#i’m not trying to get sentimental though. emotions make me ill—

[samuwhal]

We need to change how we talk about self-help techniques.

By self-help techniques, I’m talking about: grounding, mindfulness, meditation, breathing exercises, physical activity, and--the big one--yoga. I have struggled with my mental health since I was fifteen, and just now, I am realizing how much these things can actually help. I am almost twenty-six years old, and I will have been in therapy for ten years this fall. Let me tell you, I have spent so much of that time renouncing these tools. Recently, though I’ve realized that: holy shit, they can really work...but man they are offered to struggling people in the worst possible light.

TL;DR: Just because suggestions about ways to manage mental illness are framed as “you have to try it or you want to be sick” doesn’t mean that they can’t actually work or that you are invalidating yourself by trying or being helped by them. Featuring personal anecdotes and a boat metaphor.

I know I am not alone in that the idea of these techniques and exercises just made my skin crawl. They made me feel vulnerable in a way which really scared me, they felt impossible to initiate in the moments needed most, and--ultimately--they felt incredibly diminutive. Think about it: people getting sucked into rapids will drown cursing your name if all you do is insist they have to “ride the wave.” “Fuck you.”

When I began taking anti-depressants, it was not without a fight. I’m lucky; my parents were willing and able to put me in therapy as soon as I asked. But with medication, they were concerned it was a shortcut, that I would be on pills for the rest of my life, and that the chemicals would change me and do “the work” for me, as if this was an issue of character development and not brain malfunction. Why wouldn’t I just do something relaxing when I was upset? Why wasn’t I leaning more into my spirituality? Why wasn’t I letting anything else help me?

And that’s the problem! I tried to explain that I would be able to use those techniques easier if medication brought my overall symptoms down. You wouldn’t expect me to paddle upstream against a tsunami, but I could feasibly make progress against a strong current. Even at that point, if I go over rapids, I want a fucking life jacket, not somebody with their feet firmly planted on the riverbank shouting, “Try yoga!” Though I of course continued therapy in addition to medicine, I still resisted any advice having to do with self-help because of that sentiment.

To be clear, I’m still very pro-medication and for eliminating that stigma. Really, though, when somebody is having such debilitating symptoms--emotions--that they feel like they are getting pulled underwater and gasping for air, it’s not fair that the solution could be something as effortless as breathing in while counting until it’s better. That sounds like bullshit. Mental illness physically hurts, but to outsiders, it’s all in your head, and it would be fine if only you could step back and appreciate how good you have it. If “mindfulness” works, then maybe those people are right, and that can’t be true. It hurts too much to be true.

However, I want you to know that your struggles won’t be any less legitimate if something simple actually does end up helping. I have two stories here:

1. Last year, after wanting to start for ages, I finally began exercising: just going to the gym a couple of times a week. My goal was only to feel better in my body, not really to do anything for myself mentally. I even hired a personal trainer to write work-out routines for me to follow, both to hold myself accountable (I won’t skip if I’m paying someone) and just so I wouldn’t be totally lost the second I walked in. But I have felt so many unexpected mental benefits, as well:

Getting my heart rate and breathing elevated--and continuing to exert myself through it--has kept me steadier when anxiety starts to set in. I feel more confident knowing that I can lift heavy things, run distances, and because I did something productive. I’m not stress or bored-eating, not necessarily because I’m afraid I’ll “put the calories back,” but because I’m simply more regulated. I have been sleeping better since pushing my muscles has reduced my lower back pain. I don’t procrastinate showering if I’ve just gotten back from the gym. When I sit down to schoolwork, I focus easier if I had exercised. Something something endorphins. I know I’m starting to sound like a “bro,” but the point is that these are huge benefits to exercising that just don’t get mentioned by the people crudely suggesting that it will fix your depression.

2. A couple of months ago, I was having a bad night, and the “don’t believe any negative thoughts about yourself after 10 p.m.” rule had gone out the window. I did what many of us have taught ourselves to do and asked for a lifeline: I texted my girlfriend in the same room (because vocalizing it was too hard) asking if she would come over to sit with me. I didn’t even realize I was having an anxiety attack, but she did. At first, I felt too frozen and in-pain when she asked me to sit up from clutching the fetal position. Instrumentally, though, she said that she wanted to help, but I had to help myself, too. She was throwing me a ring, but I had to swim and meet her halfway. I sat up.

She held me and led me through a “find five things in the room” exercise, and fuck me: it helped. No, I wasn’t cured. I’m still not. But this broke my self-destructive loop, and I was able to go to sleep relaxed. This was an epiphany for me. I could have provided myself this tool, this comfort, the entire ten years I’ve been dealing with this shit! Instead, I’ve just been enduring it, hoping against everything pulling me down that--instead of drowning--I’ll eventually kick the riverbed where it’s shallow enough to stand.

When self-help techniques are offered to mentally ill people, they tend to be used as a “gotcha:” you could easily be better, if only you wanted to try. To be completely fair, this isn’t always the meaning. However, it only takes a couple of those microaggressions to ensure you shut down when your therapist or a concerned loved one asks if you've tried "grounding” before.

Please, take it from me: these tools aren’t just leaky arm floats that people who never even needed to learn how to swim offer just to feel better as they watch you struggle. They are a life jacket to keep you afloat when you tip, a wider paddle to outrun the rapids, a better rudder and tiller so you can actually steer, a bailing bucket for when things get dicey, or pontoons so you won’t tip so readily. Trying self-help techniques doesn’t disclaim what you’re going through, they just might make it more bearable.

And you’re worth that.

#okay to reblog #mental health #mental health tw #mental illness #therapy #anxiety #anxiety tw #depression #depression tw #grounding #mindfulness #medication #yoga #exercise #meditation #breathing exercises #honest advice #if this helps one person it's worth it #reflection #mental health stigma #end the stigma #you are loved #you are not alone #mild swearing #gym #anxiety attack #panic attack #panic attack tw #anxiety attack tw #about me

[bajisbabe]

Uhm.. thanks. I don’t know what I’m gonna do but I just wanted to drop in and thank you all for tolerating me. I know it’s hard because I’m obnoxious and loud, and suprisingly inactive. But honestly, you guys are really one of the best things that have happened to me in a minute so I can do nothing more than thank you. :D

If you’ve got any ideas for an event, lemme know because my head is ✨empty✨

#I have an idea or two but we’ll see. #thank you again 😊💝 #🔓.milestones #i’m not trying to get sentimental though. emotions make me ill— #also I’d like to thank my mutuals for constantly reblogging and interacting and stuff. y’all are the best 🥺 #okay that’s enough feelings for the day. bye 🚶🏾‍♀️ gotta go read over a collab fic and get some work done 👋🏾👋🏾

[angry-geese]

Hello. I found your last post by Sukuna very nicely written. Can I make a request for this? S/o didn't feel very good there. Would you write a scenario where s/o has a very bad cold?

of course anon! here you go <3

Oddity - Sukuna x Reader

Warnings: none! mention of illness but its just a cold. sukuna being dramatic as usual. sfw. gn!reader

a/n: This one is quite a bit more light-hearted than the last. I went with true form Sukuna because i'm absolutely feral for monstrous men being soft for their s/o's

Word Count: 1.4k

Your arms stretch out only to find the other side of the bed cold.

The previous night hardly brought any rest. You awake exhausted, and with a headache, and you'd very much like to stay in bed, but the dryness in your throat makes you stir. Your throat hurts, talking is a chore. You have a cough that doesn't want to go away. It's interrupting your sleep, making you irritable.

Sukuna is the first to figure out something's wrong.

He doesn't need sleep the same way humans do, but when he lays next to you, he dreams for the first time in centuries. There's something oddly human about waking up next to you. He lost his humanity long ago. The man is a monster. But when he’s next to you, slivers of his old self shine through. His feelings on that are conflicted. He wasn't very good when he was human, but all humans have their similarities. All humans dream. That's part of what makes them human. His feelings about that are conflicted. Not all dreams are good. And Sukuna finds himself irritated that he can't control them.

When he has the time, he stays until you wake up. He has all the time in the world to do what he wants. You don't. So when you sleep, he only wants to be by your side. This morning was a special case. Someone demanded the King of Curses’ attention. He’s not sure what could be more important than him spending his morning with you, his beloved pet, but it required him to leave.

He’s far from sentimental. But you’ve grown on him. Though he can't stand most humans, the things you do interests him. He makes note of each and every one of your small habits.

You go about your morning like usual. Aside from overall feeling awful, you think nothing of it. It's not bad enough that you can't ignore it. Your first instinct is to say it's allergies. You’re not sure what's around here that causes them, but it's the first to come to mind. There’s not a whole lot you can do about them. At best you can wait them out. They were never that bad anyway. Your lack of sleep has left you tired, and short tempered. He blames it on the fragility of humans. Sukuna, in turn, has managed to piss you off first thing in the morning.

He leaves you alone for a good part of the morning. He finds himself irritable, his mood souring. Your bad mood only makes his worse. Any servants that bother him are quickly dismissed. Word spreads to leave him be.

When you only get worse, he gets worried. It's times like these that Sukuna realizes he doesn't know a whole lot about how humans work. Unless he’s causing it, illnesses all but slip his mind. He knows how to cause harm, but fixing it is a different story. Though he's normally calm and collected, his mind immediately goes to the worst. To him, you're dying.

Never in his life could he imagine himself getting so worked up over a human. He curses himself for it. Humans are fragile creatures. Their life is fleeting. Death is a silent, constant companion, walking hand in hand with life itself.

You’ve gone back to bed when he returns to your shared room. The curtains have been drawn tight, not allowing any light to pass in. Bright light makes your head hurt. You’re content with staying in bed until late into the day. If that's what you want, he can't see himself arguing with you.

The mattress dips under his weight as he sits. You grumble something, still half asleep. His hand smooths across your back. He’s not sure what he wants, but some part of him has to touch you. His nails are getting long, and feel nice against your back. Your pride wants you to tell him to piss off, but him scratching your back feels too nice.

He doesn't remember you getting injured. You show no sign of injury, so that’s quickly ruled out. At first he thinks you’ve been poisoned. You have not. Nobody in their right mind would poison you, mostly out of fear of Sukuna’s wrath. Their fear of him transfers over into a fear of you. Not that you’re as frightening as the king of curses himself, but out of fear of what he would do after.

"You're hurt." He says.

"It's a cold," you say, "I'll live."

You aren't noticeably warmer, but you are feverish. The back of his hand presses to your forehead. He's not sure what he's looking for, but he's seen this done before by mothers consoling their sick children. When humans get sick, they warm up. He knows that. He wants to call for Uraume. The man knows more about humans than he does- he is one. If he asks you, you’ll only say you’re fine, and wave him off.

"I'm alright," you say, "it's just something I've got to wait out."

He thinks he understands. Outward his only emotion is indifference. His mood does improve. You’re not dying. There's that. Even after being reassured you’ll be alright, he’s still worried. He knows humans are fragile. But they’re also rather persistent.

You audibly protest when he pulls away.

“I thought you wanted me to go away.” He says, following this with a dark laugh.

“I do!”

“Then why are you trying so hard to make me stay?” He asks.

As you try to stand, he moves, preventing you from doing so. Frustrated with him, you try to shove him aside. You do nothing to him. Even in a non-weakened state, he’s much stronger than you. Fighting against him is futile, but you do so to preserve your pride. You can't give up without putting up some sort of a fight. His chest presses against yours, your smaller body is caged in his arms. He litters your neck with wet, open mouth kisses. His lips are soft, and tickle your skin, sending you into a giggling fit. A coughing fit wracks your body, making you double over. You let out a squeak as he pulls you into his arms, cradling your body against his chest. Your arms loop around his neck. He runs warm naturally, you’re rather glad to steal his body heat.

“Do I have to hold you down?” He asks. “Or are you going to stay put and let me take care of you?”

You nod, too tired to put up much more of a fight. Your stubbornness, however irritating at times, was endearing to him. He pulls the blankets up around you, tucking them under your chin.

Sukuna slips out of the room, leaving the door open. He doesn't plan on being gone long. The hall is well-lit, albeit unusually quiet. A moment later he returns with tea, mixed with lots of honey. If you need it, he’ll have a servant fetch you medicine. You don't seem to be at that point yet.

When he returns, you’re still in the same spot. You sit up once you see him. He sits, opening his arms. Instinctively you go into them. He’s dragging you into his lap as if you weigh nothing. To him you don't. It's both impressive and terrifying. Your body feels so small and arm against his, he can't help but huddle closer to you, trying to leech off of your warmth.

He holds the cup up to your lips. It's warm against your already feverish skin. Your hands wrap around his, and the cup, as you drink greedily. The warmth of the drink leaves you feeling sleepy, the honey helps with your sore throat. He sets the cup down on the bedside table with a thunk. Steam coils off the surface of the tea.

The intimacy of the moment does not go over his head. It's far too early for him to go to bed, but since you insist, he can't find it in himself to refuse. His hand cups your cheeks as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest. Your head leans against the crook of his neck. Your fingers idly trace along his tattoos. He pulls the blankets up around you, tucking them around your shoulders.

It's still early in the day, but in his arms, your head resting against his chest, you find yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

You’re feeling better already.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #sukuna fluff #possibly uncharacteristically soft sukuna #cw illness #fluff

[kiatheinsomniac]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something where Ezio's wife is feeling quite insecure because she feels like she isn't as good as some of the other women Ezio has "been" with like Caterina and Ezio is trying to assure her that she shouldn't feel like that

Of course!! Sorry that it's taken me so long to get round to this, I've hardly been active on Tumblr at all in quite a while but I miss it here :(

She glanced over to where the Contessa was being checked over by a doctor while Ezio worriedly looked over her. Deep down, she knew that he was only concerned because she was a powerful ally to the brotherhood and her arrest at the hands of the Borgia had put her contribution to that alliance in jeopardy. But she couldn't help but fear that he was worried because they had a history together.

Claudia had told (Y/n) enough of what her husband was like in his youth - romancing every attractive woman he laid eyes on. On good days, this made her feel special - she were the one he married, after all - but on worse ones, it made her worry that he felt he could do better and go back to some of these women. Ezio was a faithful man, especially when it came to family, but this didn't stop her from worrying that she may not quite reach what he's been treated to by other women in his past.

She must have been glaring a little too hard though, because soon enough, Claudia was by her side, her arms folded.

"The woman is fine, I have a meeting to attend and he’s holding it up to fuss over her.” She snapped in disdain, her voice lowered as to not carry across the stone walls of Isola Tiberina’s Assassin hideout. 

“I don’t like it.” (Y/n) confessed, her eyes shooting daggers at the Contessa of Forli. Claudia raised a brow at the acid in her tone, finding it so unlike her sister-in-law to be so bitter. Glancing over at Claudia’s expression of surprise, she stepped her way out of the conversation to go and fetch Ezio. He had duties as Mentor of the Brotherhood and she had the claws of jealousy tying knots at her like a marionette. Emotions were something personal to (Y/n) and she wouldn’t watch herself become a wreck over some half-disgraced woman who had lost hold of her city. 

She could remember Ezio telling her how impressed he was to see a woman running a city all on her lonesome once... 

She cleared her throat, dismissing the thought as she did.

“Ezio, our contacts are waiting for you.” She spoke up, her face and voice the mask of business to hide her feelings. 

“Sì, I just-” 

“Bartolomeo has barracks to attend to, Volpe has a tavern to maintain and Claudia has a brothel to run.” She cut him off, watching as he turned his head quickly to face her, his expression a lock of shock and offence, “While they wait for you, their factions wait for them. You keep our entire Brotherhood on hold in a most dire hour to fuss over the Contessa who I’m sure if capable enough of getting her own health in order with the medico.” Ezio had stood now from Caterina’s side, bewildered at his wife’s ill temper. 

“Amore-“

“You have a job to do so go do it!” She snapped, “I have recruits to attend to and correspondence to deal with.” And with that said, she stormed off to the study in order to deal with the letters sent from the Brotherhood’s contacts across Italia. 

She set the few recruits that she had gathered in Roma some training assignments and filed through all the available contracts in the Mediterranean, even going as far as to reorganise all the books of the study’s library. All of this was done to avoid going to bed, knowing that Ezio would be there and knowing that he wold ask her about her attitude from earlier. 

It was when she was obsessively trying to get the paperweights in position that the door opened. In stepped the last man that she was willing to face in that moment: her poor husband who had suffered the brunt of her lashing out in jealousy. 

“Gioia,” He began, his tone soft yet cautious, “come to bed.” 

“But I need to sort these out…”

“I’m sure that the papers won’t grow wings and start flying any time soon.” He walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and inhaling deeply as he pressed his face to her neck, “Come, I want to hold you and talk.” 

“I just need...” She obsessively tried to get the weight to fit between the lines of the letter perfectly, some part of her mind telling her that everything would be alright if all these little things were exactly where they needed to be, that she wouldn’t have to talk about her feelings if she just got these other things sorted out first. 

“You need to lay down with your husband,” One of his palms splayed across her stomach, tenderly rubbing up and down as his other hand caressed her waist, “and let him hold you in his arms,” A soft kiss pressed to the nape of her neck, “and tell him all about what has you so stressed. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yeah, except the talking about my feelings bit.” She mumbled as the weight refused to quite fit between the lines, tears pricking her eyes, even if she tried to laugh a little. Ezio hummed knowingly. 

“Come on…”

“Ok...” She surrendered, letting him lead her upstairs with one arm around her waist while his free hand held her own, smaller, hand in his. 

He lead her up to their room where he began to strip her of her clothes that day, leaving her in a chemise. He frowned in sadness at her apathy, the way she didn’t melt into his touches as she usually would, and worry set into his veins. 

He pulled her to the bed where he lay beside her, propped up on one elbow while she laid on her back, her bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy and jaw held tight in determination to keep a cool composure. 

“What has upset you?”

“It’s stupid.” She replied simply, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or worried you, you don’t deserve that.” She took in a quick breath and covered her face with her hands, a small sob escaping her lips, each one that followed like a pair of scissors to his heartstrings. 

“If it’s making you feel this way, it can’t be stupid.” He rested a hand on her arm and she turned away from him, her hand gripping the case of the pillow under her head impossibly tightly. 

“It’s the Contessa.” She mumbled into the plush pillow, her cheeks already heating up in humiliation, “The way you risked your life to save her today and then you were fussing over her health and...” 

“Amore, you know that I would do all the same and more for you.” He spoke, almost in disbelief that this is what she was so upset about. There was a long silence as she wrapped her arms around her torso, hoping that somehow she could physically hold herself together with her arms. 

“Why did you marry me?” Fresh tears wet her cheeks and she muffled the sound of her crying in the sheets. He drew closer to her and held her in his arms, feeling her frame jolt with each sob. 

“Because I’m in love with you.” He replied simply, “I’m in love with the way you see the world and people, I’m in love with your passion and humour and intelligence.” He squeezed her tightly. 

“But you could have had any woman you pleased, any woman you’ve been with before. The countess of Forli: the only woman strong enough to run her own city and even fend off Borgia armies.” She hesitated but now that she had bottled up such strong emotions all day, the glass had cracked and no one could hold in its contents lest they slice their hands on the glass. “And don’t think I didn’t overhear that night back in Monteriggioni when I was still just the decipherer Leonardo had sent for the codex pages.” 

Once upon a time, this would have been a time for Ezio to be boastful, but now that he was a married man, he only felt rather embarrassed instead. Looking away for a moment, his eyes came back to land upon his wife. 

“You worry that you don’t live up to the women I’ve had before then?” He asked cautiously, knowing that this question may well only make things far worse if he were wrong. 

“She’s a fucking countess who runs her own city and has her own armies, not to mention the fact that she’s also very clearly good in bed. Who am I? The goddamn babysitter of all the recruits.” She threw her hands up in the air before rolling onto her back and turning her head to face him, at last, with teary eyes. 

“You, amore mio,” He began, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek, turning his body even more so in her direction, “are the woman who stole my heart so quickly, that I simply couldn’t wait to marry you.” It was true, they had only been seeing each other for just over 18 months when he asked her to marry him. “You’re an Assassin who is fighting for everyone in Roma and then all of Italia behind her borders.” A conviction began to grow within his voice as he took up her left hand in his, holding it up so that she could see her wedding and engagement rings. “You are the only woman in this world that I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He brought her hand up to place a kiss upon her knuckles. “I have had histories with women before, we both know this… But they are the past and you,” He leaned down to place a soft kiss upon her lips, lingering and tender, “are my future.” 

A small smile quivered upon her lips as fresh tears welled in her eyes, tears of an overwhelming sentiment of love. 

“I love you with all my heart, Ezio.”

#Ezio #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore #ezio's family #ezio assassins creed #ezio x reader #ezio auditore fanfiction #ezio auditore imagine #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore da firenze x reader #ezio/ reader #ezio auditore/ reader #im back on my fanfic shit bitches

[elysianslove]

cheering you up ; haikyuu boys

synopsis; different ways the haikyuu boys care for you and cheer you up when you’re sad

pairings; karasuno x reader, nekoma x reader, aoba johsai x reader, fukurodani x reader, shiratorizawa x reader, inarizaki x reader

genre; fluff

warnings; none probably a bunch of mistakes lmfao

note; i had to repost this like 3 times rip. anyways, im sorry for not adding inarizaki on my last one jbshds but they’re here now!!

karasuno ━━

sugawara koshi; i definitely think he's so in tune with you, and your emotions. he learns your cues very well, and knows every little thing about you that there is to learn. if you're having a bad day, he'll notice right away. he won't comment on it though. all he'll do is these little things to try to cheer you up, but it's going to be very subtle. he'll let u rest ur head on his shoulder, run his fingers through ur hair. he'll sneakily buy u ur favorite snack. doesn't bring anything up until you do. ends the day with cuddles and a chick flick.

sawamura daichi; he notices but he doesn't really know how to react. not because he doesn't know what to do, but because he doesn't want to trigger you or deepen your sadness in any way. he's very careful with you. if it's something throughout the day, he's very quiet and tender with you, just silently lets you rest your head against his chest and rubs your back/arm tenderly. as you're walking home he asks if you want to talk about it, and reminds you that it's good to, but it's also okay if you don't want to.

nishinoya yuu; not a single sad moment with mr noya here. seriously you cannot breathe. ok but in all honesty, when you're sad. he's sad. sends you memes, and you'll be laughing at them with tears streaming down your face because you don't really know what you're feeling anymore. he does a lot of tiktok trends with you, any of the couple ones. grabs your faces and ,,, smooch all over. until you have no choice but to laugh. if you want to cry even more, he'll watch the notebook and the vow a thousand times over, and be a sobbing mess next to you. just don't tell the guys okay? <3

kageyama tobio; he's so.   bad. at this please help him. like he can tell ur sad, bc he's v good at reading people. but like. what the fuck is he supposed to do. anyways. when u two get to be alone and he kinda notices how quiet you are, he just nudges you slightly, and pulls you to him. it's easier to talk to you, he's calmer, when he can't directly look at you. when he feels you start to shake in his arms, feels the wet tears down your cheeks as you start to sob in his arms, his heart kinda breaks. all he can do is hold you, but it's what you need. and he'll listen too, if that's what you need as well.

tsukishima kei; i think he notices, but doesn't bring it up at all. the way he goes about it is he'll tease you to try and bring a smile on your face. because this is tsukki, and you know him well enough, you know the truth behind his jabs, enough to appreciate them. if it doesn't work, he'll just start to make fun of people in front of you, pointing random people out with you and just being like "wanna bet on what's making their relationship fall apart" this sadist i stg. like suga, he subtly makes you feel better until you yourself approach him about whatever's upsetting. actually gives 10/10 advice bc he's v honest.

asahi azumane; he's so empathetic oh my god bruh. notices immediately. "baby what's got u so upset" w a big pout on his face and when u just mumble "nothin" so low he barely catches it and instead throw yourself into his arms, he gives you a big, certified asahi bear hug. doesn't leave your side at all. constantly mutters sweet nothings and encouragements. if you do the bare minimum like make it through class he'll meet you after and be all "im so proud of my pretty baby". cuddles all day. all night. he's not very good at advice but he is the best listener !!! so attentive and you'll feel a huge weight lifted.

tanaka ryunosuke; "aight who do i need to jump" type beat. u love him so much though. that one sentence and sentiment already has you feeling better. immediately hugs you so tight, borderline suffocating you. "wanna ditch school". 100% willing to do so. he doesn't really know whether to approach it with distracting you or facing the obstacle head-on, but he finds a middle ground. eats your feelings out with you. saeko pulls out the embarrassing ryu pictures and suddenly you don't know why you were ever sad.

hinata shoyo; is really oblivious for a bit tbh. when he first meets you at the start of the day and his hyperactive self is greeted by your duller, sadder self, he doesn't think much of it. it's when you don't react to him or interact with him the way you usually would that he starts to notice you being off. he's actually super straightforward about it, and approaches you with some of your favorite snack that he bribed ukai to give him for free and just "wanna tell me whats up, baby?" he's so, so easy to talk to. immediately you're venting. and he listens to intently, gives stupidly good advice. it's like such simple approaches to your problem but?? it works. anyways you love him.

yamaguchi tadashi; will be super worried about what he could do to make it better, and kinda just tries to feed you as much positive energy as he can. once he's comfortable with people, he becomes really chatty, so i see him talking your ear off with the biggest smile on his face that you have no choice but to kind of ? mimic it? he just radiates goodness and sweetness that it shifts your own energy. he on some witchcraft shit on god. anyways when he walks you home or something, he'll just stop for a min and avoid your eyes when he says "ik u dont feel the best, but i dont want you to have to hide that from me, okay?" stan tadashi <3

nekoma ━━

kuroo tetsurō; drops everything. i mean it. i genuinely think kuroo would be such a good boyfriend that he'll sense it and text u as ur getting ready for school and be like "are u sad i feel like ur sad". you dont really wanna worry him and you'll just reassure him ur fine but he's already at your front door in — not his school uniform. insists the two of you take the day off saying "its fine babe im super smart". you two will spend the whole day just simply existing, talking when needed, he listens to you if you vent, and tries to come up with as many options of solutions for you so you don't feel weighed down. he'll make sure you eat even if you don't have an appetite, and will try to make u do something productive bc in a lotta cases, it could help you feel a lil better yk :)

kozume kenma; i pretend i do not see it — kozume kenma (2020). jbwjwks im jk. he's like tsukki in the sense that he will never address it, and he doesn't outwardly approach you about it. if it's just an off day for you, and you also happen to not have school, you'll go over to his house, hoping to feel a little bit better when you see him. "can i have a kiss, sunshine" to which he responds "why." you just go "im sad" and he gives u a big smooch. he'll have you lay on his lap while he plays his games, occasionally just sneaking in a peak at you to make sure you're okay. he'll ask if you wanna play to get your mind off things for a while. eventually, when things wind down a bit, he'll just mutter "yk i love you, yeah?" and that lights up your world hehe

haiba lev; as soon as he notices you're sad he just ☹️. he picks out a small flower and as soon as he sees you, he just tucks it by your ear, and smile so brightly and youll just be like "oh my god lev please stop being so cute". he won't really know what to do tbh, but the way he's so lost makes it so heartwarming and it honestly cheers you up all on its own. he just. "would a kiss make it better" and if you nod he'll just start kissing all over your face so softly, until he finally kisses your lips. when he pulls away he asks "again?" with a cute smile and if you nod he'll just kiss you over and over again. very simple way of cheering you up, and very foolproof tbh.

yaku morisuke; i think throughout the day, he might pester you a little bit about telling him what was wrong, but after you keep insisting you're fine, he relents, and decides that maybe giving you your own time and space to open up to him is better. he tries not to act differently in that sense, but he finds himself being a little more soft spoken, and gentler with you. i just had this image flash in my brain of you resting your head on a desk, head turned to the right, and then yaku comes and sits to your right, putting his head on the desk and facing you. and just. "hi :)" your heart melts. he kisses your forehead softly and tells you you're wonderful, in case you've forgotten. if, or when, you do open up to him, he'll be very eager to listen, and ready to fight off whoever upset you.

yamamoto taketora; this man is angry. like properly. "who the FUCK put a frown on my baby's face. speak the fuck up. i won't hurt you. ill just mutilate you." if you tell him that it's no one, and that you're just upset, he'll be so confused but he'll just nod and be like "okay. okay. do you want a hug?" and he'll hug you so tight. he'll admit that he doesn't like seeing you like this, and that he'll do anything to make it better. at first he's very cautious, but then he just lightbulb moment and as soon as you get home he'll be like "karaoke night babyyyyy" and then. no more sad.

aoba johsai ━━

oikawa tōru; very. perceptive. he greets you normally, even if he notices something's off, because he won't want to worsen anything. you meet him right before he has practice after school, and he'll just cup your face, lifting them to brush at your hair, and you just sigh. "my baby's had a long day, yeah?" he'll be very gentle and careful with you, i'm sure. he gives you a kiss, smiling softly into it, and reassuring you that you're much too strong to let a single bad day destroy you like this. he meets you later that night with a lotta ice cream and you two just binge watch any reality show you could find, shit talking the actors together. he himself is terrible at talking about his feelings this dumbass >:( so he understands if you don't want to yk? will encourage u to vent it out though. expect terrible, makes no sense advice

iwaizumi hajime; he kinda like. gets mad? when you continue to be upset and not speak about it? he's not mad at you! he's just. mad. this is iwa okay. anyways. he won't bring it up mostly, only being slightly more affectionate, especially in his hand holding, which is super gentle already as it is. when he invites you over, that's when he actually starts to talk to you about it. he lets you know that there's nothing worse than seeing you like this and not knowing what to do, and that he wants you to be able to talk to him. about anything. even if you think it's stupid. he'll listen, and tell you that it's not stupid if it's making you upset. he cooks for you <33333 then bakes with you <33333 you feel a lot lighter at the end of the night tbh

hanamaki takahiro; (he's so annoying i love him). as soon as he sees you upset he makes it his mission throughout the day to cheer you up in any possible way. spams your phone while you're class with ten thousand wholesome memes. sends you pick up lines. when he meets you in between classes he just yells out "how's my favorite person in the entire world!" and kisses you so wholly in the middle of the school hallway lmfao. while he's walking you home, takes a longer route and purposely, he passes by your favorite store/bakery/ice cream parlor. buys u ur favorite, and pretends to be shocked when you give him a piece. late at night, he'll facetime you, wondering how you're feeling, asking if you needed to talk about it. whether you do or you don't, you two will fall asleep facetiming.

matsukawa issei; the minute he sees you he's like "whats wrong". no hi or anything. he has like this frown on his face, which seems off bc it's rare to see a frown on issei's face, and he just tucks your chin in his palm gently and stares at your pout. "you good, baby?" he can tell you're not, but he wants you to be able to tell him on your own. sticks by your side the entire day, and nobody really mentions it. he talks to you as if it were a normal day, but his voice has a softer edge. he's not distracting you, per se. he's more, talking to fill the space while giving you your own space to think. once you're alone, he'll just drag you to the nearest comfy surface, flop down, and pull you on top of him. if you even try to resist or ask whats going on he'll just "nap and cuddles first." and when u sleep a lil bit of ur sadness away, he'll just let you talk it out as he continues to hold you <333

fukurodani ━━

bokuto kōtarō; just as empathetic as asahi, if not more. he really does feel it all with you. yk sympathy pains that partners get when women get contractions? bokuto is that partner. with bokuto, i feel like he'd never make you feel like you couldn't just straight up text him "im sad" and feel bad about it. if you ever do that, he'll immediately call, not even bothering with a text. if he can't come over, he stays with you until you've cried your heart out and then laughing until you can't breathe. if he can go over, he smothers you with love. repeatedly says "you know i love you, yeah? you know how grateful i am for you?" and in between kisses "im so lucky. so, so lucky."

akaashi keiji; i feel like as soon as akaashi notices you're down, or you're slightly off, he just grabs your hand and squeezes, forcing you to stop spacing out and focus on him for a second. if you're with a lot of people around you, he'll lean close to you and ask if you wanna go home. he'll be so soft and gentle and understanding, making up some excuse on the spot on why the two of you have to leave. if you're alone, he'll grab your hand and kind of tug you towards him, silently asking you to come into his arms, where you yourself know you feel safest. as soon as you're in the comfort of your home together, he'll like run you a bath and slip into it with you, just holding you until the water grows cold and the droplets on your skin are from your own tears. he'll wait it out, just holding you as reassurance, then make sure nothing's stopping you from spilling everything to him.

konoha akinori; when he first notices, he kinda deflates. like. who would wanna see their s/o like that? his smile is gentler when he greets you, and he's so soft with you. he grabs a pen and lifts your palm up, quickly scribbling down in his unique handwriting "i love you :) <3" on your skin, whispering for you not to wash it off until the end of the day. it is weirdly motivating tbh. as soon as the two of you are alone, he says it to you, face to face, an expected look on his face as if to ask "you know that, yeah?". puts on a movie to tune out the rest of the world, and holds you close to him as it drags on. he'll give advice if you're asking for it, but he's a better listener than anything else.

shiratorizawa ━━

ushijima wakatoshi; does not notice. in all honesty, he expects you to approach him whenever you have an issue or if you're upset. he's kinda like ? so confused when you're so down and really unresponsive, until he starts to notice how touchy you are. like you're leaning more into his touch, holding onto his hand like it's your lifeline, stealing his vbc jacket because it smells like him. is very straightforward, and will just ask you if you're okay as he walks/drives you home. kinda just stops in front of your house and presses a kiss to your forehead, then pulling you into a hug. "please don't be upset." he won't tell you that it kills him, but you can sense the unsaid words. he urges you to keep his jacket when he notices how safe it makes you feel. greets you the next morning with a new cactus in a pot hehe.

semi eita; is very cuddly once he notices. you'll sit at a table in school and he'll be sitting next to you, but he just pulls you into him and lets you rest your head on his chest, mumbling softly into your hair "i know you're sad and it's okay." he doesn't say anything else, just holds you there with a few kisses in between until he has to let go. late at night, if your thoughts are still keeping you up, he'll be up too, worrying, and will text you at 3 am if u wanna sneak out to meet him. takes you to the park and lays on the grass with you, picking out stars and constellations in the sky, with a soft soundtrack playing from his phone next to the two of you. he makes you feel secure enough to be sad even if you have all the blessings in the world, and makes sure you know that he'll always be there for you, even at 3 in the morning.

satori tendō; cheers you up by making you forget literally everything. replaces the sadness in your brain with just pure serotonin in any way he can think of. he'll take you to an amusement park, get ice cream with you, take you to the carnival in town, to the park, to the beach, to the pool, take you up to his house's rooftop. literally anything. and then he'll say something like "life's too short to spend it being sad over anything, darling." he's so understanding, and if you're frustrated or something he'll tell you to let it out by like wrestling him or some shit. exhausts you so much and you're filled to the brim with dopamine. he makes sure you're always happy, never seeing a dull moment in your relationship with him.

goshiki tsutomu; freaks out. plain and simple lmfao. but once he like grounds himself, he just softly comes up to you and asks you if you wanna talk about it, or if there's anything he can do. if yes, he'll break his leg running to go do it. if no, he'll just sit with you in silence, leaning over to hold your hand, talking to you about volleyball and his aspirations and how well he's improving. he's better at distracting you than helping you face your issues, mainly because he stresses out about giving the wrong advice or somehow making you sadder. he'll take a lot of pictures of you together on snapchat random filters to try and cheer you up, then later on in the night he'll send them to you and be like "look how cute we are ugh what a power couple" i love this dorkhabsjsks

shirabu kenjirō; i think he definitely notices, but keeps it to himself. he’d maybe think he’s imagining things and that you’re okay, so he’d go about his day normally. he doesn’t see you after school, and that’s when he puts two and two together and realizes yeah maybe you are sad. so he texts you, and texts you, and texts you, and gets no reply, so he just. comes over. unannounced. uninvited. just straight vibes. he’s already ordered your favorite take out, and already settling in bed with you under the cover with the lights dimmed and some chick flick playing in the background. gives the b e s t advice because he’s so blunt. like he will tell you if you’re overreacting, but you’re still his s/o, so he’d like wince as he says it. that’s all the sympathy you’re getting <3 but his bluntness will shock you into laughing hehe

inarizaki ━━

miya atsumu; usually, with atsumu, you’re always experiencing loud days. your relationship is all fun and flirty and suave and cool. but when he notices you’re sad, he goes quiet. like. eerily so. immediately pulls you aside somewhere private if you’re at a public place like school or something, and with his hands in yours he asks you if you’re okay. yk that thing where ur on the verge of tears and someone asks you if you’re okay and you just burst. yeah <3. his heart absolutely breaks and he just pulls you into a hug, resting your head on his chest and wrapping his arms around your neck. he just holds you there, even if you’re missing class/your friends are worried. he’ll stay with you until your tears have dried up, until you yourself let go.

miya osamu; i don’t see osamu as someone that loves pda. i feel like he’d be a more lowkey kinda guy. but if you’re sad, that gets thrown out the window. he doesn’t really in the moment, and won’t think too much when he pulls you close to his side and just wraps an arm around your waist/shoulder. yeah he’ll get looks but he can feel you trembling and shaking from holding back tears so yk, priorities. he’ll definitely stress eat with you. takes you literally anywhere and feeds you as you rant to him with tears streaming down your face and he’s just nodding sympathetically as he stuffs your mouth one bite after the other. romance is beautiful

suna rinatarō; when he notices you’re sad, his first response is alright what the fuck who messed up. he immediately blames someone else, and if he’s right, he’ll only get really agitated. just giving everyone the side eye from where you can’t see as he walks the two of you, your hand in his tight. if it’s not someone specific, he’ll just hum thoughtfully and then nod, before pulling you away somewhere private and just sitting you down and saying “talk.” very, very good listener. i can’t stress this enough. as you’re speaking he’s already thinking of a million different ways to help you solve your problem. walks with you as he traces your hands and just quietly tells you all the solutions.

aran ojiro; oh my god as a boyfriend he ticks all the boxes. he’s great at communicating, always satisfies your needs, is trustworthy and trusts you. the list goes on. immediately knows when you’re off/sad, and just smiles softly as he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles and saying, “let’s go home, yeah?” at home, he makes you some calming tea, probably pulls out some cookies or brownies or biscuits (that HE made but we’re not gonna get into that) and just listens as you talk, whether it’s about why you’re sad or just in general. gives you honest advice, but also a lil biased bc he loves you hehe <3

#sugawara x reader #daichi x reader #nishinoya x reader #kageyama x reader #tsukishima x reader #asahi x reader #tanaka x reader #hinata x reader #yamaguchi x reader #kuroo x reader #kenma x reader #lev x reader #yaku x reader #yamamoto x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #konoha x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou x reader #semi x reader #goshiki x reader #shirabu x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #suna x reader #aran x reader

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi! So I would like to request a Seb x reader one shot if you have the time ☺️ I just got diagnosed with Endometriosis today and am in need of some soft Seb... Could you write smth where Seb finds out that reader is always in pain during sex and never said anything, though he knows she has Endometriosis and usually cares for her during her period... and he then encourages her to get surgery to try and fix it? Only if it's okay though, I know it's very precise, sorry!

A/N; I am so sorry to hear about this hun, i hope there’s something that can be done, no one deserves to go through that kind of pain. I researched endometriosis and it certainly sounds horrible, I’m sending you all my love and support 💙

Endometriosis - Sebastian Stan x reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; based on the request, I changed it a tiny bit so I hope that’s okay, I just feel like if r was in pain seb would notice, I hope you like it hun 🤍

Warnings; endometriosis, smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69ing, mentions of sex toys, illness, mention of alcohol, fluff, pain, swearing

divider by @firefly-graphics

It hurt like a bitch, there was no way to put it, or at least it was a simpler revelation of description at the prying of your womb had you near to tears. You laid your head down into the pillow, mushing it into the fabric, as you wanted the pain to dwindle down into nothing, and thus you tried to ignore your own suffering, as you turned over to be on your back, severely wincing by the change in position. A groan came from the other side of the bed, as the man that was laid there began to shuffle, in the midst of waking up.

“Morning.” He spoke with a hoarse voice, the steadiness obliterated by his blatant hangover that was haunting his form. Sebastian rubbed a hand over his eyes as he fully awoke, stretching his back as he reached his arm out, swiftly hooking it around the back of your neck as you allowed yourself to lay on the muscle. “Guess neither of us got laid, did we?” He laughed lightly, shaking his head, as he tipped his chin up, blinking his baby blues up to the ceiling.

“Considering that we’re in the same bed, and that you’re not a stranger to me, I guess not.” You laughed to your close friend, whom was aware of your condition, but not the extent of it. “Looks like you’re going to suffer from no morning sex Stan, I’m sure that sucks for you.”

“Usually it’s someone else doing the sucking.” You smacked his arm at his off handed comment, pulling a smirk out from the man as he turned to face you, pulling you closer by the contact that he had upon you. “I’m guessing your disappointed that you’re not waking up to some muscular, blonde haired and blue eyes patriotic punk.”

“If you’re describing Evans, i swear that I will punch you in the dick, I said he was attractive once.” You put emphasis on the amount of time(s) you had ever mentioned it. A pout quivered his lips, as he shuffled beneath the covers, angling his hips in a more comfortable position so that they weren’t being crunched down on the mattress.

“You can punch my dick, on the agreement that you kiss it better.” Seb allowed a hollow smirk to mull over his handsome features, as you swatted his bicep once more, an unhumored frown conforming its position upon your face.

“I’m not one of your hook ups, I’m not gonna get on my knees for you buddy.” You bantered back, raising a brow at his inquisition. No, you were not a past sexual partner of his; it was a constant of him never having a serious relationship, he opted for flings rather than any long engagements, you suspected that he had feelings for someone else, but you were not sure of whom.

The thought alone of him being endeared with the image of one woman brought a pain to your body, separate from your medical suffering. Though your opinion wasn’t fair, considering that you as well, or had your time of sleeping around before the pain in your inner walls became too much, and that was one of the many things that you had given up, more or less.

To support the montage of your body’s self torture, you had a mixture of hormone and tablets that helped reduce the unexplainable sensation that willed around in your lower half, swarming around like an internal snake bite in your own body.

“69 then?” He joked, but it felt so serious. You knew he wasn’t being truthful, it was the relationship the pair of you had, though his face had moved closer, his breath fanning over your face, making your heart prominently race as you thought about such a scenario. “Having mentioned Evans...” he began to change the conversation, having felt the heat that had radiated from your body.

“Go on.” You pried at him, interested in hearing what his friend had opted to say about the pair of you. It wasn't every day that you heard celebrities gossiping about you.

“He thinks we’ve hooked up.” Sebastian stated, making your neck reel slightly back as you took in the fact, of well, the perceived view point of a world renowned, household name, actor. A part of you was slightly embarrassed, you held your own cheek as the words that Chris had passed on sunk in on you.

“We, no, never. Okay, I’m exaggerating, that would not be so bad, but it would definitely be weird. But like, why does he think that, of all things?” You asked whilst partially laughing. It made you partially aware of yourself, and the prospect of you possibly having made your feelings obvious, but that however hadn’t been the case as Seb scratched over the stubble that he had on his chin, and did that awkward Bucky smile that had became humorous in his new marvel show.

“Of all things; it’s like you’re trying to break my heart babes.” With one diverging look from you, he knew he was done for. It always pained him to keep secrets from you, and this was the one that he had been hiding for so long. “You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you? Okay, fine. I still can’t believe that you haven’t caught on, after all this time, but this just shows that you haven’t noticed how I try and scare away every guy with my money and power.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Lightly you scoffed, having many memories of such a situation. It was a pattern that kept repeating itself, but to you it had just become normal, and to say you were fine with it was not incorrect. It gave you hope that he could reciprocate the emotions that you held towards him, though having a wish like that was altogether hopeless. He was just protective, that was all, he probably saw you like a little sister, or something of the sort, that really put a drab annotation on the prospect of romance.

“Ever wonder why?” Ever, more like all the time, but you allowed him to continue without disruption, by doing so more would be unveiled by that mouth of his, and you were eager to learn more, yet a little hesitant. “It is because I am so tired of being your friend, I love it, don’t get me wrong but...” you were dreading what was to come out of his mouth next, you squeezed your eyes shut, almost as if you were unable to see, the pain would not render upon your specimen. “I love you.”

“You what?!” Eyes snapping open, you were blatantly shocked by his confession. “That can’t be right Seb, you’re you, and I’m me, and-“

“We’re us.” He finished for you. As he noticed you relax from his contingence, which allowed him the time gap to slide closer, his warm and soft hand running up the side of your face as he watched you gasp from the sensation. It was not the first time he had touched your cheek, but it was the first instance in which he done so intimately; you were rather fond of the treatment.

You nuzzled your face into the curve of his hand, your brows lightly directed in a downwards motion as you lulled in his touch, and that was when you realised that he had frozen. “Shit.” You stopped him from moving away, pausing the sadness in his eyes for the current second. “I should have responded, that was my bad. I love you too, I’m not just saying that, so you know.”

“That’s a relief.” Sebastian sighed, falling back onto the mattress, bringing his face accidentally closer to your own. The tips of your noses were touching as your eyes ogled deep within the pools of one another’s, it was impossible not to seek a closer vicinity, and thus, you slunk closer, bracing the tips of your nails against his scruff, as your lips worked their way onto his.

“How would you like another kind of relief?” You pulled away, stroking down the smooth course of his shirt covered chest, prompting a suggestive dialogue in your tone. His brow raised as he thought about it for a moment, but then he remembered a rather distinctive matter he didn’t want to cause any obstruction to.

“What about your, you know?” He was referring to your endometriosis, having the knowledge about the unfortunate illness that interfered with your life. Through it all, the doctors appointments, the encouraging you to take your medication on days that you weren’t feeling particularly well, he was there. Now it made sense why.

To reply, you softly shook your head, combing your hands over his shoulders, as you answered him. “If it gets too much, I’ll give you the signal.” You spoke, leaning down to peck his lips, though you still saw the reluctance that was embedded on his forehead in the form of strict lines. “I promise.” You persuaded him, meaning the sentiment, as his eyes trailed down, his hand scourging a fierce, passionate grip upon your hipbone as his tongue weaved its way back into your mouth.

You moaned into the atmosphere of his mouth, grabbing onto his cheeks as you heaved breaths into the internal beyond of this man, rolling on top of him, as you swept your crotch down against his own, extracting a sinister sound out of his guttural throat. It was only turning you on more, and you knew that if you didn’t do something, even despite the recommendations of your doctor, you would be sufficed with a lack of pleasure, and that was all you currently craved.

It wasn’t fair how you had been dubbed with the condition. So many people in the world could have sex whenever they pleased, yet you were forced to commend under the sentence of experiencing a discomfort when all you wanted was the comfort of being intwined with another human being. That connection, it felt mandatory, however you were denied it, for every time that you proceeded to bed a stranger, or a partner of any sorts, the stretch of anything in your walls pursued you with a fracture of pain.

You’d even had to throw out your vibrator, whilst it felt good on the outside, the clenching of your empty walls sparked physical and mental hurt, and reminded you of the fact that whenever you were filled by any length, your body could not function to emit pleasure, instead it was the opposite that you were tasked with contracting. The thought and reminder often spewed tears in your eyes, but you held them back as you got lost in Sebastian.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He admitted sentimentally, and your heart both became full and broken. It was sweet and scorching to the arousal between your legs to know that he was that concerned about your well being; he wasn’t just prioritising getting his dick wet. He resumed pressing succulent kisses on your lips, he lulled in the notion, he too wanted to be close to you, but he wasn’t willing to do inadvertently so to the expense of you being in pain.

That was the opposite of what he wanted, even as your hand wandered down his firm and pheromone driven body, that bucked in your grip, as your hand hooked around his bulge, your thumb stroking over his round sack as he grew beneath the layers of his soft sweats and underwear. “69 then?” You reiterated his earlier words, causing his pupils to blow wide, and his blue irises to darken into the juxtaposition of stormy skies.

“Will that be okay?” You confirmed it was, even if you weren’t completely sure yourself. The angles, the penetration, it was all elements, that combined gave you an equation that you had yet to figure out. The only way to do so was to try it, even if it concluded in an error, and not a sensible answer. To instigate the next step, you roused your sleep shirt from your body, leaving you in nothing more than your causal panties, but Seb didn’t seem to mind.

In fact he rather preferred the normalcy of your actions and undress, it made the strategy of shifting from friends to intimate lovers into one of relaxation, there was no absurdity nor discomfort yet, for either one of you. Your fingers dipped in the sides of your underwear, teasing the band, as you cocked your head towards Seb, licking your lips as you took in the view of him entranced by your being. “Am I going to be the one naked or...”

You were grateful that he took the hint, and stripped himself from both layers that kept his goods confined. He rapidly removed them, leaving his uncut cock open to your gaze; it wasn’t anything massive which was a relief, but it for now, it was to be attained in the confinement of your mouth, rather than the realm of your cunt, so that slight stretch could await. As you thought of that, you reached your hand out, dancing your fingers lightly over his shaft.

Seb emitted a soft huff from his obtainable lips, he dragged you to be laying atop of him, as your thighs surrounded his length on either side, it was warm, and rested perfectly below your where your cunt was hovering. How you wished to just sink down on it and- “Turn around.” For a moment you took time to refrain your memory to perceive what you had said before. And then, whence your words caught up to you, it was simple to do so, especially with the motivation of what was going to happen.

As you spun around, to be facing his lower half and have your own above his mouth, you watched his cock twitch, as it rested heavily upon his abdomen. You could feel your nerves kick in; it was a substantial difference from anything that you had ever done together, from looking at the stars and watching cheesy movies, to sexual actions, it was quite the leap. But a welcome one, you had waited so long to acknowledge your feelings to him, you'd be damned if you were not going to act on them.

A shiver rippled up your spine as he paved a lick through your slit, it made you tense up for a moment, and you try to register any diagnosis of pain, you coiled when he put one of your lips in his mouth. It felt good, which was a relief, and you took that as a sign to reap your front forwards, and focus on his throbbing hardness that was oozing precum against his perfect skin. The drop of essence looked like liquid moonstone, catching the ambience of the snooping sun that eyes through the crescent opening of the closed curtains, creating a luminescent light against the contrast of his skin.

Leaning forwards, as the initial shock of Seb using his tongue on you had settled in, as a faint plea from inside of you derived away in your eternal being, your tongue glided over the patch of fallen precum, your eyes fluttering at the heavenly, yet rare taste, it wasn’t every day that a man’s cum was relatively nice on your buds. Some perceived eating junk food as a lifestyle, caring not for how the receiver of their sperm would taste within the mouth of a giver on the other end. Sebastian hummed against your slick folds, as he danced his hands around your ass, grasping your cheeks firmly.

His fingers swept through the outside of your cunt, fooling around with your labia as his tongue swirled your bud, making your face grimace on the edge of pleasure, as your warm lips wrapped around the head of his cock, whirling your tongue within his slit, as your hand rested around the rest of his length, jerking it in your grasp, as his hips lightly heaved upwards against your face. He teased a finger around your entrance, running the tip along the wet flesh that mimicked your breaths as it clenched prosperously.

“Shit!” Tears webbed in your eyes as he entered the finger, though he considered that a resonating profanity of pleasure. To your dismay, it indeed was not though, the entry of the digit weighed heavy inside you, prying sorely against your walls as your giving to him paused, as you harshly gripped his thigh. “Shit, that hurts Seb. Fuck!” In an instant, he stopped, extracting his finger out from within you, as it caused you further pain, and helped you turn around, and lay languidly upon the bed.

“Oh my god, fuck, I’m so sorry y/n/n.” He panicked, immense guilt wavering his body, as he grasped your face, staring with sorrow into your seasoned expression. “I didn’t mean to- didn’t want to hurt you, shit, I should never have tried to-“ soothing his conflicting emotions, you stroked his shoulders, kissing him to ease his words into silence. He felt guilty, but so did you, you were the one whom had encouraged to pursue the rhythm of your shared sexuality to one another, deducting the poise of your actions with tear beaded eyes.

“It was my fault; I said it would be fine. I should have known it shouldn’t have, I’m sorry.” You reasoned with him, knowing that you had told him that it was to be something that you could manage, but from experience, you should have had better knowledge of how things would turn out.

“Don’t you ever apologise, you’re perfect, the only thing that I want to ease is your suffering. Is there any news on the operation that can be done, should I get you your medication now?” He wanted to be certain, to ensure that you didn’t put the accountability of your situation completely on yourself, he should have asked if a finger would have been fine, he shouldn’t have been swayed by your persuasion. “I could talk to someone, see if I could get the thing moved up, I can pay for it, get you further up on the ladder.”

“No.” You smiled, pressing an ample kiss upon his scruffy cheek. “I don’t want that, many other people are waiting for the op too, and I can’t have you paying for it. That would just be inconsiderate of me, you have already done so much for me, I can’t ask more. You’ve been there through everything, just wait with me whilst I wait for myself.” You pulled the sheets over your breasts, staring opulently into his serene eyes, shuddering as he swept his lips over your mouth once more, deriving you breathless for a moment.

“It’s okay to be selfish, if any of them had that chance, then they would take it. I can afford it, and I would want nothing more than to pay for it, it’s not just about sex, you know that. I love you so so much, you’re my best friend, the girl of my dreams, I’ve waited for you, I just want the pain that you live through to disappear. Out of all people, it’s not fair that it’s you, but it is, and this is the one way to fix the reductive searing of hurt that you live through.” You gulped, water glazing your irises as you stared at her, trying to diffuse your light sob.

His words brought acceptance to you within the scenario, as you took a deep breath in, confronting the trigger that had set off inside of you. It was difficult to handle and attain to, as you curled in his bare arms, exasperating your soundness close to him, as he competently cupped your face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Okay.” You agreed, nodding sincerely along with your words. “Okay, I’ll do it for me. It’s the right thing to do.” A smile raved his face, as you convinced yourself of doing so. It was to be a long road, but Sebastian would be there holding your hand, travelling down this path alongside you.

#sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian smut #sebastian x y/n #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan reader #sebastian stan request #bucky barnes smut #seb fic #marvel actors x reader #mcu actor smut #mcu actors imagine #mcucastxreader #mcu cast imagine #mcu cast x you #marvel cast fanfiction #marvel cast x y/n #imagines #imagine #xreader #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n

[nim-lock]

WHO HURT BOBA WHY WAS HE HAVING SELF LOATHING THOUGHTS

YOU KNOW WHAT, I’ve impulse written enough for this to be a second prompt fill for Day 5, so hello @bobadinweek Day 5 Hurt/Comfort Part 2 !!!

Word count: 1171 [content warning: MENTAL HEALTH]

The entire day had felt off. It felt like many other days, in the endless drudgery of being alive. Boba woke to overcast skies over his area of Tatooine, normally a source of relief and contentment. He moved his body through the daily litany of meetings, beat up a comically ill-prepared assassin, and showed up to game night, organized by Fennec and some of the full-time staff. Din waved at him from his spot on the floor, and Boba's eyes skittered away from the helmet's visor.

Nothing was wrong.

Boba couldn't enjoy it.

It had been, by all accounts, an entirely mundane day. The issues that cropped up were all solvable. Boba Fett had consumed an adequate amount of nutrients over the course of the day, and he was now partaking in a social activity. This was fine.

As Fennec went through the instructions for the newly released bantha-befriending board game, Boba became increasingly aware of Din's presence by his shoulder. Or perhaps he was projecting, and Din wasn't paying extra attention to him at all. After all, their relationship was a relatively recent development. They really didn’t know each other well enough. 

The game progressed; pieces were taken, traded, and moved; Boba made the appropriate noises of encouragement, amusement, and outrage. He interacted with Din a reasoned amount. He watched himself go through the motions as though through a thick haze of fog. Boba put his pieces back after the first game and excused himself, citing a need for routine weapons maintenance. Fennec flipped him off, and told him she’d see him the next morning.

--

Boba sits heavily on his mattress and lets his face contort into the positions he’d held off on doing the entire day. He takes off his armor with the routine amount of reverence befitting belongings of his father. He’s not sure how he feels about the lack of plated pressure on his chest. He hears a ragged gasp, and a sound like a wounded deer, and it takes longer than it should for him to realize it’s coming from his own wretched vocal chords. He’d make an effort to stop making this ambient soundtrack of his life, but it feels like more energy than he can give at the moment. 

There’s a knock on the door.

Boba schools his face back into a semblance of composure, and is momentarily comforted by the knowledge that the soundproofing in his room is solid. He sees Din’s helmet through the peephole. 

“Hello,” he says, opening the door a crack. He is confronted by smooth beskar. Din has taken off his armor, with just the helmet remaining. For the second time that night, Boba’s not sure if he can read the man’s body language. Or rather, clues point to Din exhibiting the emotion of “concern”, but that can’t be right. 

“Can I come in?” Din says. “Are...you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” says Boba, roughly. Before he remembers the first part of what Din said. “Yes—you can come in. If you want. I don’t think you can help me, however. I’m not good company right now.” 

Din regards Boba for a long moment, then slowly walks into Boba’s room. The room is sparse, and Boba is glad that it does not reflect the chaos of his mental state. He’s never had many belongings, what with his ready-to-go-at-any-moment lifestyle and understanding that attaching sentiment to too many things was even more loss to bear.

Boba remains standing near the door. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” says Din, awkwardly, fidgeting with the seam of his belt. “You don’t have to tell me anything, of course, but...I’m trying. To be a good friend.” 

Boba stares resolutely at a plant to Din’s left, debating whether he should tell Din nothing. Whether he should just laugh it off and pretend everything was alright. But he’s not sure if that would help. He doesn’t want to see Din’s regard for him gradually deteriorate as he realizes that Boba could never be the right person capable of caring for him properly. 

The air is tense. Boba knows he himself is the one making it so. If Boba’s going through this, he might as well rip the bandaid off the entire way. So he can lay down and fuck himself up and force himself to pick up the jagged pieces, and know, that he is destined to be alone. With the vaguely masochistic satisfaction of knowing he's about to twist a knife into his own figurative insides, he speaks.

“I’m rarely happy,” Boba blurts out. “I mean. You—you met me at a point where I was. Happy. Content. As good as it could have been under the circumstances. But that’s not me all the time. Most of the time, it’s like..... this.” 

“Alright.” Din says, levelly. Waiting for him to go on. 

“I’ll fuck this up. Life continues to happen and it’s not bad, but it feels like I can’t...appreciate it. It feels like I should. It feels like I should be glad to have lived beyond all expectations. I don’t—you know—I. I know I brought down the mood of the entire gathering today. I know I made everyone uncomfortable. And I can’t help that. It feels like I should be in control of my thoughts and actions but. There’s only so much I can pretend to be...a person that people want...to be near.” Boba’s heart rate feels way too high. His breath is too shallow. He thinks a heart attack right now would be quite nice, actually. So he can get out of this situation. His eyes are unseeing. Is his vision fading?

His brain is full of bantha wool and Boba knows some time has passed because the next time he is aware of his own skin, he is sitting down, and Din has his hand in his hand, and a hand almost touching his face, and. And it almost feels like reality is real, just at those prickling points of contact. Din’s talking. He’s been talking and Boba didn’t process a word of it before now. 

“Hey—look at me—listen; you matter. Alright? Remember this. Take a deep breath for me.” 

Boba doesn’t think he has the energy. Everything feels too much. 

“It’s... okay,” Din says, a stilted attempt at saying the right things to make someone feel better, “Or maybe it’s not, but I’m not giving up on you just because you happen to be a person, Boba.” 

Boba...sits. And tilts his head forward, and leans into Din’s shoulder. Arms encircle his body, and he breathes. It smells like laundry detergent, sweat, and a lingering hint of metal. Boba doesn’t know what he’ll say after this moment passes. He doesn’t know the right thing to say, and... maybe he doesn’t have to know. He breathes, and feels the pounding in his chest fade to a background lull. This? This is good. 

#content warning discussions about depression #WHUPS I shouldn't have typed this much my hands hurty #lol I'll proof read this another day when my hands are working #bobadin #bobadinweek2021 #my writing #idk I don't think that's a tag yet because I do not often write things #but AHHHH fuck I have to get work done but my brain is to wibbly #fuck it byeeee

[atlabeth]

fever - sokka x reader

this has been sitting in my drafts half finished for 3 weeks so i thot it was prime time i actually finished it

this is kinda based off the song w dua lipa and angele so you can listen to that if you want

summary: sokka's convinced there's a mystery illness keeping you from focusing, but somehow he's completely oblivious that the only 'sick' you are is lovesick, and he's the reason you can't focus.

a/n: i have never written a sickfic. but this is like. a fake sick fic. its an idiots in love fic. i mean this is coming from mr "is he taller than me? is he better looking?" himself so. it makes sense. as usual, this is not proofread bc im a lazy mf

also im sorry for being vague with the calc but i was NOT about to do math during summer who do you think i am? ??

wc: 1.7k

warning(s): mentions of being sick and 🤢calculus 🤮 but otherwise tooth rotting fluff

-

How could the smartest man you knew be so, so incredibly stupid?

You thought that you were being obvious, so obviously that you were sure he knew. It was embarrassing how obvious you were.

You had met Sokka in your calculus class at the start of the new semester after you ended up sitting next to each other, and it wasn’t a stretch to say that you were immediately smitten. With eyes like the ocean and a face that had to have been crafted by the gods, you were almost too distracted to respond when he asked you for a pencil. But when he winked at you after giving his thanks, it only solidified what you had already suspected: you had known this man for all of five minutes, and you already had a crush on him.

Little did you know, it was going to turn into the most infuriating crush you had ever experienced.

You and Sokka became fast friends even though calculus was the only class you had together. Unfortunately, it was also something that you completely sucked at. Bad news, it was required for your major. Good news, Sokka was some sort of genius and offered to tutor you — Wednesdays in the library turned into a weekly occasion, and served as an opening for your calculus skills, your feelings for Sokka, and your exasperation to all grow stronger.

You normally weren’t someone to beat around the bush. If you started to like someone, you told them and dealt with whatever happened after, but something about Sokka just kept you from spilling your feelings outright. You knew that if he didn’t feel the same way, your relationship likely wouldn’t change, but there was still that tiny voice that said it’s better to stay like this in case things do go wrong — and this was the first time you listened to that voice. You simply valued your friendship too much.

But that didn’t mean you were going to be completely quiet about it — you hoped that if you did enough, he would be able to realize you liked him and do the whole process for you. A bit of a dim hope, but crushes make people do stupid things.

Things like bringing an extra coffee to every session, laughing at all his jokes (even the bad ones), sitting a little closer to him than usual, not dropping out of this wretched class so you could spend time together (it might’ve been required, but you still counted it). He didn’t make a point to object to anything, so you knew you weren’t making him uncomfortable — but you had concluded after nearly a whole semester of working and studying together that he was the most oblivious person in all of Ba Sing Se. He could teach you all kinds of formulas, but had no idea that you liked him. Grand.

Today was arguably the most important session out of any of them, seeing as your next class was the final, so it was only fitting that Sokka unknowingly made himself more interesting than any material you could’ve been working with. His arms were going to be the death of both you and your calc grade. You swore that the heat rushing to your cheeks was actually emanating off of you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sokka grinned as he saw you and raised a hand in greeting, a sentiment you would’ve returned had it not been for the coffee cups in your hands. You settled for mirroring his grin and settled down in the seat across from him. You slid his coffee cup over, set your own down, then shrugged your bag off all before taking a seat.

“You ready to study ‘till your eyes bleed?” he asked, prompting a nervous laugh from you.

“You jest, but my eyes might actually start bleeding depending on how long we go,” you sighed. “There’s a reason I got an extra shot of espresso today.”

“Come on — by now you should know that you have nothing to worry about! I am the best teacher there is, and you got me all to yourself.”

Your eyes widened momentarily and you coughed, purposefully averting your gaze to give yourself some time to recover. Okay, he was going to make it really hard to focus today. “Let’s just get into it.”

He nodded and flipped open his notebook, beginning to talk as he rifled through his bag for a few extra things. “Okay, we’re just gonna start with going over the basics, then we’ll work our way up. There’s a couple practice problems on that page, so you can go ahead and answer those as a warmup.

You slid the notebook over in front of you and after approximately five seconds of looking at the first problem, found yourself studying Sokka rather than the material. Who could blame you? In the battle of cute tutor boy versus calculus, he was going to win every time.

He turned around and you immediately averted your eyes once again, trying to appear extremely involved, but you found that your mind was empty on anything to do with math. “Hey, uh— how do you do this first one? I’m totally blanking here.”

“We use limits in everything — this is actually something you’re really good at!” He studied you intensely and frowned. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything, are you? You seem kinda out of it.”

You choked out a laugh and shook your head. “No, no — I’m fine. I guess I’m just a little tired.” As if to demonstrate your lie, you took a sip from your coffee and cringed internally. Love had turned you into an idiot.

He seemed to buy it as he nodded and picked up the pencil, scribbling a couple of notes as he explained the first problem to you. “Does that make sense?” You nodded and he handed the pencil back to you. “Okay — the other ones follow the same kind of process. It should be easy enough.”

You managed to get a little further in the second problem, but your lovestruck mind would not stop focusing back on Sokka every time you tried to do, well, anything. Curse him and his perfect arms, and eyes, and hairstyle, and everything.

You shook your head and set the pencil down once more, letting loose a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Yes, you did. “I just can’t focus at all.” Because of you. You picked up your cup once more and took a sip, hoping it would do something to get you back into the math state of mind.

Sokka frowned once more as he put the back of his hand against your forehead. “God, you’re hot.” You nearly choked on your coffee as your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets — he had to know what he was doing by now — how could he not? “Like, you’re completely burning up. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I swear— I just…” you set your cup down on the table and heaved a sigh that was a touch more exasperated than necessary. “Are you telling me you seriously haven’t noticed? Like, not a single thing this whole year?”

“I’ve noticed a lot of things this year,” he chuckled. “It’s kind of our whole job, so you’re gonna have to be a lot more specific.”

You finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Sokka, I’m not— I’m not sick! Haven’t you noticed that I’m only ever flustered, or running into things, or forgetting info, or— or just a complete idiot when I’m around you? I like you, like, a lot, and I have for an embarrassingly long time! The reason I can’t focus is because I am hopelessly attracted to you in every single way.”

His brows creased for a moment and you clamped your mouth shut, worried that you had just ruined everything. It was only after a pause that felt like a century that he finally responded, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Well, why didn’t you just say something?”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in pure surprise before the annoyance set in. You set your jaw as your brows furrowed and you hit him lightly on the side of his arm with the back of your palm. “You can’t be serious! You— you’ve gotta be messing with me by now. I really can’t believe that you can be that smart but this oblivious!”

He finally let the grin play across his lips in full force and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I don’t know how you don’t expect me to mess with you when you scrunch up your face all cute like that every time you get mad. Besides, I started liking you after that fifth class; I offered to help you out so I could spend more time with you! I didn’t realize you felt the same way. I kinda just enjoyed the free coffee and getting to look at you all the time.”

“I can’t believe you!” you cried as you hit his other arm. “You’re telling me that I had to deal with this- this mental turmoil about whether you liked me back, while you were just enjoying the free eye candy and coffee the whole time?”

“You have nothing to worry about! I enjoyed the company far more than the coffee,” he joked, a certain twinkle in his eye. “But, you are probably out a couple twenties after all of that. So, what do you say about this Saturday, the cafe by the shoe store? My treat.”

“Damn right it’s your treat,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your face. “You owe me a lot — you have to make up for those coffees and all the emotional distress you caused.”

“Oh, I think I’ll have plenty of time to make up for lost time. After all, we do have a lot of coffee dates to get through.” And when he winked at you just like that first day, you remembered just how impossible it was to be angry at Sokka. “But first, we kinda have to get through this study date. The final’s still happening tomorrow.”

You responded with a raised brow. “This is a study date?”

Sokka shrugged and grinned. “They’ve all been study dates. You just didn’t know it.”

-

idiots in love idiots in love idiots In LOVe

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

atla: @marianne1806

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #sokka fic #atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender fic #avatar x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

[calpops]

less lonely | l.h.

You move in with Luke and he realizes all of the time he’s missed out on with you and his son.

From my prompt list: I can’t do this anymore & stay with me

1.3k words

living with luke masterlist | feedback and reblogs mean the world

Copyright © 2021 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

Luke looks around his house, the once clean and comfortable home turned upside down. Boxes and suitcases litter the floor and footprints sweep across the tile from friends helping in the endeavor to move you and Luke’s son in. Luke’s still in awe and shock at the revelations you brought to his doorstep the previous day but an excitement sits in his heart that he can’t deny. His son sits in a baby swing and giggles as Luke crouches down to face him. Robbie reaches a hand up and gives Luke a grin.

“Hey bud,” Luke coos and takes Robbie’s small hand, the baby’s fingers tiny in his hold. “Welcome home.”

“I think he likes it here,” Luke hears you say from behind him, he spins on his heel and faces you, stands to be at eye level and watches as you place a box on the coffee table.

“I hope so,” he mutters, runs a hand through his hair and eyes all of the things that have accumulated around the house. “Is that the last of it?” Luke asks as the door shuts behind Ashton and Michael both toting boxes. Affirmative nods come Luke’s way. “Lotta stuff for two people.”

You laugh and Luke feels a little lighter through all of the adjustments. “Believe it or not, most of it is his,” you retort and send a fond smile over to Robbie. “I may have gone a little overboard.”

Luke shakes his head, knowing that he would have done the same if given the chance. He can’t imagine what he would have done for his son as a newborn, he doesn’t know what ridiculous things he would have sought out. It hits him once again that there’s eight missing months standing between them. His heart aches and his mind wanders through the time he lost but he shakes himself, knowing that letting himself drown in those missing pieces won’t do anyone any good.

“It’s too bad Cal’s not here to help,” Ashton chides lightly even though everyone knows why and would never hold it against him.

“Have you heard from him? How’s Mila doing?” Michael asks and Luke tunes in for an update; his favorite niece fighting an illness that’s left Calum by her side at all times.

“Better,” Ashton informs and the entire room lightens. Luke catches his breath and peers over at Robbie, unable to imagine what it must be like to be in Calum’s shoes. “Cal said if she’s doing even better by the weekend we can go see her.”

Luke leans back down to Robbie and picks him up, suddenly needing to know that he’s okay. Protective instincts kicking into gear at the mention of Mila and the anxiety that looms. Luke rocks Robbie, swaying himself from side to side as the eight month old delights in the motion.

“We’ll go meet Mila, huh, I think you two will be best buds,” Luke whispers with all of the hope his heart can muster.

Ashton and Michael stay long enough to help build and set up the essentials. They stay until it’s dark and rejoice in the new bundle of joy that’s joined the family. Michael makes promises that Robbie is his favorite nephew and vows that this time he’ll be the favorite uncle. Ashton only chuckles and waves a hand at his friend. The day goes by smoothly and Luke finds himself restless as night claims the sky and silence settles into the once bustling house.

It’s late when Luke finds himself sitting on the couch sifting through cardboard boxes, fingers finding a photo album and curiosity getting the better of him. He pauses, knows he shouldn’t pry but the photo of Robbie on the cover allows him to indulge. You’d already promised he could see photos of the times he missed. Alone and under nothing but moonlight pooling in from the French doors Luke assumes now is better than later. He flips the album open and takes a deep breath.

He’s met with the sight of a newborn Robbie, his height and weight written in the margins of the book. He flips through the pages, watches as Robbie grows bigger and hurt makes a home in his heart. Photos of Robbie with you scatter the pages, photos of Robbie with people Luke has never met blow hard truths into his mind. He keeps flipping, restless in his endeavor to catch up on all that he’s missed. He hears the floor creak behind him and turns to find you tiptoeing down the hall.

“What are you doing up?” you ask.

“Just… looking,” he says, voice low and quiet. He turns back to the album and finds Robbie with a smile that could melt and break hearts. “I can’t do this anymore,” Luke mumbles and snaps the album shut.

“Do what?” you question as you approach and see the album now discarded on the coffee table.

Luke sighs and covers his hands with his face as he leans back into the plush cushions of the couch. He rubs his eyes and then drags his fingers down his face and eventually settles his hands balled into fists in his lap.

“Pretend that I’m okay,” he chokes out and feels the dip of your weight on the cushions beside him. “Pretend that it doesn’t kill me that I missed so much of his life.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” you whisper and Luke hears the pain and genuine sentiment in your voice. It almost makes him feel better to know you don’t expect him to be okay with it, that he doesn’t have to put on a strong front or act detached from his emotions. He looks over at you and a realization hits him.

“I don’t want to”—Luke begins and shakes his head and all of the anxieties inside of him—“but I can’t help it. I look at you and him and how bonded you are, I see all of the time I missed to have that with him. I look at you and I blame you.”

“I know,” you say and shock Luke, leave him coming up short and make his heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest. He didn’t expect that. “And I’m sorry.”

Luke sighs and feels his emotions spike. “Could you really not find me?”

He waits with bated breath, heart beating out the time it takes for you to respond. He feels himself cool, the accusations and blame boiling over and sending a chill up his spine. He instantly feels regret bite at him when he sees how glossy your eyes have gotten and how distant you become.

“I tried,” you say and it sounds like a promise, a plea for Luke to understand. “I wrote you but I didn’t know where to send the letters.”

It goes silent for a moment and Luke collects himself. He realizes you did all you could given the circumstances. One night stands didn’t usually wind up like this. Without his number or address it was all just shots in the dark trying to find him.

“And I was scared,” you admit in a whisper and Luke furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Suddenly I was pregnant and alone and didn’t know how to find you; I didn’t know if you’d believe me if I did.”

Luke sags, his shoulders dropping and weight sinking back into the couch. He didn’t know that. Didn’t think that you might fear his response, fear that he may not believe you or take Robbie as his own.

“I believe you,” Luke says and turns back to you. “I’m sorry too. I don’t blame you, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Moonlight and pain sparkle your eyes as they gaze at the floor. Luke watches your hands, your fingers curling into your palms and dragging across the length of your legs.

“Do you want me to go?” you ask and Luke feels a hidden meaning within the question.

“No, please don’t,” he responds quickly. He reaches a hand out and captures yours, he hasn’t felt a spark simmer under his skin in a long while, but with emotions on high and the night being so dark he feels it under his skin and in his bones. “Stay with me?”

You nod and Luke feels a little bit less lonely as the night fades away.

***

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[writefightandflightclub]

Return to Sender: (Richard Alonso Muñoz x GN reader)

What is this? This is 4/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. I’m not gonna share the prompt as it’s spoilery, but it was requested by @sergeantkane​ who is a genius for picking this combo! It’s a prompt about LOVE LETTERS! Omg! And thus, it matches perfectly with Richard (trust me, I had NOT made that connection when I made the prompt list :P). Thank you so much for requesting, Clarke, and I hope you enjoy it. I’m excited about this one!

If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Oh, I really quite like this one. Hope it makes you feel as soft as I did for Richard while writing it! Also- it’s my first bash at writing him, so let me know what you think! Thanks to everyone who helped with film details too: those not already tagged in the post- @prurientpuddlejumper​ @witchyavenger​ @veuliee2​ @waatermelon-sugaar​ @pascal-isaac​

Word count: 4.5 k. So not a blurb, then? :P

Rating: Mature, for light steam (not explicit, but 18+ or out, please!)

Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Mild angst (but it ends well), Steamy. Kissing, brief non-explicit mention of erection. Implied coitus (cut scene). Richard works in a “correctional facility”. Small mention of attempted break-in. If I missed any let me know.

Tagging: @anetteaneta​ @isvvc-pvscvl​ @nowritingonthewall​ @supernovafeather​ (ONLY READ IF 18+)

GIF by @nathan-bateman​

“Have you ever received a love letter?” Richard wonders shyly, without looking up from his crossword puzzle, his long eyelashes fanned out as his gaze dances over the monochrome squares.

Meanwhile, your eyes snap up immediately from your magazine, which you are idly leafing through, a breath catching in your chest.

You bristle at the question, and yet Richard seems either entirely oblivious, or entirely determined not to look-up at you. Perhaps both. So, instead of looking, he simply slurps the dregs of his milkshake, and pushes his plate of waffle remnants further toward the far end of the diner booth.

When he finally raises his gaze – a gentle prompt for you to answer him- his eyes are large and shining under the fluorescent lights as he peers at you over his glass, dabbing at his thick moustache with a paper napkin shortly after.

“No, never,” you state sadly, heeding his prompt with a small smile and a shake of your head. Not even a love e-mail.

“I’m surprised,” he flatters with a cautious smile. And, if you’re not mistaken, his eyes light-up with the faintest trace of desire. The barest undercurrent of passion, which is enough to have your heart beating like a drum. You notice it sometimes; this dull heat emanating off of him. It is a spark which never ignites, however - to your endless disappointment; you would fan that flame if only you knew how.

You swallow. He’s surprised? He can’t be that surprised, you think, a stone sinking through your stomach as you dwell too long on the topic of love letters, and meanwhile, Richard’s attention seamlessly diverts back to 3 across.

“You deserve one,” he says, still looking at the page, but a smile animating his wiry moustache. “A letter.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, a spiralling sadness catching hold of you. Does he not understand what this is doing to you? This painful reminder? “Can we drop it, Richard?” you say tensely, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are even more soft and cautious than usual, causing you to admonish yourself for the bite in your tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Of course,” he smiles thinly, apologetically.

It’s simply the new job, you think. Director of Communications. The man has letters on the brain. Richard is so considerate, that you realise he must not intend to hurt you in dredging up the past; he would never. In a way though, you think, it’s even worse that he brings it up so… casually. You can only conclude he has forgotten that you sent your letter to him at all. Had your heartfelt words, declaring your love, had so little impact on him?

Maybe that’s it. After all, they seemed to have so little impact upon him at the time. What could you expect years later? On the other hand, you -apparently- remain rather sore about the topic, all this time later. It’s natural to be sensitive though, isn’t it? You’d written him a love letter and he didn’t write you back. He didn’t say it back. Didn’t feel it back.

And, perhaps it still stings so much, even all these years later, because you never did stop loving him, even if he never started loving you.

Feeling a sudden, overwhelming haste to leave, you thumb through the pages of your magazine so furiously that the next table turn their heads to look at you, until you find what you were searching for.

“Here, Richard. The article I mentioned. Dramatherapy for people who are incarcerated.”

You fold the magazine back on itself, fobbing it off on him with an unprecedented urgency, hurriedly signalling to the waitress that you’d like the check. The roomy diner booth suddenly feels suffocating, and you want to get out. Meanwhile, oblivious, Richard chuckles at the title of the article -some kind of pun, you recall- as you try to push down the unpleasant emotions surfacing within you.

“Thank you for this,” he smiles, looking up at you earnestly. Looking concerned as he reads the expression on your face. “Are you alright?”

Your eyes fix on the table, where his fingertips inch hesitantly across the surface, hovering moments from yours as he debates whether to extend comfort. You make the decision for him, snatching your hand back from his reach.

“Yes. I’m Fine,” you say, unconvincingly. “Can we please go? I need some fresh air.”

“Alright,” Richard agrees gently. He looks a little flustered, but, now sensing your urgency, he begins to sweep up his papers and to shrug on his jacket. He pulls out a small comb to fix his neat curls in place, and offers you a soft smile. “Maybe we can go to the park next?” he suggests.  

As much as you want to run, you nod, some of your agitation dissipating now that the prior topic seems to be forgotten. “Okay. Yeah. That would be nice.” You school your expression into something calm, and you offer him a reassuring smile as his soulful eyes dance over you, a lingering but unobtrusive concern there.

As you split the check, you tell yourself for the millionth time that being his friend is enough; but even after the millionth time, you can’t quite believe it.

Still, today -Sunday- is your one day with him this week. And, no matter what you can’t have; you’ll take anything you can get.

He’s too dear to you to settle for anything less.

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

One month later:

You crouch in amongst the boxes on Richard’s front lawn. He is having a clear-out, setting out some items for goodwill, and some for a neighbourhood yard sale happening next weekend.

You are having fun assisting him in sifting through various items, occasionally bursting into a fit of laughter when he reveals yet another ill-informed, late night shopping channel “bargain” – usually some new-fangled, scarcely-used exercise contraption, which he proceeds to demonstrate in good-humour, making you fold over clutching your stomach in mirth. Occasionally, as you rifle through the boxes, you’ll be overcome by a pang of sentimentality when he uncovers an item with a memory attached; and -no matter how useless- he usually sneaks said item into his ever-growing “to-keep” pile.

“But this is the picnic hamper we took to Bound Beach Island! For your birthday, remember?”  

“Yeah, Richard, but it’s battered! It has holes! It needs to go.”

“It was a beautiful day. The light and the dunes were beautiful… and… and y-“

“-Oh my goodness, what is this?! Please for the love of God tell me you never actually wore this!”

You work through the midday sun until you come to a tired, dead halt on the grass, finally parking your ass down and wiping your brow. Richard looks warm too, a “v” of sweat soaking his old, oversized “Save the Turtles” t-shirt. No - he really doesn’t throw anything away. You smile fondly, though, remembering his sea turtle phase. Of course, he’d read some article. He always was looking for a cause.

“I’ll make us some iced tea,” Richard announces with a tired puff of breath, looking more spent than he probably wants to admit after shuttling the various boxes. Still, the way his grizzled curls have fallen away from his harsh side-part appeals to you, sitting disobedient and undone on his forehead.

Thinking of him undone, you hear a faint beating of drums sound in your chest.

You ignore the music though, like always, instead smiling gratefully as he heads inside, and you take a second to collect yourself before dragging the nearest box towards you, deciding you may as well continue. This next box is taped securely shut, and you chuckle quietly to yourself when you notice it’s labelled “workout-gear”.

You peel the packing tape away and open it up, scooping out the pile of miscellaneous papers sitting right on top. Beginning to leaf through, you surmise it’s mainly unopened junk mail; mainly garishly printed promotional flyers - from a pizzeria which closed down years ago, you recognise. Probably hastily stuffed in before his last move and never dealt with. Absent-mindedly, you begin to bundle it up for the recycling pile, when a smaller, more humble envelope drops out on to your lap, a hand-scrawled address on the front. The stationary is resoundingly familiar.

In fact, everything about it is familiar.

Your heart hammers in your chest as it immediately dawns on you.

It’s your letter.

The letter you sent him, all those years ago. You’d needed to be apart from him- needed to go away to take care of family, and you simply couldn’t go without letting him know. Letting him know you were in love with him.

The memory is like a slow knife sinking into your chest as you idly turn it over in your hands.

But… It can’t be…?

It’s… unopened.

All the air leaves you lungs.

No. No. It doesn’t make a shred of sense.

You’d spoken to him right afterward, on the phone. The first time he’d called after you left town he’d almost pleaded with you, giving you an unequivocally clear, and endlessly painful answer that he didn’t want what you wanted. What you’d written about. He’d made it abundantly obvious that he simply wanted to be friends. “I- I don’t want anything to change. I want everything to stay exactly like it is between us – please? Can we still talk every day?”

But if he didn’t read it…?

You heart pounds so hard that you hear blood rushing in your ears.

He doesn’t know.

His words didn’t mean what you…

Oh my god. All this time.  

You shoot abruptly to standing when you see him approach, as if you’ve been caught red-handed, guiltily stuffing the letter into your back pocket before he can ask you what it is, an abundance of thoughts screaming in your head.

He hands you the glass of tea, ice tinkling gently, and you take it from him, the coolness shocking your palms.

Assessing what you’ve been up to in his absence, and noting the carcass of another box, Richard glances down at the pile of papers strewn at your feet. He looks suddenly worried for a moment, as if you might have found an old porn stash or something – and he looks just as suddenly relieved when he sees they are more innocent papers, scooping them up from the grass.

“Richard?” you say, your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head, and the letter burning a hole in your pocket as he drops the items into the recycling. He hums for you to go on. “Do you... You know when I moved away...?” your voice is strained, and you gulp hard. “Just before, do you remember getting any unusual letters or... weird post from me?”

“Like what kind of thing?” he asks curiously, turning back to you.

“I don’t know exactly,” you lie, nervously. “I have a feeling I sent you something? A sappy goodbye thing?”

You see him mull it over, combing his impressive moustache with his fingers. “I don’t remember, sorry. But apparently I was drowning in junk mail at that apartment. Maybe it got lost, or returned to sender?”

Despite everything, you exhale a small laugh. In a roundabout way, you suppose it had been returned to sender after all. You look at the ground.

“Was it important?” he asks, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand as he looks at you.

Biding time, you take a sip of your tea while you search for an answer. It’s refreshing.

“It… Uh. It was a long, long time ago. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” you muse, masking your sadness, and he nods, looking at least half-satisfied with your answer.

Except, it does matter. It matters more than anything. And, with a sudden, overwhelming need to grab on to the past, you track to the “to go” box, rescuing the battered picnic basket from the pile of junk.

“You shouldn’t get rid of this,” you state, your back to Richard, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your voice falters. You tense as you feel him settle by your side, his hand hovering tentatively at the small of your back but never quite touching. “It was a beautiful day.”

“No,” he insists. “You’re right. I shouldn’t hang on to it.”

His words are like a punch in the gut. You turn your head to your side, where Richard is, your eyes and heart almost overflowing.

Noting your sadness, and connecting it to the picnic basket, he does everything he can to smooth things over, like always. “We can get a new one,” he says, his brown eyes sweet and hopeful and bright.

You love him. You love him still and you can’t help but turn towards him and reach out your arms, dragging him in for a hug.

“No! No, I’m sweaty,” he protests self-consciously, but you don’t care. You just need to hold him, even only for a moment – and, for a moment he stills as you loop around him, never quite clutching you back.

When you pull away though, you could swear that dim spark of passion is present in his eyes again. That spark that never catches, no matter how much or how often or how hard you wish it would. Oh, how you wish.

“Don’t ever change, Richard,” you say sincerely, your voice imbued with fondness. “Okay? You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”

His eyes are immediately soft and bashful again, the colour of his cheeks deepening a little, a crimson undertone blooming under his brown skin.

“Yes. Okay,” he offers, with a nod, his eyes creasing at the corners, and his posture even bolstered by the compliment, you could swear, his chest puffing out proudly.

For the rest of the afternoon, you ignore the unread words in the back of your pocket; but for the life of you, you can’t ignore those drums.

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

One month later:

You bundle the yapping, happy little white dog into your arms, relieved that she’s okay as her little tail happily beats against your arm.

“Are you okay, Lady?” you coo as she nuzzles her snoot into your face, eagerly lapping little kisses on to your cheek. “Thanks goodness, sweet little floof,” you baby-talk as your eyes quickly scan around Richard’s place, setting his spare key down on the kitchen counter.

You’d barrelled across town to get here, after receiving a call about an attempted break-in. His neighbour to the left had your contact details in case of an emergency -it’s not very easy to reach him at work, of course- so here you are. You came to give things a quick checking over, assured that no-one suspicious had continued to loiter. Richard won’t be much longer -his shift has nearly ended, and you’d left him a voicemail so you’re sure he’ll hurry- but you still thought you’d go on ahead of him, especially so that he wouldn’t worry about Lady.

Looking around, thankfully all seems well, and you don’t think anyone made it inside after all. Slowly then, you allow your nerves to calm and your heart to settle, bouncing the little bundle of fur in your arms, and feeding her a treat from the packet on top of the microwave, just in case she’d been stressed out.

Calming, you can’t help but smile as you look around, absorbing all the little details of Richard. You do hang out in his apartment a fair amount, but most often you will meet or sit outdoors, when the weather allows. After all, he loves to feel the sun and fresh air on his face, especially after spending all day cooped-up in windowless rooms. To you though, this Richard-ness is like a breath of fresh air, and you let it all wash over you, drinking in the details of his simple daily routine. The discarded half-plate of frijoles and rice by the sink. The ironing-board piled with identical uniform-issue shirts, pants, and plain white t-shirts. The photos on the fridge door – some of you and him too.

Doing a lap of the living space, you further note the dining-for-one TV table, evidence of his relatively solitary existence, and you can almost see him sitting there. Can almost hear his soft voice relating the far-fetched storylines of his favourite telenovelas. You imagine him chuckling warmly - perhaps shedding a tear sometimes too.

You decide you should pop your head into the bedroom and bathroom to check there too, for good measure, and you set Lady down, the dog trotting along at your heels. Once you’ve done a loop, you sigh, seeking out a fresh task, and you circle back to the sink, scraping his discarded plate and rinsing it, stacking it in the dishrack. Then, you move towards the TV chair, intending simply to sit yourself down and wait for Richard to come home. After all, you’re here now - you may as well say hello; or, maybe you can even prepare him dinner after his long shift, you muse.

As you revisit the small, rickety table, however, your eyes more keenly notice that a bunch of papers are strewn over it, all identical- a series of pastel pink leaves of paper and envelopes.

Letters.

Handwritten, in his familiar scrawl.

Letters addressed to you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, as you wonder what they could be. You don’t want to invade his privacy, of course, but perhaps this is something that’s meant for you? After all, sometimes he leaves you notes when you come over to feed or walk Lady.  

Still, this feels different, and, with a lump in your throat that you don’t quite understand, you pick up one of the leaves at random, skimming the first line, yet feeling only more confused than you did before.  

You see your name at the head of the paper, followed by the words “my dearest love,”, and underneath, some other half-formed paragraphs, scribbled over and crossed out.

No, you shake your head, your stomach flipping over. That can’t be right, you think, even as your fingers scramble for another leaf - for leaf upon leaf, until you piece together what’s going on. Until, with every line you read, fragments of both English and Spanish, you feel as though you are piecing together his heart.

Could it be true? Is this really true?

Your fingers dive for a sheet more developed that the rest, where you see paragraphs of writing, and you devour the words like you are starved of love; for you are, aren’t you? Starved? And yet, you suddenly feel so full. Brimming.

My darling,

There are infinite ways to fall in love. Some are elemental, like a raging fire. A shock of lightning on first sight. Some are slow-burning and constant, the heat of friendship warming your hearth, defrosting your iced fingertips when you come in from the cold.

There are infinite ways to fall in love, and I should know, my heart, as I have experienced every one of them with you.

You can barely read the rest as tears blur your eyes, and your hand comes to clamp over your mouth as realisation sinks through to the pit of you, the page quaking -like a leaf- in your fingers.

You make my heart beat like a drum. When I look at you, I am music, without being played. When you’re with me I am dancing, without movement. If only you would touch my skin, I feel like I would sing. If only you would-

“-Are you safe? Are you alright?” Richard asks from behind you, and you tear your eyes away from the page with a start. You were so absorbed by this swell of beating music that you didn’t hear the scrape of his key in the lock. You didn’t hear his hurried footsteps coming up behind you.  

“Richard,” you suspire, and for once his touch is on you without hesitation, his hands clasped around each of your shoulders, slowly running down your arms, and you nod quickly to reassure him, your mouth opening wordlessly. You’re safe.

His touch is warm through your clothes, and you think he is right- your skin would sing for him too if he touched you. Your love rattles you, like drums beating musically in your chest, pulsing through your body.

Then, Richard clocks your sideward, guilty glance at the pile of letters, and you see his panic instantly surface at the thought of all his unsent and unspoken words laid bare before you. All the pieces of his heart exposed.

At first, he looks apologetic, but then you step forwards a little more, into the circle of his arms. Arms which suddenly fall, unsure, at his sides once again. And, achingly slow, endlessly sure, you lift up you hand and you place it on his chest, over his heart, smoothing over his shirt and over the cool metal of the shield he wears there. You feel his heart really is beating like a drum. His chest is rising and falling beneath your hand, his breath quickened – eyes nervous.

You step a little closer, and your fingers continue their slow crawl, dancing up around his collar, inching further up until your fingers finally brush the bare skin at the nape of his neck, pushing up into the curls behind his ears, your thumb skimming his sideburn. You touch him, with your fingertips, and he does sing for you, a half-choked moan leaving his mouth at your tender caress.

“Richard,” you say breathily, searching his face, eyes openly appraising his beauty. “Don’t worry, sweet man. I love you too.” And, when you next meet his eyes there is no nervousness there. Not any longer. Instead, you find his dark, expressive eyes brewing with adoration, and that gentle but ever ascending note of passion.

“Darling, can I kiss you?” he pleads, his voice dogged by desire, his brow knitting together and his hands slipping bravely to your waist, circling you as you arch into him.

“Yes. Yes,” you say, and his mouth meets yours in a desperate, tumultuous crush. You sing too, your skin thrumming as you finally know the feeling of his thick moustache brushing against you. As you taste the sweet flavour of cherry sucker on his kiss. As you finally feel the texture of his slicked curls beneath your fingertips.

You kiss, urgently, until you are each smiling too broadly to continue, and instead Richard beams and presses sweet, intermittent kisses all over – your cheeks, your forehead, your hair, your neck- his moustache tickling wherever it touches. His hands are everywhere they can be politely, roaming over your back and your arms and your hair, and it feels so good to finally be held like this.

Eventually, he pulls back, his smile no longer tugging at his lips so keenly -lips now kiss flushed with deep colour- but shining in his liquid eyes. “How long have you loved me back?” he asks in a still choked, disbelieving voice.

You bite your lip, but then allow your face to split in a radiant, unrestrained grin.

Always. Always. I loved you first, you think.

You reach for your bag, reluctant to break from him so trailing your love’s hand in yours- and you fish out the letter. The one you’ve carried around since it was returned to you. “Take a look, Richard,” you encourage.

He looks from you to the small envelope, turning it in his spare hand as you pass it to him. “What is this?”

His brows rise in confusion as you tap the stamped postmark with your index finger. Years. Years ago.

“I sent you a letter,” you explain. “Telling you I loved you. That I love you,” you correct, squeezing his hand tightly in yours, amazed at how natural it feels already, to touch him.

He audibly gasps in air, looking pained. Devastated. “I never got it. I would’ve-“, he fumbles for words, but he can’t finish them, the magnitude of all those years lost to yearning too big to wrap his lips around. “I never got it,” he repeats sorrowfully.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about that now,” you soothe. “I got your letter.” And, as you engulf him with your arms a soft smile takes over his features once again. He can’t help it.

“I’m so glad you did,” he beams, drawing you to him for another kiss, which you eagerly accept, opening your mouth to him.

God, he’s a good kisser, his tongue in you deep and eager, and the heat generated is quick to catch, a fire lit in the pit of you. That moustache is a divine thing too, his lips soft and full beneath, his mild-mannered tongue positively sinful as it works against yours.

Letting the kiss grow, you grab hold of him by the belt to draw his body closer to yours, arching your hips into his, and you feel an impressive bulge greet you as you do so.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers bashfully, angling his hips away from you, in case you’re not ready for… that yet. “You’re perfection. So perfect, I… I’m a little bit, uh, excited.”

You don’t blame him. You’re a little bit excited too. There’s a drum beating in your chest. Music in your heart. A song everywhere. A dance in your body.

“W-would you like to take me to the bedroom, Richard?” you purr, softly. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You wish you could capture the bliss which sparks in his eyes then, and keep stoking it forever more. His whole being glows as if you are the sun shining down on him. He loves the sun on his face. He loves you.

He loves you.

*******

Later that night:

At some point after round three, Richard is ravenous, and so you head to the kitchen to grab some snacks. One of Richard’s plaid shirts wards off the slight chill, settled over your otherwise naked body. As you microwave something quick, you can barely keep the smile from your face – even more so as you glance over at the table full of half-finished letters. As the microwave pings and you grab out the plate, another idea occurs to you, and you simply can’t help yourself.

So, you pad mysteriously back towards the bedroom, where Richard is waiting. The blanket is slung low over his hips, skimming the dark trail of hair which draws your gaze down beyond his abdomen. He is covered, and yet you bloom blissfully with heat at your new-found knowledge of what lays beneath. He’s laying with one hand folded behind his head, and one hand rested on the soft, roundness of his stomach, which you had laid your head on only moments ago.

Richard’s eyes shine with unadulterated admiration as you enter, and you flash him a mischievous smile as you transfer the plate to his hands, and subsequently tip a cascade of his letters into the middle of the bed.

“What’s all this?” he asks, with a contented laugh as you bounce eagerly into bed by his side, humming in equal contentment as you slot yourself under his arm.  

“I want you to read them to me. Will you?” you ask, sweetly, and he looks bashful all over again. “No-one has ever sent me a love letter.”

“Me neither,” he chuckles. “Or I thought so…”

He hesitates, perhaps feeling shy, but he wraps his arm around you securely, nuzzling you into his side as he picks up the closest leaf of paper.

He hums gratefully as you begin to stroke his smooth chest. He really does sing whenever you touch him.

“They’re not finished,” he caveats. “I wanted to find the perfect words and I… I couldn’t.”

“The words don’t have to be perfect. It’s more important that they’re delivered,” you say, your voice soft as you sink into him, and so, he gently clears his throat and he begins to read, his words and his rich, soothing voice filtering over you like warm sunshine.

After a moment listening, and letting his love and his letters envelop you, you interrupt him gently. “My sweet man. Promise me you’ll never write me another love letter?”

“Are they that awful?!” Richard exclaims.

“No!” you laugh, into his chest, tipping your chin up to look him in the eyes. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just… I think I hate love letters, Richard. They’ve only ever kept me from you.”

His expression becomes wistful, lost in thought until a smile finally captures him. Then, with a finger curling gently under your chin, he dips down to plant a small kiss to the very tip of your nose.

“No more letters then,” he promises softly. “Let’s always promise to say it out loud from now on. Let’s talk every day.”

You heart full, you bring your hand up to caress his cheek, before planting a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips; and, despite what you’d just suggested, you plead for him to keep reading to you, his voice and his love lulling you to sleep in his arms.

With the love letters as kindling, your dim spark finally catches, your fire now blazing. You set it in a hearth in your chest, and you vow to keep it stoked for always.

THE END

Bonus:

#richard alonso muñoz x reader #Richard Alonso Muñoz #the letter room #richard alonso munoz x reader #oscar isaac #richard alonso-munoz x reader #luna's tumblrversary

[samdotdocx]

A very long-winded essay about why I love Night in the Woods and The Ramayana makes me Big Mad ft. Lets Talk About Mental Illness™

So I was in this class called 'The Ecology of Language". Excellent class, 10/10 would recommend - and especially relevant in the Indian context in particular, but that's a topic for another day.

One of the things we talked about was the concept of 'relatibality' in media, which, I'm sure we can all agree is a large component of contemporary character or story-line development. Considering the context of modern readers, what that sometimes ends up looking like (in our society that is built on constantly being told we are lacking, and the subsequent need to satisfy manufactured desires), is some wonderfully nuanced characters in stories stories that are three-dimensional, well rounded, and well developed and written. It's pretty great. And sometimes, what that means is that we have excellent characters that don't conform to the standard 'protagonist' stereotype. They might not even be 'good' (this is NOT a villain-apologist post). In fact, they might be complete idiots. They might be the people in stories who make all the wrong choices.

One such relatable character is Mae, and it's because she's an unmitigated train-wreck.

Anyone who knows the game probably knows what I'm talking about when I say the illustration style and character designs are gorgeous. Anyone who's ever dissociated probably knows what I'm talking about when I say that illustration style and character design were excellently used to create the sort of subliminal, surreal state of Mae's mind. And as you play the game, you see how that state of mind plays with the other characters, and - spoiler - it isn't great.

This is the first of the relatable aspects of Mae’s character; there are people around her who love her and are worried about her, but at the same time, are angry and irritated about her behaviour. At what point does it become too much to ask of those around you to forgive all your continuous and repetitive mistakes? Even if you have a good reason for it, mental illness is not an excuse for being exploitative, even if it is unintentional. Mae is not trying to hurt the people around her, but she constantly needs emotional labour from them – it’s exhausting, and people’s patience is going to run out eventually, as is their right.

Another aspect of this behaviour is the lack of reciprocity, an example of this being when Bea’s mother died of cancer – and Mae didn’t even notice.

There are several instances of Mae’s thoughtless behaviour throughout the game; she gets completely wasted and makes a scene at the party, gets jealous of of Greg and Angus because they’re leaving the town without her, and ends up destroying the radiator Bea was supposed to fix, getting her in trouble.

The thing is though, that Mae is given the opportunity to fix her mistakes.

A large part of relatability is the want so see yourself in a character. Mae is relatable to me because there are several circumstances and events in our lives that match up, but more than that; the game is an interactive visualization of her healing process. Her nine steps, if you will. She is given a second chance – and that chance is hard won, particularly in the context of the game.

Mae talks about feeling like she’s falling behind, of knowing that she is, in a way, wasting an opportunity that was a privilege in the first place, especially considering her family’s financial situation – but at the same time, being literally unable to help herself. And the aspects of the gameplay that hint at the supernatural elements of the story possibly being a figment of Mae’s imagination – well. All us depressed losers know what it's like to not be able to trust your own judgement and point of view. She talks about why she dropped out of college, and her description of the dissociation, and the mental and emotional deadening that it causes is spot on and so well represented.

It underscores the point that the logical brain knows that mental illness is an illness like any other – but the emotional brain doesn’t care.

The game does a brilliant job of laying bare the realities of middle class life, and makes painfully clear the fact that, at that level, it doesn’t matter how difficult things are for you. The world isn’t going to wait for you to get back on your feet.

Mae’s mental state and the limitations it imposes on her cultivates a state of extreme frustration. Again, relatable. It’s an understated aspect of illness of any kind; the anger at yourself, and how that anger carries over into a lot of things in your day to day life. After a point, it becomes a habit. Mae does this too; she's belligerent, and instigative, and unrepentant of consequences, because anger blinds you.

It's not how things will always be. I have the privilege of hindsight, so I can say that with authority. But, this isn’t the kind of thing that ever fully leaves you, either. If you break a kneecap, it’s going to bother you for the rest of your life, and similarly, mental illness has a ‘no return, no refund’ policy. So you grow up, and you try to adapt those habits and impulses into a more positive context. Recycling, right? Maybe you set your sights on things that actually deserve your anger, and you go from there. You find people who, for their own reasons, perhaps or perhaps not related to your own, are angry.

And you don’t understand the people who are not.

A large part of the anger and frustration surrounding mental illness is due to the stigma surrounding it. It’s frustrating to be so powerless and dependent, but this is exacerbated by the attitude of ‘it can’t be that bad’, which makes it so difficult to reach out, to be able to say, ‘I need a break’ – and actually get one. This is an attitude that carries over to a lot of other issues as well, and the worst part is – we are surrounded by people who are okay with it, who believe in and support that mentality.

The myth of Sita, for example. She is a strong female figure in Indian mythology, who overcomes her circumstances to live a ‘good’ life, and for all intents and purposes, is a hell of a role model.

But that’s the thing; her life wasn’t good, was it? She was supposed be a goddess reincarnated, she should have been powerful, and respected, but instead she is reduced to ‘wife’ – and everyone today is fine with it.

I respect her immensely for the choices she made; marrying for love was her choice, going into exile with her husband was her choice. She was the paragon of virtue, of 'wifeliness', of kindness – she chose her husband over everyone and everything else, including herself, as was expected of her. But yet – she couldn't win his trust or respect. It should not even have needed to be won.

It’s commendable the way she takes it all in stride, but why did she? She was kidnapped and held captive for years, entirely against her will, and her husband's response to that is to force her to walk through fire to prove her ‘purity’ – and she does it. And she stays with him after, and I cannot understand the depths of her patience and forgiveness, because I would have been livid, and I want her to be so too. I’m furious for her, because Ram was not just her husband, he was also the king, and his later verdict to exile her, alone, while heavily pregnant, his readiness to condemn her based on speculation and public sentiment, was not just a verdict against her, it was against every woman in his kingdom who had ever been victimised.

Sita became a martyr to the modern feminist movement – if she could not be angry on her own behalf, we will do it for her. But at the same time, she is still relatable, because we are held to a slightly lesser degree of the same expectations. There are always going to be aspects of things that you relate to. ‘Big Mood’ culture is a strong indicator of the human ability to empathise, especially with characters that you like, or respect.

Sita’s world, I imagine, was run by the expectations her society and community had of her, and maybe she didn’t even have the liberty to be angry. Who is responsible for portraying her in passive acceptance of her fate? Is that representation reliable? Would the story have been different had it been written by a woman?

I can't remember a time when I was not angry, especially about things like this. I am always ready to fight, and I think the same goes for so many other people today, sometimes to our detriment. I cannot imagine a world where that was not at the very least an option. Not necessarily the best option, - but Sita’s world was very different to ours. Even with centuries between us, we’ve just gotten over angry and depressed women being labelled as ‘hysterical’ and subsequently being locked away. What is it like, to have to be calm and careful in response to being treated like this? This care in response may not be an overt requirement anymore – though the fact remains that society will not take you seriously if you become hysterical - but shouldn't you, at the very least, be able to rely on the support of other people in the same boat?

That is the main difference in these stories, and another main point of relatability to me; Mae, like myself, had a support system. Sita did not. Mae was selfish and demanding in so many ways, and required a lot of time and patience and healing before she was able to give back, but she got there eventually because she was able to put herself first. She fought for herself, and when she couldn’t, she had other people to fight for her. Night in the Woods represents the intersection of oppressed minorities and community with their portrayal of Mae, Greg, and Angus in particular, and the importance of community support – and, the difference between geographical community, and communities formed through camaraderie and actual unity. And so does the Ramayana - except, where was Sita’s community? Where were her sisters, or her parents, when she was abandoned in the woods, and later when she committed suicide? We are well aware, in the modern day, of the state of mind that causes people to kill themselves, and yet that is a part of the story that we never talk about. Where were her people then?

What would have happened if she had been more like Mae, and put herself first instead of bleeding herself dry for people who never respected her, and would never do the same for her?

People relate to personalities. They relate to choices, and circumstances, and habits, and it is neither a good nor a bad thing, to be relatable or not. Sita will be highly relatable to people who, like her, were governed by their circumstances, and were screwed over despite their best efforts. People who felt they couldn’t, or shouldn’t exercise their power and agency. Sita’s death was at odds with her strong personality, and so was her deference to her fate on many occasions, but there are a lot of people out there who will relate to the feeling of simply wanting things to be over. Mae on the other hand; she’s a steamroller, and she doesn’t stop. There’s a reason her character is a cat, and jokingly referred to as feral in the game. She is persistent, she is growing.

[1] In Defence of Kaikeyi and Draupadi: a Note – by Fritz Blackwellhttps://www.jstor.org/stable/23334398?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents [2] https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/10/emergency-room-wait-times-sexism/410515/

#ramayana discourse #night in the woods #sita #tw suicice #tw mental illness #mae borowski #spam-by-sam

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

#Neon Genesis Evangelion #existentialism #philosophy #media criticism #cultural criticism #spoilers

[mxvladdy]

Good hell, your True Form series is the absolute best! (and totally canon for me tbh). I saw that we can drop you a prompt and I wanted to ask, if you can do one where the obey boys comfort an Mc who lost someone dear to them? It's totally alright if you dont want to! I hope you are having safe and healthy days!

Thankie anon! I hope you are well too! My condolences if you have lost someone ;.; I hope you like this and I’m stoked you like my True Form series!  

Diavolo

Loss is not a new concept to him. Like many on the student council, he is well versed in it. The emotional strain can be numbing, and was numbing to him at one point in his life. He can’t really remember it now though. When was the last time he actually felt grief over a fallen companion?

But humans are different. Time is a scant commodity to mortals. Lose could stick to a human for their entire lifetime. When you come to him he is distraught. He hates seeing you in any form of discomfort. The best he can offer you is his undivided attention and shoulder if you need it. He is actually full of comforting and wise words from all the lifetimes he has experienced.

If you need time topside he’ll arrange a portal for you and you just take all the time you need. His program is not more important than family in his eyes. If you would like him to accompany you then he shall gladly. Sends the biggest, yet most tasteful flower arrangement to the funeral home and to the gravestone.

Barbatos

Probably has the hardest time relating to such a concept. The finite idea of time is something he struggles to conceptualize. Unless he physically wipes someone from the planes of existence he can, to a certain extent, simply find them in another stream.

He knows not to offer or bring up that idea to you. You don’t ask him to either. His abilities have ironically a time and a place. This situation is not one of those. It upsets you but there is nothing you can do about it.

He will distract you instead, taking you on errands and shopping trips around the Devildom. He will indulge your human curiosity under his watchful eyes. Then, he will take you to the kitchens and brew you something strong. If you need to vent while he cooks please feel free, he wants to listen. Nothing you say or do will pass through this room.  

Solomon

Being human, and yet not, he understands the most out of everyone. He has loved and lost a great deal in his lifetimes. Some of which is still a raw wound on his heart. He is very much someone who will avoid talking about his feelings or things that dredge up his past failings.

If you come to him he will give you coping skills and drag you around the Devildom to take your mind off of your thoughts. He’ll take you for walks or to the woods. Is it dangerous? Yes. But the distraction of self-preservation has always worked for him.

During all of this, he will check in on you. If none of his tactics work he’ll cave, taking you to sit on the nearest comfortable surface. He’ll ask you little things about them or your relationship and reply in kind, albeit stiffly. It’s-nice. Some human bonding he didn’t expect. In a way, you both console each other.  

Luke

He’s an angel in training. He can help! Simone has been teaching him! He’s excited but knows he has to tone it down. He’ll recite all the verses and words of wisdom he’s picked up from Simone and Michael.

He’ll sulk a little if it doesn’t help. Well, that’s fine, he will just have to study harder for you! Till then he’ll try other methods. He’s goto is homemade cakes and hugs. He will want you to help baking (he can’t reach the top oven shhhhh).

You naturally take over after a while, and as time in the kitchen progresses you teach him a few recipes that your late loved ones had taught you or were their favorites. It makes you feel better, it’s cathartic. The smell reminds you of home. Luke will memorize each recipe and will make them for you whenever he thinks you're feeling down.

Simone

The first to offer you his condolences and a warm hug. He is very vigilant of you and your mood for weeks after you had confided in him of your loss. His words of wisdom and experience with working with souls were more comforting than with Luke.

He will ask Diavolo to take you outside of the Devildom. Just you, Luke, and himself. You may pick where. Whether it be the mortal realm or the celestial one. If you decide you want to go back home to visit your old stomping grounds then that is where they will go.

You lead him around your familiar territory, pointing out where you and yours would hang out. He’ll buy you things from their favorite stores if you allow it. Humans are sentimental and if a little bobble or trinket will soften the pain in your eyes then it is worth more than gold. Will visit the grave with you to place the things you bought on it. If you allow it will pray from them too. 

Lucifer

He lashes out at first when you come to him. It makes him feel vulnerable, his pack mark is infused with your storm of emotions. He brushes off your feelings and bristles at you trying to seek comfort in him. Familiar loss is a very touchy subject to him and bringing those feelings back to the surface for him hurts in ways he does not want to remember. It takes Simone politely (or not) reminding him it’s not about him and perhaps swallowing a bit of his pride would help you both.

He will come to you in the dead of night. He just opens up and talks to you. He’ll sit on the floor of your room with his back resting on your bed and share memories. You both laugh and recount the good, bad, and some ugly memories. You give each other great words of advice and comfort too. You fall asleep holding his hand with a soft smile on your face. Your tears have dried up hours ago. He leaves you to rest feeling lighter and closer to you in the long run.

If you invite him to the wake he will join without hesitation and hold your hand the whole time.

Mammon

He will cry with you. Seeing you like this makes him think back to the fall, it’s a lot for him. He’ll take you out drinking. It’s how he copes aside from gambling and other reckless things. Turns you into the responsible party of the night. It keeps you busy though that's for sure and side-tracked. Though, he will notice when you are uncomfortable and dips from the casinos to lead you somewhere quiet. He’ll pass a bottle between the two of you and talk about anything that comes to mind. He is bad at opening up in public. But alone and drunk, he has a bleeding heart.

He slips into his big brother persona pretty quickly once you two are alone. He may be a goofball around the others but he can be serious when the time calls for it.

He will ask all sorts of questions about them. He wants to know all about them if you are willing. He loves learning about your life and wants to make it better if he can. He will listen with rapt attention and interrupt only to laugh or ask a question. He swears over a greasy plate of food he bought you both at Hell’s kitchen to sober you that if you want him at the wake just ask.  

Leviathan  

For someone who usually stumbles over his words when you come to him for comfort, he is surprisingly eloquent. He’ll be uncomfortable with physically comforting you until you expressly ask for it.

He’ll try to distract you with video games and asinine conversations while you rest your head on his shoulder and watch. If you’re ok with it he’ll also drape his tail across your lap. The best hug he can give you while his hands are busy with his controller.

He wasn't very close to Lilthe compared to some of the other brothers but he’ll exchange little funny memories he has with you or some cringe-worthy ones to hear you laugh. Between the dim light of his room and the blue glow of his fish tank, you chat until you fall asleep. He doesn’t mind and lets you doze, still filling the dead air with little stories.

Satan

Ah...You have his sincerest condolences. It pains him to admit it but he has never truly felt loss for someone before. Things, yes. A loss of a good book, either stolen by Mammon or destroyed in a fit of rage by himself. He knows that feeling-but those aren’t the same and he knows that it is an ill-suited comparison.

He’ll lend you his ear though. Listen to whatever you have to say, or if you need to cry it out. His arms are always open for you. If you get angry he can help with that.  He knows how to channel it all to be productive or temper it so you don’t burn yourself out while you process your emotions. 

He-like Levi- will give you sage advice or find just the right words of comfort you need. During the school week if you need a break he will gladly take extra notes or turn in your assignments for you while you take some time off. He will give you some books from his personal library too after an off-handed comment about your late loved ones' favorite genre or author. They are yours if they make you happy.

Asmodeus

Sympathy tears like Mammon. He’ll listen with rapt attention and coo over you. Very touchy when he senses you are troubled. He’ll stroke your hair and let you dumb whatever weighs heavy on your heart. Hugs are the best way he knows how to comfort you.

He doesn’t try to distract you from your grief or your emotions. He knows all too well what happens when one bottles up their emotions for too long. Nasty business that. But, if you want a distraction just ask. He'll give you one. Something nice and (hopefully relaxing) maybe a night out perhaps? Or if you want to stay in he’ll pop in a movie or playlist of your choice and stay quiet. You spend the night in enjoying the physical closeness and no need to express yourself or exert energy trying to vocalize your feelings. He’ll bring out his best snack for the movies too, only the best chocolates and dried fruits for you to munch on.

If you have to plan the funeral or wake he will be there every step of the way if you want him to. He can take the reins if you are just too emotionally drained to do it. If you have ideas or plans for it he will follow them to the letter, no questions asked.

Beelzebub

It’s a lot for him. Even though his sister’s death was a millennia ago it’s still fresh in his mind. But he is strong and will do anything in his power to be there for you. The best way he knows how to cope with such pain is to exercise. If you want to, he will take you to the gym and train with you. Let you tire yourself out on a punching bag or weights.

He doesn’t have many words to say so he will just listen. The best partner for this really, you could go on for hours and he would just sit there and truly listen. He won’t judge how you cope, whether it is wailing or you just trying to act normally around campus. He will be a little bit more clingy after you tell him the news. He knows the tells of a breakdown from his twin so he wants to make sure you are not close to one.

If you invite him to the wake he will stay in the back and offer emotional support. Afterward, he’ll walk you around the local neighborhood and ask questions sporadically about how you're doing. Back at school, he will take notes to you and homework if you don’t feel like going in person.

Belphegor

Stays up with you at night if you can’t sleep due to stress or sadness. You can stay up in his room with him as long as you like and do whatever you need to get through this. Stay up or sleep with him though the day is fine. Though, if you stay up too long he will use the pack mark to make you rest. He keeps a close eye on you like his twin does.

He keeps you up in his attic room with him during the school day. Online classes are a thing and he will keep you content and warm with him till you feel up to snuff. He is smart but just lazy, though if you just can’t get the work done he’ll do it for you to turn in. Whatever, you need a break anyway.

He will fill the dead air while you rest with stories of when he would venture to the human realm with his siblings. He likes to hear stories of your childhood and adventures you had with your loved one too. He won’t offer to go to the human realm with you for the wake. But he will give you an elegant star themed decoration for the gravesite if you allow it.

#obey me fandom #obey me requests #tw: death

[stubbychaos]

Rose Golden

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Paz Vizla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Your newest companion takes you somewhere safe and special after a long week of work so he can give you a thoughtful present. In the process, you learn that you’re not the biggest fan of heights.

Rated: T because Paz drops an F-bomb and there are suggestive themes regarding abuse and injuries.

Word count: 7,500 (I sincerely did not mean for this chapter to be so long and then I got carried away in editing--oops)

Warnings: There’s really none in this chapter, except for a brief mention of reader’s abusive father and a clumsy moment that leaves the reader with a bruise. This is honestly mostly playful bantering and adorable flirting between Paz and his nurse.

Author’s note will be at the end of the chapter! :)

You don’t expect to see the blue Mandalorian only eight days after he carries you home, but you can’t stop the large smile that spreads across your now healed lips upon finding him leaning against the exterior of the shoddy infirmary right after the sun has gone down. A few crimson rays of sunlight still linger and bathe the Mandalorian in a lovely glow, contrasting drastically with his dull blue armor and making it look as though he polished and shined it just recently.

He stands far taller compared to a few late night stragglers and you immediately frown when a passing Twi'lek hisses at him in a feral manner, though the Mandalorian simply ignores the rude gesture, deeming the offended creature as unworthy of his effort or time. It’s almost like watching a baby porg attempt to square up with a Wampa and you’re certain that the blue warrior is amused by the poor attempt at intimidation. 

You’re a little surprised that someone would willingly try to get underneath the massive warrior’s skin and you’re even more surprised when the Twi’lek sends a disgusting yellow-tinted wad of spit in the direction of your Mandalorian’s big boots in a disrespectful manner.

His blue helm slowly tips downwards and to the side to finally regard the much smaller Twi’lek and while he dons his sacred helmet, you find it amusing how he’s still able to convey an irritated glare through the guise of the thick metal. Without even saying a word or moving to stand taller in front of the Twi’lek, your Mandalorian somehow threatens him with a simple cock of his helmet and a massive hand moving to the handle of his smaller blaster. It’s something you find impressive and you suddenly grow jealous that he can exude such terrifying energy so easily.

As you watch the magenta-tinged creature give the Mandalorian one last sneer before stalking past him, you wonder why anyone in their right mind would find it a good idea to mess with someone with such a terrifying aura. Upon meeting him for the first time, you had been too afraid to even talk to him or even look into his shiny visor, let alone scoff at him or even think about spitting on his boots. You wonder if this is a typical reaction he gets everywhere he goes and you think it must get exhausting after having to deal with it for so long.

Does it bother him? Or has he simply resigned to a life of judgment and persecution?

You can’t even imagine displaying so much disrespect and resentment towards someone who had inflicted absolutely no harm or offense on you, though you think that the Twi’lek, nor many others in the village, are aware of the concept of manners.

His visor is dutifully scanning the streets and you beam the second it lands on you as you make your way over to him with a little skip in your step; you notice the small canvas bag he holds tightly in one hand and the way the fingers of his free hand loosely curl against his thigh. His shoulders, still tense from the silent encounter with the Twi’lek, deflate as he drops his helmet to regard you properly and you smile at the way he seems to relax at the sight of you, as if it’s something he’s been thinking about all day.

Perhaps he has, just as you have thought of him nearly every moment of every day since your last meeting with him.

No, you're definitely not infatuated with the massive warrior and everything about him.

Even though you’re obviously no threat to him, the way he greets you with a kind nod and a gentle rasp of your name has you feeling a severe depth of respect for the warrior. Selfishly, you ponder if you’re the only one outside of his tribe that he seems to tolerate, understanding that you don’t have any ulterior motives when it comes to his Creed or what he hides under that scuffed up bucket.

“I’m surprised to see you so soon, Mandalorian,” You greet him with a tilt of your own head, mimicking his own actions, “I thought it would be at least another month before I saw you again.”

His helmet cocks further to the side and you think he must be amused by your soft sentiment as his fingers flex against his big, padded thighs, “Did I not warn you that you would see me sooner than you would wish for?”

Your brows rise high on your forehead and you shake your head a little at the stubborn warrior’s smug inquiry, “And what if I wished for you sooner than the week’s end?”

"Then I would think you missed me or something."

The way he speaks is so gruff and nonchalant that you think he must be covering up something softer in his modulated voice and you can’t help but to smile at his unwillingness to show you any kind of intense emotion. His helmet lowers even more until his visor is eye level with you and you’re sure that he’s judging you through the guise of that irritating blue armor, though you simply ignore it and continue to peer up at the warrior with unrelenting sass.

Something that he seems to thoroughly revel in.

“You miss me, saviin’ika? Is that why you were dying to see me?”

“Perhaps I just missed having someone to walk me home to scare off all the bad guys,” You cross your arms over your chest as a knowing smile spreads across your lips and you shift your weight to one leg, “Don’t flatter yourself, Mandalorian. Cockiness doesn’t suit you.”

He makes a funny noise that seems to catch in his throat and you grin at him when you realize he’s trying not to laugh at your words.

“If I remember correctly--” He sounds utterly amused as he idly rolls his helmet around and you nearly cringe when you hear joints cracking in his stiff neck, “I didn’t walk you home last time--I carried you. ‘Was even nice enough to even take off your shoes and take out your braids, or were you too sleepy to remember?”

“I remember all too well.”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you’re suddenly aware of the thick braids currently tugging at your scalp and you remember how gentle and graceful his fingers had felt as he deftly loosened your plaits while you struggled to not fall asleep. Your tongue is suddenly heavy and fuzzy in your mouth when you think of how you’ve fallen asleep every night since your last encounter, longing and yearning for the pleasant, soothing touch of his rough fingertips massaging the soreness from your scalp. You try to remember the last time anyone has ever touched you without any ill intentions and you think of your mother, with such soft and tender hands that would gracefully part thick strands of hair before skillfully plaiting them.

The thought of a huge Mandalorian attempting to braid your hair nearly makes you giggle out loud, though you think he wouldn’t be too terrible at it since his fingers hadn’t struggled in the slightest against your intricate plaits.

Even though the memories of your mother combing and braiding your long locks is all but a faded memory, you’re certain that the blue Mandalorian’s touch had somehow been gentler than hers--caressing your cheeks and lips as though you were a jagged shard of glass that would somehow pierce his thick armor. Was he afraid of accidentally hurting you despite knowing you can take a hard hit to the face and bounce back like it didn’t even affect you? You knew you were quite small, especially compared to him, but he had reassured you during your last meeting that he did not believe you to be weak.

You suddenly wonder if the warrior fears you more than you had once feared him, though you can’t think of a rational reason at to why someone bred and born to not feel fear would feel it towards someone like you?

He’s still observing you intensely when you finally muster up the strength to speak softly, “I never thanked you for that--taking my braids out. My hair would have been a tangled mess in the morning if it weren’t for you.”

“You didn’t have to thank me,” His baritone drops the slightest and you find your cheeks growing even hotter at the gruffness of his modulated voice; you’re skin feels like burning coals as he continues to talk, keeping his shiny visor trained intensely on your face, “Your eyes are very expressive, saviin’ika.”

You lower your head a little, hoping that he doesn’t see how flushed your face must be as you speak softly and shakily, “Is that a compliment, Mandalorian?”

“Do you want it to be one?”

Pushing himself off the wall, he lazily closes the short distance between the two of you, stoic and calm as ever. You briefly wonder if he ever gets worried or stressed, but something about the way he carries himself so gracefully and confidently makes you think it’s not often others attempt to challenge him.

You give up on your prayers to the Maker for your blue Mandalorian to not notice the intense blush in your cheeks, realizing that he must have some sort of advanced technology in the damn helmet to detect the heat rising to the surface of your skin. 

He lowers his helmet until his metal chin is nearly poking your nose before he slightly tilts it to the side; you’re not sure how such an action could be simultaneously soft and intense, yet he somehow manages it and you suppress a shaky exhale when he reaches forward to skim the tips of his leather-clad fingers along the outer shell of your ear. The violet tucked there must be close to falling, because he plucks it away from your cartilage and deftly situates it somewhere in the thick braid that’s wrapped around the crown of your head.

Your own voice drops to a low murmur as he fixes another flower that you tucked in your braid earlier; you find it endearing that he seems so hellbent on making sure none of your vibrant flowers fall from your unusually tamed mane.

“What would you think of me if I wanted it to be a compliment?”

A noise that’s reminiscent of a grunt getting caught in his modulator has you smiling a little wider as he shakes his helmet at your harmless question, though it seems to have him utterly flustered as he speaks in a more rushed tone, “I wouldn’t think of you any differently, but if it is rare for you to be complimented, I wouldn’t mind doing it more. You… I think... fuck...”

He seems to grow slightly shy and you smile demurely at how captivating someone so large and intimidating can be so nervous with something as simple as giving a compliment; you think him to be an enigma, in more ways than one. 

“You think me to be what, Mandalorian?”

He shakes his helmet again and promptly changes the subject; you wonder if he’ll ever admit to you what he truly wanted to say--what he thought about you.

“I think you look well rested,” He observes out loud and you ponder if he’s smiling underneath that blue helmet as he swiftly deflects your gentle question, “Your injuries look a lot better as well. The bruising is no longer there and there’s barely a mark on your lip."

You grin up at him, eyes sparkling as you admire the way the moonlight reflects off of his blue armor, “Thanks to you, Mandalorian. I really did not wish for you to use that salve on me; I’ve had worse than a bruised cheek or a split lip.”

Immediately, you realize you should not have said that as his fingers curl into loose fists at his sides and you let out a tired sigh.

Why do you always manage to stick your foot in your mouth?

“How much worse?”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” You murmur, avoiding the intense gaze of his shiny visor to stare at the geometric shape embedded into his cuirass instead, “It is nothing I am incapable of handling myself.”

“Do you not get tired of taking care of everyone and never having someone to take care of you?”

The tone of his voice is tender and something about the genuine curiosity of his question leaves you without any breath in your lungs, as if he’s some sort of thief. Nobody has ever asked you something of that nature and you’re certain it’s because nobody has ever cared like he seems to; you don’t find it fair for someone to feel such concern for you.

You suddenly feel undeserving of all the sentiments he’s showered you with, but you will accept them for as long as he chooses to tolerate your presence.

“I take care of myself, Mandalorian,” You inform him with a sad smile, shaking your head a little when his shoulders tense, “Always have and always will.”

“You need someone, saviin’ika,” He insists, gently grabbing your chin and urging you to look up at his visor, “Everybody needs someone.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as you spot all of the scuffed up marks and divots in his deep blue helmet, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

You feel flustered and timid suddenly, realizing you’re just like him in the sense that you’re not used to expressing your own emotions and you feel impossibly small and vulnerable when he lightly squeezes your chin.

“Are you not my friend?”

A leather index finger grazing your jawline has you nearly coming undone as he speaks with that deep baritone, “I can be whatever you want me to be, saviin’ika.”

“What if I’m not sure what I want you to be?”

His leather digits lazily and dutifully skim the little valley between your chin and bottom lip, “I think you already know.”

His fingers move upwards to where your cheek had once been nearly the same shade of his dull armor, though it’s now healed into a light, barely-there yellow tint and you’re reminded of how he had taken care of you just a week ago. When you had first woke up after a few peaceful hours of sleep, you had initially thought you dreamt the previous night--him carrying you home and tending to your minor wounds with the bacta salve you had given him. Upon looking in the mirror when you first arrived at your office, you had been pleasantly surprised to find that the black and blue bruise had turned into a healthier shade of yellow and the tiny gash on your bottom lip was barely a scar. If you tried to imagine it hard enough, you swore you could still feel his index finger trailing up the apple of your cheek and to the tip of your ear; you swore you could still feel his rough, skilled fingers rubbing comfort into your sore scalp.

You had longed to feel his rough fingers on your face again and as a leather digit currently strokes the tail of your brow, you wonder if it would be hard to convince him to remove his glove again.

With an intense blush turning your cheeks a vibrant shade of pink, you ponder what else he can do with those fingers--those graceful hands.

When he doesn’t say anything else, you gesture to the canvas bag that he’s still tightly gripping in a large hand and clear your throat a little, though your voice sounds slightly coarse and wavering, “What’cha got there? Do some shopping in the marketplace?”

“Not quite,” He hesitates as he slowly lowers his helmet, his visor shifting between you and whatever is in the bag, “I want to take you somewhere, if that is alright with you. It's a safe place that nobody knows about."

You perk up, not wanting to go home and having to deal with your father’s anger yet, so you nod enthusiastically and immediately wrap your fingers into the crook of his padded elbow, as if it’s pure instinct at this point and you suppose it is. Though you’ve only ran into him three times, you think that after the night when he had carried you home and tended to your wounds, you would trust the Mandalorian to guide you anywhere on Nevarro, as long as he was there with you. Everyone always avoids the big warrior and you’re sure that if anyone attempted to cross him, he would deal with the situation swiftly and efficiently.

The Mandalorian is ever dutiful and diligent as he leads you in a different direction from your home and you can’t help but to scan your surroundings wildly as you two wander through the marketplace that's still bustling, even after the sun disappears and gives way to brilliant moonlight. 

Though most of the food vendors are selling some sort of questionable cooked meat, your eyes widen when you pass a stand that is offering all sorts of vibrant fruits and vegetables. Much to your dismay and embarrassment, your stomach growls and you can’t stop your head from turning to stare at the fresh food as the two of you continue past the vendor. It’s far more expensive than you’ve ever been able to afford, but nonetheless, you find yourself always checking the prices whenever you wander through the marketplace.

You don’t notice the blue Mandalorian observing the wistful expression painted along your features with a slight tilt of his helmet.

“About five miles west of the village, there is a small cave located at the base of the cliffs,” His deep baritone pulls you from your thoughts of fresh fruit and crisp vegetables and you curiously blink up at him, “Inside the cave, there are several hot springs that stay warm from the lava underground and flowers that light up the entire place. I want to take you there.”

“That sounds lovely and all, but five miles?” You feel bad that he’s going out of his way to do something nice for you and all you can think of is how sore your feet are from a long shift and your worn boots rubbing painfully against already formed blisters and bruises, “I couldn’t even do the half mile to my house last week.”

“Do you not see the jetpack on my back, saviin’ika? I wouldn't make you walk that distance after you've been on your feet all day; I am not that cruel.”

You immediately stop walking, your face growing pale at the mere thought of him bringing you high up off the ground and he must sense your intense fear and hesitation, because he immediately cocks his helmet to the side and promptly speaks up when your hand slips away from his elbow.

“What? You scared of flying or something?”

It sounds like he’s teasing you, a twinge of condescension apparent in his modulated voice, and it immediately makes you scowl at him because you have every right to be afraid when you’ve never had the option to travel off of Nevarro, let alone the galaxy, like he’s clearly had in the past. You forcefully remind yourself that most of the people in your little village are bounty hunters and criminals that get to travel for a living and that the feeling of being in the sky or in space was something he’d gotten acquainted with long ago.

“I’ve spent my entire life with my feet on the ground, Mandalorian,” You remind him with a harmless glare, craning your neck so you can properly look at his shiny visor underneath the pretty moonlight, “Of course I’m afraid.”

“You do not strike me as the type of woman to fear such things, not after everything you have already endured.”

You let out a petulant sigh, your cheeks puffing out in embarrassment as you narrow your eyes at the huge warrior and stubbornly cross your arms over your chest. You gaze at the silver tips of the jetpack that barely peek over the top of his broad shoulders and you can’t help but to wonder if there’s a possibility of the heavy piece of equipment malfunctioning mid-flight. Even though the rest of his armor is quite dinged up and a little rough around the edges, you think that his weapons and the jetpack look brand new, as though they’ve never been used before. His weapons and other pieces of equipment must be dear to him, you realize, just as your plants and flowers and the cuffs you wear in your braids are precious to you and you think he must take great care of them to keep them in good shape.

You’ve trusted the blue Mandalorian so far, so why do you fear the thought of him dropping you or his jetpack malfunctioning?

“Y-You’re sure it’s safe?”

“I would not let anything or anyone harm you while you’re with me, saviin’ika,” He holds out a large hand for you to take and you observe it warily for a few moments before slotting your fingers between his leather ones, “I know how my weapons and equipment work; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

You smile softly at him and nod your understanding, “I trust you.”

“Come on,” He rasps, his voice a little softer when he carefully gives your hand a little tug and you let him guide you once again, “We need to get out of the village a little ways so I don’t draw attention with the sen’tra.”

You assume the word means ‘jetpack’ in his native tongue and you breathe out a soft laugh, “I think your armor draws plenty of attention, Mandalorian.”

He shakes his helmet, but continues to lead you to the outskirts of the noisy village, and you find that the silence shared between the two of you is a peaceful one, rather than an awkward one. Not known to be much of a talker, you’re grateful that the Mandalorian doesn’t really seem to expect a steady flow of conversation between the two of you, as he seems to do most of the talking. Though your feet ache from a long day of work, you find that the combination of his gruff voice and the firm pressure of his fingers intertwined with yours makes for a sweet distraction and you barely acknowledge the calluses and blisters covering your feet and ankles. He speaks mostly of the hot springs he’s taking you to and that the warm water will be good for sore legs; he briefly talks about his tribe when you shyly bring up traditional Mandalorian customs.

You listen and cling to every word closely, saving it for future reference so you don’t accidentally offend the blue warrior with oblivious words and naive questions.

It’s merely a twenty minute journey to the outskirts where most don’t venture to unless they have transportation, and even then, the rocky terrain and creatures that roam the barren lands are enough to keep most people inside the bleak village.

It was only another thing your father had warned you of when you had once attempted to run away when you were thirteen or fourteen; you hadn’t made it very far when he found you, completely lost and dehydrated miles and miles away from the village. Seeing the expanse of the barren lands now, you wonder what the hell you had been thinking as a teenager, thinking you could actually survive in such a harsh environment where there was no civilization for hundreds of miles; you were surprised you had lasted more than a day.

“Is something wrong?”

You blink owlishly, not even realizing the Mandalorian had been talking to you for a while now and you shake your head a little, “N-No… it’s just been a while since I’ve seen the barren lands. Not many venture far out the village without transportation and come back in one piece.”

If he notices the shakiness in your small voice, he decides not to mention it as he speaks.

“I won’t…” He lowers his helmet until the chin of his helmet is nearly touching your forehead and you shyly peer up at him through your lashes, “I won’t let anything happen to you--you know that, right?”

Even though his natural voice is distorted and disguised by his vocoder, you hear how genuine he’s being and you nod with a small, albeit nervous, smile, “I know. I trust you, Mandalorian. Just… please don’t drop me.”

The heavy-infantry warrior doesn’t say anything and merely nods as you reluctantly let go of his hand so he can wrap his arm around your waist, keeping a firm pressure without actually hurting you. Normally, the foreign contact would bother you and have you bursting at the seams, but you think that you don’t mind the way he holds you close to his warm body, like he’s trying to shield you from the horrors of this planet. You think that if you had someone to hold you like this every night for the rest of your days, you wouldn’t hold nearly as much fear in your heart that currently lingers there like a festering wound that refuses to heal properly.

Your breath catches in your throat as the Mandalorian’s clean and warm scent invades your senses and intoxicates you in the most delightful way possible; now that you’re not half asleep, you can actually appreciate the earthy scent that seeps through the cracks of his dull blue armor. Your cheeks are flushed as you wonder if he’s enjoying the close contact as much as you are--if he had hoped for this when he came up with the idea to take you to a place far from the village.

Instinctively, you stand up on your tippy toes and slip your arms around his broad shoulders, your heart racing at the thought of what’s about to happen. Your eyes barely peer over his taut shoulder and you hold your breath when he quietly informs you that he’s going to start the jetpack; you’re hasty as you squeeze your eyes shut when upon hearing the heavy piece of equipment come to life.

The Mandalorian gives your waist a comforting squeeze when you tense a little as he slowly takes off and you force yourself not to panic or open your eyes when you feel your boots slowly leave the ground. While the hand that’s gripping the canvas bag remains tightly wrapped around your waist, you feel his other hand come up to squeeze the spot between your shoulder blades. You’re not sure how high up the two of you are and you’re not sure if you want to look, so instead of gazing down at the rocky terrain that’s far below your boots, you turn your head up to peer at the shimmering stars in the night sky instead, admiring how they seem brighter and bigger the further you two make it out of the village. The moon has more of a yellowish tint to it tonight and appears larger than usual, but you think that perhaps being far away from the village and high up in the air has something to do with the lovely spectacle.

As cold air whips around the two of you, you find yourself grateful that you decided to tightly braid your hair that morning, though a few stubborn locks of hair escapes their restraints and lightly whips at your cheeks and forehead. You can’t stop yourself from shivering the higher he ascends, the atmosphere growing a little more frigid and you thank the Maker that you chose to wear longer shorts underneath your thin dress, the undergarments ending mid-thigh.

“See? Not so bad.”

You huff against his neck, still refusing to look down as you respond just loud enough for him to hear, “You wouldn’t be saying that if I threw up on you.”

His shoulders shake a little and you think he must be suppressing a bout of boisterous laughter as his arms tighten around you, though it’s not enough to hurt you or make it difficult to breathe. You wonder how often he uses the jetpack, especially if he spends most of his days dwelling deep underground, though something about the way he expertly navigates through the barren lands makes you think he’s incredibly experienced and well-trained in using the advanced equipment. He seems just as relaxed high up in the air as he does walking on land and you force yourself to keep your attention focused solely on the soft whirring noise his jetpack makes, along with how the constellations in the night sky grow more prominent the further he takes you away from the village.

You shift your arms around him a little, trying to get more comfortable against his metal chest; he must sense your discomfort because he easily hikes you up a little higher up his torso until your elbows are resting on top of his shoulders and your temple and cheek is lightly pressed against the side of his scuffed up helmet. The cold bite of the helmet makes you shiver a little harder against his chest and you try to focus only on the warmth that lingers between the cracks of his blue armor.

“Have you ever been up there?” You ponder so quietly that you figure he won’t hear it, though he turns his helmet a little to indicate that he’s listening, “With the stars?”

“It’s been a while, but yes.”

You suddenly have so many questions.

You want to ask him what it’s like to travel among the stars and if he misses it at all, or if he simply got tired of all the traveling and being away from his tribe for an extensive amount of time. Has he traveled to the Inner Rim? Or did he only stick to the Outer Rim where he knew it would be easier to find work? If you asked him to describe what the stars looked like as he flew through hyperspace at blinding speed, what would he say to you? Would he describe the constellations and scenery of different planets in great detail? Would he describe the colors of a catastrophic supernova? The shapes and vibrancy of different types of stars? Or would he merely shake his head at your childish questions?

You have all of these questions, yet one in particular has you speaking out loud against the side of his helmet.

“Was it lonely up there?”

He’s silent for a solid minute or two and you think that either he didn’t hear you, or he’s simply choosing not to display any vulnerability in front of you. It makes sense that he wouldn’t be willing to share much of his past with you and you don’t blame him for it, understanding that you two are similar in the sense that it’s difficult to speak of your feelings and traumatizing memories out loud. You wonder if his own memories haunt him when he tries to fall asleep at night and… wait. 

Does the huge Mandalorian even sleep? 

The only times you’ve interacted with him are late at night or some ungodly hour in the morning and you can’t help but to wonder when he finds time for sleep if he’s so busy providing for his beloved tribe.

“Yes,” His arm tightens around your waist and he turns his helmet in an attempt to gaze at you, though you know there’s really no way for him to see you, what with how firmly your cheek is pressed into the side of his matte dark blue helm, “I just didn’t know it at the time.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, thinking of a lonely Mandalorian navigating through hyperspace, all alone without the comfort of another, “What made you realize how lonely it was?”

You wonder if his own cheeks are burning painfully under that metal helmet as he reluctantly answers your question and you hope he doesn’t feel pressured to bend to your every whim or inquiry as you painfully crane your neck backwards to peer into the abyss that is his shiny visor, “I didn’t know at the time--what made everything feel so lonely--but now I think I know after spending enough time with you and seeing what your father does to you, how he makes you feel."

You tilt your head a little, obviously confused, “Wh-What do you mean?”

“I see a lot of my past self in you,” He admits, fingers lightly curling against your waist, and you think he’s making fun of you, “I didn’t have anyone and I found myself missing the tribe, but I didn’t want to believe that I was lonely and homesick. I see it in your eyes, how lonely and homesick you are as well.”

“What do you mean homesick?” His helmet cocks to the side as you continue, “You think I consider that little hut a home?”

“I think you long for a home you’ve never had,” He tentatively answers after a few moments of severe contemplation, “Like I said earlier, saviin’ika, your eyes are very expressive. Even when you smile, your eyes look sad and it reminds me of how I felt when I was traveling all alone.”

You move your head so your cheek is pressed back against the side of his helmet again, not wanting him to see the despair and loneliness that apparently seem to linger in your expressive eyes, “Is that why you showed up again tonight?”

“It’s part of the reason why,” The blue warrior concedes and it surprises you a little, as he’s usually closed off and so unwilling to expose himself to you, “I wanted to make sure that you were alright--that you weren’t hurt. I don’t... I don’t like seeing your face covered in bruises.”

You smile and slowly close your eyes, an unfamiliar warmth expanding in your chest as the thought of someone caring about your well-being lights your soul ablaze. Resisting the urge to kiss the light blue patch that’s painted in the hollow of his cheek, you settle on dropping your head so it’s pressed firmly into the bunched up fabric at the base of his neck before letting out a deep sigh. 

You hope that the thickness of his armor prevents him from feeling how hard your heart is beating for him--for the selflessness of his words and actions--and you wonder if everyone else in his tribe is like him, soft and warm underneath such unyielding and cold armor. Something about the violent and ruthless energy he exudes when dealing with others makes you think he’s not as unrelenting when he’s with his people and they probably don’t expect him to be.

If anything, painful headbutts and heavy fists thrown at one another is how they probably show their love.

You feel a little lightheaded as your blue warrior starts to slowly descend and you're grateful when you eventually see the rocky ground in your peripheral vision. When the worn soles of your boots are finally pressed against solid ground, the Mandalorian makes sure to keep an arm wrapped around your middle, your legs feeling like jelly and your body swaying a little from disorientation. 

Eventually, you reluctantly pull your head away from the warmth of his neck and slowly turn to peer up at him through your lashes, blushing at how close he is to you. He’s bent over a little so his visor is eye-level with you and you’re absolutely aware of the way his fingers are splayed wide on your hip, his thumb stroking comforting circles against the flimsy fabric of your dusty gray dress.

Is he aware of what he does to you? How frantic your heart is as it races from the way he holds you tenderly to his own chest, as if he wants to take you far away from the village and build a safe home for you inside of his own heart.

The strange tension only goes away when you speak in a breathy whisper, “Thank you for not dropping me, Mandalorian.”

“I would never do such a thing,” He reassures you and clears his throat before standing up straight so he’s towering over you again; he reaches up to slowly brush some unruly baby hairs away from your forehead and you hope he doesn’t notice the way you shiver from the soft gesture, “What kind of man would I be if I killed the only nurse in the village?”

His playful tone makes you giggle a little and you happily take his hand when he kindly offers it to you again. You’re a little surprised to find huge cliffs surrounding the two of you and you realize that you were so focused on the beautiful starlight the whole journey to the cave that you didn’t even realize he had been guiding the two of you throughout a deep canyon. The Mandalorian is patient as you gaze up at the enormous cliffs with admiration, not even realizing that such beauty could exist on a planet like Nevarro.

“I’ve never been this far out of the village,” You inform him with a breathless sigh, awe and wonder laced in your quiet voice, “I never thought the barren lands could be this pretty.”

“Not everything on this planet is terrible, saviin’ika,” He urges you towards the small, jagged entrance at the base of the cliff and you hesitate upon noticing the ominous abyss that would guide you two further beneath the planet’s surface. You watch as the blue Mandalorian calmly presses a button on his yellow-tinged vambrace, causing a bright light to emanate from the rectangular piece of metal attached to the top right side of his helmet.

“So that’s what it does,” You say out loud before you can stop yourself, earning a chuckle from the large man.

“What did you think it was for?”

You shrug as you let him pull you into the entrance of the quaint grotto, “Decoration?”

The boisterous bark of a laugh he lets out warms your heart and has you grinning as you forget about the fact that he’s leading you somewhere so secluded that he could easily hurt or take advantage of you without anyone knowing about his intentions. Out of anyone you’ve ever crossed paths with in the village, you’re certain that the Mandalorian is the only one you would ever trust to lead you deep inside a cave where terrifying creatures or monsters might linger, though you fear nothing as you stay close to his side.

“I can assure you that none of my weapons, armor, or equipment is for decoration,” He informs you lightheartedly, giving your hand a firm squeeze as he calmly guides the way further into the cold grotto, “The hot springs aren’t too much further away--stay close, saviin.”

“I do not think you would let me stray far,” You chuckle as you let him walk a step in front of you, just to be safe.

He lets go of your hand as he gracefully hops down a steep step that’s a solid ten or twelve feet and you hesitate as he turns to gaze up at you.

Trying to mimic his grace, you move to hop off the jagged ledge, though the tip of your oversized boot gets caught in a deep crack and you let out a sharp squeak as you fall forward, nearly face first into the ground. Before you can properly react and attempt to steady yourself, the diligent Mandalorian is swift and efficient with his skillful hands and somehow manages to keep his grip on your hips light enough to prevent any bruising or soreness that would possibly occur from being manhandled by the blue warrior. You let out a small noise of pain when your chin collides with his cuirass and he’s quick and even a little frantic as he cups your flushed cheeks and tilts your head backwards so he can get a better look at your face, his leather thumb moving to ghost along your sore chin.

He almost sounds ashamed when he speaks up and you feel your heart plummet into the pit of your stomach.

“I hurt you.”

“You… what?” You don’t know what to say, absolutely shocked by how guilty he sounds as he continues to lightly stroke your chin, “You did no such thing, Mandalorian. My clumsiness is not your fault and you should not blame yourself for saving me from worse injuries. Please, keep going. I want to see the hot springs.”

His thumb grazes what you’re sure will be a bruise in the morning, but you think it’s the first time someone has ever unintentionally left a mark on you without any ill intent. With a sharp nod, the blue Mandalorian presses a firm hand to the small of your back and guides you deeper into the grotto, though you’re certain by the way his visor keeps tilting down towards the lower half of your face that he’s still upset over your lack of grace.

“I would not think a nurse to be clumsy.”

He doesn’t sound admonishing or judgmental, but more upset and confused than anything and you can’t help but to find his curiosity endearing, “I am a trained nurse, not a skilled warrior like you. The only thing graceful about me are my hands.”

His helmet cocks to the side, “I’ll be sure to remember that for future reference.”

Your cheeks burn viciously at the implication of his words and deciding it best to not dig yourself into a deeper hole, you grow silent and continue to follow him.

A tiny gasp escapes you when you hear the unfamiliar sounds of running water and you immediately perk up, no longer hesitant as you skip in front of the Mandalorian to venture further within the dwellings of the cold cave. Luckily, the little flashlight attached to his helmet guides your way as you follow the unfamiliar sounds trickling water and you can hear the warrior quickly shuffling to follow you, as if he’s worried you’re going to trip and fall again. Only when he gently advises you to slow down, your hasty footsteps dissolve into a slower stroll and you’re barely aware of the way you grab his hand once again, tugging him towards the sound of rushing water.

When you finally make it to the destination he had longed to show you in the first place, you freeze in awe and wonder.

“Stars,” You murmur as you gaze upon the gorgeous, glowing plants that surround a thin creek of aquamarine water, along with several little ponds filled with steaming hot water, “This is…”

As you stare at the budding flowers and crystal-like plants that glow with a whimsical shimmer and brighten up the tavern, you realize you’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful in your entire life. The flowers that miraculously grow underground are all vibrant shades of sapphire and magenta and even though you should be intrigued by the steamy ponds filled with crystal blue water, a huge, unintentional smile spreads across your lips as your fingertips lightly skim along silky azure petals.

You can’t stop yourself from plucking a healthy-looking flower and bringing it up to your nostrils with a soft smile, your eyelids slipping shut when the floral scent invades your senses completely. If you thought the huge cliffs and shimmering constellations had been beautiful, they had absolutely nothing on the vibrant flowers that softly illuminate the grotto, or the aquamarine water that has steam rising from the surface. With the stem of the flower still intertwined between your fingers, you slowly make your way towards one of the smaller hot springs in the cave and slowly sink to your knees so you can lightly skim your fingers along the surface of the delightfully warm water.

A grin tugs at your lips as you submerge your hand completely and wriggle your fingers around.

“Mesh’la.”

You immediately turn your head in his direction, inquisitive eyes scanning his dark blue helmet because it’s the first time he’s said that word in front of your and you wonder what the hell the Mandalorian must be calling you in his native language. You hope it’s nothing too insulting or demeaning, though the way he breathes it so fondly makes you think he must be complimenting you, rather than throwing judgment your way. His helmet jolts a little, as if he doesn’t realize he’s been staring at you through the safety of his visor, and he clears his throat a little before slowly sauntering to where you’re settled on the edge of the hot spring.

“You can…” He sounds a little hesitant as he approaches you and crouches down so he’s not towering over you, “You can take off your shoes and socks if you want. I brought…” A soft expression crosses your features when you realize he’s nervous as he gazes down at the canvas bag he’s clutching tightly, “I brought this for you.”

Reluctantly, he shoves the small bag in your direction and looks away as you peer inside at the contents, your eyes widening when your fingers graze thick leather, “I-I can’t accept this, Mandalorian. You have already done far too much for me and I would not be able to repay you.”

“You need new boots, saviin’ika,” He observes you as you reluctantly remove the shoes from the bag completely, fingers inspecting the quality of the leather, “Besides, these were made for another Mandalorian in the covert but were too small; they should fit you well enough.”

“I don’t have enough credits to repay you.”

"Then don't."

"Manda--"

“Maker, you really are a stubborn little thing,” The blue warrior says in a deadpan tone, reaching out so his fingertips can lightly graze your flushed cheek; immediately, you remember the way he had caressed your cheeks and lips just a week ago and you lower your head so he can’t see the longing in your eyes.

The Mandalorian lets out an exasperated sigh when you hold out the boots for him to take, though he simply shakes his helmet, “Not everything requires a price. You gave me that salve even though I couldn’t afford it,” You open your mouth to argue with him, though he’s faster and much more stubborn than you are, “If you truly wish to pay me back, then do it with your company.”

“I don’t really make for the best companionship.”

“I think your companionship would be the only kind I wished for, outside of my tribe.”

You ignore the intense warmth in your cheeks as you reluctantly place the boots on the ground next to you before reaching back into the bag to see what else he brought for you. Upon pulling out a jar that’s filled with white, rocky chunks, you perk up and quickly unscrew the lid to smell the aromatic salt; the intense eucalyptus scent nearly brings tears to your eyes as it tickles your nostrils and clears your sinuses.

“Healing salts?” You say it as a question, though it’s more of an observation, and you turn to the blue warrior with raised brows and a slight smile, “I feel like a spoiled woman.”

He grunts and turns his visor away from you, standing up to take a seat on a flat rock that’s right behind you and you can feel the armor covering his knee grazing your shoulder blade, “You care too much for others and not enough for yourself, little nurse. It would be good for you to relax for a while.”

“And what about you, Mandalorian?” You unfold your legs from underneath your body and start to unlace your worn out boots, avoiding his shiny visor as you continue, “I’m sure those weapons and that jetpack must weigh down on your body, no?”

After tugging off your boots and socks, you roll your head backwards so you can peer up at him. Despite all of his clunky weapons and equipment, he seems relaxed as he leans forward a little, padded elbows resting on top of his thighs; he cocks his helmet to the side as he observes your upside down gaze.

He flexes his fingers a little and you think it must be some sort of habit for him to constantly crack his stiff joints, “You’re asking a Mandalorian to disarm his weapons?”

You giggle a little and turn your attention back to the hot spring as you slowly submerge your feet into the soothing hot water, shuddering at how good it feels after being on your feet all day, "I would not ask you to do such a thing, silly man. I'm simply asking for you to relax with me; you deserve it just as much as I do."

He huffs out an amused noise and you turn to gaze at him over your shoulder to watch him slowly remove the cannon that's as tall as you, propping it up against the rock next to his thigh. You raise your brows when he lets out an exasperated grunt upon removing his jetpack, cursing in his native language as he rolls his shoulders.

"Told you all of that equipment must weigh down on you," He shakes his helmet at your gentle quip and lightly nudges your shoulders with his knee before removing his utility belt, "It is good for you to relax too, Mandalorian, especially if your tribe requires your protection."

"You needed this more than me."

You hum as you carefully dump a small amount of the healing salts into the hot spring, avoiding his emotionless gaze as you muster up the courage to say what’s been clawing at the back of you mind since after your initial meeting with the enigmatic warrior.

“Why do you find it so important to take care of me?”

Besides the peaceful sounds of running water and chirping crickets, it’s deathly silent and you fear that the Mandalorian will refuse to answer your question. You lower your head, shame and regret burning something fierce in your cheeks as the silence overwhelms you and convinces you that he does not care about you--that it’s all part of your imagination. You hear him shuffle around and you think he’s attaching his equipment back to his armor, probably wanting to already leave the beautiful cave.

Then a bare hand is on the center of your spine and you find yourself shivering and sighing as a massive hand idly trails up your back. His callused fingers easily push past your thick braids and find purchase on your nape; an embarrassed whimper leaves you when he firmly strokes and squeezes the tension away from your stiff muscles.

“Because, mesh’la,” His voice is close to your ear and when you turn your head in the slightest, your surprised to find his visor just inches away from your eyes, “I would not stand by and watch a harsh world beat you down so easily.”

You think him to be the best thief in the village, because his next words, followed by the press of his forehead against yours, has you bereft of any air that had previously filled your lungs.

“I would much rather see you with that pretty smile that actually meets your eyes, rather than bruises and cuts on your face. I would bring you here every night if it meant seeing that light in your eyes. even if for only a few seconds.”

The smile you grace him with is so genuine and huge that it hurts your cheeks.

Though you believe the Maker to be so cruel to bless you with such a tender companionship, surely with the intentions to eventually rip it away from your grasps, you will allow yourself to feel such happiness in that moment.

sen’tra= Jetpack

saviin’ika= Little violet

mesh’la= Beautiful

Author’s Note: First off, I know I’ve said a bajillion times and I’m never going to stop saying how sweet and supportive you all are! When I first came up with the idea for this story, I certainly had no intentions of people reading it since it’s so self-indulgent and I’m just a soft baby that loves the thought of huge, tough warriors also being soft babies lol. I’m glad we’re all fans of tender Mandalorians being soft with their partners and I’m so appreciative of all the kind comments y’all have left. I hope you all continue to enjoy my story and I promise I’ll try to update as consistently as my hectic schedule will allow me to.

I love you all <3

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester​ @auty-ren​ @theocatkov​ @oloreaa​ @blindedbyyourgrace17​ @datmando​ @dartheldur​ @miscellaneous-mando​ @karpasia​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @the-feckless-wonder​ @whatababeleia​ @maybege​

If I missed anyone, please let me know!!

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #paz vizla #my writing #IM SO SORRY THIS WASN'T REAADY AT 5 LIKE I SAID IT WOULD BE #I WAS UNHAPPY WITH CERTAIN PARTS AND KEPT CHANGING THINGS #ANYWAYS #PAZ VIZLA IS BASICALLY READER'S SUGAR DADDY #BUT INSTEAD OF MONEY #HE GIVES HER EMOTIONAL SUPPORT

[killemwithkawaii]

HELLO MITCH ur blog is so cute i come here all the time for the Good sally face content im rlly going thru it rn with university so reading ur sally face imagines rlly helps <3 could i request something for sal and/or larry w an s/o that has obsessive compulsive disorder and struggles a lot?? like thinking theres only Two Possible Options for things sometimes, feeling like they have to be Perfect or theyre nothing, etc? tysm if u can, i just dont see enough fics for that sort of thing </3

I’m so happy to hear that my content has helped you when you’ve been struggling! I totally agree that there aren’t enough fics/imagines regarding mental illness- I hope that these headcanons bring you some comfort  🤗💕

Note: While I did quite a lot of research while writing this, I don’t personally have OCD. If any of this information is off, please don’t hesitate to tell me and I will correct it ASAP!

Sal and Larry with an s/o who has OCD-

Sal

-Though he generally keeps himself and his things clean, he usually isn't one that's bothered by germs or unsanitary things. If his s/o is someone who has a preoccupation with contamination, he'd volunteer to touch or clean whatever they perceived as unclean (ex: opening doors, steering shopping carts, handling raw meat, disposing of spoiled food, cleaning bathrooms, etc.) when necessary and wouldn't be offended if his s/o requested he participate in a certain decontamination ritual afterword to put them at ease. He would also reassure his partner that they and the things they've touched are not 'dirty' if they believed that THEY were the cause of contamination, despite them believing otherwise.

-His patience comes in handy if his s/os compulsions lead to 'obsessional slowness' when things aren't 'just right' and s/o feels compelled to repeat tasks, or if s/o needs frequent reassurance about certain things (he could use some reassurance of his own when things 'don't feel right', so it will be a two-way street)

-He has first-hand experience with mental illness and understands that delusions and intrusive thoughts (strange, disturbing or otherwise) aren't a reflection of a persons actual desires. He knows they can't help having these unwelcome ideas pop into their head and that they don't want to act on them, so he talks his s/o through them and reminds them that they aren't a bad person for having these kinds of thoughts.

-Sal is a collector, so he kind of understands if his partner has a tendency to hoard things, even if their motivation is more about 'keeping things just in case,' instead of 'keeping things because they're interesting or hold sentimental value'. He'd make an area in their living space for them to keep their objects organized. At the same time, he'd try to help them keep their collection manageable so that it doesn't take over the house.

-Sal doesn't have the best memory, but he would make more of an effort to keep records/a calendar if his S/O is the type to worry that they may have done something harmful in the past that they cannot recall.  

-If his S/O has fears of breaking moral rules, Sals emotional knowledge and understanding really comes in handy. He's been through plenty of therapy sessions and has a lot of tools at his disposal to deal with feeling as if you are inherently bad or have done something unforgivable without meaning to. He'd talk through his S/Os fears with them to help them feel better about any social faux pas they may or may not have committed and will willingly step in to help if he sees that S/O is struggling in a social situation/obligation.

Larry

-Would make an effort to keep his living space more tidy so it wouldn't trigger his s/os compulsions for organization or cleanliness. He would not be offended if his s/o felt the need to organize his things in a certain way so they 'feel right,' as long as he can find what he needs and they don't throw anything important away.

-He TOTALLY gets being easily grossed out, so he's very understanding when his s/o reacts with disgust to things others might not be phased by. He'll do his best to handle what he can stomach for them, but there might be times where he and his s/o decide to mutually bail on a situation or conversation that's just to nauseating to handle.

-His spontaneity and enthusiasm can come in handy when his s/o has been procrastinating or having difficulty making decisions- he'll give them the jump-start they need or help to make a final call if they find themselves floundering between choices

-Larry deals with his own delusional thoughts (specifically that he's cursed and that every bad thing that happens around him is somehow his fault), so he understands when his partner makes cause and effect connections in their mind that aren't actually true. He'd be there to talk through those connections with his s/o and would gently but firmly assure them that they haven't inadvertently caused some catastrophe with an unrelated action (though he wouldn't put them down for thinking that way, and he might need them to do the same for him sometimes.)

-Is great at helping his S/O tackle perfectionism and needing things to be 'just right'. He's a strong believer in the serendipitous, and that projects don't have to be 'just so' to be great work. He also knows that burn-out can be detrimental to creativity and would encourage his S/O to take breaks when they find themselves compelled to complete a task with very high standards.

-His knowledge of home maintenance and repair comes in handy when S/O needs reassurance or feels a compulsion to check that their living space is 'safe'. He would check wiring, make sure locks are in working order, test smoke detectors regularly, etc. and would quickly fix anything that posed a potential (or perceived) threat.

#Sally Face #sally face headcanons #sally face imagine #sal fisher #larry johnson #sal fisher x reader #larry johnson x reader #OCD #tw mental illness #tw unsanitary #tw delusion #K.E.W.K. answers #K.E.W.K. writes #i say i dont have OCD but the more i read the more im like 'HMMMMM' #is it autism? is it ADHD?? is it OCD??? #we'll just stick with neurodivergent and mentally ill for now i guess lol

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Epilogue: Borrowed Time

Life goes on, impossibly.

Read on Ao3

---

Martin shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he climbed the stairs, still feeling a bit nervous.

The dinner had been Jon's idea – his O&M instructor was covering kitchen skills, and he'd thought it would be fun for the two of them to try making something together. The recipe had sounded a little elaborate to Martin, who'd protested that he didn't cook much, but Jon promised that it wasn't beyond them. He added that Martin was ‘perfectly capable' in the kitchen anyway, and said it with such prim, knowing confidence that Martin hadn't even bothered to ask. Before he knew it, he was writing down a list of ingredients to bring over.

He supposed that was just going to keep happening, Jon telling him things about himself. It was . . . strange. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes just annoying. Occasionally it made him feel sentimental and a little bit sad in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

The door to the flat opened after a moment of knocking, and he smiled as Jon appeared.

"Hi Jon, it's Martin," he said. He'd read online it was polite to say your name, to not assume the other person will recognize your voice. "I've got the groceries."

"I know it's you, Martin." His tone was light and a little condescending, and Martin felt heat rise to his ears. "Come on inside. You know where the kitchen is."

Martin slipped past him and set down the bag, pulling things out and arranging them on the counter as Jon followed him to the kitchen.

"The store was out of chili paste," he mentioned.

Jon shrugged. "We'll improvise, then."

"If you say so."

Jon began taking out cookware, placing things down wherever he found counter space. "Do anything interesting today?" he asked, over the clatter of pans.

"Not especially. Filled out a few applications, then took a walk," he said. "Met a really friendly dog in the park."

"Flattered that you tore yourself away to come here."

"Wasn't by choice, her owner wouldn't let me keep her."

"How unreasonable."

It was weird, not having to worry so much about money. Not that Martin was complaining of course, but there was still a voice in his head telling him he was being too slow and selective in his job search, that it was lazy of him. And he felt anxious dipping into the new funds too much.

He'd just about gone into conniptions when Sasha told him what she'd done while she'd been fiddling with Elias's computer. Embezzlement might not have been an escalation when they were already committing arson, but they could still get caught, and wouldn't a financial windfall point a lot of suspicion towards them? But she kept assuring him that it was untraceable, some hidden fund Elias had, ready to be drawn on by anyone with the account information. The running theory was that he'd been keeping it for his next identity, which . . . yeah, the less Martin thought about that, the better.

Fear of discovery aside, he couldn't deny it was nice having a buffer like this. There was space he'd never had before to think about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with himself. And with the bills taken care of, Jon could focus his time on recovering. At the urging of his O&M teacher (and some amount of prodding on Martin's end) he'd even started talking to a counselor every few weeks. It was ostensibly just about handling the emotions that come up with sudden, traumatic vision loss, and he doubted Jon would be discussing the more exotic traumas he'd been through. Still. It was probably good he had something like that.

They went about the business of prepping ingredients, talking idly about food, things they'd done in the past few days, updates from Tim and Sasha. Martin's initial nerves already dissolving into the steady flow of conversation. There was something comfortable, he reflected, in being around someone who was so comfortable with him.

"Would you mind--" Jon frowned, fiddling with the hob on the stove. "I've got this, I'm fairly sure. Just . . . make sure I keep the pan centered?"

"Sure."

He came to stand behind Jon, watching over his shoulder as he set the carefully oiled pan on the stove and turned on the heat. Martin was a terribly distracted spotter, his attention frequently straying from the pan to look at Jon's face, pinched slightly in concentration. There was a single bead of sesame oil on his cheek, and it made his intensely serious expression that much more charming.

Despite his concerns, Jon had the pan well handled as he heated the oil and added in the aromatics. Martin only noticed him drifting once, the flames going high on one side of the pan.

"A little left," he advised.

In a moment of impulse and bravery, Martin curved an arm around him – placing a hand on his elbow, then running it down his arm to cover Jon's hand with his own, guiding the pan carefully into place. Jon leaned back, fitting the curve of his body into Martin's and sighing deeply.

"God, I've missed this," Jon exhaled. "Just . . . cooking dinner with you. All these little domestic things."

His voice was so unselfconsciously fond. It made Martin dizzy, just how easily affection poured out of him.

In hindsight, at least part of Jon's strange, awkward behavior around Martin had been a result of him holding back, wary of letting his feelings show. He never held anything back now -- his demeanor going from nonchalant or haughty to unbelievably soft and loving at the slightest prompting. It still took Martin by surprise, inspiring so much unreserved affection in someone. It wasn't anything he'd usually associate with himself. It was strange, and lovely, and at times made him feel almost frighteningly powerful.

He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin just beside Jon's ear. Jon smiled, holding his pose for a moment before gradually returning his attention to the pan, shaking it gently to move the vegetables around. Martin kept a hand on his, now fully for the sake of touch rather than any pretense of assistance, letting Jon's movements guide them both.

"Did we cook together in that cabin a lot?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "It was one of a handful of things we could do that felt . . . well, like a date, I suppose. We couldn't really go anywhere since we were lying low. I mean, we could walk around the area, isolated as it was, but trips to the village were all short and functional. So preparing something elaborate together made an evening feel special," he smirked. "You used to get defensive, too, just like today . . . saying you didn't really cook, like you were trying to lower my expectations."

"In my defense, I never said I didn't cook, just . . . ." Not since mum left , he thought. "Not for a while."

"To be honest, we were both at a disadvantage in that kitchen," Jon continued. "There weren't a lot of modern conveniences there. The power came from a generator, and the stove was an ancient, wood-burning thing that neither of us quite knew what to do with at first. Took a lot of trial and error before we really managed."

"Sounds cozy."

"Oh yes. So cozy we almost suffocated ourselves before we figured out how to adjust the vents."

Martin smiled, listening to Jon describe the little kitchen in that place. The cabin in Scotland had supposedly been a remote safehouse the two of them laid low in, but the way Jon talked about it sometimes it might as well have been a romantic holiday retreat. He made it sound so nice that Martin once idly suggested they go see it someday. Jon had gone tense and quiet at that, had shaken his head and said softly that they had to stay far, far away from that place. That there was nothing good that happened there now.

Jon was mostly open about the things he remembered. But sometimes "open" meant he'd easily speak at length about something, and other times "open" meant he'd answer your questions with short, one-sentence explanations, volunteering nothing unless pushed. And anything about the police officers he'd apparently worked with fell solidly into the second category.

Sometimes it seemed like they might have been friends, but Jon was always adamant that no one ever try to contact them. Daisy in particular seemed hard to talk about. Martin did know about the coffin. Jon had told him in a soft, emotional voice how another Martin had stepped from his cloud of isolation to set out tape recorders calling him home, how it had been one of very few things that let Jon believe he hadn't given up on him yet. And he knew something had been different about Daisy after the coffin, some sinister force like the one that had kept them at the Institute had loosened its hold on her.

He also knew that Jon was terrified of her, that he said again and again she was too dangerous to go near. That something about her made him sad -- and, Martin suspected, guilty, though he wasn't sure why. It was a topic he'd decided not to push . . . if Jon ever wanted to talk more about it, he would in his own time.

There were other things, things closer to home for Martin that Jon had hesitated over. Once while he was recounting the events of those years he'd paused mid-sentence. Stammered that it wasn't all supernatural in nature and some of it may still happen, and was he sure he wanted to know everything? Martin imagined Jon thought he was being subtle, but it wasn't a hard guess.

He told Jon not to give him the date. It was obviously going to be within the next couple of years, there was no spitting out that apple of knowledge. But he didn't want to be able to mark it on his calendar.

It shouldn't have felt like news, that his mum was going to die soon. Shouldn't have been the uncomfortable weight in his chest that it was. She was ill, of course it was coming, it had been coming for a while, hadn't it? But maybe that was the problem. It had been ‘any day now' for such a long time, ‘any day' had stopped feeling like a reality. And he still wasn't sure what to do with this information, if it really changed anything. Should he try to get some sort of closure? How did you make the most of the time you had left with a person who refuses to see you?

Martin hadn't asked Jon how much he knew about his mum, that just wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. But the careful, hesitant way Jon talked around the subject suggested . . . something, at least. Just like how the gentle, quiet tone he got when he talked about the Lonely told Martin more than he really wanted to have explained.

There was only one thing Jon flatly refused to tell him about, and that was whatever Elias had done to him on the day of the Unknowing. When pushed, Jon had gone quiet for a while, then said he didn't remember. It had been a lie, and a bad one, and both of them knew it. But it was clear there was no point in asking for more.

"You like pizzelles, don't you?"

Jon's voice snapped Martin to the present. With a last squeeze of Martin's hand, he turned off the flame, moved away from the stove and over to the pantry.

"Um, dunno?" Martin said, pulling his thoughts back together. "Never tried them."

"Really?" Jon frowned, pausing halfway to the cabinet door. Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. You will."

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon spoke with so much more authority than anyone deserved to hold over another person's cookie preferences, and he couldn't help feeling contrary.

"No. You stepped on a butterfly last week and set off a chain of events that forever changed my feelings on pizzelles, I hate them now."

"That's all right," Jon said, popping open the plastic package and arranging the cookies on a plate. "If you don't want these, there's also canned peaches for dessert."

"Oh, don't you dare --"

Jon snickered, picking out a broken piece of one of the large, thin cookies and holding it out, just short of passing it into Martin's mouth. With an annoyed grunt, Martin leaned forward, taking a bite.

Damn it. It was really, really good.

---

Jon sank into the couch, pleasantly full and a little bit tired. He leaned back and listened to the sound of running water coming from the next room.

Martin had insisted on doing the dishes, on the basis that Jon had done "all the real work" of cooking. He wasn't sure that was true, but didn't argue. Just asked that he leave everything in the drainboard when he was finished so Jon could put it away later. He knew he'd be frustrated for hours if the dishes weren't where he expected them to be.

There were so many frustrations in his life now. His O&M instructor had promised he'd learn new ways to move through the world, that in time the frustrations would be fewer and fewer, and he'd find himself capable of nearly everything he'd done before the loss of his sight. Jon believed her, but it didn't make the prospect of getting there any less daunting. Nor did it make the learning process any easier.

The worst were the things his instructor would never understand, that no resource or guidebook would mention. The dread that gripped him when he became disoriented and found a door where he wasn't expecting one. The phantom tickles on his body that prompted him to pat himself down for spiders again and again.

Still. He was alive. The others were freed from the institute, and he was there with them, to struggle and to mourn and to continue on.

A part of him would always fear it had been a mistake. That the Web, or the Eye, or some other power still had plans for him that would reach apotheosis someday. Maybe he saw the fear as vigilance, as though something was waiting for him to feel safe so that it could rip that security from him. And as long as he never allowed himself to be truly, entirely at ease, that day would never come.

Irrational, perhaps. But it was so hard to tell anymore which irrational fears were truly irrational, and which would one day manifest with teeth and claws.

Even if nothing ever came for him, they had only bought the world some time. One day, maybe soon, someone would figure it out and attempt a ritual again. Maybe there would be others out there who would catch it in time, postponing the end over and over, forever. Or maybe someone would do it next week, and Jon would be plunged along with everyone else into unspeakable suffering until Terminus claimed them all. He could follow Gertrude's path if he chose, devote his life to stopping rituals at the cost of everything he cared for. Even then one could slip past him, come from someplace he hadn't been watching, or had been made not to notice. At some point he was going to have to find a way to live with that knowledge.

He'd work on it. But for the moment . . . .

The sound of running water stopped. Jon smiled, scooting to make room on the couch, feeling the cushions sink and shift as they took the weight of another person. With a hmm that came out with more whine to it than he'd wanted, Jon found Martin's arm and tugged it towards him. With a quiet laugh, Martin obliged, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest.

"Better," Jon arranged their limbs more comfortably. Martin's hands were still cold, and he smelled faintly of dish soap.

"Glad to hear it."

Jon knew Martin found it amusing, how clingy he was. The first time he'd commented on it had been profoundly embarrassing. Part of it was just the way Jon was, but he also remembered the days after the Lonely. The skittish, uncertain moments of contact, the times when Martin stiffened at his touch but whimpered when he pulled away. The other days, when they could barely let go of one another, when Jon would plant himself beside Martin or wrap his arms over his shoulders, and he would relax into it, sighing with release. Both of them too grateful for the fragile miracle of each other's touch to consider breaking contact.

This Martin didn't remember those days, and if he ever sensed anything desperate or reverent in the way Jon clung, he didn't comment on it. Still, even if he found it funny, he didn't seem to mind how ardently Jon held on to him.

Jon moved a hand into the space between Martin's shoulder blades and scratched down his spine, the particular way he used to like. Jon felt him shiver with pleasure under the soothing contact, and a powerful warmth spread through him.

"God . . ." Martin whispered, "you really know everything about me, don't you?"

Jon snorted. "Hardly. In a very real way, we barely had time to get to know each other. And when we did, well . . . it was close by necessity. It was intimate, and intense. But there's still a great deal I've no idea about."

"You were never tempted to use those powers of omniscience to look inside my head?"

"Constantly," Jon said, with great seriousness. "But I never did. I promised."

Martin went quiet at that. Maybe Jon's reply had been a little intense, or maybe Martin hadn't actually realized that looking inside his head had been a possibility when he'd asked the question as a joke.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Um . . . good?"

"I have picked up a few things," Jon continued, speaking with quiet and fond admiration. "For example . . . I know you'd like a pet, but your landlord won't allow them so you keep plants instead. You can't say no to panhandlers. You have a favorite hoodie that you only wear when you're sad and need the comfort. You like old, careworn furniture, and rainy days, and sitcoms that were made before you were born. You're kind to people who aren't kind to you, but you never forget the unkindness."

"Wow. Okay," Martin made a soft noise, shifting in his arms, voice tight and quiet. "Okay. Y-You're, uh, probably going to kill me if you keep that up, you know."

"Trust me, you've survived worse."

He felt Martin move a little higher, slotting himself beside Jon and giving him a tight squeeze. Jon grinned as the breath was pushed out of him, all twenty-four of his ribs contracting at the assault.

That was another difference, one of dozens of subtle changes Jon couldn't keep his mind from analyzing. Martin wasn't ungentle, exactly. But he hugged Jon more tightly, shoved or poked him when he was annoyed, whereas the Martin in his memories had held back a little. Been more mindful of his strength, as if wary he might handle him too roughly. It had been subtle, a thing Jon hadn't even noticed until he had something to contrast it against.

It made sense, he supposed. The other Martin had seen Jon limp back to the institute with fresh wounds and new scars one too many times. This one didn't have to have those images in his head.

There were some things that were lost between them, Jon knew that. Memories too small and simple to explain, questions he couldn't ask anymore. Moments they would never share, both good and bad. But there was also so much they had gained. This Martin hadn't had an easy life, not by any measure. But he hadn't had to watch helplessly as the people around him died or disappeared or became monstrous. Hadn't been lost in grinning corridors, or attacked by Hopworth's hooligans, or made to feel the heat of the endless tenement fire. And for that, Jon was so, so grateful.

"You look thoughtful," Martin commented.

"Mmm," Jon sat quietly for a while sifting through his thoughts before speaking. "We should go to a movie sometime. When I'm up for going out out."

"That sounds less fun for you than me . . . ."

"Depends on the movie. I could listen, even without description. And I'd enjoy being with you," he said. "Or maybe a concert? Though I don't really know what sort of music you like . . . ."

"Really? There's actually a blank spot in your catalogue of Martin trivia?" he said sarcastically. "Surprised it never came up."

"You only ever used headphones at work," Jon bristled, feeling oddly defensive about it, "and we obviously couldn't bring our devices to the cabin. Too traceable."

"Hmm," there was a teasing smile in Martin's voice. "Don't know if I want to tell, now. Feels like I've got a secret."

"Oh, except . . . there was one song? I don't know the lyrics, but you used to hum it all the time in the cabin."

"What was it called?"

"I didn't actually ask. It sounded nice, though. Maybe we could listen to it together. . . "

"How'd it go, then?"

He hummed the tune from memory. It came easily to mind, connected as it was with images of Martin sipping tea or wiping down a countertop, a bright, easy smile on his face. After a moment, Martin burst out laughing.

"That's -- that's from a soap commercial!"

". . . What?"

"Floors and doors, walls and halls, Liquid Lather cleans them all," he spoke-sang along with the tune. "It was probably just stuck in my head."

Jon frowned, mildly disappointed. "Well. It sounded nice when you were humming it, anyway."

"God. If you want I can serenade you with an insurance advert sometime."

"No thank you."

"Or we could listen to your album from uni," he pushed, the satisfied smile in his voice growing.

"Thankfully we never recorded anything," Jon grinned ruefully, "so that's lost to time."

"Bet you could still sing some of it."

"Try me the next time I'm not expecting to live through the night."

Martin made a displeased sound at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry that you always have to come over here," Jon said. "I should probably be making more of an effort to get out of the flat. But it's so much still, even with a guide. I can do it if I have to, but I can't relax."

"C'mon . . . you know I don't mind, and even if I did it wouldn't be something to apologize for. You're going at your own pace."

"Suppose I'm just impatient with myself. It feels absurd, I've walked through a London warped by unfathomable terror, but now ordinary city life is overwhelming. I think I never understood how many people there are on every block until each one became another unpredictable factor to be aware of on my way to the damn corner store," he sighed. "It may be a while before I'm up for anything like a concert."

"It's alright," Martin gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm good at waiting."

For a moment Jon's mind went to a dark, creaking bedroom, air heavy with dust and thick with terror. It's all right. I'm good at waiting. The same phrasing, almost the same tone. Maybe it was to be expected, little parallels like this. Given a person's linguistic habits and enough time it was probably inevitable, but every time something like it happened it floored Jon in the most wonderful way. Some small but meaningful part of the man he loved reflecting and echoing back at him.

If the world didn't end, if he didn't dissolve into spiders or die at the hands of some unfathomable terror, Jon swore someday he'd find the words for how moments like that made him feel. And if he had any courage left in him, he'd tell Martin about it.

"Though, as long as we're talking about that," Martin said, "I've been thinking . . . ."

"In general?" Jon teased.

"Sort of. I've been reading some stuff about adjusting to vision loss? And I know this is fast – well, maybe not fast to you – but it seems to me like it's probably easier, especially at first, if you've got a sighted person staying with you . . ."

He felt himself breathe in sharply, and Martin's words came faster, his tone careful.

"Not - not to do everything for you, of course! I know you can do things yourself. Just to make little things easier, and – you know, that aspect aside it – it might just be nice –"

"Yes," Jon said decisively.

"Because it isn't really just the vision thing – I mean, it's alright if you do need help but it's also alright if you don't – but there's other reasons – "

"My answer is yes."

A faint laugh came out of Martin and he slapped Jon's chest lightly. "Stop agreeing and let me finish."

"Sorry."

"I'm not suggesting moving in. That would be too fast, at least for me," he said. "I'd want to keep my own place, and I'd probably still spend some time there."

"Of course," Jon nodded solemnly. "Perfectly reasonable to want some space of your own."

"Yeah. But if it works for you, I thought I might get a bag together, y'know, just sort of stay for a while? I – hell, I wouldn't, uh, mind the excuse to cook more dinners with you? And I slept better than I had in a while the night I stayed over here."

"So did I."

"I just think it might be nice. If you think so too, of course."

There was a pause as Jon waited, not sure if Martin had more to say. After the silence had dragged on for a while, he spoke up. "Am I allowed to say yes now?"

Martin laughed, nodding against Jon's chest.

"Then yes. I'd be very happy to have you stay here with me."

"Cool. Cool . . . " Martin exhaled. " . . . I love you."

"And I love you."

"More than I'll ever know?"

There was a teasing smile in Martin as he echoed the words Jon had said to him back in the tunnel. Jon was quiet for a moment.

He'd meant those words when he'd said them. It hadn't been a romantic turn of phrase. He'd confessed his feelings in that moment with the understanding that Martin would never be able to see how deep they ran. That he could tell Martin he loved him, but he'd never be able to show him that. He wouldn't have the chance. He found Martin's cheek with a hand, turned his face towards him, then bent down and kissed him, once.

"No," he said. "Not if I can help it."

#tma fanfic #tma #jonmartin #food mention