got the autograph?" You said softly, feeling confused and anxious.

Betty sighed, shaking her head as she looked at the floor, putting the together the pieces and realising what Elvis was doing to you.

"Jesus." Betty muttered. "I wasn't invited to any tour, Y/N, the only time I've talked to Jerry Schilling was when he promised I could meet Elvis with you and then I never heard from him again and now I realise why. I didn't get any goddamn autograph."

"It must've just got lost Betty, I swear, Elvis really wants to meet you." You insisted naively.

"He's just lying to you to get on your good side, he just wants to fuck you." Betty practically spat.

Your eyes widened at the cursing, you'd never experienced Betty like this before and you were beginning to feel upset over it all. Elvis had been nothing but sweet to you.

"No he doesn't, he's not like that. He wouldn't lie to me, Betty." You said defensively.

"God, you're so dumb sometimes, you know that? He's literally manipulating you, Y/N." Betty exclaimed, the words cutting deep, prompting tears to pool in your eyes.

Many people had called you dumb before, but Betty had never been one of them. She'd been the only person you were really friends with since you'd moved to Vegas and now you'd lost her.

"M'not dumb." You said quietly, your voice cracking at the end as you turned away from who you thought was your best friend, running straight past Jerry and through to where you knew Elvis would be.

When Elvis saw you in tears, he became protective immediately, cooing at you as you engulfed him in a hug, needing his love and his attention. He wrapped his big arms around you, rubbing soothing circles in your back, whispering sweet nothings about how he was here, you were safe and everything was going to be okay.

Once you'd calmed down, you finally managed to get your words out, explaining what had happened, telling Elvis that you knew he would send the autographs and that you trusted him. Little did you know, that Betty was right all along but she'd just pushed you straight into Elvis' trap.

"A-and t-then, she, she said I was d-dumb, m'not dumb, Elvis, m'not!" You said through little mewls and sobs, revealing your biggest insecurity to him.

"Oh sweet girl, you're not dumb, I know that, you're my clever girl." Elvis comforted.

Elvis continued to soothe you from your distress, helping to calm you down with soft, tender kisses to your cheeks and the top of your head. You agreed that maybe it was best if you don't see Betty anymore, Elvis didn't want to see you upset again and told you that Betty was just jealous of you now, that she wasn't someone that you needed in your life anymore.

That night, you stayed in Elvis' bed for the first time after he easily convinced you that you were in no fit state to be taken home and left on your own.

A few months had gone by since your first few encounters with Elvis and you were firmly his little girl now. Everyone knew it, his circle, the staff at the International and it hadn't taken long for it to reach the press that Elvis Presley had a shiny new toy locked away in the biggest suite in the International.

The Vegas scene was all a bit much for you, understandably so. You didn't understand how Elvis managed it all, it was a relentless routine of shows, press, crowds, parties and wild antics and you couldn't keep up. Elvis never pressured you to take part in anything you didn't want to, in fact, he encouraged you to stay in the suite, insisting upon it sometimes, for your own good, he would say.

And you trusted Elvis beyond belief. You knew that he wanted the best for you and you ended up being quite content spending your days in your gilded cage of a luxury hotel suite.

Sometimes you wanted to leave, Elvis would never stop you, but every time you went with Elvis elsewhere, things would get out of hand and you'd both be mobbed by fans to the point that you would send Elvis that knowing, pleading look that meant you wanted to go back to your peaceful palace and escape the madness of the lobby or street - and he'd take you back up in a heartbeat.

But right now, you were on the bathroom floor, panicking after reading a magazine that had been left on one of the coffee tables that featured you and Elvis in it. It talked about you suffering 'Stockholm Syndrome', something you'd never heard before and you were frantically trying to find any kind of medicine that would explain, and treat, whatever this syndrome just happened to be.

"Baby, what are ya doin'?" "M'tryna find the right medicine." You mumbled, your mind totally preoccupied on trying to find out whatever was wrong with you and what you needed to fix this so-called 'syndrome'.

Elvis crouched down to your level, his brow furrowed with concern as he watched you routinely pick up a bottle of pills or vitamins, hold it up to your face so you could inspect the label with knitted brows and a lot of concentration before casting it aside when you knew it wouldn't be what you needed.

"Are you sick, little?" Elvis asked gently, a little worried about you.

You huffed, feeling a little bratty and grumpy at the interruptions. You were feeling anxious about what you'd read and it wasn't helping that Elvis kept badgering you with questions - even if it was actually only two questions. "Well, I don't know." You muttered crankily, your bottom lip jutting out as you looked down at the mess around you.

If Elvis wasn't so concerned about you in this moment, he'd actually rather tell you how cute you looked, all mopey and bratty in the middle of the big bathroom floor, your nightgown pooling around you as you sat of the soft shower mat that you'd moved so the cold bathroom tile wouldn't touch your skin.

"You don't know if ya sick or not? Honey, I'm no doctor, but that don't sound right t'me." Elvis chuckled at you, making you get all worked up all over again - this was no laughing matter, apparently everyone that read that magazine in America knew you were sick and you were too stupid to even know it yourself.

"It's not funny!" You snapped, crossing your arms and glaring at Elvis.

"Oh darlin', I'm only playin' with my little girl, tell me what's goin' on in that pretty, lil head of yours hm? You don't seem like yourself." Elvis said soothingly.

"Apparently..." You started but you just felt too shy to even admit that people thought you were ill and you didn't even know it yourself. You felt like that silly little girl who got pushed around by the stage all over again.

"Apparently what, Y/N?" Elvis said, trying to read your face for any indication as to what was wrong.

"Don't wanna say." You mumbled, trying not to let any tears slip.

You were just overstimulated and overwhelmed and that was only natural. You stayed in Elvis' suite for most of your days, you liked it, it was comforting and safe and most importantly, far away from the dangers of your 'old life', but it also meant that if there was any change to your routine, it could take its toll on you very easily - and finding one of the biggest celebrity magazines writing about how you were sick and Elvis knew it, was a big change to your routine that you could never have prepared for.

"You're a big girl baby, use your words. I can't help you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong, can I?" Elvis chided gently yet firmly.

"Apparently I'm sick and you know I'm sick and I don't know I'm sick." You said with a wobbly voice.

"Who told you that you were sick honey?" Elvis said, utterly confused and bewildered by what you were saying, but his concern was growing.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to stop any stray tears from slipping as you turned your body around a little to grab the magazine from behind you with your small hands. "It says in the magazine, I got a syndrome, it's named after a place in Europe, um, Sweden, no, um, Stockholm, I think?" You said softly, your sweet voice cracking at the admission, as he tentatively took the glossy magazine from your grip.

Elvis eyes scanned the page, and they grew darker when he read the headlines and the nasty, nasty things they had written about your relationship.

'Y/N Y/L/N, Presley's girl in the tower'

'Y/L/N is evidently showing classic signs of Stockholm Syndrome, there are never sightings of her unless she's glued to Presley's side and we all know what he's like when it comes to his women.'

'Maybe one day, Y/L/N will stop seeing her Vegas life through rose-tinted glasses that Elvis has forced upon her and realise just how bad she's got it.'

Elvis could feel his blood boiling and his temper rising. He knew better than to think the press was going to write nice things about him, but he couldn't fathom how the copy of the lurid magazine had found its way into your possession.

"How did you get this, doll?" Elvis said calmly, trying not to scare you.

"It was left on the coffee table, I thought you left it for me, it had a section on pretty dresses to wear to your favourite show so I thought you'd left it for me? Or maybe it was one of the guys?" You said with glossy eyes and a slightly wet, pink nose, from your little sniffles.

Now, Elvis never intended to keep you away in his lavish suite and he truly didn't see that what he was doing was actually harming you. No, Elvis believed he was just protecting you. After you'd opened up to him about your troubles, your anxieties and your intense reluctance to trust others due to PTSD from traumatic events you'd been through in the past, Elvis just wanted to make sure no one would ever hurt you or scare you again. That's just how Elvis viewed it, he didn't realise it was manipulative or detrimental, Elvis just loved you - perhaps a little too much.

Sure, Elvis knew that it was beneficial to him to keep you away from the gaze of other men, he knew how every man would look at you, like you were sent from heaven and as soon as you opened that pretty little mouth of yours and spoke in that pretty little voice, they'd realise you really were an angel. Elvis practically shuddered at the thought of any man having any kind of access to you, he was possessive, dangerously so.

Elvis knew you were a little behind everyone else in many ways, you were inexperienced emotionally, mentally and socially and Elvis simply figured that God, or some higher power, had put you in front of him so that he could be the one to take care of you and guide you and protect you.

It didn't take long for Elvis to gain your trust and manipulate it. He listened to you and cared for you, showering you in love and affection and attention that you were so desperate for.

Whenever you needed anything, Elvis would be right there to provide it, whether it was a band aid after you clumsily fell over and scuffed your knee, someone to hide behind when a scary scene came on during a movie or just someone to give you a safe space to be yourself without judgement, Elvis was the person to do it.

You eventually grew reliant on Elvis as he began to isolate you from the world, but you didn't mind. You began to feel anxious if you weren't around the big, powerful, man and you'd seek him out at every opportunity and Elvis picked up on it quickly. He knew that if he sent for you, he knew you'd come and if he called for you, you'd run to him.

"Am I sick, Elvis?" You whispered, your face painted with worry and panic.

Elvis cooed, pulling you into his embrace and wrapping his big arms around your little frame, rocking you gently as you both sat on the bathroom tile.

"No, little one. You're not sick, it's the journalists, they're being mean to you to try and get to me and to sell a quick buck. Don't you let your little head worry one bit, you're my happy, healthy baby, aren't you?" Elvis soothed, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair, trying to quell your unease.

You nodded, wiping away a couple of hot tears that had fallen.

"I want to hear you say it, little one." Elvis encouraged gently.

"I'm your happy, healthy baby." You said softly, looking up at him with those big round eyes that made him melt.

"There we go, that's my girl." Elvis smiled warmly, squeezing you a little.

"Why do they gotta be so mean?" You asked, fiddling with the hem of your gown, a habit that you had when you felt a bit overwhelmed or overstimulated. Elvis could tell you were emotionally exhausted.

"They need to sell their stories baby, bad news always sells more so they want us to be unhappy so that they have more t'write about." Elvis told you and your eyebrows knitted together.

"I don't think I wanna read those magazines no more Elvis." You admitted and Elvis nodded.

"I think that's a good idea baby, a clever girl like you doesn't need t'be reading nonsense about herself. Their words don't matter, as long as you're happy, that's what matters to me, lil mama." Elvis said as he rocked you gently in his arms, the slow movements combined with your sheer exhaustion from the stress and anxiety of thinking you were sick, taking its toll as you let your head rest against Elvis' chest.

"M'happy. I don't like reporters no more, I don't wanna talk to them no more." You mumbled.

"That's my good girl." Elvis cooed, letting you drift off in his arms. "I think it's time for bed sweet thing, you've gotten yourself all worked up and you're exhausted, little one." Elvis said, easily scooping you up in his arms as he took you to bed.

He thought you looked awful cute, all clingy and needy and sleepy. Elvis knew that you needed a lot of care and attention and Elvis was certain that nobody was going to give you that apart from him. You were his little Rapunzel and Elvis wasn't planning on letting you out of your gilded cage anytime soon, and you didn't mind one bit.

taglist: @elvisbf, @insanelycrazyanddelusional, @astralheart21, @eliseinmemphis @gothicphantom @sassanoe @hollbunn @ellie-24 @elvispresleywife @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @billhaderstan420 @wolywolymoley @ccab @librafilms @presleyenterprise @imaginationlast @vintagegirl2005 @prompted-wordsmith

#elvis x y/n #elvis smut #elvis imagine #elvis #elvis presley #elvis angst #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #yandere elvis #elvis fluff #70s elvis #elvis movie #elvisaaronpresley #60s elvis #vegas elvis #elvis x you #elvis x oc

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zoeykallus · 1 year

Note

Hey there! I wasn’t sure if you were still taking requests, but if you are I couldn’t help but send one. How about Hunter when he’s having sensory overload and the reader is trying to comfort him. Bonus if Hunter ends up confessing his crush on the reader at the end! Thanks so much and I hope you are having a great day ❤️

Aloha! Yes, I still take requests, and I'm still behind with them 😅 Sorry for the wait! Hope I can make up for it!

Hunter x Reader One-Shot - You Ease My Pain

Fluff/Comfort/Soft Stuff/Sensory Overload For Hunter

____________________

The boys had been on the road for a few days. This time you couldn't go with them and stayed behind. When the boys come back, they all seem tired, but Hunter in particular worries you.

His brow is furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and he keeps grabbing his forehead. Without saying much, he immediately disappears into the bathroom for a long time.

The shower runs for what seems like an eternity, as if he's trying to wash away not only dirt but stress. His brothers already know this phenomenon and keep some distance. But you worry.

As Hunter emerges from the shower, clad in fresh garments, already dressed in his sleeping clothes he says, "I don't want to hear or see anything for at least the next eight hours"

An approving low murmur goes around and Hunter retreats to the room he currently occupies in Cid's establishment.

Questioningly, you look at his brothers, in particular Tech, who senses you looking at him and looks up from his datapad.

"Can I help you?" he asks matter-of-factly, politely, adjusting his goggles.

"Is Hunter okay?"

Tech makes my deliberative hand gesture and says, "Yes and no."

You raise your eyebrows questioningly and Tech continues, "In the last few days we've been on planets and in places that were either very busy or very run down, we've been in constant activity with little sleep and, for someone like Hunter, exposed to a considerable amount of sensory overload. He probably has migraine-like headaches and generally feels drained"

"Oh," you say quietly, "The poor guy."

Wrecker says smiling, "It's not easy for him, but he'll recover, he always does. He just needs some rest"

When you are in your own room in the evening, the thought of Hunter suffering just won't leave you alone. You walk up and down the room, think for a while, and finally decide to go and see him.

You gently knock on his room door.

Hunter sounds annoyed as he calls out, "Come in."

When you go in, Hunter is lying on his bed in the semi-darkness, one arm over his face, eyes special, one leg hanging out of the bed, he is only partially covered and he still seems tense.

He hasn't seen who comes in, only heard the door open and growls, "I hope for your sake it's important."

Then you see his head move a little and he takes a deep breath. Suddenly, he pulls his arm away from his face and pulls his leg up onto the bed and covers himself properly. You realize that he recognized you by your smell, somehow that was creepy and exciting at the same time.

His words are reprimanding, but his expression and voice are soft as he says, "I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed for the next eight hours."

You smile apologetically and say, "I know, I'm not here to disturb you either. I brought you some tea and some fruit, you need vitamins".

Hunter blinks in surprise.

"Thank you," he says quietly as you place the items on the small nightstand for him.

"You're welcome."

You dim the light a little more.

"Actually, you should be in the dark all the way, because of your headache" you say thoughtfully.

Hunter sighs softly and explains, "I can't. When I'm overstimulated like I am now, my sense of smell and hearing overreacts when I close my eyes, or it's too dark. And the other way around. I hear people talking outside on the street, I smell the unwashed Weequay downstairs in the bar…. It's hard to fall asleep and get to rest."

You carefully sit down on the edge of the bed, reach your hands out to his head, and gently ask, "May I?"

Again Hunter blinks in surprise, not sure what you have in mind, but he seems to trust you because he nods and says, "Uh, okay, sure."

Your fingers gently move to his temples and begin to gently massage them. Blinking, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"That feels good. Can you do that for the next eight hours?"

You have to chuckle and say, "I'm happy to do this for as long as I can, I just don't know if I can last eight hours."

His eyes are still closed, but a smile spreads across his lips.

"I'm grateful for every minute," he finally says softly, "Besides, you're the only one I smell now, and that's by far my favorite scent"

You feel warmth creep up your face.

"I'm your favorite scent?"

Hunter's eyes open and widen, he looks a little startled, like he just realized what he said.

"Well, um, yeah, I guess you could say that."

He clears his throat, closes his eyes again and says softly, "Sorry, that probably comes across as creepy to you"

"No," you say softly, "I kind of like the idea. I've always wondered, since I've known how sharp your senses are, how you perceive me"

Hunter's eyes open again, and he looks directly at you, your fingers pause for a moment, you sense he is about to tell you something important.

"Your presence has always eased any suffering for me and attracted me magnetically".

You smile and lower your eyes shyly when you feel his hands on yours.

"Would you stay here for a while? I feel better when you are near me," he speaks softly.

You nod and reply just as quietly, "I'd love to."

Hunter slides to the side and makes a welcoming hand gesture. You kick off your shoes and lie down next to him. Almost automatically, your hands find each other and your fingers intertwine.

Hunter gently kisses your forehead.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

He asks with a smirk, "Shall we share the fruit?"

Returning the smirk, you say, "Sounds good to me."

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@starwarsnerd111

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arcaneacolyte · 9 months

Text

@batcadillac and I were talking about which Ghouls we think know how to drive a car/drive during a road trip and this is what we came up with lol

Swiss: Can drive. He's pretty chill and smooth driver, but he doesn't ever signal, and somehow never gets hit. Takes really convoluted back ways to get places because he claims that, 'I know a way that's faster'. It has yet to be determined whether or not these 'shortcuts' are actually faster. Picks obnoxious radio stations when it's his turn that makes everyone groan, but he puts it on full blast because he thinks it's funny.

Rain: Cannot drive. He vehemently denies that it's because he's a little bit of a klutz, it's more that there are plenty of others in the pack who can, and why should he have to learn if he doesn't want to? He is a passenger princess and will not help with navigation or anything. More than likely he is asleep with his own little travel neck pillow and sleep mask.

Dew: Does not drive. He gets road rage on the driver's behalf, so the idea of him actually driving is too scary of a thought for the others to comprehend. One time he threatened to disembowel another driver for cutting them off. Actually incredibly good at navigation though, so he's usually riding shotgun. The others aren't even sure he actually knows how to drive, and whether he does or not is a moot point, because even if he can't, he's going to pretend like he can. Cumulus: Can drive but doesn't. She gets too much anxiety over it and will 100% cry about it. She almost had a full breakdown trying to merge onto a highway once, so she doesn't have to drive ever. She's is perfectly content in singing along to the radio or playing car games and is really good at heightening the groups morale when it comes to long car rides. Cirrus: Cannot drive. She never really bothered to learn since like Rain, she noticed that there are at least several others in the pack who can and actually like to drive, so what's the point? Unlike Rain though, she's not a passenger princess. She's a master at organization and timing. There's never a missed bathroom break or forgotten item on her watch. Sunshine: Can drive, but she is the most terrifying behind the wheel. Just because she can, doesn't mean she should. She is a speed demon and wants to see how fast she can go. She weaves in and out of traffic because, 'it's fine, I'm not gonna hit anyone'. She has driven Copia exactly once because he almost had a heart attack. Mountain: Can drive. One of the only Ghouls who isn't Multi that can drive a car with ease. Due to his abilities on the drums, the multi-tasking of driving a car is fairly easy in comparison. He is the safest driver and drives calmly and obeys all of the traffic laws. The only unfortunate thing is that he can get physically uncomfortable pretty fast since it's difficult to find a car that fits his height well. Aether: Can drive, but he's not a huge fan. Being a Quintessence Ghoul, with a lot of cars on the road, it can be hard to block out the Quintessence energy coming off of everything, so he has to concentrate really hard to be able to drive as safely as he wants to. Still will drive in a pinch if someone is too tired, but he's really tense and it can lead him into getting a migraine if he does it for too long. Unfortunately there can't be any music or really any conversation over quiet talking, because he might actually implode from sensory overload. Aurora: Can drive. She may be tiny and have to pull the seat all the way forward, but she's one of the best drivers in the pack. Even with her small stature, she loves driving big cars when she gets the chance. She loves being able to see everything, and the actual feeling of driving is pleasant for her. More often than not, besides Mountain, she's the pick for first driver. She will drive until Cirrus tells her that she needs to take a break, but she usually will be the one to volunteer for a second driving shift. Phantom/Aeon: Can't drive. He's the youngest in the pack, so it really isn't expected of him? He also gets too excited about all of the things they pass by, so his distractibility isn't really wanted when it comes to driving. However, he is the keeper of the snacks and drinks and he loves that job. Rations everything out perfectly, and knows what snacks go best together. He is the best at any of the car games and loves to play them with Cumulus.

#ghost bc #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul headcanons #ghoul headcanons #swiss ghoul #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #mountain ghoul #aether ghoul #aurora ghoulette #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #tag yourself I'm Mountain #not because I'm particularly tall but because my bones/muscles are bad and sitting in a car for long periods of time is painful for me lol

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hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds · 1 year

Note

Can I request an Aaron Hotchner x autistic!daughter young adult ideally but any age. Or even she’s on the team and he’s a father figure to her because her own is so ableist. My dad is so ableist and I have so much autistic trauma from him even though my autism is from him too. He thinks that gives him even more rights to say whatever he wants to me and bully me even more. I just need to know what it feels like to have a good dad who cares about my autism. Who cares about me ❤️❤️

Aaron Hotchner x Autistic! Young adult reader

Of course I can, I'm sorry you have to deal with that, my parents have trouble understanding my Autism as well but they are getting better. I will write this for you!

Summary: Y/Ns ableist Dad comes to the BAU and starts being an Ableist arsehole to his daughter, her father figure (Hotch) steps in and saves her.

Third Person pov...

It had been 3 years since Y/N L/N joined the BAU, she was 21 when she joined and instantly became the baby of the team and Hotch became her Dad, Y/N is autistic and has sensory issues.

Ever since she was little her father was ablest and would bully her and verbally abuse her saying how her being Autistic meant something was wrong with her and that she needed fixing, the man caused her to have so many meltdowns and sensory overloads that it made others concerned her teachers as school.

He was later arrested for child abuse and was sent to prison, Y/N was then left with her neighbours who were a nice loving family and always liked her but hated her dad and were glad she got away from him after suffering for years, her Mum was out of the picture.

The young girl had so much trauma from her childhood when she joined the BAU that Hotch became her father figure, their relationship helped mend Y/Ns trauma from her bio dad and she was able to live comfortably knowing he wasnt in her life anymore, she was treated with respect and was always told that her autism wasn't a bad thing.

From being with Penelope and Spencer (who are also Autistic) her relationship with her Autism was mended and she was able to be herself, while with her dad she could stim or doing anything 'autistic' but with her new found family she was free to stim and had all her accomedations, if anyone disrespected her or called her weird they would have to deal with an angry Hotch and the rest of the team.

It was a normal day for the team, they weren’t on a case and for once they all got to relax and fill out paperwork, well aside from Hotch and Spencer no one was doing any paperwork, Derek and Emily were sat giggling loudly like children as they kept throwing rolled up pieces of paper at their second youngest member.

The laughter increased as they kept hitting their mark, Spencers head, the genius was none the wiser as a pile of paper was forming around him at their many failed attempts. From the side JJ and Penelope sit and watch as Spencer doesn't realise, opposite the genius sat Y/N she was busy spinning in her chair with her headphones on and watching the scene play out.

She had the perfect poker face for when a paper ball hit Spencer's head, as the children in the bull pen play the two adults Hotch and Rossi where actually getting work done, , well Hotch was at least the Italian was drinking and watching the kids outside keeping an eye on them as someone responsible needed too.

As Y/N continued to spin around her in chair she didn’t hear the heavy footsteps off someone walking up behind her, the H/C woman was suddenly yanked off her chair and onto the hard floor by a man, in the process of being manhandled her headphones when flying off her head.

“What did I tall ya about doing that Girl!” exclaimed a voice that haunted her nightmares, gasping in terror Y/N stared frozen at her Father who was suppose to be in prison, the large man had a sickening grin on his face as he saw the terror in his daughter eyes.

“Yes its me!” he laughed that horrible laugh that had Y/N holding her hands overs her ears, the 21 year old was still frozen on the floor while the others were staring at the scene before them guns raised, by this time Hotch and Rossi had heard what happened and were out of their offices.

“bu-but your supposed to be in jail!” exclaimed Y/N finally finding her voice stuttering, the man looked down at her crumpled form, he then grabbed the front of her blouse pulling his daughter close. “they let me out for good behaviour, did ya miss me!” he semi whispered as Y/Ns face grew a sickening pale white, she scrambled to get away but the man wouldn’t let go instead he raised his hand and slapped her.

Y/N cried out in pain. “you really didn’t think I could be held for long did ya you retard! You really are still a fucked in the head as you were years ago” yelled the man, Hotch had had enough, he rain down thw ramp arms raised, gun in his hands. “Get your hands on hr now, you do realise you just assaulted a federal agent” growled out Hotch as the man teared his eyes away from the shivering form of his daughter.

He spat at Hotch. “your not her father I am, this waste of space in am Agent HA!”!” he laughed again and kicked Y/N hard in the ribs, Penelope gasps tears in her eyes as she witnesses her friend get beaten. Y/N holds in her cries of pain and raises her head from the floor glaring at the man.

“your not my dad you never have been!” she cried tears rolling down her face, the sadistic man smirked at the tears rolling down his daughters face, the sight reminding off when she was a kid and he would verbally abuse her, he had never hit her before now, it felt good.

Her words made him angry. “I am your father retard, though I hate to admit it you share my blood, your as stupid as I remember crying on the floor like the child you are to stupid to do what I say” he goes on on berating Y/N and saying how stupid she was once again verbally abusing her, as he went on his rant Y/N managed to stand up.

She was then pulled behind Hotch, his finger close to pulling the trigger. “you Bastard, you shut the fuck up now, you have crossed the line now get out of my building and away from my Daughter before I pump your body full of bullets!” yelled Hotch threw clenched teeth, he was so close to pulling the trigger instead he stormed up so he was chest to chest with the man and pulled back his fist.

When he lets go his right hand connected with the nose he was satisfied to feel it shatter, a smirk on his face before gesturing to a couple of agents. “now don’t ever come back or I will kill you” Hotches hand was burning but he felt satisfied when Y/Ns Dad freeze before he tsked and stormed out not before calling Y/N the R slur before he was detained by two agents ans forced into handcuffs.

Hotch crossed his arms before turning around to hug Y/N was had collapsed, the stress from her dad coming in draining her, she was then sat at her desk with Hotch hovering around her looking at her injuries, E/C eyes locked on his brown ones.

“Im your daughter” she whispers hoarsely, this made Hotch smile and run his hand through her hair. “of course, you are sweetie” he smiled softly kissing her forehead still smiling when she smiles back.

The end!!

Hoped you liked this oneshot so sorry for the wait! As usual sorry for the grammar and spelling mistake!

Requests are open!

Word count: 1366

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cowardnthief · 2 years

Text

10 actual ADHD study tips

from a student with ADHD

(or if you just have trouble concentrating)

1. put your phone in different room.

no, really. there can be any number of excuses not to (i use it as an alarm/timer, what if there's an emergency, but i use it during breaks) but i guarantee that you will focus better without the ability to check your social media. if you're genuinely worried about missing a phone call, don't put it on silent, and leave it across the room so you can hear it, but make sure it's out of reach.

2. invest in some noise-cancelling or muffling headphones.

they're a life-saver. i use them to help with sensory overloads, but now i wear them pretty much every time i study. regular headphones with some kind of neutral backing noise also work pretty well.

3. don't listen to music.

maybe somewhere, somehow, there exists a person who can actually listen to music and focus, but i've never met one. my adhd means i get distracted by anything. i'm a good multitasker, but not when the task requires lots of thought, like my science or math homework, or that english essay i've been putting off. if science is distracting for you as well, put on a neutral background noise (no, not lo-fi hiphop beats - unless that works for you). i usually put rain sounds or white or brown noise (the latter is my favourite).

4. break big tasks into small chunks.

you've probably heard this one before, but adhd makes tackling big tasks seem really daunting. like, where do you even start? before beginning a massive project, make a list of every little thing you need to do. it might seem stupid or excessive, but i can't stress how much it helps. it also gives you a sense of accomplishment whenever you knock a task off the list.

5. if you know you're gonna procrastinate, try and do it productively.

this one is one i'm still getting used to. i realised, after hours of sitting at my desk, not wanting to start on my essay but not wanting to actively NOT write my essay, and just generally feeling like shit, that it would have been better to spend those hours doing that thing i wanted to do (learn that song on my guitar, finally finish the painting sitting on my desk, write the poem that i had scribbled in my notebook a week ago). if you know you're not going to get started on your work, you might as well do something else that isn't as pressing but you still need to get done. it's okay not to be 100% productive al the time.

6. have a clear workspace.

this is a big one. i found that having a lot of stuff on or around my desk just makes me feel fenced in. i like to have 1 lamp, 1 cup of pens/pencils/highlighters, a cup of tea, tissues, and whatever i'm working on. when you're done with a task, PUT IT AWAY ASAP. that way, it doesn't build up, and you can feel ready to start on the next thing.

6.5. eliminate distractions.

i feel like this relates to the point above, but don't have lots of visible posters/lights/tempting tasks. maybe close your blinds or your door, or study in a library instead of your room if it is too bright and colourful.

7. the pomodoro method (organising your breaks).

LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS. the pomodoro method involves working for a consistent slot of time (usually 25 minutes, but whatever works for you) and then having a short break (5-10 minutes), and then a long break every 2-5 "slots" (15-20 minutes). if you don't trust yourself to stick to a timer, get a cute app on your laptop - there are heaps of different themes, and it will help you organise your time and tasks. instead of thinking about a task like "it will take me 2 hours", think about it like "it will take me 4 slots of time", and it will be much less daunting.

(note: for your breaks, try not to reach for your phone/social media. this is a rabbit hole. maybe draw for a minute, or read a few pages of a book. do something you can easily and quickly put away.)

8. organise yourself, but try not to hyperfixate on it.

apps like notion can be really helpful when organising tasks/your workspace, but they can also suck hours of your time away if you're not careful. not everything has to be perfect/meticulously planned, and you're not working on your homework by planning your weekly schedule. speaking from experience, it's really easy to get caught up in something that may feel productive, but really isn't.

9. this is really niche, but... for my reading-glasses wearers:

WEAR THEM WHEN YOU STUDY. i'm very mildly farsighted, which means wearing glasses when i read for long periods of time helps me prevent headaches. technically, i can go without them, and for a few years i usually did, but i've noticed that wearing them when i study has the benefit of getting me in the right headspace, and also stops me from looking up or around my room too often, as the prescription makes me dizzy when looking at things far away.

10. just get started.

i know you hate hearing this, but usually, knocking one or two things off your list can help you get motivated. often, things that seem really difficult or time consuming aren't as bad once you've gotten started.

good luck!

#gonna be so embarrassed if i post this and no one sees it but eh #i'll use it for myself #ironically i wrote this instead of studying #feel free to rb with your own tips #adhd #actually autistic #study tips #actually adhd #adhd in #neurodivergent #executive dysfunction #living with adhd #adhd post

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simpforfandom231 · 4 months

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i don't forget too well PT3

Warnig: Self-harm, depression, sad feelings. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day dawned with a promise of a new beginning. Renée and Y/N decided to venture into the city for a day of shopping—a simple escape from the routine, an opportunity to embrace the present moment.

As they strolled through the bustling streets, the energy of the city enveloped them. Renée, ever attuned to Y/N's needs, noticed the spark of restlessness in her girlfriend's eyes. The city's sensory overload had begun to trigger Y/N's ADHD, manifesting in heightened energy and difficulty focusing.

"Hey, cutie," Renée said, gently grasping Y/N's hand. "How about we take a break and grab a coffee?"

Y/N nodded appreciatively, and they found a cozy café to pause and regroup. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soothing ambiance provided a welcomed respite for Y/N.

However, the tranquility was short-lived as they decided to resume their shopping. Renée, being a recognizable figure, attracted attention from fans along the way. While many interactions were positive, one encounter took an unexpected turn.

As Renée and Y/N browsed through a trendy boutique, a fan approached them with excitement. "Renée! Oh my gosh, I'm a huge fan! Can I get a picture?" the fan gushed.

Renée, gracious as always, agreed, posing for a photo. However, the energy from the encounter sparked a surge in Y/N's ADHD. The heightened emotions, combined with the sensory stimuli of the busy store, turned Y/N's restlessness into overexcitement.

Feeling the spike in Y/N's energy, Renée tried to navigate the situation. "Hey, cutie, let's take it easy, okay?" she whispered, squeezing Y/N's hand.

But just as they attempted to blend into the background and continue shopping, another fan approached, a disapproving frown on her face. "Renée, seriously? You're dating someone with ADHD?" she remarked, her tone laced with judgment.

Y/N, already struggling with the overstimulation, caught the negative vibes. The comment felt like a stab, and the familiar waves of self-doubt began to crash over her.

Renée, maintaining her composure, responded calmly, "Yes, I am. And I love her for who she is. ADHD is a part of her, and it doesn't define her worth or our relationship."

The fan rolled her eyes dismissively. "Well, I think you could do better. Someone without all these issues."

Y/N's heart sank, the words cutting deep. Renée, however, stood her ground, refusing to let the negativity tarnish their day. "We all have our challenges, but that doesn't make us any less deserving of love and happiness. If you can't accept that, I'm sorry."

As the fan huffed away, Renée turned to Y/N with a reassuring smile. "You okay, cutie?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and vulnerability. "Yeah, just a lot to take in."

Renée gently cupped Y/N's face. "You are perfect just as you are. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."

With renewed determination, they continued their shopping excursion, navigating the city streets and encountering a mix of positive and challenging moments. Throughout it all, Renée remained a pillar of support for Y/N, offering comfort and reassurance.

The day that had begun with the promise of a simple shopping excursion took an unexpected turn. As Renée and Y/N returned home, the energy that had fueled their adventures in the city shifted into an undercurrent of tension. The unspoken struggles from the encounter with the judgmental fan lingered, waiting to manifest in the silence of their shared space.

Renée, sensing the weight in the air, decided to address the underlying tension. "Cutie, is everything okay?" she asked, her tone gentle, yet probing.

Y/N, still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, couldn't find the right words to express the turmoil within. Frustration, anger, and a lingering sense of hurt simmered beneath the surface.

"It's just... that fan today," Y/N began, her voice tinged with bitterness. "I can't believe someone could be so judgmental. And it hurts."

Renée sighed, recognizing the need for open communication. "I know, cutie. It was tough, but we can't let someone like that affect us. We're stronger than that."

But the unresolved emotions from the encounter were a powder keg waiting to explode. Y/N, unable to regulate the rising anger, lashed out impulsively. "Maybe it wouldn't be so tough if I didn't have ADHD. Maybe you wouldn't have to deal with all this judgment if you were with someone 'normal.'"

The words hung in the air, a momentary silence following the verbal strike. Renée, caught off guard by the hurtful remark, felt the sting of the words like a sudden slap.

"Y/N, that's not fair," Renée retorted, her voice carrying a mix of hurt and frustration. "You know I don't see you that way. ADHD doesn't define you, and it doesn't change how I feel about you."

But the damage was done. The heated exchange had unearthed unspoken fears and insecurities, turning the atmosphere from tension into a tempest of emotions. Y/N, feeling the weight of the words she couldn't take back, retorted with a defensive edge.

"Maybe it should, Renée! Maybe you deserve someone who doesn't come with all this baggage, someone who doesn't make your life more complicated!"

Renée, usually composed, felt the eruption of emotions within her. The hurtful words struck a chord, awakening emotions she had kept at bay. "Don't you dare say that, Y/N. I love you, every part of you. But I won't accept you pushing me away because of your own insecurities."

The argument escalated, each word a sharp point of contention. The apartment, once a haven, became a battlefield of emotions. Y/N, overwhelmed by frustration and a sense of inadequacy, continued to vent her anger.

The fight reached its peak, with both Renée and Y/N standing on the precipice of their breaking points. The words exchanged were like daggers, leaving wounds that transcended the argument itself. Renée, feeling the weight of the emotional turmoil, exploded in a burst of frustration.

"Maybe you're right, Y/N. Maybe I do deserve better. Someone who doesn't throw everything back in my face when they're upset. Someone who can communicate without resorting to hurtful words."

Y/N, realizing the gravity of the situation, felt a pang of regret for the words that had been said. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of the emotional fallout.

As the echoes of the fight reverberated through the apartment, Renée and Y/N stood at a crossroads. The love that had once been a source of strength now felt strained by the wounds inflicted in the heat of the argument.

The apartment, once filled with the echoes of their heated argument, now rested in a heavy silence. The emotional storm that had brewed between Renée and Y/N left behind a landscape of hurt feelings and unspoken regret. Renée, usually the pillar of strength, felt the weight of guilt settle on her shoulders.

"I didn't mean to say that, Y/N," Renée finally spoke, her voice carrying a mix of guilt and regret. "I know I shouldn't have exploded like that. I'm sorry."

Y/N, still wrestling with the emotional fallout, looked away for a moment before meeting Renée's gaze. The pain in her eyes was evident, a reflection of the internal turmoil that had been stirred.

"Maybe you're right, Renée," Y/N replied, her voice soft but firm. "Maybe I'm not the right person for you. Maybe you do deserve someone who won't lash out in anger and say things they can't take back."

Renée's heart sank at the words, the gravity of the situation hitting her like a wave. The guilt deepened as she saw the hurt in Y/N's eyes, an unintended consequence of their argument.

"Cutie, no, that's not what I meant," Renée pleaded, taking a step closer. "I love you, and I don't want anyone else. I just... I messed up, and I shouldn't have let my frustration get the better of me."

Y/N, still processing the intensity of their exchange, couldn't shake off the lingering sense of inadequacy. "Maybe I'm just too much, Renée. Maybe you deserve someone who's not a constant emotional rollercoaster."

Renée cupped Y/N's face gently, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You're not too much, Y/N. You're perfect for me. I just... I lost control, and I said things I didn't mean. I'm so sorry."

Y/N looked into Renée's eyes, the conflict within her apparent. "But what if I can't change, Renée? What if I'm always going to be like this, struggling with my emotions and pushing you away?"

Renée sighed, recognizing the depth of Y/N's insecurities. "We all have our struggles, cutie. I don't want you to change. I just want us to find better ways to communicate and navigate through the tough moments together."

The vulnerability between them hung in the air, a shared acknowledgment of the challenges they faced individually and as a couple. Y/N, torn between the desire to believe in their love and the fear of being a burden, took a moment to collect her thoughts.

"I want to be better for you, Renée," Y/N admitted, her voice laced with determination. "I don't want to hurt you like this. But I'm scared that I can't change."

Renée embraced Y/N, holding her close as if shielding her from the weight of the world. "We'll figure it out together, cutie. I don't have all the answers either, but I know we can't let one argument define us."

As they stood in the quiet aftermath of their fight, the apartment became a sanctuary for shared vulnerability. The love that had been tested now faced the challenge of rebuilding trust and understanding.

The next morning dawned with a quiet tension that lingered in the apartment. Renée, gearing up for a series of morning interviews, noticed the subdued atmosphere but attributed it to the aftermath of their argument. Y/N, however, was grappling with the weight of her insecurities, a silent struggle that threatened to consume her.

As Renée prepared to leave, she approached Y/N, who was sitting on the couch, a distant look in her eyes. "I'll be back in a few hours, cutie. Try to take it easy, okay?" Renée urged, concern etched on her face.

Y/N managed a small nod, but the internal storm raged on. The morning interviews had become an unexpected battleground for their emotions.

Left alone in the apartment, Y/N's insecurities took hold. The echoes of the argument, combined with the judgmental encounter from the day before, had carved a deep trench of doubt within her. The overwhelming sense of inadequacy swallowed her, drowning out the voice of reason.

As minutes turned into an hour, Y/N found herself spiraling into a dark place. The silence in the apartment became suffocating, and the emotional turmoil surged to the forefront. Y/N's attempts to quell the storm within were futile, and a torrent of tears streamed down her face.

She sat on the bathroom floor, the cool tiles beneath her offering a temporary escape from the chaos in her mind. Y/N gazed into the mirror, her own reflection a distorted image of pain and vulnerability. The desire for relief, for an escape from the relentless thoughts that haunted her, became overwhelming.

In a moment of desperation, Y/N's trembling hands reached for a razor blade. The sharp edge, a temporary relief from the internal storm, became an outlet for the pain that felt insurmountable. Deep cuts marked the silent battle, each one a desperate attempt to gain control over the chaos within.

Meanwhile, Renée, caught up in the hustle of interviews, realized she had forgotten her phone. A sense of urgency propelled her back to the apartment. Little did she know, the homecoming would unveil a scene of profound distress.

As Renée rushed in, the apartment seemed unnaturally quiet. A sense of foreboding settled in her chest. The bathroom door, slightly ajar, revealed a scene that would haunt Renée.

The sight of Y/N, huddled on the floor with blood-stained hands, sent shockwaves through Renée. Time seemed to freeze as she took in the gravity of the situation. Panic and fear gripped her heart, eclipsing any rational thought.

"Y/N!" Renée's voice trembled as she rushed to Y/N's side, her hands shaking as she assessed the wounds. "What... what happened?"

Y/N, tears streaming down her face, couldn't find the words to explain the depth of her pain. The regret and desperation mingled, creating a haunting silence in the wake of the unfolding tragedy.

Renée, her mind racing, dialed for emergency help. The weight of the moment bore heavily on her as she attempted to provide some form of comfort to Y/N while waiting for assistance.

"I'm so sorry, cutie," Renée whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have been here. I should have seen..."

The distant wail of ambulance sirens grew louder, signaling the arrival of the emergency responders. As the red and white lights flashed outside the apartment, Renée's heart raced, a pulsating drumbeat of fear echoing through the room.

The paramedics burst into the apartment, their faces masked by a mix of urgency and professionalism. Renée, her eyes wide with panic, gestured towards the bathroom where Y/N sat, a silent figure amidst the turmoil.

"Over here, please help her," Renée pleaded, her voice quivering with a blend of fear and guilt.

The paramedics, well-trained in navigating through moments of crisis, rushed to Y/N's side. They took in the scene—the blood-stained hands, the raw wounds, the vacant stare—and began their assessment.

"Can you tell us your name?" one paramedic asked gently, crouching down to Y/N's eye level.

Y/N, her gaze distant and numb, took a moment to register the question. "Y/N," she whispered, the word barely audible.

The paramedics exchanged glances, silently communicating the gravity of the situation. Renée hovered nearby, her eyes never leaving Y/N, her hands shaking as she struggled to hold onto composure.

"What happened, Y/N?" another paramedic inquired, his tone a mix of concern and clinical detachment.

Y/N hesitated, the words caught in her throat. Renée, sensing her partner's struggle, stepped forward. "I... I came back, and I found her like this. I don't know why. I don't know what happened."

The paramedics, accustomed to the unpredictable nature of emergencies, continued their assessment. They examined the wounds, asked Y/N about any medications or pre-existing conditions, and took note of the emotional state of both Y/N and Renée.

As the questions unfolded, Renée grappled with a whirlwind of emotions. Guilt gnawed at her, the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders. The apartment, once a haven, now felt like a battleground where the consequences of their struggles manifested in raw, painful clarity.

One paramedic turned to Renée, offering a reassuring but stern gaze. "We're taking her to the hospital for further evaluation and treatment. Are you coming with us?"

Renée nodded, her voice hoarse as she replied, "Yes, of course. I need to be with her."

The paramedics worked swiftly, stabilizing Y/N and carefully guiding her onto the stretcher. As they wheeled her towards the ambulance, Y/N's vacant gaze met Renée's, a silent plea for understanding and support.

Renée climbed into the ambulance, her heart heavy with the realization that their journey had taken an unexpected and painful turn. The doors closed behind them, shutting out the outside world as they sped towards the hospital.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedics continued their assessment, monitoring Y/N's vital signs and administering gentle reassurances. Renée, seated beside Y/N, held her hand, the touch a fragile lifeline connecting them in the midst of the turmoil.

The journey to the hospital felt like an eternity, each passing moment fraught with uncertainty and the unspoken question of what lay ahead. The sirens wailed through the city, a mournful soundtrack to the shared struggle of two souls entangled in a complex dance of love, pain, and the profound need for understanding.

The ambulance screeched to a halt at the entrance of the hospital's emergency department. The doors swung open, revealing a team of medical professionals ready to take over Y/N's care. Renée, her eyes red from a mixture of tears and anxiety, clung to the hope that the hospital staff could help Y/N find the support and healing she needed.

As they transferred Y/N onto a hospital bed, Renée felt a wave of helplessness. The sterile hospital surroundings contrasted sharply with the emotional turbulence that had brought them here. Medical professionals swarmed around Y/N, their focus on assessing the extent of the injuries and determining the appropriate course of action.

Renée stood by, a silent observer to the medical ballet unfolding in front of her. She felt the weight of the morning's events bearing down on her, the guilt and fear intertwining like a vine around her heart. The medical staff exchanged information efficiently, and the hospital room became a temporary sanctuary—a place where the complexities of mental health were met with clinical expertise.

In a moment of realization, Renée fumbled for her phone. She needed support, someone to lean on in this moment of vulnerability. A name flashed in her mind—Ayla, her close friend who had been a pillar of strength in times of need.

As she dialed Ayla's number, Renée's hands trembled. The phone rang, each passing second an eternity as the hospital room seemed to close in around her.

"Renée? What's going on?" Ayla's voice, a familiar anchor, resonated through the phone.

Renée's voice cracked as she tried to articulate the tumult of emotions. "Ayla, it's Y/N. We're at the hospital. I found her... I found her like this, and I don't know what to do."

Ayla, sensing the urgency in Renée's tone, reassured her. "Take a deep breath, Renée. What happened? Is Y/N okay?"

Renée recounted the events of the morning—the argument, the discovery, the ambulance ride. Each word was a weight lifted, an attempt to share the burden of the situation.

"I'm so scared, Ayla. I don't know how this happened. I thought we could get through anything together," Renée admitted, her voice raw with vulnerability.

Ayla, the epitome of calm and compassion, responded, "Renée, you're doing the right thing by seeking help. Y/N needs professional care, and you're there for her. Take it one step at a time."

Renée nodded, even though Ayla couldn't see her. The support from a friend, even over the phone, provided a semblance of strength in a moment of crisis.

"I need you to be strong, Renée. For Y/N and for yourself. Lean on the medical professionals, and don't hesitate to ask for help. I'm here for you, and we'll get through this together," Ayla reassured.

As Renée hung up the phone, she took a moment to collect herself. The hospital room, once a place of uncertainty, became a stage for resilience. Y/N, now under the care of medical professionals, was on a path towards healing.

The hospital staff finished their initial assessments, leaving Renée alone in the room with Y/N. The sterile hospital air felt heavy, charged with the weight of the emotions that hung in the atmosphere. Y/N lay on the hospital bed, a mere physical presence. The vibrant energy that had once defined her seemed to have retreated, leaving behind an empty vessel—a shell of the person Renée knew.

Renée approached Y/N cautiously, her heart aching at the sight before her. Y/N's eyes, usually vibrant with life, were now vacant, like windows to a soul that had momentarily checked out. The marks on Y/N's arms, a visual testament to the struggles within, told a story of pain and desperation.

"Cutie, it's me. Renée," Renée whispered, her voice carrying a blend of concern and a plea for connection.

Y/N's gaze remained fixed on an indeterminate point in the room, unresponsive to the familiar voice that sought to pierce through the numbness. Renée felt a lump in her throat, a silent acknowledgment of the vast emotional distance that seemed to have emerged between them.

Renée pulled a chair closer to the hospital bed and took a seat, her eyes never leaving Y/N's face. "I'm here for you, Y/N. We're going to get through this together, okay?"

Silence filled the room, broken only by the distant hum of hospital machinery. Renée reached out, gently taking Y/N's hand in hers. The physical touch was a lifeline, a tangible connection in the midst of the emotional abyss.

The door to the room creaked open, and a nurse entered, carrying a small tray with a cup of water and some medication. "I need you to take these, Y/N," the nurse said, her tone gentle yet firm.

Y/N's gaze remained unfocused, and Renée felt a pang of helplessness. The nurse, experienced in navigating the delicate dance of mental health care, administered the medication with a practiced ease.

As the nurse left the room, Renée continued to sit by Y/N's side, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She wondered how they had arrived at this point, where the person she loved seemed so distant and unreachable.

The hospital room became a crucible of emotions—a space where the complexities of mental health collided with the resilience of love. Renée knew that the journey ahead was uncertain, fraught with challenges that extended beyond the hospital walls.

"We're going to take this one step at a time, Y/N," Renée whispered, her voice an echo in the quiet room. "I love you, and I'm not giving up on us."

The hours passed in a haze of anxiety and anticipation. The hospital staff conducted further assessments, discussing treatment plans and therapy options. Renée, determined to be an active participant in Y/N's recovery, listened attentively, absorbing the information like a sponge.

As nightfall painted the sky outside the hospital window, Renée found herself grappling with a mix of exhaustion and a steadfast resolve. She had made calls to notify friends and family about Y/N's situation, choosing transparency over the looming specter of media speculation.

The room became a cocoon of vulnerability, a place where the complexities of mental health were acknowledged and addressed. Y/N, though physically present, remained enveloped in an emotional fog—a puzzle that Renée was determined to help unravel.

As the night wore on, Renée settled into the uncomfortable hospital chair, her gaze never wavering from Y/N's face. She whispered words of love and reassurance, hoping that the connection they shared could bridge the gap created by the internal struggles.

In the quiet of the hospital room, Renée grappled with the profound realization that love, though a powerful force, couldn't shield them from the challenges of mental health. The road ahead, marked by therapy sessions, emotional healing, and the delicate process of rebuilding trust, seemed daunting.

The hospital room was shrouded in the stillness of the night, broken only by the muted hum of medical equipment and the occasional distant footsteps echoing through the corridor. Renée, slouched in the uncomfortable chair beside Y/N's bed, felt the weight of exhaustion settling into every fiber of her being. The hours spent navigating the intricacies of the hospital, coupled with the emotional turmoil, had taken a toll on her.

In the midst of the night, a soft knock on the door interrupted the quietude. A nurse, her presence a beacon of professionalism in the dimly lit room, entered with a tray of fresh bandages and medical supplies. The nurse, recognizing Renée from the world beyond the hospital walls, offered a compassionate smile.

"Renée Rapp, right?" the nurse inquired, glancing at the exhausted figure by Y/N's side.

Renée nodded, grateful for the quiet acknowledgment. "Yes, that's me. How is she doing?"

The nurse began the delicate task of refreshing the bandages on Y/N's arms, her hands moving with a practiced gentleness. As she worked, she spoke in a hushed tone, mindful of the delicate nature of the conversation.

"Y/N is going through a lot right now. Self-harm can be a way for some individuals to cope with overwhelming emotions. It's not about seeking attention, but rather a desperate attempt to regain control when everything else seems chaotic," the nurse explained, her eyes conveying a mix of empathy and understanding.

Renée listened, absorbing the insights with a heavy heart. The realization that Y/N had been wrestling with internal demons, hidden behind a façade of normalcy, sent a pang of guilt through Renée. She wondered if there were signs she had missed, moments when she could have reached out more, or if this had been an internal struggle Y/N had kept hidden.

The nurse continued, "It's not uncommon for individuals to enter a state of dissociation or numbness after such events. The mind, overwhelmed by emotional pain, can retreat into a protective shell as a way to cope."

Renée's eyes remained fixed on Y/N, her heart aching at the vulnerability exposed by the nurse's words. She wished she could erase the pain etched on Y/N's face and offer solace in the face of the internal storm.

"Is there anything I can do for her?" Renée asked, her voice laced with a mix of desperation and determination.

The nurse finished tending to Y/N's wounds, carefully securing the fresh bandages. She met Renée's gaze, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding born from years of witnessing the complex tapestry of human suffering.

"Be there for her. Encourage her to seek professional help, and don't underestimate the power of love and understanding. Mental health is a journey, and recovery takes time," the nurse advised, her words carrying a weight of wisdom.

Renée nodded, a silent promise forming in her heart. She would stand by Y/N, supporting her through the twists and turns of the recovery journey. The nurse, sensing the unspoken resolve, offered a reassuring smile before quietly exiting the room, leaving Renée alone with her thoughts.

The night continued its silent march, the hospital room becoming a sanctuary where vulnerability met resilience. Renée, though physically fatigued, found a wellspring of determination within her—a determination to be the pillar of support Y/N needed in the face of the daunting road ahead.

As the hospital room embraced the shadows of the night, Renée settled back into the chair, her eyes never leaving Y/N's face. She whispered words of love into the quiet, a silent promise to navigate the complexities of mental health together and emerge on the other side with a renewed understanding of the strength that could be found in vulnerability and love.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky with hues of soft pink and orange, the hospital room began to stir with a new day. Renée, having spent the night in vigilance by Y/N's side, felt the weariness in her bones. The night had been a marathon of emotions, and the morning light brought with it a subtle sense of hope—a hope that they could navigate the challenges ahead together.

Y/N lay on the hospital bed, still in a state of quiet detachment. The events of the previous day, marked by emotional turmoil and the revelation of Y/N's struggles, lingered in the air like an unspoken truth. Renée, her eyes heavy with fatigue, gazed at Y/N with a mix of concern and unwavering determination.

The hospital staff, attuned to the rhythm of their morning routine, entered the room to conduct assessments and provide updates. The events of the previous night had prompted discussions about therapy options and a more comprehensive treatment plan.

A doctor, a beacon of expertise in the sea of uncertainty, approached Renée with a measured warmth. "Ms. Rapp, we've scheduled a meeting with our psychiatric team to discuss Y/N's treatment plan. It's important for us to understand her needs and formulate a comprehensive approach to her mental health."

Renée nodded, appreciating the proactive stance of the medical team. She knew that the road to recovery would require a collaborative effort, and the support of mental health professionals would be instrumental in guiding them through the journey.

As the doctor left the room, Renée turned her attention back to Y/N. The morning light cast a gentle glow on Y/N's face, highlighting the vulnerability etched on features that had once radiated with life. Renée reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's forehead.

"Hey, cutie," Renée whispered, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. "We're going to get through this, okay? You're not alone."

The door creaked open, and a nurse entered with a tray of breakfast. "Good morning. We've prepared a light meal for Y/N. It's important for her to regain strength," the nurse explained, placing the tray on the bedside table.

Renée nodded gratefully, her eyes shifting between the breakfast tray and Y/N's still form. The nurse left the room, leaving Renée alone with the weight of responsibility and the promise of a new day.

She encouraged Y/N to eat, knowing that nourishment was a crucial aspect of the recovery process. Despite the gentle prodding, Y/N remained unresponsive, lost in the internal labyrinth of her thoughts.

The hospital room, once a temporary haven for the wounded, became a backdrop for a delicate dance between fragility and resilience. Renée, grappling with the aftermath of the previous day's revelations, felt a renewed sense of purpose—a determination to stand by Y/N's side and usher in a chapter of healing and understanding.

As the morning unfolded, mental health professionals visited the room, engaging in discussions about Y/N's history, triggers, and potential therapeutic approaches. Renée, though emotionally drained, participated actively in the conversations, eager to contribute to Y/N's path towards recovery.

The discussions delved into the multifaceted nature of mental health, addressing the nuances of Y/N's struggles and exploring avenues for support. Renée, typically guarded about her private life, found herself opening up to the professionals—a testament to the depth of her commitment to Y/N's well-being.

The morning, marked by consultations and assessments, transitioned into the afternoon. Renée, having not left Y/N's side, found solace in the knowledge that they were taking tangible steps towards understanding and addressing the challenges they faced.

In the quiet moments between consultations, Renée sat by Y/N's side, her fingers gently tracing patterns on the back of Y/N's hand. She whispered words of encouragement, expressions of love that transcended the boundaries of spoken language.

As the day unfolded, Y/N remained in a state of quiet detachment, her gaze fixed on the world beyond the hospital window. The morning sunlight spilled into the room, casting a warm glow that painted the walls with a subtle reassurance. Renée, sitting by Y/N's side, couldn't shake the worry that lingered in her heart.

"Hey, babes," Renée spoke softly, using one of their affectionate pet names. She reached out, gently squeezing Y/N's hand, hoping to anchor her in the present moment. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N's eyes, though open, seemed to be windows to a distant realm. The weight of the events that had transpired seemed to have pulled her into a space where the present and the past blended into a surreal landscape.

"Y/N, I called your mom. She couldn't make it, you know, with the distance and everything," Renée explained, her voice a gentle murmur. "But she sends her love and wants you to focus on getting better."

Despite the fact that Y/N had moved from Belgium to America to be with Renée, her roots and family ties remained a significant part of her identity. The inability of her parents to be physically present added another layer of complexity to the emotional tapestry that was unfolding.

Renée continued to sit by Y/N's side, her eyes occasionally drifting towards the bustling activities in the hospital corridor. The medical staff continued their rounds, their presence a constant reminder of the delicate balance between vulnerability and expertise.

A nurse entered the room, carrying a tray with a lunch that mirrored the hospital's attempt at providing a sense of normalcy. "Lunchtime, Y/N. You need to keep your strength up," the nurse encouraged, placing the tray on the bedside table.

Renée glanced at the food, then at Y/N, hoping to see a spark of acknowledgment. However, Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, seemingly oblivious to the routines of the hospital room.

"Cutie, I know this is hard, but you have to try to eat," Renée urged, her concern etched on her face. "It's a small step towards healing."

As the day progressed, Renée found herself engaging in a delicate dance—balancing the responsibility of supporting Y/N with the need for self-care. The hospital became a microcosm of emotions, each moment a brushstroke in the evolving narrative of their journey through mental health challenges.

The psychiatric team returned for further discussions, presenting a tentative treatment plan that incorporated therapy sessions and counseling. Renée, eager to be an active participant in Y/N's recovery, absorbed the information with a sense of purpose.

The afternoon sun began its descent, casting a warm glow that transformed the hospital room into a haven of muted colors. Renée, acutely aware of the emotional toll the day had taken on both of them, decided to share a moment of vulnerability.

"Y/N, you mean the world to me," Renée confessed, her voice carrying a blend of love and vulnerability. "I want to understand what you're going through, and I want to be here for you every step of the way. Can we talk about it? Together?"

Y/N's response was a subtle shift in gaze, a fleeting acknowledgment that didn't quite pierce through the wall of dissociation. Renée, though faced with the formidable challenge of navigating Y/N's emotional landscape, remained undeterred.

As evening approached, Renée decided to step out of the hospital room for a breath of fresh air. The corridors, usually filled with the hustle and bustle of medical activities, now seemed to echo with a quietude that mirrored the complex emotions within.

Returning to the room, Renée found Y/N still lost in the introspective gaze towards the window. The day had been a tapestry of emotions, and the prospect of navigating the road ahead seemed both daunting and necessary.

As the day unfolded, Renée's concern for Y/N deepened, especially as she observed Y/N still caught in a state of detachment. The hospital room, usually a hub of activity, had transformed into a quiet sanctuary where the complexities of mental health were navigated with careful consideration.

In the late afternoon, a doctor entered the room, their white coat a symbol of expertise in a sea of uncertainty. Renée looked up, her eyes tired but filled with a quiet determination.

"Ms. Rapp, I understand you're worried about Y/N's state of detachment," the doctor began, their voice measured and reassuring. "It's not uncommon for individuals who have experienced significant emotional distress to enter a state of dissociation. It's the mind's way of coping with overwhelming emotions."

Renée nodded, her eyes never leaving Y/N's form. The doctor continued, "We're monitoring Y/N closely, and our psychiatric team is working on a comprehensive treatment plan. However, recovery is a gradual process, and patience is key."

"I just want to help her, you know? It's like she's there, but not really," Renée admitted, her voice a mix of frustration and genuine concern.

The doctor pulled up a chair, taking a seat next to Renée. "It's commendable that you're here to support Y/N. Emotional trauma can manifest in various ways, and dissociation is a defense mechanism. The mind compartmentalizes distressing experiences as a way to protect itself."

Renée's eyes flickered with a mix of understanding and a desire to unravel the complexities that held Y/N captive. "But how do we break through to her? How do we help her come back?"

The doctor leaned forward, their expression thoughtful. "In cases like this, establishing a sense of safety and trust is crucial. Emotional support, professional counseling, and time can all contribute to the process. Encouraging Y/N to express her emotions in a safe environment is an important step."

Renée nodded, absorbing the guidance. The doctor continued, "You play a vital role in Y/N's recovery. Your presence, understanding, and love can create a foundation for her to rebuild from. It's also essential to maintain open communication and encourage her to seek professional help when she's ready."

As the doctor spoke, Renée's gaze shifted back to Y/N. The complexity of emotions weighed heavily on her, but a determination to be the anchor for Y/N fueled her resolve.

"Thank you, Doctor. I just want her to know she's not alone," Renée expressed, a quiet determination in her voice.

The doctor stood up, offering a reassuring smile. "You're doing everything you can, and we're here to support both of you. Recovery is a journey, and each step, no matter how small, is progress."

As the doctor left the room, Renée took a moment to gather her thoughts. The hospital room, filled with the weight of unspoken emotions, became a space where hope and uncertainty coexisted. She approached Y/N, her hand gently reaching for Y/N's.

"Cutie, we're in this together. I'm not leaving your side," Renée whispered, her words a promise that echoed through the quiet room.

The evening unfolded with a gentle ebb and flow. Renée remained by Y/N's side, offering words of encouragement and the reassuring touch of her presence. The hospital staff continued their rounds, ensuring Y/N's physical well-being while the mental health professionals worked on the intricate puzzle of emotional recovery.

As nightfall draped the hospital room in shadows, Renée found herself reflecting on the day's events. The journey ahead was uncertain, but the resolve to stand by Y/N's side remained unwavering.

In the quiet moments between the hum of medical equipment and the distant sounds of the hospital, Renée clung to the belief that, together, they could navigate the complexities of mental health and emerge on the other side with a renewed understanding of the strength found in vulnerability and love.

The nurse, observing Renée's steadfast commitment to staying by Y/N's side, entered the room once again, her presence a gentle reminder of the practicalities that surrounded their situation.

"Ms. Rapp, I understand your dedication, but you need rest too. A proper rest will allow you to be the best support for Y/N," the nurse kindly suggested, her compassionate gaze reflecting genuine concern.

Renée, torn between the desire to stay and the acknowledgment of her own exhaustion, hesitated for a moment. The nurse continued, "We can arrange for a bed to be brought in. That way, you'll be close, and you can still keep a watchful eye on Y/N."

After a brief moment of consideration, Renée nodded, appreciating the practical solution the nurse had offered. "Alright, let's do that. I won't be far from her."

As the hospital staff arranged for a bed to be brought into the room, Renée took a moment to gather a few essentials from home. A change of clothes, some personal items, and a bag filled with comfort items for Y/N—Renée prepared to create a temporary home within the hospital walls.

Returning to the room, she found the nurse overseeing the placement of the bed. "Thank you," Renée expressed her gratitude, her eyes never straying far from Y/N's form on the hospital bed.

With the makeshift sleeping arrangements in place, Renée felt a mix of relief and weariness settle in. The nurse, noting Renée's state, suggested, "Take a little break. You can use the shower facilities here. It might help you feel a bit more refreshed."

Renée hesitated for a moment, considering the suggestion. Eventually, she agreed, realizing the importance of self-care in order to be a pillar of support for Y/N. "Alright, I'll take a quick shower. Thank you."

The nurse directed Renée to the hospital's shower facilities, a space where the sound of running water and the warmth of steam created a momentary escape from the weight of emotions. Renée undressed, allowing the hot water to cascade over her, its comforting touch offering a brief respite.

In the solitude of the shower, Renée allowed her mind to wander. Thoughts of the day's events, Y/N's struggles, and the complexities of mental health circled in her thoughts like fragments of a puzzle waiting to be assembled.

The rhythmic sound of water echoed in the tiled enclosure, creating a meditative backdrop to Renée's contemplation. Steam enveloped her, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to be present in the simplicity of the shower—finding a small oasis within the storm of emotions.

As Renée dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, a sense of renewal accompanied her back to Y/N's room. The hospital bed was a stark contrast to the familiarity of their home, but Renée was determined to create a sense of comfort within these clinical walls.

With a bag filled with comforting items, Renée approached Y/N's bedside, her heart heavy with both concern and determination. The hospital room, now adorned with a makeshift bed for Renée, became a canvas for creating a sense of familiarity amidst the sterile surroundings.

"Hey, cutie. I brought some things to make you feel a bit more at home," Renée spoke gently, her voice a soothing presence in the quiet room. She carefully arranged the items on the bedside table—Y/N's cherished teddy bear, the soft candy she loved, the Marvel shirt that always brought her comfort, a hoodie that had become a source of solace, and a picture of their beloved dog Winston.

"These are here for you, babe. A piece of home to keep you company," Renée continued, her eyes reflecting a mix of love and concern as she arranged the items with meticulous care.

She then turned her attention to Y/N's attire, retrieving some comfy clothes from the bag. "I brought you a change of clothes, something soft and familiar," Renée explained, unfolding the fabric and placing it within easy reach.

As she settled into the bedside chair, Renée took Y/N's hand, her touch a gentle reassurance. "We're in this together, okay? You're not alone."

The hospital room, now adorned with the tangible fragments of their shared life, took on a warmer ambiance. The familiar scents and textures seemed to bridge the gap between the clinical environment and the haven they were trying to create.

Renée, clad in comfortable clothes herself, leaned back in the chair, a small smile playing on her lips. "I know it's not our cozy bed at home, but we'll make this space our own, even if it's just for now."

She reached for Y/N's Marvel shirt, unfolding it and holding it up. "Remember this? The superhero shirt that always made you feel invincible. You've got your own superpowers, you know—strength, resilience, and a heart that's as powerful as any hero."

Renée's words, infused with both sincerity and a touch of playfulness, sought to pierce through the veil of dissociation that held Y/N captive. She continued talking, recounting memories, sharing stories, and offering words of love and encouragement.

As the night deepened, the hospital room transformed into a cocoon of shared memories and whispered hopes. Renée, with an unwavering commitment, remained by Y/N's side—navigating the labyrinth of emotions with a tenacity that spoke volumes of the love that bound them together.

The glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm hue on the room, creating a sanctuary where the complexities of mental health met the resilience of love. Renée, surrounded by the echoes of their life, found solace in the belief that, together, they could weather the storm and emerge stronger on the other side.

The soft hum of the hospital room was disrupted as the nurse gently approached, her steps deliberate so as not to startle Renée. The subdued glow of the bedside lamp cast a gentle illumination, revealing Renée nestled in the makeshift bed next to Y/N.

"Wake up, Ms. Rapp. It's time for Y/N's bandages," the nurse spoke in hushed tones, recognizing the need for delicacy in the quietude of the night.

Renée stirred from her slumber, the remnants of a deep sleep lingering in her eyes. Blinking away the drowsiness, she focused on the nurse, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. As the nurse attended to Y/N's bandages, Renée remained vigilant, her eyes a mix of gratitude and weariness.

Once the bandaging was complete, Renée, her voice softened by the night, spoke to the nurse, "Hey, could you help me change Y/N into something a bit more comfortable? Maybe her favorite boxers, the Marvel shirt, and my hoodie?"

The nurse, understanding the desire to provide comfort in the small gestures, nodded in agreement. "Of course, Ms. Rapp. I'll assist you with that."

Together, with a gentle and synchronized effort, they carefully changed Y/N into the familiar ensemble—soft boxers, the Marvel shirt that held memories, and Renée's comforting hoodie. The nurse, efficient yet compassionate, recognized the significance of these small acts in creating a sense of familiarity within the clinical confines of the hospital.

As they worked in tandem, Renée spoke to Y/N in a soft murmur, a steady stream of reassurances and love. "There you go, cutie. Back in your favorite gear. We're in this together, okay?"

The room, now enveloped in the quiet aftermath of their actions, became a haven where vulnerability met tenderness. The nurse, with a gentle pat on Renée's shoulder, retreated, leaving them once again in the embrace of the night.

Renée, settling back into the makeshift bed, cast a fond glance at Y/N, who now rested in the familiar attire. "We're creating our own little world in here, aren't we?" she mused, her voice a gentle melody in the quiet room.

The night continued its journey, marked by the rhythmic hum of medical equipment and the soft breaths of two intertwined souls. Renée, despite the weariness that lingered in her bones, found solace in the belief that these small, intimate acts could weave a tapestry of comfort and love amid the complexities of mental health.

As the room embraced the serenity of the night, Renée, nestled by Y/N's side, surrendered once again to the realm of dreams and whispered promises—a cocoon of warmth in the heart of the hospital's quietude.

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