#his own weaknesses and self-loathing are the cause of it

[amazinglyashy]

Too heavy for me? Never

LADS men reaction to you only somewhat joking about being too heavy for them

Sylus -

He'll raise an eyebrow at you, staring down at you as you realize the joke fell flat. You try to back peddle, not wanting to cause any confrontation that never helps you feel better about your body anyway, but he simply holds up a hand to stop you with a shake of his head.

"I don't want to hear it, sweetie. I already know the nonsense you're going to say. How about you just come with me right now to the gym instead?"

You don't know how to tell him that saying that truly shattered your heart into a million pieces, so you just follow him in silence instead. You didn't think he would insult you so casually, and you were now trying to brace yourself for the inadequate feelings and self-loathing you were about to experience by having to train at the gym with him.

But... he didn't ask you to do a workout. He didn't tell you to get on a piece of equipment or to lie down on a mat for a physical exercise.

He told you to sit on a small bench against the wall while he went to the free weights close by.

Wordlessly, he loads weights- two- no, three times your weight onto the bar, before moving to lift it. Once. Twice. Again, and again and again-

His eyes flicker over to you at some point, and instead of making any remark or reference to the emotions clear across your face, he flashes you a slight smirk, just like he always does.

"Have I made myself clear, sweetie?"

Zayne -

Zayne will definitely think you're just pretending to be stupid at first.

He will look down at you with his brows furrowed and a small smile creeping on his lips, thinking it's all a joke.

"I lift myself during my workouts fairly easily, and I am capable of lifting a lot more. Quite funny, though I wouldn't make this form of humor a habit. It isn't particularly good for your mental health."

Then he realizes you're actually being serious in what you're saying.

He's upset, to put it lightly, but hes trying not to let it show. Favoring a small frown across his usually firm expression as he studies your face. Your heart will jolt just a little bit when you process just how sad his eyes look though... obviously he's hurt that you would even think something like that about yourself, much less come to believe it as true.

"Allowing a part of your brain to lie to you is not healthy if you don't push back with the truth. And the truth here, is that you are nowhere near too heavy for me to lift or carrying, even for prolonged periods of time. To demonstrate-"

And like it's nothing, he's picking you up and carrying you. His destination is not important, and the protests spewing from your lips fall on deaf ears as you try to gentle squirm out of his grasp. He'll continue to explain why your viewpoint is flawed, methodically and with logic, and in a way that you find yourself unable to argue back.

He doesn't want you to.

He knows you're wrong, and he will stop at nothing to prove it.

Xavier -

He's more surprised at the statement than anything. At first, he thinks you're making a jab at his strength, and wonders if he slipped up in front of one too many Wanderers and now needs to prove himself just to get you to stop teasing him for being 'weak'.

Once he (quickly) realizes that you're talking about yourself, jabbing at your own body and state, rather than at him, it's like a spark igniting in him.

"What? What would ever make you think that? No- that's not right. That's not right at all."

He's immediately going to try and grab you to lift you up, he doesn't care where you both are or what you're doing. Even if you've just woken up in bed and are still relaxing, he's trying to pick you up right then and there.

He stumbles trying to lift you, falling backward onto the pile of blankets and plushies that has taken over his bed. He feels awful, worried that you'll take his misstep as him falling over from your weight, immediately apologizing and trying to sit up and pick you up again before falling forward from the plush surface he's trying to rise on giving out too much beneath him.

You're both a giggling mess by then, and it's obvious to you that he's going to keep trying to prove it to you, just... a bit clumsily so. Several more attempts will be made as the evening goes on, and pretty soon he's showing you just how easily it is for him to lift you up- especially if he keeps doing it over and over and over again.

And he will continue to do it over and over and over again, even after today. As many times as it takes.

Rafayel -

You definitely made a mistake saying anything self-depreciating around him. Especially with how much he likes to prove you wrong in playful situations, this is something similar, but a lot more serious to him.

He'll make fun of you for anything, as long as you know he's just being lighthearted even if he's grumpy or upset when he fires a quip off at you.

But the second you agree with him, or say something bad about yourself- whether jokingly or dead serious- the gloves are off. He won't accept that from you, and he's already on it to figure out how to turn the opinion you've formed of yourself on it's head and into a more positive outlook.

Lifts you up bridal carry while spinning- quite literally sweeping you off your feet while he whisks you away. You would think you were a princess with how he spins around his studio with you in his arms, with no regard to the paintings or projects around him as he dances with you in his arms. And no matter how hard you protest, he doesn't stop until he feels for himself that he's done enough, giggling the entire time.

"Are you really going to doubt a sea god's strength? Geez, I didn't realize you were such a rude human."

He'll hold you up enough to press his forehead against yours, nuzzling against you with a smile, the slightest sadness playing across his expression.

"Man, I must be pretty lousy that you would ever think something like that about yourself. That must mean I don't think to pick you up enough like you deserve. Don't worry, I'll make it up to you by whisking you away every chance I see you from now on."

[autistichalsin]

Analysis of each character's final words in the new Dark Urge evil ending

If you are romanced to a character, you have the option, when taking the new version of the Sins of the Father ending, to kill your partner in front of the others in your party, killing them with one last kiss. They then give their last words and pass away. I love each and every one and feel they are incredible characterization moments.

So let's break these down!

Lae'zel:

I... I am glad it was you. No other blade would have sufficed.

This is something that hammers home that, Vlaakith or no, Lae'zel deeply believes in all the ideals of a Githyanki. Life is a privilege for the strong, and death is the price of weakness. Further, if romanced, Lae'zel will affectionately call you "the source of my bruises" many times. If she has to die, if she has finally found the one person stronger than herself, then she is "satisfied" that it is you- who she both loved and admired. The only one she would ever consider worthy of besting her.

Karlach:

Fuck you.

Short, simple, and to the point, just the way Karlach does everything else. She's already gone through all her stages of grief with her engine- well, almost all of them. Anger still remains. She burns hot until the end.

Wyll:

I... I forgive you.

This isn't just Wyll being a good guy. This is heartbreak, and guilt. Guilt for not saving you from Bhaal's influence when he was so sure he had. Heartbreak that after he gave his literal soul to save as many people as he could, he couldn't save you- and couldn't save others from you, either. All he sacrificed, negated in an instant by the person he loved and trusted most. Of all the characters here, Wyll (tied with Halsin) sounds the most obviously broken, and it's easy to see why, given that he is self-sacrificing to a fault.

There was a set of scenes datamined from the game, where at the Morphic Pool, the Netherbrain would have taunted the players, causing them to hallucinate things related to their fears and insecurities. Wyll's would have been a vision of himself talking about how he was never a hero, how the Blade of Frontiers was a farce all along. One can't help but think about that scene here, wondering just how much blame, bordering on self-loathing, he might feel here.

Dark Justiciar Shadowheart:

I... I'm coming to you, Lady Shar.

Another short and simple one. By becoming a Dark Justiciar, Shadowheart has fully embraced the nihilism of Shar's teachings. Why be saddened or angry at her own death when this is just what she's embraced with all her sacrifices?

(Sidenote: this does also answer a question I had, namely, what was going to happen to everyone Durge kills. Thankfully it seems they aren't actually going to be sacrificed to him as such, and will indeed end up in the realm of their deities. This makes Bhaal's plan even DUMBER, because deities in DND lore need worshippers to have enough power to exist. Killing everyone at once just guarantees that soon after Durge dies as the last person alive, so too will Bhaal fade from existence.)

Selunite Shadowheart:

I... I thought we were going to save each other...

This Shadowheart rejected everything she knew. She was scared to defy her goddess, but worked up the courage- thanks to you. She thought you would have a new life together. She believed in you. She thought she would get to return the favor, and help you turn the page on Bhaal, too.

She's not just heartbroken for herself; she's heartbroken for you, too. Heartbroken at the life you denied both her and yourself.

Gale:

You made me want to live...

From the moment the orb entered Gale's chest, he knew he was at risk of dying. Then Mystra all but marked him as a dead man walking. But despite that, he finds love with you- and for the first time thinks maybe there is a purpose for him beyond Mystra. That he isn't more useful to the world dead. More than that, he wants to live to be with you, to enjoy your company and companionship. And then you kill him, and do the one thing WORSE than what would have happened if he'd never been pulled from that rock.

It almost would have been kinder to just hack his hand off the first time you met him, though Gale may or may not agree.

Spawn Astarion:

I should have killed you when I had the chance...

The angriest, most bitter response out of all the romanced companions, a step beyond Karlach's "fuck you." This is beyond "fuck you" and even beyond "I hate you." It's "I regret every moment I spent with you." You made him believe he could have better. That he could recover from what Cazador did. You even convinced him to spare the 7,000 spawn and that he could be something better than Cazador.

And now you reveal it was all a lie. Astarion is probably thinking that you talked him out of completing the ritual solely so he'd be easier to kill right here and now. How many regrets are flashing through his mind, how many moments where he wonders if things could have been different if only he'd done this or that, even aside from killing you?

All he wanted was to live as a free person. And then the first time he thinks he has that at last, he loses it as the world ends.

Ascended Astarion:

No... no, this can't be... I can't- you can't- no...

In contrast to spawn Astarion, ascended isn't angry, because he doesn't have the clarity, the ability to process what's happening. Spawn Astarion could tell he'd been betrayed.

But Ascended? Ascended, who went through so much to become one of the most powerful beings in the world, only to STILL lose without fanfare? And by you, his own spawn who he thought he had under his control? It isn't betrayal, because he is bluescreening; he can't comprehend what happened or how or why. How could he have been killed, and by you of all people? Was all he went through killing Cazador really for nothing? How could it be when he was supposed to be the most powerful? Was power actually meaningless all along?

He doesn't say anything of substance because he can't understand what's happening here.

Halsin:

Thaniel... goodbye...

Halsin is the oldest of all the companions. He's experienced the most loss of anyone; his birth family, his fellow Druids, and, for a time, Thaniel. He has had more than enough time to contemplate his own mortality, because he's already lived multiple lifetimes.

So here, two things are happening. One, he isn't expressing anger or betrayal at his murder- because he is more than wise enough, and humble enough, to understand that there are worse things than what has been done to himself. Instead of himself, he is thinking of the world he's leaving behind that is about to fall- and most of all, of his most important person, the one who gave him a purpose, who was there when no one else was, who he failed once and only just got back. The closest thing to a child he'll ever have. In his last moments, instead of himself, Halsin is thinking of those he loves.

And second, it's an almost deliberate snubbing of Durge. He willingly walked into that kiss, knowing full well it would be the last thing he ever did. He gave you his death, he pleaded with his own god to forgive you and him both. He gave you everything he felt he owed you, and no more- no begging or sobbing. Instead, he comes as close as he ever gets to selfishness, and spends his last moments thinking about the thing that makes him the happiest- which could have been you, in another life, if you hadn't done this.

Minthara:

No... we were meant to do this together...

Heartbreak, disbelief, and betrayal. You spent so many nights planning this out. She had been cast aside by her people, her goddess, and she was going to get the last laugh. She was going to crush them personally under her heel and prove she was the best (or second best, behind you) of all of them. She's devastated she won't get to help you torture all those souls and take what she feels was owed to her. But interestingly enough... no anger. Probably because it was overshadowed by the sheer heartbreak, but also a sign that even in those moments, she still admires you for your ruthlessness.

[tfatwsbarnes]

first burn | tlou jesse pt. 4

pt. 1 pt. 2 and pt. 3

summary: seattle is at boiling point and the revenge you sought after strikes you at your core

pairing: tlou!jesse x fem!reader

word count: 5.9k

content: angry jesse, arguing, tension between jesse and reader. kissing, tlou gore, blood and self loathing to its finest. dialogue taken directly from the game cause FUCK what jesse said in the finale. reader dgaf about abby during THAT moment iykyk. character death 🙂‍↕️ guns and pure heartbreak sprinkled with survivors guilt

a/n: here we go fellas!! the last instalment of first burn. thank u for reading and supporting, ur feedback on each chap is so appreciated!! love u forever jesse lemme do a fix it fic for u <3 also, just to add, reader is not incapable or stupid by any means but seattle is WILD and the team just don’t have time for that

taglist: @beelee-cotton @lostbee20 @pupupwa @ilovetoomanymen @derangeddementor3 @keseqna @blackravena @cxcilla @hsangel64 @tillywasneverhere @peachyxlynch @toesucker59 @antlcrqueen - tysm for reading 🫶

“I don’t think killing them will bring the peace Ellie thinks it will.”

Jesse’s words played on thick, a scratched recorded in your mind as boots pummelled into the muddy sludge, your ankle pulsating with pain with every determined stride you took. You followed close behind Jesse and Dina, the female cradled into his chest and she went in and out of consciousness.

The events that had occurred were not the restoration of peace you had glorified on the back of Zombie on your way to Seattle. Severely humbled, you were taught that sheer confidence on a daydreamed scenario, did not equate to the capability you needed to even survive a day in the city. Nose broken, you knew it would leave a scar, to remind you that your decision was wholeheartedly based on naivety and this was your sudden karma.

Joel Miller was still dead. And, he would remain in the ground, swallowed by nature even after you left Seattle. The Miller brother, rough around the edges but a warmth to those that grew close to him, wouldn’t resurrect you to shower you in gratitude for your selflessness. No. As you thought about it, you would presume it would be the opposite; because you had been selfish.

Head pounded from exhaustion, you hated the way your stomach churned at the thought. The end goal was to do right by Joel Miller, but, you hadn’t. In fact, not a single Wolf suffered at your hands for his death.

Jesse glanced over his shoulder at you to ensure you had remained close in the marathon back to the theatre. Your eyes met for a brief moment, a raw emotion flickered across your face: you were scared. Eyes tracked back in front of him, you huffed out a breath, throat scorched from the excessive running and lack of water amidst the chaos. You were close, you knew by the buildings even in the darkened night, heavy clouds weighed above to signal a change in severe weather.

You rounded the corner and there it was, your base. Jesse slowed down and ordered you to open the door so he could slip Dina in with ease. Adhering to his instruction, you grunted at the weight of the theatre door, Jesse and Dina concealed; you followed a close second.

“Here.” You went to drag a chaise lounge, your muscles weak, and Jesse pushed past you to place Dina down gently. You stared at her, paled and soaked in her own sweat, blood and vomit smeared across her face. She looked as if she could die and that panicked you, “Jesse—”

“—Sit the fuck down and stay quiet.” Jesse bit and you flinched. He gently tapped at Dina’s face which reawakened her into the reality of the searing pain in her knee. Jesse was quick to press his forearm against her chest as she sat up, “Alright, this is going to hurt.” He rummaged in his backpack and Dina panted with a whine.

“No. It already fucking hurts.” Her hand reached out for yours and you hesitantly stepped from behind Jesse who ushered you with annoyance. Dina stared down at her leg as Jesse fumbled with supplies, “Jesse, I can’t die. You can’t let me die—”

“—Yeah, I know.”

“No. You don’t.” She began to cry.

You felt helpless. Her head swayed as Jesse continued to explain that he couldn’t pull the arrow out without tearing an artery. He’d have to push it. They bickered and you stood, silent as told, throat clenched with nausea at the sight of Dina’s open wound.

“Dina, shut up.” Jesse snapped and Dina fell silent in her protests, her clammy hand squeezed yours. Jesse took a breath, “I’ve got you, Dina. Alright? I’ve got you.” He began to pour at the arrow in her knee with alcohol and Dina threw her head back in hot pain. “Here. Have some of this. It’s going to help. Have some.”

You stared at Dina when she gritted her teeth. You wondered if it was an appropriate time for her to tell him she was growing his child in her womb. It would be a little unorthodox, but high levels of stress made your mind askew.

“I said no.” She spat.

OK. So, she wouldn’t tell him.

Your hand braced against hers as if you were entered into an arm wrestle, your body bent at the waist to offer some support as Jesse forced the arrow through her leg. She let out a wail that sent goosebumps up your arm, her body slumped as she fell unconscious, her breathing laboured. You felt her pulse for a moment. Still alive.

Kneeling down next to Jesse, you watched his hands make quick work to unravel the gauze. There had been many times he had returned home, wounds a plenty from his patrol and you would tend to them with warm kisses and tender touch. It was something you had become good at, because you always wanted to be there for Jesse in the rarity of his weakened moments.

Your fingertips went to grab the gauze from Jesse, allow him to take a break. In turn, he pulled away sharply, haphazardly wrapping it around Dina’s bleeding leg.

“Barricade the entries.” Jesse muttered to you. His words hit a wall in front of your face and his patience grew thin, your name liked venom on the tip of his tongue. “I said, go barricade the doors.”

It took almost two hours as you limped around all possible entries into the theatre, once Dina was dabbed with a damp cloth to take her temperature down, Jesse joined efforts with you, taking the larger furniture that you struggled to push and doing the job himself.

You were walking — limping — on eggshells around him. Jesse hadn’t been a male that expressed a need to make you nervous in his presence, but, the way he stormed around the room made you wince; worried that one flicker of a match and he would blow up in your face. Your hands wrung as you watched him pace back and forth with heavy items, a grunt escaped his lips as the sofa dropped against the cabinets to create a barricade. Hands brushed against each other, he turned to look at you.

You felt small. Pinned under his bitter gaze.

His finger pointed to your ankle, “Let me take a look.” You looked down at the mess of your ankle and shook your head which made Jesse sigh. You were always so fucking stubborn. “Please.”

It wasn’t hard to give into Jesse. You loved him. Backside against the tabletop, Jesse knelt at your feet, his hand delicately taking your busted ankle into his grasp to inspect it. Perhaps, you thought, he was looking for a bite mark so he had a reason to shoot you in the head.

He was angry after all.

“Why did you lie to me?” There it was. The burning question you were waiting for. His tone was monotonous as he prodded at your wound.

You flinched, “I would call it an evasion of truth. I didn’t specifically relay to you that I wasn’t going to Seattle.” You paused as he met your eyes, “So, if we are going by technicalities—”

“—Do you have to do that?”

“What?”

Jesse pulled more gauze out.

“A sarcastic retort.” He mumbled, “You’re being dismissive of the situation.”

He was right. You blew hot air through your lips, “I—Sure. I thought you knew how I felt about the outcome of the Council vote. Part of me expected you to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I was always going to go.”

“Oh, I knew.” Jesse paused and let out a soft chuckle — a slip up on his act.

“You knew?” You tried to calculate how many times you had been blatantly obvious about your intentions with Seattle before you left. “Then. . . Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because. I believed that you loved me enough to not lie about entering a war-torn city on horseback with three weeks worth of one-to-one combat.” He felt himself become angered in bringing up what hurt him the most, “You should’ve waited. I would’ve come. You knew that.”

Actually, you didn’t. That part shocked you.

You blinked, “Jesse. You were adamant on your stance that the Council voted to stay put in Jackson.” Ankle smeared in agony as Jesse continued to wrap it up, “How the fuck would I have known you would go against your own word?”

Immediately, you regretted what you had threw back at him. His fingers stopped tending to your ankle, his posture straightened as his lips pulled into a thin line. Even when crouched before you, it felt as if Jesse towered over you with his face thunderous.

Your heart stammered. The formidable fear that you were losing him struck you down the middle. The conversation was sprung upon you, and after escaping death by a fraction, your brain hadn’t been in the function to comprehend the emotional maturity it required to mend the fractures of your relationship.

You were losing Jesse before your very eyes.

“I had to say that, so you wouldn’t go do something rash. I couldn’t live with myself if you got hurt, or worse in Seattle.” Jesse felt himself become emotional at the forefront, “And yet, you still fucking did it. You’re still hurt, because you chose to leave, and that responsibility weighs heavy on my shoulders. You know why? Because, it’s evident that my love was not enough for you to stay. This is now my problem.”

“Jesse. I do love you.”

“Then why did you leave?” He raised his voice, “A fucking note to say goodbye. What kind of boyfriend am I, if I can’t even protect you?”

“Did it ever cross your mind that I don’t need you to protect me, Jesse? I’m capable of looking after myself.” You crossed your arms defensively before Jesse took a moment to stand, a patronising laugh escaped his lips and you frowned, “What is suddenly funny?”

He pointed to your grazed chin and broken nose, “Look at your capability.” He then dropped his finger to your busted ankle, “It’s gotten you far in your little escapade to Seattle.”

An insult forming on your tongue, Jesse was saved by the pounding of a fist against the door closest to your bodies. Immediately, Jesse put himself between you and the door, his gun dropped from his shoulder and aimed in front of him with ease.

“Jesse, Dina—!” And your name followed.

“What’s the name of your horse?” Jesse kept the gun aimed even in the obvious state that Ellie Williams was on the other side.

Ellie called, “Shimmer. I’m alone.” There was a pause, “Open the fucking door!”

Jesse dropped his aim and took a couple of strides to the door, shoving the sofa propped up against cabinets to allow himself to open the door for Ellie. She stumbled in, eyes wild, slick with mud — and by the looks of it, not her own blood. She was frantic in her movements, scanning the area to locate the one person that was above the rest.

“Where is she?”

“Dina?” You asked stupidly and Ellie threw you a look, “She’s OK. She’s in the Dressing Room—”

Jesse interjected, “—Where were you?” Ellie ignored his query and shoved past you toward the location of Dina, “Ellie!”

After Ellie had disappeared to tend to Dina, you had slumped against your own rucksack on the floor. Uncomfortable, but it would suffice. Your nose had it’s own pulse, alongside your ankle as you attempted to slip into an unconscious state. Irritated, you turned onto your side, shoulder cracking in the process as your eyes narrowed to Jesse, who had fallen asleep sitting up — gun propped up against his shoulder.

He would be enraged, but there wasn’t an appropriate requirement to shake him from his slumber. Instead, you pushed off of the floor, your backpack dragged alongside you as you dropped next to his sleeping frame. Your own gun laid next to your thigh, you took it upon yourself to override Jesse’s night watch for his own sanity. You were aware of the motive behind the whole group’s presence in Seattle, and as a qualified leader, you knew Jesse would be first pick when it came down to Ellie’s choice of person.

You would help where you could.

The sun began to rise, a red sky warned before it darkened to grey, the swell of the clouds burst and rainfall came heavy. Your own eyes began to drop from your own lack of sleep, just as Jesse began to stir next to you.

He groaned, neck rolled from falling asleep with his chin tucked into his chest. Eyes bleary, he blinked the sleep away, head shifting in a panic before his stare settled on you.

You offered him a shy smile, testing the waters. His frown grew where his patience lacked, and he stood with an immediate cause. His chest puffed, “Don’t ever do that again for me. If I fall asleep, wake me up for my watch.”

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him mockingly and he stalked off to find Ellie in the Dressing Room.

Without a turn to sleep, you threw yourself into distractions. Busied with drying off Ellie’s weapons for her next rendezvous with Joel’s killers, you sat hunched on the floor where Jesse had left you, scrubbing at bullets whilst you muttered under your breath about the tedious task. You were silently demoted and it began to frustrate you. Ellie and Jesse spoke amongst themselves just far enough out of reach of your hearing abilities, hushed tones as they mapped out logical moves; something you wouldn’t be apart of.

You were capable to a degree. However, the past twenty-four hours had shred the confidence that Ellie — let alone Jesse — had in you. There were no second chances, but you were determined to prove yourself in little actions such as becoming Ellie’s drying rack for her weapons.

As you placed another bullet down, alarmed at the sheer volume that Ellie had on her person, Jesse slumped down next to you. His shoulder bumped yours as you dropped the damp rag in your hand. You were busy — or, acting as if you were — so your eyes didn’t trail up to look at his face. You had no right to be mad at him, you were the one who left everything behind on a lie whilst the sun met the horizon.

Busying himself by mirroring you, Jesse stood his gun between his legs and began to polish the sides. From your peripheral, you could see he wasn’t really cleaning his gun from the minor flaws such as splattered mud. If your conversation hours prior hadn’t escalated, you might’ve thrown a sarcastic remark his way, a laugh shared to follow. You had been in this situation before, after an argument, Jesse would find closeness with you and perform a mundane task to grab your attention.

If Jesse didn’t have the words to cut the chord on the tension, he’d act out until resolved enough to talk.

He feigned a spit against the rag, and you let yourself stare with petulance. Jesse paused his motions to look back at you with an innocence, his head turned to look behind him before returning his eyes back to you.

“Stop it.” You warned.

“Stop what, exactly?” He queried, “I’m just cleaning my gun.”

You scoffed, “You’re pretending.” Palms against the floor, you leant your weight into your arms, “If you want to talk to me, Jesse, you can just say that instead of pretending to spit in a rag to clean the mud off of your gun. Which — by the way — hasn’t budged since you started.”

“Hm.” Jesse tucked the cloth into his pocket, “Ellie and I will be heading out soon to find Tommy.”

“OK. I’ll get ready—”

“—That wasn’t an invitation. You’re staying here with Dina.” He gestured with his head to the resting girl, “You’d be one hell of a liability. With or without a ruined ankle.”

His remark scathed you, “You don’t have to be so mean.”

“OK.” Jesse agreed, a small smirk noticeable on his face, “I love you. And I want you safe. So, please stay within the confines of the theatre with Dina.”

“You still love me?” It had your chest aching. His casualness caught you off guard, nonplussed by such nonchalance over a confession you had assumed was buried six feet beneath dirt; decayed and soon forgotten.

Jesse stood as Ellie threw a nod to signal their departure. He slung his gun back round his shoulder, “Unfortunately, for me. Yes. You’re not off the hook, but I’d be a liar — just like you — to say I didn’t love you anymore.” A lopsided smile exchanged the smirk, “You made a mistake. Everyone makes them.”

“Here.” Unsure of how to follow his confessional up, you slipped one of the only remaining food packs into Jesse’s hand which he took willingly. “Break a leg food. Or—Or be safe food. Whatever one works in the moment.”

Jesse flipped the pack in his hand, “Did you steal this from Patrol?”

“OK. Now you’re beginning to split hairs for the sake of splitting—”

Jesse cut you off. Large palm to the back of your head, he pulled you in and pressed a firm kiss to your lips. You let your hands clasp his forearms before you slipped them around his neck, bending backwards slightly so he could chase your lips.

His warmth consumed you whole. Your chest pressed against his, hearts threaded back together after being so carelessly torn apart, suddenly the dying world around you seized to exist. It was only Jesse and you. Privileged to survive together, and that is the only thing that mattered to you. Because, once your hands were washed clean from the death of the W.L.F. members who took Joel Miller’s life, your life had to continue; and you decided you needed Jesse to be apart of that.

Once pulled back, Jesse pressed his forehead against yours. His eyes shut for a moment to digest that he may be saying goodbye. Seattle had slowly unfolded to be a bigger situation than any of you could have anticipated, and leaving the walls of your base meant that you may never return.

You were a little shocked by Jesse to say the least. One eye peeled open, you had to make sure that he wasn’t kissing you out of spite.

Fingertips traced every feature on his face, as if you were memorising it all for the final time.

“I love you too, Jesse.” You whispered and with that, Jesse pulled away, the jaws of emptiness snapped around your ankles and dragged you away from him. Arms wrapped around your own torso, you watched Jesse and Ellie slip out of the theatre into the war in Seattle.

The silence was overwhelming, your head turned to see Dina return to the couch to prop her wounded leg up. An unspoken wedge had formed between the pair of you, even when you clutched at her hand as the arrow was pushed through the flesh of her leg. The looming shadow of the conversation you needed to have with her, peering at you from every corner of your dreams. She was pregnant with Jesse’s baby. It should have been the least of your worries considering the circumstances that had unfolded; but it still clawed at your mind all the same.

You sat at the edge of the couch. Hands neatly placed into your lap as you stared out into the emptiness of the room. Dina watched you for a moment, amusement crossed her features until you met her gaze — suddenly your odd behaviour wasn’t particularly funny anymore.

She spoke your name, “What’s wrong?”

Part of her knew. Where you lacked in intelligence to survival, you made up for in piecing things together. You had been attentive to Dina since your arrival in the theatre, but she could notice the distance, the barricaded wall put before your words. Eyes empty, a frown on your face when you handed the ginger biscuit before framing yourself with a faux smile.

It was only a matter of time before the question cropped up. You were straight to the point throughout your blossoming friendship, Dina knew you wouldn’t beat around the bush to salvage her feelings.

You sighed to her question. A stomachache from nerves from trying to approach the subject with the right tone.

“Dina—” You started, a look thrown her way that made her chest constrict, “You’re pregnant with Jesse’s baby. Aren’t you?”

She nodded. She couldn’t lie.

“Can you give specifics of how far along you are?” Oh. Dina thought. You were prodding at a dead carcass. You squeezed one eye shut, “I’ll try stay calm, you know.”

Dina smoothed the hairs at her forehead, “We weren’t together, when you two became a thing. If that’s what you’re getting at. I—I don’t know how far long I am, but, it’ll be further than when you and Jesse started seeing each other.”

“Right.” You nodded, not wholly convinced.

Dina repeated your name, her hand reached for yours for sincerity, “Jesse was—is crazy about you. The moment you entered Jackson, we all knew our situation was over because he looked at you as if you hung the stars before ever fucking speaking to you.” She laughed at the memory, “I remember he practiced what he was going to say to you on Ellie, of all fucking people.”

“That would’ve been a sight.” You laughed with Dina momentarily, it quick to die on your tongue, “I’m sorry. For accusing you.”

“Hey. I would too.” Dina said, “You were pretty nice about it.”

“I should learn not to be.” You joked a little. The fleeting moment of normalcy struck your core and your face dropped the act. Satisfied with the outcome, you chose not to linger, “I’m just going to check on Zombie. I’m surprised he hasn’t eaten one of us whilst we slept.”

You didn’t wait for Dina’s answer. Leaving her to rest, you got up from the couch and strolled to the room where Zombie had been kept. He had grown irritated, hooves stomping at the carpeted floor, head shaking in disdain as you neared him with one of the last apples from your rationed pack from Jackson.

Palm flat out with the apple shown as a prize for Zombie, the Appaloosa huffed before taking the fruit from your hand; turning his back on you to eat it alone.

“You know, just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I can’t see you, Zombie.” You patted his stomach and he turned away again, earning a chuckle from your lips, “Zombie. It is not my fault you’re cooped up in here like a caged animal. . . In fact, it is my fault, but we’ll be out of here soon.”

Zombie whinnied and you nodded, “Trust me. I want to be out of Seattle, just as much as you.”

Spending a couple of hours in Zombie’s presence — surprisingly — finding him calming as you managed to scoop up the horseshit and throw it out the door, unnoticed. The hay was becoming limited, but there was enough to see him through another night. And, it felt as though things were coming to a head in Seattle, so you had confidence you would all be returning to Jackson by the next morning.

Water collected from the rainfall, you poured it into a spare bucket you had found for Zombie, disbelieving that you were retracing your days work from Jackson in a theatre in Seattle whilst the patrol members went on their trails.

“This is such fucking bullshit.” You had grown angry as you slammed the pale of water down for the horse. Your hands thrown out in frustration, “I should be out there, don’t you think? I might’ve been a major help finding Tommy.”

Zombie snorted.

“Traitor.” Just as you crossed your arms, the thunder cracked and muffled banging came from the doors where you had left Dina. You sprung into action, swearing when you rolled over your bad ankle as you ran to meet Dina who had begun limping toward to the door, “Woah—Do you know who it is?”

“It’s them.” You felt goosebumps rise and Dina continued, “Our group.”

Quicker together, you managed to lean against the sofa long enough so Dina could let the group in. Hit with the sideways rainfall, you turned your face to the side to prevent being hit directly in the face. Jesse and Tommy Miller filtered through, soaked to the bone and faces stoic, Jesse quick to press his forearm to the sofa you wobbled to keep upright. The question on your tongue, where the fuck is Ellie? died when the very person trudged in, her soul miles away as she stared blankly upon entry.

Jesse met your curiosity over Ellie’s behaviour with a shake of his head. Wet tendrils dangled in front of his face, but you knew his eyes were telling you not to poke the bear.

Dina followed Ellie into the Dressing Room and you were left with Jesse and Tommy who peeled their wet clothes from their bodies, immediately jumping into speaking of tactics against the stage, whilst you organised their weapons for drying.

Once handling a couple of rounds, you took a break, head titled from the seats as you watched the backs of Tommy Miller and Jesse pointing at the map they had sprawled out. Boots kicked off of the chair in front, you made it down to them where they were quick to quieten down in your presence.

That irked you.

“Don’t stop just because I’m here.” You insisted, face warmed under Tommy Miller’s watchful eye.

He looked like he was trying to recognise you.

His fingers snapped together, “You’re that girl banned from Patrol.” Fucking perfect. Tommy nodded to his revelation as Jesse’s shoulders began to shake with humour, “Yeah. The late one. How’d you end up gettin’ here?”

“She came by herself.” Jesse spoke for you, a hand massaged your shoulder, “A valiant knight with little experience.”

You swatted at his hand, “I have experience. I just got unlucky.”

“You tell yourself that.” Jesse tugged your earlobe in subtle affection, Tommy crossed his arms watching in amusement. Jesse added, “We’re going home.”

As the reply of excitement left your mouth, Ellie opened the doors from the stage, her face paled but her emotions collected. She looked to the three of you before catching the map at Tommy and Jesse’s elbows. She knelt down, before swinging her legs over the edge of the stage, a decent bruise noticeable across her cheek.

Without further questioning, Tommy and Jesse launched into talking shop with Ellie.

“Hey—” Tommy halted their plans, “They got what they deserved.” You were none the wiser but able to piece things together as Ellie responded, Tommy quick to reply about her quip on — presumably — Abby Anderson’s survival, “Yeah. . . Is that OK?”

All eyes went to Ellie.

She sighed, “It’s going to have to be.”

That was the confirmation Tommy Miller was heeding. Ellie Williams, albeit plagued by the obsession of Abby Anderson’s desired death, would settle for retiring to Jackson, Wyoming. This granted the passage for the four of you to retrieve your belongings and escape the jaws of Seattle unscathed further by the war that settled in it’s belly.

Without Ellie’s reinforcement of the plan. You had feared you may have been stuck in time until the deed was done.

“What you should be worried about is what Maria’s gonna do to you when we get home.” Jesse rubbed at your back, insinuating that Tommy Miller was in for a rough welcoming from his wife.

Tommy straightened, “We’ve been through worse. However, I was passing through some ritzy section of town. Came across this necklace.” He elaborated, “Sparkles a lot. I think it’s real gold.”

“You think it’s real gold?” You asked.

Tommy nodded, “It’s real gold.” Jesse was quick to ask to see it and Tommy pushed himself off of the stage, hand to his lower back, “I know what real gold looks like.”

“If it’s legit, can we say it’s from all of us?”

“Ha!” Tommy teased, “You find your own damn bribes.”

He stalked off up to the back of the theatre, leaving you alone with Jesse and Ellie.

Jesse took a moment before he turned his attention to Ellie, “How are you doing?” He asked and Ellie was quick to retaliate with a falsified answer. Jesse side-eyed you, “Ellie.”

She looked to her feet, a tick of silence, “Thanks for coming back for me.”

“My friends problems are my problem.” Jesse shrugged at Ellie, his hand smoothed against your hip to tug you into his side. His lips pressed to your temple before he nudged your side to look up at him. Ellie grunted in disgust when he pulled you in for a tender kiss. Unspoken promises of love that would continue on your return to Jackson. Things would be OK.

“You’re such a sap.” Ellie mocked.

“Alright. How about, my friends can’t get out of their own damn way.” Jesse teased and pinched your hip, “That includes you.” Followed up with your name for a direct call out.

Ellie let herself laugh softly, “That’s better.”

The moment was peaceful. Your return home was on the precipice, too engulfed in the agony to leave Seattle behind to add to the two friend’s conversation.

As tactile as he could be, Jesse rubbed at your neck, the moment of bliss soon disrupted by a cluttered noise toward the direction that Tommy had exited in. Hand dropped from your neck, all three bodies turned to the noise before a muffled grunt — no mistaking it to be Tommy’s — sent alarm bells through you. Ellie jumped down from the stage, muttering a ‘Shit’ in passing as she yanked her gun from her holster.

Unable to sit by and allow them to see the commotion through, you copied Ellie and Jesse’s movements. Your gun tucked into the waistband, haphazardly pulled, safety clicked off as you followed them closely up the aisle and to the doors that concealed Tommy.

Both Jesse and Ellie swung the wooden doors open with ease, you were just a hair away from Jesse as he held out his gun to shoot the threat. A gunshot rang through the air, and your feet tripped over the sudden slump of his body. You hissed as your cheek burnt across the carpet, eyes scrunched as you looked back to check on Jesse — he was never one to trip with such precision in his every move.

Blood poured from the exposed bullet wound, Jesse laid dead and within seconds you scrambled to him, your hands shaking at his broad shoulders. Ellie called out his name in the softest tone you had managed to hear through the ringing of your ears.

"Stand up!" A female voice ordered when the tears began to blind your vision, hands to Jesse's face, nail beds painted in his blood. "Hands in the air, or I shoot this one too!"

Tommy Miller laid flat against the floor, his dignity clutching on by a thread in his weakened position against Abby Anderson. You remained knelt with Jesse's body, your fingers pressed to his neck pleading for a pick up on a pulse.

        In response to your disobedience, Abby shot at you and a perfect hit embedded into your shoulder, your vision white from the hot searing pain. Ellie yelled for your protection when you let out a wail from the unprecedented agony Abby had inflicted on you.

        On a high from adrenaline, the bullet in your shoulder proved to be a pain lessened by the sight of Jesse drained of colour. His hair began to saturate with his thick blood, your fingertips stroked through the strands, spit dropped from your mouth onto his flannel, as your body shuddered out a sob.

        The outside noise drowned out.

        Abby seemingly decided to spare you.

        Now, it was just you and Jesse. The last of the strength you could muster, you had half pulled him onto your lap, his head lolled and you wretched. The wound on his cheek gaped and exposed flesh beneath the skin surface, your fingers avoided tracing across it.

        Every decision made by you had a Butterfly Effect that gifted people with death. From what you had presumed, your three strikes had earned Joel Miller a death sentence. And now, as Jesse stilled, eyes glazed over, the fourth — and unexpected — strike scraped across you.

Jesse came on horseback to Seattle with the intention of bring his friends back, bringing you back to Jackson wrapped up in his safety. Now, as he laid deceased upon your lap, eyes wide to the atrocities, Jesse would never return to his position in Jackson and his last moments consumed by fear that his promise wasn’t followed through.

Stomach churned with devastation and guilt, you leant your forehead against Jesse’s and immediately recoiled. You couldn’t feel him anymore. Slowly, as his own blood pooled beneath him, Jesse was becoming a shell of who he once was and the one person amidst the blistering chaos that was brought by the Virus, that could make you feel something again.

Your head rolled back, unable to catch a breath, hands slick with the blood of your boyfriend, you let your eyelids close — unable to process the commotion happening within the room. For, nothing else mattered, your brain rewired from the fixation of avenging a man named Joel Miller, to assuring that Jesse’s body was retrieved and taken back to his home, Jackson, Wyoming, to receive the upmost respect of a burial and a headstone that read of his leadership qualities, and the type of person that made falling in love easier than falling asleep.

Finding the energy to peel your eyelids open, you took one deep breath before the butt of a gun was brutally smacked against your temple; body slumped next to Jesse’s, your clothes saturated in his blood, your hand still laid onto his body.

You would find the capability to somehow survive this attack. For Jesse; you would return home to Jackson.

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

LIKE I SEE YOU

DIN DJARIN x F!READER

Request: Reader struggling with insecurities and being unable to look at Din because his beskar reflects them, Din realising and stepping in to help. CW: insecurities caused by shitty parents, angst, minor breakdown, mental health, Din being so soft and lovely. [4K. Re-uploaded from my old blog.]

It’s one of those days.

The days where your mind decides to be your worst enemy and spits insults like acid, firing up each and every insecurity you’ve ever felt in rapid succession like a never ending horror reel in your brain whilst you stare with too sharp eyes at the mirror. 

And shutting them doesn’t work. 

The image lingers, imprinted. Distorted. Your mind turning it to something monstrous to fit the words that blaze incriminatingly across your features. 

It’s the type of day where you compare yourself to everyone that goes by even though you know you’re only feeding the parasitic thoughts behind your self-loathing behaviour. 

But you can’t stop. 

You can’t snap yourself out of it with kind affirmations no matter how hard you try, positive mantras like I am enough - I’m perfect just the way I am - they sound weak in comparison to  the other things ramming against your skull. False even. 

You can’t even distract yourself with the job you’re supposed to be doing, you're that unfocused, and of course Din notices. 

He noticed the moment your mood shifted, the moment your smile became a tiny, hollow thing and the wild spark of your eyes dulled. 

He noticed the moment your shoulders sagged as if struggling under some colossal weight and he could almost sense you shrinking into yourself, trying to make yourself appear smaller, unnoticeable to everyone including him, even as the two of you leaned side by side against the sticky bar of a run-down cantina waiting for an informant. 

Din just doesn’t understand why.

You were born to burn, not fade to shadow. 

You burned right through him - his armour and his unimaginably high walls that he thought he would never lower for anyone until you came along and showed him it was okay to depend on another every once in a while. 

Before he had loathed the idea of sharing his work with someone, his home, but then he had found you.

You, who had stunned him from the first time he warily approached you. With your sweet expression and mischievous smile - the way your eyes glittered as light bounced off the dagger that you flipped so effortlessly in your hand. 

You who had immediately launched into a vividly detailed plan of how you and him could slip into the bounty’s hideout and rip it apart from within from the moment he reluctantly had suggested he might need some help.

You had been glorious, destruction in your veins and blood streaked across your face, your neck, your bruised knuckles as you sunk a blade into one man's spine and twisted. 

Together, they had broke against the bounty’s muscle with the force of a tsunami and by the time there was no one left, no one except the cowering heap that you dropped at his feet with a warm, buttery smile, Din had been fucking starstruck. 

He’s remained that way ever since. His awe flourishing, blooming, into something that takes his breath away even when he watches you do the most mundane things. 

Every move you make seems to hold a beauty to it, a whisper of lovely power, something unique he can only ever link to you that makes his heart seize behind his ribs. 

And he can’t understand why it feels like he’s now watching that flame that burns within you go out before his very own eyes. Why you’re trying to make yourself invisible and refuse to meet the dark gaze of his visor even though he knows you can sense his eyes on you.

“What’s wrong?” He prods quietly. 

You sigh then, a flicker of something pained passing over your features before you can hide it. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“And you’re not usually this fucking nosy.” You snap, muscles tensing, still refusing to spare him even a single glance. “I said I’m fine, Mando. Drop it.” 

His brow pinches in a frown, eyes narrowed to slits as he lets your sudden burst of anger crash against him. Tasting the defensiveness and frustration brushed through it. 

He knows this. 

He’s all too familiar with becoming aggravated when he doesn’t know how to get shit that’s bothering him off his chest, the way he would allow it to bleed out through rage or violence because trying to form it into words made him feel foolish. 

It seems like you’re both similar in that way, maybe you don't need him trying to gently coax it out of you. 

Maybe you need a fight to let it all come pouring out.

 ** 

You’re furious by the time he’s dragged you into the tiny bathroom. Baring your teeth like a snarling beast as you yank your wrist from his tense grip. 

The contact had thrown you. Your heart stopping before it broke out into a chaotic gallop that you could almost believe would be heard by the Mandalorian as he took an intimidating step closer. 

The blank slate of his visor had bore into you and you had felt it so excruciatingly - the weight of his assessment, the crushing force of your own insecurities as he crowded you. 

Close enough that everything you considered a flaw was laid before his eyes in startling clarity and reflected back at you in the mirror sheen of his helmet. 

It made your stomach churn, anxiety crawling through your chest, an icy hand that winds around your neck and grips tight until his sudden touch had shattered its hold. 

“Come with me.” He’d growled.

And temporarily stunned, you’d gone. 

Stumbling to keep up as he all but dragged you away from the roaring noise of music and clashing conversations to a room so quiet you could hear your blood rushing in your ears as your surprise gave way to anger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, ripping away from him as he slams the door closed behind him. “We’re supposed to be waiting for someone.”

You make to push past him and he doesn't budge an inch, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he looms over you. An immovable wall of solid beskar. “We’re not doing anything else for this job until you tell me what’s going on with you.” 

You glare at him, fists clenched tight at your sides “I said it was nothing.” 

“And like I said, you’re a fucking terrible liar.” He shoots back.

Why do you even care, you want to scream. 

There’s a fierce energy building inside you, the volatile kind, self-destructive. Born from too many emotions spinning through your head.

You try and focus on the steady drip of the faucet to will it down, counting specks of mould on the worn tiles, how many times the light can flicker in between each uncomfortable breath you take. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You grit, attempting to assert some kind of authority of the situation. “All that matters is that we have a job to do and we’re wasting time.”

It doesn’t work. 

“No. We’re out. I’m calling it.” He advances on you slowly, his tone creeping towards irritation at the stubbornness of your denial. “You’re too distracted, lost somewhere in your own head. You might not give a shit that it could get you killed but I do.”

Suddenly there’s a wave of tears building, burning incessantly behind your nose, those nasty little voices beginning to purr through your skull as you gape at him.

Useless.

Can’t even do the one thing he keeps you around for, your job.

Why would he ever look at you the way you wish he would when all you are is a constant hindrance to him. 

And then you get defensive, that energy bursting hot and fast through your blood before you can choke it down and lock it up nice and tight. 

“You don’t get to make that decision for me Mando.” You snarl, swatting away his outstretched hand that reaches for you when expression threatens to crumble. “Don’t. You don’t have to keep pretending you care, I know I’m dispensable, if I die you can get another partner anywhere.”  

He reels back as if you’ve struck him. “You really think I’d do that?” 

“Why not! It’s not like I’m special is it? There’s heaps of other hunters out there, one’s more skilled, more reliable. Probably easier on the eyes too.” You laugh humourlessly, eyes stinging with salt as you begin to pace. Ignoring the gentle lilt of your name that he tries to offer as a grounding force, something to bring you back to him when you’re clearly beginning to spiral. 

“Hell you could replace me right here and now if it’ll make your life easier.” You babble and oh stars, it's like you can't stop. “Just think of all the credits you can rake in, not having to put up with my shit anymore.” 

Your breaths are starting to come quick and shallow and before you can say anything else Mando is immediately in front of you - his hands snatching at your shoulders before he drags you into a bone-crushing hug. 

You struggle against it for a moment, a fighter down to the last possible second, and then you fall apart. Harsh, ugly sobs wracking your frame whilst his gloved hand smooths over your hair, his helmet pressed to your temple as he makes soft mouthed sounds to try and comfort you. 

He waits until your cries quieten down, until the quake of your body lessens to a light shudder and then he tilts his head to look at you. “Look at me. Look at me, mesh’la, please.” He murmurs. 

You shake your head. You don’t want to see how pathetic you look, can’t bear the thought of what will stare back at you in the reflection of his beskar. 

“Please.” He repeats. 

You bury your face closer into his cowl, croaking “I can’t.”

There’s a beat of silence - disrupted only by the rhythmic drip drip drip from the faucet. And then he’s sighing, a desperately sad sound that twists something in your aching chest until you're sure you’ll feel a snap.

“Can you tell me why?” He murmurs, hesitance bleeding through him as you stiffen in his arms and he swallows thickly. “It’s not just now is it, you haven’t been able to look at me in days and if it’s because of something I’ve done - if I’ve made you feel this way - then I need to know. I need to make it right, because I can’t lose you.” 

Oh - oh no - he thinks it's his fault. 

Your throat closes up and for a moment you feel like you could cry all over again. 

He carries a guilt that has never been his to bear and it wounds you in some way, that this man who has only known you for such a short time takes your happiness so personally that he would beg to right a wrong that he’s not even sure he himself had made. 

He says that he can’t lose you like he refuses to entertain a scenario where you’re not by his side and you don’t even realise that you’re practically crushing him to you in another fierce embrace until you feel the gentle weight of his helmet resting against the crown of your head. 

"It's not you Mando." You blurt, a soft flutter brushing through your chest when he squeezes you tight as his body sags with relief. But only seconds later he stiffens again and you know he’s heard it. 

The implication. 

It’s not you. There’s someone else causing this.

You know he’s worked it out by the sudden change in how he holds you, the subtle shift from comforting to protective, his body all but curling around yours. 

He growls. “Who.”  And you shudder. 

You need to explain and fast before he decides to storm out of the bathroom and track down everyone who’s come into contact with you in the past few days. 

This job you’ve been on had required a lot of stealth so as to not tip off your target and if you were going to pick up where you left off after everything then the last thing you needed was your Mandalorian going on a vengeful rampage. 

He lets you untangle yourself from him reluctantly, follows like a shadow when you point to a spot on the floor and state lamely. “We should probably sit for this.” 

**

You can feel his eyes on you as you slide down the wall, as you fold your legs only to stretch them out in front of you not even a moment later. 

He’s not stupid, you know that, you know Mando is wisely giving you the time you need, refraining from pushing whilst you try and get your head together under the guise of making yourself comfortable on the grimy floor. 

When you’re as ready as you think you’ll ever be you take a deep breath to begin but suddenly find yourself hesitating. Were you really going to tell him? Could you let every sad little truth pour from you when you've spent so long plugging it up, shoving it down. Building a damn in your mind and your heart to keep it from making a mess for those around you. 

Hunters were meant to be strong, an undeniable, deadly force. 

They didn't do insecurities, self-doubt. Weaknesses. 

At least that's what you'd always been told. It's the impression you got from every one that you had ever met, including Mando. 

So how could you tell him that you were haunted by all of them. That every now and again they ripped into you and made you feel like your worth was less than nothing. How could you lay yourself emotionally bare like that and expect that he would still look at you the same after? 

…Except hadn't you already? 

You had spiralled before his very eyes. You had screamed and cried and shattered to pieces and yet… there had been no judgement. 

There had been nothing from him except comfort and patience. The press of his body against yours as he held you like you were infinitely precious, like he wished nothing more than to be a barrier against all these things he was clueless about except for the fact they were trying to hurt you.

“Did you know I always wanted to be a hunter?” You ask so suddenly that he jerks, surprised. 

It makes you smile when he softly shakes his head , when he shifts from his relaxed position against the wall and tilts his body towards yours as you offer a rare glimpse into the life you had before him. 

“I thought it sounded like the coolest job ever.” You recall. “Getting paid to chase down bad people and learning how to use a shit load of weapons? What more could I want? And it turned out I was good at it, better than a lot of other things I’d tried to force myself into growing up.” 

He makes a soft noise of agreement, like he gets it, and your lips twitch. “When I returned home after a really long time of taking pretty much every job that came my way, I thought my parents would be proud. I thought they’d be happy I had made some kind of a life for myself and that I wasn’t struggling for money like they had worried I would when I decided to make my own way instead of relying on them.” 

You close your eyes as the memory resurfaces.  “They weren’t. My dad basically said I was no better than a vulture, feeding off other people’s misfortune, but my mum…”

You swallow against the crack of your voice, fingers picking at a still healing wound on your hand before a gloved one stops you. Silently lacing thick fingers through your own as you struggle not to sob.

“My mum told me I had ruined myself. My face and my body. I had forgotten how obsessed she could be with our family’s image and legacy until she told me that no one would want someone who was covered in scars or who’s nose or teeth weren’t perfectly straight because they’d been damaged too many times fighting like some kind of wild beast.”

He sucks in a breath and you can feel it. His disbelief, his rage. His devastation.

It pours from him in waves as he visibly bristles beside you, drenching his voice when he rasps your name and you have to hurriedly continue. Shoving the rest of the story out of you because if you stop, if you let yourself wallow in the emotions clawing at the pair of you, then you may never fully get the weight of it off your chest.

“I told her I didn’t care.” You spit. “That if my appearance bothered people that much then maybe they were the type of people I didn't want to be around. And it had been the truth, I fucking meant every word.” 

 “But then I started noticing the way some people would look at me, the way they’d be scrutinising my face or my hair or what I was wearing and I’d hear her voice in my head again.” You don’t realise you’ve trailed off, gone distant, until the soft pressure of Mando’s thumb drawing circles on your hand brings you back. 

“I started wondering if they thought the same as her when they looked at me too and then it was like I couldn’t stop. Eventually it happened enough that when I was looking at myself, sometimes I started to think it too.” 

His fingers tighten around yours, the soft, aching sigh of “Cyar’ika” slipping through the modulator wrapping around the pain in your chest and dulling some of those sharper edges. 

You sniff and your voice comes out thin - watery. “There’s days where I still hear it and when I look in the mirror, or something reflective like your armour, it’s all I can see. But at least I’m still a good hunter right, I’ve got that left? Only, today I completely fucked that up too. So when I can’t look at you Mando, it’s not because you’ve done anything to hurt me or piss me off, it's because when I do, all I can see is how much I disgust myself.”

There’s silence between you as he digests everything. It stretches out and allows your thoughts to wander with it, undecided if what you feel after all that was said is relief or something else. 

It’s nice that you’ve been able to talk about something that has pained you for so long but now Mando has another piece of you that no one else does, the part of you that is most vulnerable, and you don’t really know what to do with that. 

“They don’t deserve you.” He mutters suddenly, so quietly that you almost had to question if you’d simply been hearing things.

You frown. “Who?”

He has your hand in his lap now, cradling it in his larger one as he traces nervous patterns with the other. His voice is steady however, utterly serious. “Your parents, the people who give you those looks. Anyone who can look at you and not see how incredible you are.” 

Your chest spasms and you look at him in surprise before your lips attempt to curve into a weak imitation of a smile. 

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better Mando but–”

“Don’t do that.” He chastises you gently. “Whatever voice is telling you right now that you aren’t worthy of being told what I’m about to say to you, I want you to tell it to shut the fuck up and listen to me.” 

You snort and the way he tilts his helmet in your direction makes you pretty sure he’s currently got his eyes narrowed at you, an expression on his face that would probably say if you don’t listen, I’ll find a way to make you. 

You nod for him to continue. 

“You are incredible.” He reiterates. “You chose to make something of yourself when you could have had an easy life and you fucking excelled at it. You’re one of the best hunters I’ve ever seen even on your off days and you’ve saved my ass more times than I’d like to count.” 

You murmur a sly “seven” and quicker than you can react he pinches your thigh. A yelp bursts from your throat followed by a shaky laugh and it’s a quick reprieve from the way the pride in his voice was making your ribs constrict.

“You’re a genuinely good person, I have never seen you turn away a single person who’s come to you for help and you constantly go out of your way for people. Even those who probably don’t deserve it, like me.” He sees the way you open your mouth to argue and quickly holds up a hand to stop you, shrugging.

“I was an asshole when we met, don't deny it.” 

He had been.

But you had sensed that there was something underneath it all, that there was more than meets the eye when it came to this particular Mandalorian and you had been intrigued.

And also right. 

He shifts next to you and then there’s the brush of buttery-soft leather at your jaw. Hesitant fingertips tilting your face fully towards him as his helmet hovers just above your forehead and you gulp.

“Mando–” You whisper. 

“Your mother called you ruined but that’s not what I see when I look at you.” He breathes and you tremble as he palmes your cheek. “Every part of you is beautiful and there is nothing that black eyes, bruises, broken bones and scars can do to take that away. They only add to it. They prove that you’re a fucking warrior. That you’ve lived and fought and survived everything the galaxy has had to throw at you. How can your body be ruined when its remained strong and kept you alive despite the hell you’ve been through?” 

Something breaks inside you - you’re crying and you don’t even realise it until Mando’s other hand leaves yours to gently swipe away the tears with both thumbs. 

It’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to you and it seems to highlight the fucking number that those words from your mother have done on you, the fact that you have no idea how to take what Mando has said.

How you're supposed to believe it. 

But you want to. 

You desperately want to believe it so you can drown out the poison in your head with it. Take all those pretty words and lock them safe in your heart for when you next need them. 

And unsurprisingly, thanks to how adept you've become at reading the other, Mando instantly catches on to your internal struggle. 

"You don't have to believe me right now." He tells you softly, patiently. "I know it won't magically make everything go away and you'll suddenly see yourself the way I see you." 

He leans back and pulls you with him, tugging you into his chest as his arms wrap around your shoulders and waist. His chin notched at your crown and the venomous voice in your mind quiet for the first time in days as you ease into his comfort.

"But one day you will and until that happens I'll gladly be there to remind you as many times as you need me to." 

You choose to believe that.

A hopeful smile tugging at your lips before you lift your face from its place buried in his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to the cheek of his helmet as you whisper. "Thank you Mando."

You choose to believe that you'll always have him by your side. That the dark stain of your mother's words will eventually fade away. 

That one day you'll see yourself as the warrior you've always been. 

And that's enough for now.

[lowkeyren]

FOR HIS HEART CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!

in which — dan feng can’t imagine a life without you. so even when death takes your hand, he'll hold on to your other and do anything to get you back in his embrace, no matter the consequences.

pairing — dan f/heng x gn!reader

wc: 2.5k, lovers to enemies, you both are lowkey bad with feelings LOL, i lied when i said there's an alternative ending for hurt/comfort enjoyers, now suffer. (reblogs w comments are appreciated, pls enjoy <3) ps. dividers aren't working cus tumblr is being mean to me so using dashes instead ARRHGHGHG

—

lying in your shared bed, your breathing grows increasingly shallow, your hands tremble uncontrollably, signaling another episode of your deteriorating condition. the dim, cold room feels oppressive as you catch the distant echoes of the best physicians from all around xianzhou, their hurried steps reverberating against the walls as they hasten to your side.

dan feng tightens his grip on your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, his expression etched with concern. the smell of herbal remedies and the sharp scent of sickness fills the air, mingling with the mustiness of the stone walls; a familiar sense of dread washes over you as you struggle with each breath.

his brows are furrowed, and his lips are pressed into a thin line, his knuckles turning white from the tightness of his grip on your hands. the pressure is so intense that it almost hurts —almost, but not quite enough to cause you (more) pain. he would never hurt you, not even over his own grave.

despite the best efforts of your personal caregivers, the limitations of medical knowledge, and the uncertainty of your treatments are harsh realities you have to face. it fills him with anguish to witness your episodes almost daily —suddenly collapsing in his arms, gasping for breath; moments like these are where he feels like he's standing right beside your deathbed, desperately hoping for signs of improvement each time you open your eyes again. 

it kills him that there's nothing he can do but watch over you, he watches as you waste away before his eyes, feeling a piece of himself wither away in tandem. 

dan feng’s eyes search yours the moment you regain consciousness, the doctors respectfully step back, bowing before hurriedly exiting the room. his heart breaks into a million pieces when he sees your eyes that were once bright with joy, now clouded with tears. the sight pierces through him, stirring a deep ache in his chest.

"dan feng," you whisper hoarsely, your voice fragile with pain. “it hurts, it hurts so much…” he presses a soft kiss against your entwined hand, his touch a soothing balm amidst the storm raging within him. “don’t worry,” he murmurs softly, “i’ll make it go away soon, i swear.”

“thank you.. but promise me, if i don't make it, you'll find a way to move on.” you manage a weak smile through the pain. his eyes glisten with unshed tears, he shakes his head slightly, "i won’t let that happen." 

of course he won’t. you were the kindest, most lovely soul before this godforsaken unknown illness with no definitive cure stole your life away; he sees your smile slowly losing its radiance, and your eyes dulling as each day passes. 

“this body… it’s useless, i’m useless. i’m sorry, i—” dan feng places a finger against your lips. his touch tender yet firm, stopping your words. "don't say that," his voice choking with emotion. "you're not useless, in fact you're the strongest person i know."

hearing you utter such self loathing words is like a dagger twisting in his heart, tipping him over the edge. you, who have always been his anchor in life's turbulent seas, slipping away feels like fragile glass shattering into countless shards, leaving him scattered and irreparable, each piece cutting deeper into his core with every breath.

he can't face the idea of losing you. it destroys him from within, even more so now that time is running out. but he won’t let anyone else have you, not even the cold hands of death. for you, he’s willing to pay any price, even if it means he has to break the highest laws of xianzhou.

—

you wake up feeling unusually energized, a stark contrast to the persistent aches and pains that have haunted you for so long. as you sit up, the familiar discomforts are no longer present, instead replaced by an almost surreal sense of vitality.

but something feels strangely off, an unsettling sensation gnawing at the edges of your awareness. your eyes dart around the room, frantically searching for your boyfriend’s presence; he has never left your side without a word (his protectiveness wouldn't allow it anyway), especially not for this long. 

panic flares as you look down at your body. the surgical wounds that once marked your skin have vanished without a trace. your breath catches in your throat as you run your fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface where scars should be.

you push back the covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed, struggling to piece together what could have happened.

where is dan feng? is he in trouble? and, why do you feel so... alive? 

then, a chilling realisation dawns on you. you try to shake the thought from your mind, but no matter how hard you try, you aren’t able to find any other explanation that fits your condition. as the high elder, dan feng should know better than anyone that such an act is a sin —a disgrace...

the truth begins to settle in, he really did sacrifice everything to grant you immortality.

—

“you’re literally the high elder for god's sake, what have you done?!” you exclaim, your voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and anger.

dan feng's expression is pained as he meets your gaze, his own eyes filled with a desperate resolve. “i’m only trying to help you. you don’t understand, i—”

“help me?” you cut in sharply, scoffing. “you betrayed xianzhou! you betrayed me. i was ready to let go, so why?” 

he reaches out to you, his hand stopping, and hovering in mid air as if unsure whether to touch you. "i can't bear to lose you," he confesses, his voice barely a whisper. "i can’t just stand by and watch you suffer when i have the power to save you."

tears well up in your eyes, the room feels suffocatingly small as you stand in front of him. for the first time, you find yourself on opposite sides of the battlefield, the weight of his transgression hangs heavy between you, tearing apart everything you once knew. 

“by defying everything we stand for?” you choke out, your words laced with venom. “do you realise just what you’ve done?” he takes a step closer, his face etching with anguish. "i know i’ve made a grave mistake." he admits, “but will you believe me if i say that i didn’t regret it one bit?”

“how can you do all this… for love?” your eyes search his for answers that seem unfathomable. “no, my dear, for you.”  he steps closer, his breath warm against your skin, gaze locking onto yours with an almost desperate intensity. 

"but how can i ever love you again after this?" you whisper, your voice trembling. his heart shatters at how your eyes taint with fear and betrayal, the sight wrapping around his chest like a vice. the mere thought of losing you, of seeing you banished because of his desperation, is a torment he can hardly bear —but now one that he has to face.

"if you can't accept what i've done, i'll grant your wish, whatever it is.” he murmurs. “for you, i’m willing to pay any price." 

though when bound in chains, his title of high elder does little to shield him from the repercussions of breaking the sacred laws. he’s taken away; his fate sealed by the very rules he broke. and you, the one he tried to save, find yourself exiled, cast out for the sin you never chose.

as you wander, lost and alone, the realisation of what he gave up for you lingers, a bittersweet reminder of his love that defied everything, yet cost you both so much. 

—

the land of xianzhou is something dan heng is strangely familiar with; he walks through the maze of narrow alleys and crowded squares, every corner seems to whisper fragments of memories long buried. 

“dan heng! look, isn’t this so cool?!” the excited voice of a pink haired girl reaches his ears. her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she animatedly gestures towards a nearby market stall with hand-carved trinkets. she continues to gush over the intricate designs while holding the hand of her grey haired companion, eagerly dragging them towards the stall.

his eyes follows them as their silhouette grows smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing amidst the crowd. just then, another figure in the distance catches his attention.

it’s a brief glimpse, a fleeting moment where your eyes meet across the street. perhaps it's your mannerisms, your familiar gestures, or simply the way you carry yourself —whatever it is, it stirs a rush of adrenaline, a sense of déjà vu that he can’t quite shake.

dan heng pushes through the bustling throng, eyes darting frantically in search of you. the world blurs around him as he focuses solely on catching another glimpse of you; he spots you slipping into a narrow alleyway, and without hesitation, he follows.

the noise of the market fades into a distant hum as his footsteps echo softly against the alley walls. he turns a corner and sees you up ahead, your figure outlined by the dim light filtering through cracks in the buildings.

you soon reach a dead end, but as you turn to leave, you bump into someone’s chest. the world seems to stand still for a moment, dan heng's breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you. although your face is partially obscured by a thin veil, your features are still discernible. 

“oh? it seems you still remember me.” you finally meet his gaze. those eyes he cherished so dearly still hold a spark of life. “[name]?” he murmurs, the sound of your name still so intimate on his lips after many years.

“you haven’t changed one bit.” he reaches out to gently push the veil covering your face aside. a flood of memories rushes through his mind, one a sharp pang in his heart. seeing you again triggers a vivid recollection of the exact place and position you were in years ago, a memory that stings to recall.

“i wonder whose fault it is?” you tilt your head, if only he knew the trouble you went through to find him again; given that goodbyes were never exchanged between you, it seems fitting to offer one now.

before he can say a word, you swiftly grab his collar and wedge him firmly against the wall. he doesn’t resist even when he feels the cold sharp edge of your dagger pressing against his throat, his gaze still fixing firmly on yours. 

"have you ever felt remorse?" you lean closer into him, your voice is barely audible through your gritted teeth. he ignores your question; unexpectedly, he grips your hand, dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. 

"as long as my blood is on your hands, go ahead, do it." he whispers, his voice steady despite the tension. "my heart has always been yours anyway." his eyes bore into yours as if daring you to follow through. 

his grip on your hand tightens, urging you closer. "and if this is what it takes to ease your pain, then i'm ready."

"...what? you must be out of your mind if you think this way of making amends will work." your disbelief is clear in your voice; you try to shake his hand away, but he refuses to budge. 

dan feng couldn’t imagine a life without you, so when death takes your hand, he holds on to your other —and finds you again as dan heng. even as he gets on his knees and begs for your forgiveness, he still holds on to your hand as tightly as he can, afraid that any moment you might slip through his fingers.

“i’m sorry, i just couldn’t accept the thought of you leaving me.” and i still can’t, so please don’t leave me again.

you feel your willpower wavering, his very being melting away at your resolve. it's too much to bear, and you feel yourself slipping under the weight of his words. even still, you find yourself struggling to deny him. to deny yourself. to deny your own feelings. 

you fight the urge to simply give in, torn between the desire to just let go and fall into the sweet oblivion of his embrace, and the fear of getting sucked back into a cycle of destruction and pain. the weight of all that history, all those memories of your bittersweet love, it's overwhelming, nearly crushing.

“i know.” your heart aches, but you still deny the crave of the comfort of his arms. “and you’re not wrong,” the dagger clatters to the ground, the metallic sound echoing through the alleyway. 

“your heart is mine.” you push the veil to cover your face, placing your hands on his shoulder, leaning in. the cool silk brush against his parted lips, and oh… he’s been waiting so, so long for this moment.

though you pull away just as he comes to his senses. for the first time in years, he sees your smile again —the same smile that first captivated him, the one he had cherished and sought to preserve over the years. 

"remember the wish you owe me?" he nods, unable to find words. the memory of his promise resurfaces with startling clarity, his mind racing with the possibilities of what you might ask for. 

—

dan heng looks in the dagger's reflection; a dishevelled and broken man stares back.

the cold metal digs deep into his palm, the sharp edge slicing into his skin. in that moment, he wants nothing more than to be free of it, than to plunge the blade into his own heart. he feels the pain all over again, the pain of not being able to hold you, to touch you, to be with you.

for he knows that no matter how tightly he grips the dagger, it will never be the same as holding your hand. he knows that no matter how deeply it cuts into his flesh, it will never feel the same as holding you close.

“i wish i never loved you.” your words echo painfully in his mind. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” he releases the dagger with a sudden twist of his arm.

if choosing you over xianzhou was wrong, then consider him a sinner, and if loving you this much is his downfall, then consider him already on his knees.

but was it worth everything? was it worth it to see the look of utter desperation on his face? was it worth it to see him break apart in front of you? you feel only resentment and satisfaction; you made him feel what you wanted him to feel, you made him suffer for you.

the blade falls from his grasp, he stands amidst the shards of shattered illusions; the pain of your absence cuts deeper than any blade ever could. 

perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. 

for now, he honors your wish and only watches as you live on from the sidelines, yearning to be a part of your life again, even if only in his thoughts and dreams. he remains steadfast in his longing, a silent witness to the unspoken ache that lingers in the wake of your parting words.

—

masterlist

©lowkeyren 2024 only on tumblr. please do not plagiarize, translate, repost on other platforms, or feed my works into ai.

author's notes!! (my line of thought when writing this lul)

1. you made him suffer for you. -> irony. vengeance. he made you suffer BECAUSE of him granting you immortality. 2. dragging the blade down to his chest, positioning the point directly over his heart. = "my heart has always been yours anyway." -> which reader says with “your heart is mine.” 3. “and i hope we never cross paths again. goodbye, dan feng.” -> reader refers to dan heng as dan feng, i wonder what that means. 4. perhaps in another lifetime, he can find you again. -> you're both evil asf ngl, yes he will find you, you can't die aka you can't leave (him). ^ the only reason why he doesn't keep pursuing u now is cus he promised to grant your wish which is "to never cross paths again". (wow, he's such a man of his words.) 5. reader kisses dh over the veil, deliberately denying him the satisfaction of any intimacy. can be seen as a form of "punishment", leaving him yearning for more.

ty for reading xx for each reblog i will write 100 words for pt2 /j (BUT DO REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!! and it might not be a slash jay after all heuehehheh)

[tonkatsubowl]

truth to be told, it takes a lot for aventurine to fully trust someone, let alone loving them.

the man had already lost so much, including his own sense of self. to be stabbed in his back, to be betrayed, to be mocked and used and made fun of—he was used to it. it would take aventurine a while for him to feel comfortable being vulnerable with someone, considering he didn't trust anyone in particular.

though the man wore a gorgeous smile, wandering through the streets of penacony, it wasn't a genuine smile, but a mask he put up. expensive clothing, his beautiful countenance and the abundance of money he liked to toss around... it was just a mask he put up. it was also for the sake of his own reputation, too. especially when you were directly under diamond herself.

the main suspect of his suffering. and the cause of his success. a double edged sword that he walked upon. his own life was theirs. a mere toy, a mere chess piece to gamble with.

...but when he met you, he was confused. afraid, even. but he put up a fake smile, some flirtatious words here and there, but the man did not trust you, nor did he believe you would be willing to stay by his side for an eternity for aeons know what.

when he met you, you were kind, understanding. you were a little stubborn, too, and humorous. you never failed to have aventurine laugh at your cute little jokes, and you never failed to protect him, whether it was against the ipc's mocking him in his name, or against nightmare infested monsters that dared to consume his flesh within a dream.

he was terrified of you.

he didn't know what you were doing to him.

every time he saw you, he felt... weak. vulnerable around you. and he hated it. he loathed it. he hated everything about how you were making him feel, as though you were a curse that came to haunt him due to the sins of his past.

every time he saw you, his heart began to palpitate, his chest aching. and it got worse whenever he saw you so happy with someone else. but... maybe you were better off with someone? everyone kept leaving him, after all, whether it was death or it was simply due to some gambling... game-thing. a business transaction, even.

but you stayed.

you stayed throughout the hardships he faced.

why?

just why?

why, of all people, did you want to stay with him? a once upon a time slave, now a business man specializing in manipulation, gambling (an addiction, to put it), and flirtatious words to soothe the mind so he could win his way.

even through everything, you were still here. that was when he decided to seek out a certain doctor.

he sat across from him, forcing a smile across his lips, but the doctor could see it. the mask that aventurine donned himself with.

"you're in love."

aventurine's eyes looked up to the other, "you must be misreading your books like usual."

"you came here... to me, for your thoughts."

aventurine chuckled to himself, nervously, even.

"love? i haven't heard that word in ages."

"it is a complicated thing. especially with how you can be, gambler. a man who is unpredictable, keen to the eye, and... well, unfamiliar with the positive things."

aventurine cleared his throat, toying with the golden coin in his hand. he purses his lips, his mask wearing off for a moment.

"...now, dr. ratio, i am not doubting your knowledge and intelligence, don't get me wrong. i just don't believe that it truly is such a strange thing called... love."

the genius sighed, "you complained to me the other day that you couldn't stand seeing (y/n) talking to others, smiling and laughing. i recall that i was not assigned to be your therapist, here. the rest should be obvious, but it appears you're too stubborn to catch on... or rather, you're unfamiliar with this feeling. this term. love."

bullseye. it was as though ratio had called him out completely. for once, the gambler was silent. here, he would try to make little comments here and there, some jokes there and wherever but... the man was actually silent.

"... what do you suggest i do, then?"

dr ratio leans in, resting both elbows on his knees, eyes fixated on the gambler's own pristine eyes.

"if you are comfortable with it, move at your own pace if you wish to pursue. this is ultimately your choice. you can pursue these feelings, or you may leave it. there is no right or wrong answer, here. this all depends on you and what you wish to do. love is about being vulnerable with each other. accepting each other at their lowest. being for one another. your lover is considered to be your number one companion, truthfully."

aventurine was quiet.

"what is your gambler's intuition?"

a sigh left aventurine's lips. he stood, flipping the coin in his hand, before showing the result of heads or tails.

"...i suppose i'll make a bet with myself. one that doesn't cost money or the finest of gold and jewelry."

the genius watched as the other male got up from his seat, retrieving his sunglasses from his expensive outfit, before placing them on. "i'll make a gamble, to be specific, about this."

"then i wish you the best of luck, aventurine."

months had past, and the two of you were already in a relationship. it had been months, but the man didn't dare to tell you, 'i love you' just yet. as a matter of fact, those words were terrifying for him. what if he lost you after he said that? what if something were to happen to you? he was terrified of saying it, as he wasn't ready yet.

dr. ratio was right—he was paranoid to the bone but hid it. yet, aventurine played a few cards and decided to gamble this relationship with you, to see if it could work out. and so far, everything was well.

you were understanding, kind, beautiful, patient... the perfect partner someone could ask for.

but it also felt undeserving.

did... he deserve this love? did he truly deserve to experience the harmony that his heart fluttered to? he began to doubt. then he spiraled into a panic.

he began to sleep restlessly at night, rendering himself vulnerable to nightmares and the instability of his mind.

... but you were there, throughout all of it.

his eyes shot open, the familiar warmth of your hand gently cupped at his left cheek. he had fallen asleep on the couch, reading a long text presented to him by his supervisor, which was mainly just work and business related things. he didn't realize he had fallen asleep, and at first was confused when he woke up.

his phone was placed securely on the table, and there was a blanket draped over him. the air conditioning was turned on for his comfort, and before him was a tray full of biscuits, tea... for him to savor in once he woke from his nightmare.

"are you... alright?" you asked. "you were having a bad dream."

his eyes traveled to your voice, finding your concerned expression, his palpitating heart now steadying at an easy rate. he began to breathe, his eyes softening.

you were here, at his most vulnerable state, concerned for his well-being. he was silent, but he immediately reeled you in for a gentle hug. he was reluctant, but he wanted to feel the rest of your warmth. your head was buried into his chest, and you could hear his heart slow down. he closed his eyes, calming down from his inner demons.

"...you're okay." you murmur, brushing the top of his hair with your hands. "i'm here for you."

you didn't know much about him at all, truth to be told. the man wasn't really comfortable sharing his past with you, yet. he was a locked chest, and in order to find the key to his past, you had to be patient. time was key, but whatever demons he was facing at night... he knew you would be there.

he had doubts, at first, and always believed that he'd always be alone.

but... you were a different story.

"...thank you," he whispers onto your ear, cradling you close to his chest, "for being here."

your gaze softens, and you were silent for a moment. this was the first time you've seen aventurine like this. so vulnerable, so... reliant on you. but you were okay. because everyone has their own weakness. not everyone was perfect, and you understood that.

"... don't thank me." you say, closing your eyes, taking in his scent as the two of you nuzzled up against each other on the couch, "please don't. it's my job—my duty, as your other half, to be here for you."

dr. ratio's words echoed into his brain, reminding him of what love truly is. being there for one another, no matter what.

"you haven't been here?"

months past, and aventurine is presenting a beautiful, scenic view of penacony for you. the night sky was phenomenal, and the beautiful sounds of crickets and late night critters were no more than music to your ears. you seat yourself at the bench, whilst the gambler was walking around, admiring the view... taking pictures, even.

"i haven't, but now i am." you say, flashing a smile.

aventurine took some time off today to take you out on a date. the man had more than enough sick and vacation leave to do this for you, and it's the first time where he actually used it.

he sits next to you, admiring the night sky, and the sight of you above all else.

"it's a beautiful sight. i come here when i want to... relax."

your gaze softens, and your hand comes towards his own. digits intertwine, and you murmur something, audible for your lover's ears.

"thank you for taking me here. to your safe place."

aventurine looks over to you, puzzled.

"... safe place, huh? didn't expect to... call it that. but i guess that's what you can say for this spot. i can feel at peace here." he nods slowly, looking back to the scenic view.

"... it's a spot where you can feel vulnerable and be okay with it," you say, instantly catching his attention, "and i want to thank you for trusting me to bringing me here. i really, really do appreciate it."

ratio's words echo through his mind once more, the pad of his thumb suddenly reaching over, gently lifting your chin. he leans in, granting you a subtle kiss, in which you've returned.

"... may... i be vulnerable, once again?"

he lowered his guard, his voice coming to a whisper.

"you... can always be vulnerable around me. i want to be your safe person." you respond, in a whisper.

"..." he was silent. "i love you."

it was the first time, too, that he said such a thing to you. such strong words that let your heart skip a few beats. your face comes to a faint, vermillion flush, but you were happy nonetheless. you smile, cupping each side of his face.

"i love you too."

[theanonymousninja247]

Pretty Random Turtle Thunks

Noise

Rating: Cookies and Cream (16+ plz)

Summary: Flash Fiction of 835 words.

Bay!Raph struggles to deal with overwhelm of living in a world constantly at full volume.

His latest struggle with sound is you.

pspsps @avery73 @anobodyinabog @redsrooftopprincess

I have a little something for ju big red girlies

header belonging to @firefly-graphics

Raphael always thought that he had a solid grasp on understanding what it meant to live in a world full of noise.

His entire life, his entire world for as long as he could remember, had always been a collection of cacophonies. 

From the constant racket of living beneath THE city that never slept or the never ending tumult that came from the reckless and wild life he lived, Raph had forever been surrounded by sound. 

If it wasn’t the city, or vigilant violence, any chance of possible silence was shattered by Raph’s brothers.

Leo’s tirelessly tirades, Donnie’s incessant info-dumping and Mikey’s constant chatter. 

Call him a grinch or whatever but it was always noise, noise, noise.

And if not his own brother’s, then Raph’s Achilles heel, his very own traitorous heart would betray him. The beat of heated drums that thrummed in his veins. Thoughts of inadequacy, self loathing and all over anger. At the world. At himself.

Such resonance that haunted his every step, his every thought, the entirety of his existence.

Raph, the little Atlas that he was, thought he could bear the weight of it all. His shoulders were certainly wide enough. He was strong enough. 

Ohhhh he made very sure that he was strong enough to could carry it all. Even convinced himself that he’d miss the weight of the hubbub if it was gone.

So yeah, he thought he can handle the noise of it all. 

Until you. 

Oh, until you. 

He didn’t know what it was. Just the comfortability of a safe companionship that grew over time? A stubborn seedling of fond affection that he never could seem to unroot in the protected garden of his heart? Or maybe the inevitable weakness of a spring season hinting just around the corner? 

Whatever it was, lately whenever you were near, the world went silent and you…

Well, you just…you were loud. 

Not necessarily in exact volume, though you did tend to get a bit more passionate in those moments of innocent and genuine excitement.

Those small moments that Raph treasured deep in the recesses of his heart that he would pull out like a picture to glance at on a rainy day. 

No, you were loud in the way that everything about you just started to scream for his attention. 

It wasn’t unbearable per sé, but it was heavy with a sudden weight that for the first time, Raph didn’t know how to hold. How to handle.

Your smile was a flash bang that had him reeling every time you shot it in his direction. Completely blinded by the fact something as soft and delicate could ever be graced upon such a creature as himself. 

It made his face hurt in his attempts to strangle back the ferocity of desire to smile, really smile the way he wanted to, right back at you.  With you, his heart cried out.

Your sweet scent was a siren song in a key that beckoned to him that caused his soul to ache for the mere whisper of hope, the smallest chance to have the privilege to harmonize with you. 

Your presence, just a mere brush or touch of your hand caused the constant state of drumming that was his heart to increase tempo like intense war drums. To the point he could feel it in his pounding in his finger tips as he had to physically restrain himself from unconsciously reaching out to you. 

If he ever go the chance to touch you, to hold you the way he wanted to, Raph wondered if he’d finally find the peace and quiet that he so desperately craved. 

Would all the noise go away? Or with your body in his hands, your heartbeat dancing in tandem with his, would all the volume of the world, in his head, in his heart, finally make sense?

Would all the sound come together and get lost in the symphony of you?

So that’s why he finds himself he’s sitting alone in his brooding corner. His elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, his breath heavy and labored with the weight of trying to hold the weight of…well…everything back.

Your visage branded to the back of his eyelids and your voice echoing in his memory like an unfair vision of the night. 

It made Raph feel like slamming his hands over his head and fully retreating into his shell, hoping to finding one dark corner not haunted by you, where he could get the stupid staccato of his heart back into place.

Because he couldn’t look away; he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop listening. 

And the worst part of it all, was Raphael was scared of the fact that he didn’t know if he could, or even wanted to. 

Yeah, Raph thought he could handle the noise.

But he very may well just perish at the thought of being able to one day have the privilege of pulling a sound from you.

[diamonrot]

Glimpses of Grief

I wished the main story showed more of how the MC dealt with her grief from losing her family and how the other LIs supported and comforted her. So, I wrote small snippets between her and Zayne. I would have wrote a happier story with MC and Caleb for his birthday, but I lost my 50/50 and I am high-key upset. So angst it is....

Tags: Angst with comfort, injury, suicidal thoughts, survivor's guilt, self-loathing, insecurity, negative self talk, character death (Josephine) and character "death" (Caleb), MC x Zayne, MC x Caleb (implied)

Zayne wanted to be patient. He knew ever since the death of her family, MC had been volatile. Still, how could you ask a man to be calm and rational after he had to spend hours in surgery ensuring the woman he loved got to live another day? How can he feel fine knowing that the same woman heroically and recklessly threw her life away to save others and she will most likely do this again.

Zayne’s hands curled into fists, as he looked down. He couldn’t look at her, not while she was covered in bandages, with her lightless eyes. He knew he had to calm down, but he felt he was burning alive in his own frustration. In this state, all he could muster was to ask.

“Do you have no regard for your life?”

MC turned and looked at the man seated next to her on her bed. For the first time since she got to the hospital, she could truly see him. He looked exhausted. His eyes were dark, red and puffy. Was he crying for that long? Did he sleep at all? Did she burden him that much? Questions that only led her back to the same haunting thought.

She shouldn’t have survived the explosion

“MC please” the doctor desperately whispered as he held her hand tightly, as though she may disappear if he didn’t.

“Tell me, is this what you plan to do? Disregard your own well-being until you inevitably die? Because if so, you can’t I-“

Before he could finish, he saw tears running down her face. A chill ran through his spine.

Oh my God, is she hurt? Did I hurt her?

“MC are you alright? Please tell me-“

“I thought when I died, I would feel scared. But while I was bleeding out, I felt so happy. I thought I was finally going to see Grandma and Caleb again. Then I saw Grandma. She smiled at me and held me. She told me she loved me. But when I looked for Caleb, he wasn’t there”

MC began to uncontrollably sob . 

“He hates me, Zayne, he hates me so much he didn’t even want to see me. What can I do for him to forgive me?!”

She knew she was acting insane. Most likely, what she saw was a hallucination induced by the amount of blood she lost. Yet, she couldn’t shake off the horrible dread of the possibility that this was Caleb’s attempt to give her a final message from the grave.

Her weakness caused his death and he resents that she got to live instead. He hates her.

Vigorously, MC rubbed the tears with her free hand. 

Why won’t these stupid tears stop? How pathetic am I? Crying in front of Zayne. STOP YOU PATHETIC IDIOT!

MC tried to tug away her hand and face away from her doctor, but instead Zayne pulled her closer. Pressing his chest on hers with his arms snuggly wrapped around her. The sudden contact made her gasp. Heat was flooding her cheeks. She should have pulled away, but she didn’t want to be alone in her cold grief. Instead, she buried her face on the crook of his neck. Selfishly seeking his warmth and comfort.

On his lap, chest to chest, she could feel the steady beats of Zayne’s heart against her own fast paced ones. She could feel his large hand gently and cautiously stroking her back. It was soothing, distracting. She could momentarily forget how horrendous of a person she was.

After a while, her sobs turned into sniffles and hiccups. 

“I never knew Caleb as well as you did. However, I can say with no doubt in my mind and heart, he would never hate you. He loved you more than anything, including his own life. If he would have ever been upset, it wouldn’t have been because you survived. It would be because you recklessly almost lost it again”

“I’m sorry”

——————————————————————————————————

As Zayne entered MC’s apartment, he heard the loud bang of a metal bowl hitting the wall. 

The noise was from the kitchen

Worried, Zayne rushed to the room and found the bowl on the ground. Orange sauce and wings cluttered the ground with MC hysterically crying, yelling at herself as she attempted to clean the mess.

“MC you fucking idiot, why can’t you do anything right?!”

The scene made Zayne’s heart painfully twist. 

What can I do to help her?

His first thought was that he needed to be by her side. Comfort her. However, he didn’t want to surprise her. He tried to quiet his steps to cautiously approach her. Unfortunately, his sudden appearance shocked the woman. MC whipped her head and stared at him with eyes wide and cheeks pink. Attempting to hide her distress, she looked down and desperately rubbed off her tears.

“What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t visit today?”

Zayne grabbed a roll of paper towels and kneeled next to her. With a napkin, he mirrored her and picked up some of the wings and discarded them in the metal bowl.

“Apologies, my last few surgeries were postponed so I finished early. Are you alright?”

“It's nothing. Don’t worry about me or the wings. You can sit on the couch, I’ll meet you there”.

Zayne didn’t budge, instead he started wiping the sauce off the ground.

“It can’t be nothing. Nobody throws a bowl of wings for nothing. Please, I want to help you. What’s wrong? "

MC sighed and halted her clean up.

“ I’m sorry Zayne. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I was just so frustrated”

“Why?”

“I’ve been craving the orange wings that Caleb always made me. I wanted you to have some too, but no matter what I do”

MC’s fist began to tap the ground. Gradually becoming more aggressive.

“Even when I followed the recipe he left behind, I couldn’t recreate it. This is my fifth batch and it’s still all wrong. None of them taste the way he made them!”

MC was going to hit the ground again until Zayne covered her hand in his. 

“You aren’t being ridiculous. You miss him, that’s normal. But you don’t have to do this alone. Maybe…. Maybe we can work on this together. Two minds work better than one?”

Several hours and wings later. 

Zayne grimaced as he saw MC sigh. Another failed batch. As MC munched on the wing, Zayne hastily glared at the recipe. He had followed every instruction and ingredient, but there was one part that continued to stump him and MC.

1 ingredient unlisted, only quoted as “Caleb’s secret ingredient”. 

This man is mocking me from the grave. 

“I’m so sorry MC, maybe we can-?”

MC yawned and stood up from the stool. She stretched nonchalantly and grinned at him.

“It’s all good Zayne, this was silly. Still, I appreciate your help. You can go home, good night”

She smiled at him again, waved him farewell and shut herself in her room. She tried to be bubbly, lighthearted, but Zayne knew better. The smile didn’t reach her eyes and he could see tears welling up. She was heartbroken. He had disappointed her.

Zayne was a rational man. A rational man would have understood that he did the best he could and he should go home. He was exhausted. He needed to rest. Still, when he thought of leaving, he was reminded of her curled up form on the ground as she wept earlier. The idea of leaving with this conclusion pained him. 

I want her to smile genuinely. I want her to know that she can still have good things and moments. I can’t fail her now.

Zayne was a rational man, but maybe for her, he could be better than that.

Woken up by the sunlight streaming from the curtain, MC groaned. Disheartened, MC rolled her body around the bed until she faced the ceiling. 

I was so embarrassing yesterday. I had a tantrum right in front of Zayne. God, I probably scared him off. 

The self-loathing crept and slowly choked her, but as she was going to succumb she heard clang of plates.

Wait, Zayne?

MC got up quickly and rushed out of her room. In the kitchen, donned by the sun's rays was Zayne. The golden light made his skin and eyes look amber, godlike. She couldn’t help, but stare as he gracefully moved around the kitchen. She was reminded how handsome Zayne was. She would have happily stared at him for eternity if Zayne hadn’t smiled and acknowledged her.

“Good Morning MC”

“Good morning Zayne. Ummm what are you still doing here? Did you not go home?”

Her physician returned her question with another breathtaking gentle smile.

“Sorry no. I couldn’t leave without getting these wings right. I know we are close to getting it. Here, try them”.

Zayne laid a plate with an assortment of different orange chicken wings, in front of her.

MC sat on the stool and slowly and critically ate each wing variation. Every single one was perfectly crisp with their own unique additional flavour. One was spicy, one tasted heavy of garlic and another even tasted of apple more than orange. She loved every single one, but none of them tasted like Caleb’s. She expected to feel upset like last night, but instead, looking at Zayne’s expectant stares, she couldn’t help but feel lighter. 

Zayne is really a good man. He put all this effort just to make me feel better.

“Do any of them taste like his?” Zayne asked hesitantly. MC shook her head. No. A pang hit Zayne in the heart. All his effort was for nothing. Before he could apologize, MC continued her answer.

“None of them taste like his, but maybe that’s not a bad thing. They are all delicious, especially the garlic one, oh my god it is so good”

For the first time in a long time, MC grinned dorkily. His love was back.

“So maybe instead, we can just make the garlic orange wings ours. It’ll be Zayne and MC’s special orange wings!”

Zayne couldn’t help, but laugh at her audacity.

“I don’t remember you staying up with me to make these wings? Why are you included in the credits?”

“Well it was my idea and my dead best friend’s recipe. I deserve to be credited”

“Fine fine, MC and Zayne’s special orange wings.”

——————————————————————————————————

She hasn’t been answering his texts or calls and it was all his fault.

I’m so stupid. I should have never confessed to her. I’ve ruined everything between us.

Desperately, Zayne looked for her. He needed to apologize. He didn’t mean to scare her. However, no matter where he looked, she was nowhere to be seen. He asked everyone, her favourite cafe’s baristas, her coworkers, her suspiciously close neighbour, unfortunately, nobody had seen her since last night. 

The night he foolishly blurted out that he loved her. He remembered her flustered and shocked expression that swiftly turned sullen. He fucked up. After the abrupt confession, she quickly and quietly apologized and ran off. Since then, radio silence. 

He knew a rational man would have waited for her to respond back, but he knew rationality didn’t exist when it came to her. After hours of looking, he realized there was one place he hadn’t looked.

The graveyard

MC felt like an idiot. Why did she run off? Now Zayne probably assumed she was rejecting him. She wanted so badly to accept his confession, but after the initial happiness, she was overwhelmed by guilt. 

She didn’t deserve Zayne.

In front of her was the resting place of the two people she loved and failed the most. Repentant, she bowed to their tombstones, tears endlessly streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t deserve to be happy. Please forgive me.”

She prayed to them, but there was no answer. They were truly gone. 

After her prayers ceased and tears dried, she tried to focus on Grandma and Caleb’s faces, but suddenly Zayne’s would pop up. His frustrated, but concerned frown, his gentle smile, his blissed face as he confessed to her, and his dejected look as she ran off. She knew her running off was a mistake. Maybe her rejection was better for him, but she should still apologize to him. 

She stood up, resolute to speak with Zayne, when suddenly he appeared as if materialized by her wishes.

“Zayne I-“ Before she could complete her thought,  Zayne raised his palm to her, gesturing to stop.

“Please let me go first. I’m sorry about last night. I should have never confessed or at least not now. You are still working on rebuilding your life and I was selfish for trying to insert myself into it. Please forgive me. I still want to be friends and be by your side. But if this has shattered your trust in me, I understand. I will leave you alone”

MC knew she didn’t deserve him or happiness. She should apologize and walk away. Let him move on and be with someone better, but she couldn’t resist him. He was too sincere, too kind, too perfect. She moved to him, like a moth succumbing to a flame.

Seeing her hurriedly rush to him. He closed his eyes and expected a sting from a slap. Instead, he felt the warmth of her palms on his cheeks and the softness of her lips. After the ginger kiss, he opened his eyes, seeing her downward teary ones.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to reject you. I just felt undeserving. I killed my family Zayne, you deserve better than me.”

Zayne placed his hand on her cheek and gently stroked it. 

“Please don’t talk about yourself like this. You did not kill your family. Maybe you feel like I don’t deserve you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. I have wanted you since we were kids”

The revelation made MC look up at his jade eyes.

“Really?”

“Really, I loved you for that long and will continue to do so. There is no rush to return my feelings if you ever do. I’ll be by your side either way”.

——————————————————————————————————

A month had passed since Zayne and MC became official. To celebrate, the two had enjoyed a few rounds of kitty cards while enjoying drinks and an extremely moist and delicious red velvet cake.

Contented, MC held tightly to her boyfriend's arm as they walked down the street. Giggling to themselves as MC bragged about her 3 straight wins (after 5 straight losses). MC was enraptured, but for a moment her eye caught a glimpse of a particular stranger smiling at her.

The man had shaggy brown hair, violet eyes, and was wearing a military uniform.

CALEB?!

Shocked, MC turned abruptly away from Zayne and to the direction of the stranger, but the mysterious man was gone. Worried, Zayne stared at the direction she turned and back to his girlfriend.

“Are you alright my love?”

“Yeah, I just thought I saw someone I knew”

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she turned back to Zayne and returned her arm to him. 

She knew it was most likely just a look alike, or her overactive mind messing with her. Yet, she couldn’t shake off the idea that maybe this was Caleb’s way of letting her know he approves.

[ceranchi]

Dazai with a cheater girlfriend

Dazai is a complex character with a history of self-destructive behavior and a tendency towards nihilism. His reaction to a cheating girlfriend would likely be unpredictable and influenced by his own internal struggles. However, based on his character traits, here are some possible

* Self-Loathing: He could blame himself, seeing the infidelity as a consequence of his own flaws or a testament to his unworthiness of love.

* Dark Humor: Dazai might respond with a twisted sense of humor, making morbid jokes about the situation or his own heartbreak.

* Cynical and Dismissive: "Oh, well. Another day, another disappointment. How predictable."

* Self-Deprecating: "I suppose it's only natural. After all, I'm a walking disaster."

* Manipulative: "You know, I could understand if you left me for someone more interesting. But this? This is just pathetic."

* Poignant and Vulnerable (unlikely, but possible): "I thought I was different. I thought I could hold onto something real. But I was wrong, as always."

* A Quiet Confrontation: Dazai, seemingly calm, confronts his girlfriend. His voice is flat, his eyes devoid of emotion. He asks her about the infidelity, his words cutting through the silence. As she stumbles to explain, he listens, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He then turns and walks away, leaving her alone with her guilt and his silent judgment.

* "Another day, another disappointment. How predictable." He scoffs, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Love, loyalty, trust—mere illusions, fleeting as the morning mist."

* Yet, beneath his cynical exterior, a pang of pain pierces his heart. "I thought I was different. I thought I could escape the cycle. But I'm just another pawn in this cruel game of life."

* Detached Manipulation: Dazai might initially react with a dismissive attitude, perhaps even a hint of amusement. He could use the situation to manipulate her emotions, playing on her guilt and fear of losing him.

Dismissive and Cynical: * Dazai might downplay the significance of the betrayal, dismissing it as another instance of human weakness and the inevitability of suffering. * He might even use it as an opportunity to further indulge in his self-destructive tendencies, seeing it as a justification for his own nihilistic worldview.

Deeply Hurt and Betrayed: * Despite his cynical exterior, Dazai is capable of forming deep emotional connections. If he truly cares for his girlfriend, he may be deeply hurt and betrayed by her actions. * This could lead to a period of introspection and self-doubt, as he questions the meaning of relationships and the possibility of genuine human connection.

. Manipulative and Controlling: * Dazai's manipulative tendencies might surface, as he attempts to control the situation and his girlfriend's emotions. * He may use guilt, emotional blackmail, or even self-harm to manipulate her into staying with him.

. Sudden Departure: * In a more dramatic turn, Dazai might abruptly disappear from his girlfriend's life, unable to cope with the emotional turmoil caused by the betrayal. * This could be a way for him to avoid further pain and to escape into his own self-destructive fantasies.Ultimately, Dazai's reaction would depend on the specific circumstances of the situation and the depth of his feelings for his girlfriend. However, it is likely to be complex, unpredictable, and potentially harmful to both himself and those around him.....

* Self-Destructive Behavior: In a more extreme reaction, Dazai might resort to self-harm or reckless behavior as a way to punish himself or to elicit sympathy from his girlfriend.

* Sudden Departure: He might abruptly disappear without a trace, leaving her bewildered and heartbroken. This could be his way of escaping the pain and avoiding further emotional entanglement.

* Fear of Intimacy: Dazai's fear of intimacy and his tendency to sabotage relationships could lead him to push his girlfriend away, even if he still cares for her.

* Self-Loathing: Deep-rooted self-loathing could make him believe that he doesn't deserve love or happiness, and that any attempt at a meaningful relationship is doomed to fail.

[likeumeanit9497]

ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ | ᴄ.ꜱ. |

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

read chapter one here

series masterlist here

summary: Eleanor moves through the world like a shadow searching for light, and Chris burns too brightly, as if trying to outshine a buried grief. When they collide on a night filled with a mutual self-loathing, something quiet but insistent begins to grow between them — a pull that they never dare speak of, yet orbit in harmony nonetheless. Their bond deepens quickly, shaped by vulnerability, near-misses, and the ache of things left unsaid. As their lives pull and blur at the edges, they learn that what they are for one another in the moment may matter more than how it ends. 

warnings (throughout the series): smut; angst; addiction; family trauma; depression; heavy drinking; mentions of death; mentions of abuse; 18+

There was that sudden pounding in his chest. The same terrifying feeling of panic that had awoken him every day for over a week. It would rip him out of the serenity that his dream-state granted him each night, forcing him to sit upright in bed; struggling to breathe and grasping at the retreating memories that only existed behind closed eyes.

Once he gained control over his breathing and his heart slowed its fight to jump out of his chest, he sighed — letting himself fall back onto his empty mattress. His blue eyes, glossed over from deep sleep, focused on his white ceiling in a desperate attempt to display the choppy scenes of his dream; to project them into clear images so that he could convince himself that they were real.

And each morning, he nearly could. If he focused enough, he could almost feel her small body curled up on the mattress beside him. Could almost hear her sigh contentedly as he pulled her closer to him. Could almost smell the shampoo in her hair as she buried her delicate face in the crook of his neck. Could almost feel his own lips curl into a smile at the sound of her soft giggles into his skin.

“Jesus,” He muttered to himself, rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He reached for his phone, the instinctive move of someone trying to overwrite a memory with noise — any noise — but stopped when he saw the time. No notifications, no distractions. Just his own silence staring back at him

He had had the same dream so many times that it seemed almost more unbelievable that it hadn’t been his reality.

Almost.

Because, once his dilated eyes grew weak and he allowed himself to blink, all of it disappeared, and he was once again waking up alone in his dark, empty bedroom. The familiar pit in his stomach a reminder of his embarrassing fantasy. A fantasy of a girl he had only met once, who he really didn’t know at all. Yet a fantasy so powerful that his cheeks flushed red hot in shame and confusion — knowing that if anyone were to infiltrate his thoughts and find these pathetic images of only her, he would never be able to remain the same again.

Every nerve in his body grew alive at that thought. This wasn’t him. He had dreamt of women in his bed before, though his body had never responded with such intoxicating panic. Those dreams often involved more than just the feeling of a woman’s laughter against his skin, but still, they did nothing more than cause him to wake up feeling slightly tense in his lower half. Even more, they certainly didn’t occur relentlessly night after night; torturing him with an almost-reality over and over again only to crush him the moment he re-enters consciousness.

He forced his heavy body to sit upright in his bed, resting his messy curls against the headboard as he struggled to make sense of things just as he had done every morning since that night a week prior. He released a dry chuckle into the empty room. Even after spending so much time in his head, he still couldn’t make sense of what was happening to him. Thinking back on the two years that he had lived in Los Angeles, he couldn’t recall a time he had gone to a party and not met a girl. So why, then, was she so deeply implanted in his mind?

Closing his tired eyes, he took himself back to that balcony. He felt the warm breeze against his face, saw her profile illuminated by the distant skyline and blurred by the smoke from her cigarette. To the version of him still sitting there in the hills, he wanted to ask — to grab him by the shoulders and scream out — why are you still there? His shadowed past self stayed silent, of course, and as he did she turned to face him.

In his mind he watched her dark eyes glimmer under the moonlight, intoxicating him with their blend of sorrow and curiosity, and they beckoned him to her once again, seemed to beg him to stay with her — for the night, for the rest of eternity, he wasn’t sure. But his inability to deny her permeated his fantasy just as much as his reality, and his breathing grew steady with sleep as he drifted back into the liminal space where she and he still existed as one.

—

A sigh fell from her chapped lips as she gazed half-heartedly at her computer screen; the curser blinking in the middle of a sentence as if urging her to finish her thought. But there was no thought, not one ounce of creativity worth typing was left in her bones. She had run out of practical inspiration the moment she entered her fourth year of college, and now her days consisted of either criticizing her lack of talent or doing anything she possibly could to mute the distant voice of her mother screaming out how useless she has turned out to be.

She beckoned the passion that had carried her though her adolescence to come forward once again; to take the reins of her painfully normal life and transform it into one fit for an aspiring author. She waited — the soft ticking of her thrifted grandfather clock acting as a cruel metaphor of her existence — for her greatness to return to her. It didn’t, of course; it never did.

Scrubbing her dry, reddened eyes, Eleanor dragged her tired body from her desk and headed to her small, painfully outdated kitchen to make her fourth cup of tea. Slipping the intoxicatingly fragrant tea bag into her favourite chipped mug, she pressed her aching head against the cool linoleum of her countertop as she waited for the kettle to boil.

“You’re up early!” The chipper voice of her roommate and closest friend, Claire, made her overly caffeinated heart jump. “Jesus Christ,” She groaned, lifting her head from the blissful counter and squinting at the clock, reading 7:13. “Haven’t slept yet.” Her confession earned a motherly tsk tsk tsk from her agonizingly motherly friend as she poured the boiling water into her mug; feeling herself relax just a bit from the tendrils of floral-scented steam that rose up to her smudged glasses — making them fog.

“Are you planning on sleeping at all today or…” Eleanor could tell that Claire was doing her best to keep her judgements from infiltrating her tone and in turn destroying their conversation, so for the sake of reciprocation she responded calmly. “I’ve got to work on my assignment for poetry, so, I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Knowing just how tumultuous her final year of university had been, Claire sighed before placing a gentle hand on Eleanor’s arm. “I’m not sure what to do.” She added in a rare moment of vulnerability, her voice soft and laced with what could only be described as desperation.

“Well,” Claire seemed to ponder this for a moment, and Eleanor felt her lukewarm heart grow slightly tepid from her friend’s thoughtfulness, “I think, when you’re in slumps as tragic as this, you need real-world inspiration to pull you out of it.” She absorbed her friends words for a moment, trying to reflect on the blurry recollection of her lacklustre social life. “Has there been any moment that made you think, ‘Wow, I could write a poem about this’?”

She almost laughed out loud at Claire’s over-the-top advice, until her bleak mind was flooded with a memory she nearly missed. Just last weekend; she chain-smoking a pack of Camels, he nursing a red cup of soda. The lights of the city she had moved to with a certainty that she would become one of the greats within it; the muffled sounds of the party below them. Small talk; a brief discussion in which her fears for the future were nearly exposed. But it was that window of time where they weren’t speaking — that moment that seemed able to stretch deep into the night if they chose — that was what was memorable.

Never before had a shared silence felt like a warm blanket wrapped around her trembling shoulders. She didn’t know him, and he didn’t know her, but somehow she felt as though that period of silence was when their souls made their introductions to one another. She didn’t perform for him, and he showed no signs of wanting her to — confirmed by what should have been a humiliating rejection but what instead made her feel somehow better about herself. That night was the first time in what very well could have been forever that she felt like her true self; like she could sit in total silence, pondering her life and everything in it, while he was happy to simply let her.

Her eyes, suddenly much more alert and shiny, pulled themselves up from the scratched hardwood at her feet to the soft blue of her friend’s. Noticing the sudden revitalization of life in her eyes, Claire smiled before squeezing Eleanor’s arm. “It’s like I can see the wheels turning in that beautiful mind of yours,” She winked at Eleanor before walking to the fridge to start breakfast. “Now go put it to use.”

With a new-found fervour, Eleanor picked up her steaming mug of black tea and headed back to her cluttered desk to do exactly that. Settling into her chair, she returned to her unfinished document and released a breath of air — feeling lighter somehow. Fingers hovering over her keyboard, she spent time organizing her wild thoughts into cohesive ideas; relishing in the feeling of adrenaline that coursed through her veins from that addicting cry of inspiration. She was just beginning to type, to put her racing thoughts into something concrete, when she froze.

No.

She can’t.

She felt her cheeks flush red in embarrassment as she read the single line that had slipped from her fingers.

A part of myself lives in the static between our worlds.

She didn’t know him, not really, so how could she write something as naked and intimate as poetry about a night that occurred more in her mind than it did in reality? Her hands jerked away from the keyboard as though they had touched fire; and she fought the urge to scream into them. What was she doing? It was one night at a party, memories of it fragmented by liquor and weed — certainly not something to be writing poetry about.

But why, then, as the memories began once again seeping into her mind, did she grow faint with the idea that it had been so much more than that? Why did the thought of sitting in silence with him again not just sound appealing, but necessary for her fulfillment of life? She felt her heart pounding in her chest, and before recognizing what she was doing she typed his name into her Instagram search bar. Her brows furrowed in near-agony at the sight of his face — a face that felt like a distant memory — causing her chest to tighten.

It was for the purpose of research — she told herself as she hit the follow button — the purpose of preserving her career that had yet to begin, that she was doing something so unlike her. “The purpose of my life,” She whispered into the silent room. “The purpose of my life.” Her voice was light and barely audible over the sound of her beating heart as she clicked on his DM, yet still she chanted as she typed.

The purpose of my life.

The purpose of my life.

The purpose of my life.

Eleanor: hey stranger. i’m not sure if you remember me, but we met at a party last weekend. you might think i’m crazy for this but i have some errands to run later today and nobody to do them with, so if you’re free (and not absolutely terrified of me already!!) i’d love the company.

͏𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 ❤︎ ͏

a/n: these first few chapters are pretty slow i know but i swear they're vital to understanding the characters and it'll get juicy very very soon don't worry ;) love u alllllll muah

[sweetfushi]

THROUGH HEAVEN AND HELL

synopsis. satoru gojo is the strongest in all aspects - the honoured one. though he thinks you were sent to tell him, or make him feel, otherwise.

fluff, angst | satoru gojo x reader, fluff, angst, self-deprecation, major character death, feelings of loneliness and unworthiness, descriptions of gore and burns | word count. 1.1k ◦ notes. spot the shakespeare reference (this was going to have a happy ending i swear).

Gojo had befriended loneliness. He found that the company of others inevitably led to either his or their downfall, so he’d become accustomed to living his life alongside paranoia. That’s why when he began desiring your permanence, he was scared. Not only of himself but of what about you had meant he felt this way. 

"You need to stop," he tells you one day when you smile and wave at him as you always do. 

Your smile drops, your hand lowering. "What do you mean?" Usually, he’d greet you back with a smile of his own and ask if you wanted to head into town, or tell you about the latest mission he was assigned to. Instead, you see his shoulders tense and his eyes lower, though his expression is anything but angry. Rather, he looks conflicted, spiteful of himself. 

“Don’t keep following me around,” his voice trembles, causing him to pause momentarily to inhale deeply. “I don’t feel like the strongest around you.” 

For a moment, the two of you stand there in silence, his back to you and your eyes wide. You don’t have it in you to ask again, about what he means, though you’re not sure why. The way he says it, it’s almost as if he’s aching to tell you to find someone else to cling to, someone who isn’t sought after like an animal. Satoru had seen you around Kento and Suguru, hanging out and filling the silence of the school with your laughter. He wanted to tell you to go to them instead, to see if he was the weak one or if you had been sent as his this-worldly punishment.

Satoru was terrified to admit that he knew it was the former.

And yet, he turns to face you fully, his hands in his pockets. “I love you,” he inhales deeply again. “I want to spend every waking moment with you and I can’t forgive myself for how selfish that is.” Satoru tells you this with surprising calmness, because he couldn’t let you witness the embodiment of the guilt and fear he felt internally.

“Is that what selfishness is now?” You practically spit. “You want to deprive yourself of love because you think it’s selfish?” A big part of you knows you shouldn’t be talking to him like this instead of comforting him and telling him your reciprocated feelings, but you hate what he just told you.

“Yes,” he responds despondently, “and I need you to stop acting as if you can’t tell.”

You readily start to respond, until he doesn’t allow you to.

“But I don’t usually listen to what I need,” he admits.

That makes your breath hitch and kills the words spilling from your mouth. The tone of his voice remains borderline desperate, but you hear the shift from utter self-loathing to a near acceptance of it. You can’t see his eyes, but that never felt like a barrier to you. It never stopped you from feeling everything he expressed to you, and that certainly didn’t differ now that his hand reached up to pull his blindfold up, enough to let you see his sparkling eyes.

His eyes are so bright and yet so dulled with tears.

His smile is so kind and yet so pained with fear.

“I want you by my side through heaven and hell, through this world and the next. I want you to experience my selfishness first hand and tell me if you think I still deserve the smile you show me.”

You almost laugh with how overwhelmed you are. First he wants to push you away and now he dares you to endure his love? Is he joking with you? You’d kill him if he is.

“I’d follow you through it all, Satoru.”

His smile widens and triggers the stream of his tears, yet he’s silent as he stares into your eyes. You want to tell him to stop looking at you with an amount of love you don’t know what to do with, but you felt as though he’d be the one to teach you.

But Satoru knew he shouldn’t have trusted himself. What comfortable hour could he name that ever graced others in his company? Why did he assume that his happiness would be permitted? He was never friends with blessings, his isolation informed him of that much. So why did he think you would turn out any different?

Did he truly spiral into a pit of foolishness? Did he truly convince himself that you weren’t going to inevitably lay lifeless in his arms?

How pathetic.

More so that he hadn’t been there to witness the cause of it all. Did the Sorcerer Killer cause you to die painfully? Did you die with his name flourishing between your lips? Your name had died between his lips the moment he locked eyes with your lifeless pair.

“Have I befriended the devil?” Satoru whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I presume even the devil fears you, Satoru,” Nanami places a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to look away from the sight of you.

Your stomach had been ripped into, your flesh torn and mangled. Had you somehow had the strength to walk when it happened to you, your broken legs wouldn’t have let you. Satoru watches as your lips dry and your uniform slides down your shoulders in tatters, exposing further bruises on your gorgeous skin.

You followed him too far. He should have substituted for you on this mission. When you’d heard him negotiating with Principal Yaga on it, you had laughed at his concern and rejected his help.

“I’m insulted that you think I won’t make it out alive, Satoru.”

“I need you to sit this one out, Y/N. Please.”

“I thought you didn’t listen to your needs?”

“All exceptions I’ve made have been for you. You know this.”

Him and Nanami had been called as backup by another sorcerer who had accompanied you, another victim of death’s kiss not too far from your own corpse. Instead, Nanami called a recovery team to the scene the moment he witnessed the detonation. The blond wouldn’t have recognised your scarred body if it wasn’t for the signature emblem that dangled from your breast pocket.

What was harder than him trying to endure the sight of you was trying to convince Gojo to look away.

Satoru lifts his blindfold and approaches your corpse unsteadily, granite and debris crunching under his boots as he attempts to conceal the way he stumbles towards you. Once he finally makes it to you, he lowers himself to his knees before they give out on him.

“Do I have to be the one to follow you now?” He sighs shakily, letting his hand grasp your charred one. He had been oblivious to it, but it had been made clear now. Satoru didn’t need to think about it further to understand.

He had been your punishment for indulging in your love for such a selfish creature.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[farfromstrange]

Enduring | Matt Murdock x AFAB!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, chronic (lower abdominal) pain, mentions of spotting (blood), self-loathing, allusions to Doctors Not Listening To Patients With A Uterus, health anxiety (warranted), non-sexual intimacy, hurt/comfort, self-indulgent, not proof-read

Summary: You’ve been experiencing chronic lower abdominal pain for years regardless of the point in your menstrual cycle. Some days, it’s worse than others, but when the first heatwave of the year hits New York City and you have another flare-up, your day takes a sudden turn for the worse. Thankfully, Matt is there to comfort you in any way he can.

WC: 3k

A/n: Even though I tagged my tag list, don't read if this could be triggering to you! So, I know pain is a very sensitive subject and everyone experiences it differently. I used my personal experience with pain and chasing a diagnosis to write this. That doesn’t mean it’s the only experience. Lower abdominal pain can have many causes, which is why advice from a medical professional is often necessary. That being said, I know how hard it can be to have been born into a female body and be treated like my pain is worth less for whatever reason just because I was born female. There is no shame in standing up for yourself in a man’s world that completely disregards women’s health. I had to learn it the hard way to the point it has taken a toll on my mental health, so I just needed to write a little comfort piece for my own peace of mind before my appointment on Monday. I wrote this for the sake of getting it out of my system, meaning it’s probably not perfect, but if you can relate to what I said in any way, feel free to read it and make up your own mind. (I will not be posting this on AO3 for now. I hope you can forgive me for that.)

Matt always knows when something is wrong with you. 

Sometimes, he can smell it. Other times, it’s the way you taste when you kiss him or the sweat that clings to your skin, or when he goes down on you and your essence is slightly tangier than it was the day before. 

Matt knows when you’re ovulating because the changes in your hormones make him go crazier than he already is for you, and he is familiar with the metallic scent of blood when you’re on your period. He can tell when you start sweating more often, when your muscles tense up more than usual, or when you are slightly more emotional. He knows before you even do because he has to. 

You are miserable almost every day, really, but more often than not it happens around the time of your period. So, he pays close attention to the signs. When the painkillers stop working, or when you get more tired, or when you stop moving around as much. When you tell him you’re fine even though he can feel the muscles of your abdomen tensing under his touch when he hugs you. When he can tell you have been crying and he wasn’t there to help. He has to know because you need him. 

You’re not entirely dependent on him, of course; you have lived on your own before and while it was hell, you pushed through somehow. With him, you don’t have to be alone on the days you can’t get out of bed because the pain keeps you locked in a fetal position, or on the days you have to cower on the bathroom floor until you’re too weak to move. Matt has reached a point of knowing you where his four working senses don’t play much of a role in telling what kind of a day you’re having; he just knows. 

Tonight, he senses it when he comes through the door after work, finally escaping the raging heat from the streets that made him feel like he was dying on the commute home. He instantly loosens his tie to get some air into his lungs, feeble fingers working desperately to free himself, but it doesn’t take a second longer for him to realize something is wrong. It is nothing but a mere hunch—some kind of aura that emits from somewhere in the apartment that makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He calls your name, frantically searching for your heartbeat. Through the rattling of the fridge as it tries to keep up with the rising temperatures inside, he makes out the rapid drumming of your heart against your ribcage. If you’re not dizzy yet, he thinks, you soon will be. 

Upon hearing you huff from the kitchen floor, Matt doesn’t hesitate tossing his bag mindlessly into the nearest corner, followed by his keys before he makes his way to find you. He’s overheated, itchy, and sweating through his clothes, but not anywhere near as desperate as he is to get to you. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks.

Hearing the sound of his voice, you realize that what felt like five minutes must have been hours spent on the cool kitchen floor. You can’t even remember how you got there. The hours have blended into minutes, the tiles digging into your sweat-coated skin. You’re curled up in a ball, wearing nothing but one of Matt’s loosest shirts. You couldn’t stand the feeling of a waistband around your stomach, so you took your pants off, changing into the oldest pair of cotton underwear you could find. It’s all soaked by now, and part of you wonders if you did finally get your period or if your pores just decided to drench you for the fun of it. 

Everything hurts. Your muscles are tense, yet at the same time they are so incredibly weak, you don’t react when the front door opens. He’s worried, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It is as though the pain has made you entirely apathetic, coiling in your lower stomach and spreading into your legs like a parasite. All you can do is succumb to it. 

Matt’s feet come into view. The purple cast of the billboard outside falls upon him, painting the shadow of a halo above his head. It’s ironic, really; the man you love as your knight in shining armor, a Catholic looking like an angel in artificial neon light. 

His gentle voice reaches for you, “What’re you doing on the floor?”

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay because he knows it is futile, but even that question you don’t know how to answer. What are you doing on the dirty kitchen floor?

You clear your throat, trying to sound nonchalant when you answer, “It’s too hot up there.”

He crouches down. “Just too hot?”

You sigh. “No.”

It was a good day until it wasn’t, and then you were in pain again and all the days you spent feeling a little more like yourself are suddenly gone with the wind. The tears wrap a noose around your neck for the second time today, your eyes burning with faint resistance. Every time you think it gets better, it gets worse again. And every time you try to pretend that maybe things are looking up for you and it isn’t as endless of a pit as you thought, the exact opposite proves itself. You’re tired; you’re in pain and you’re tired and you feel so silly for letting it dim the light Natt pointed out a few days ago that he had so deeply missed, but there is only so much hope you can have.  

This isn’t the first time he has found you like this, but it truly never gets easier. Hearing the strain in your voice, the quiver in your entire being as you try to catch your breath, telling yourself not to fucking cry. It never gets easier to know how much you beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. Because the doctors that were supposed to listen failed you, and now the road to relief is paved with bricks you can barely climb over. You are on your way now, finally, but the future is still not certain. In the end though, what kills him the most is that he can’t help you. 

Matt reaches out, his hand shaking as he aimlessly brushes his fingers over your forehead. “Cramps?” he says.

You nod weakly. 

“Since when?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, and that is when the glass overflows. 

With a click of his tongue, he wipes the first of your tears away. His brown eyes bore into your soul, completely bare in front of him. Your body is like a complex crafted melody only he knows how to decipher.  

The tears quickly form a barrier between you and the tiles. Matt tilts his head. The faintest hint of copper clings to your skin. “Did you get your period?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Just… some spotting.”

“Explains the blood.”

He is way too nonchalant about it, you think. The way he accepts your version of normal even though you feel like a failure trapped in a body that refuses to work like it is supposed to.

“How’d you get here?” he asks again, his voice so soft you want nothing more than to hide your face from him and cry some more. 

He refuses to let you go, gripping your chin to the point it almost hurts. “I was trying to do the dishes and then–” a broken sob gets stuck in your throat. “It hurts and it’s hot, and I can’t breathe.”

He gently cradles your face in his hands. “I know,” he says like he can read your mind. And maybe he can.

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “I couldn’t stand anymore, so I laid down. On the floor,” you tell him. “I just… I didn’t get anything done today.”

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“It does. I–”

He cuts you off, “No, sweetie, it doesn’t. I can wash the dishes, but I can’t replace you.”

His dedication hurts. You used to be called sensitive and not worth the drama, but with him, you count, and that hurts because you are barely hanging on by a fragile thread. You don’t know how to ever give back to him what he has given you. The countless nights you patched him up after he got his ass handed to him do not seem to matter much compared to what he does for you. 

He studies your erratic heartbeat for a moment. “You want a heating pad?” he offers. 

You physically cringe at the thought of a hot water bottle when the entire city could function as one, and you are quick to deny, “Too hot.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, I figured.” He brushes a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Have you taken anything yet? Advil? Naproxen?”

You growl. “You know none of the pills they gave me fucking work!” 

He doesn’t seem deterred by your tone. All he does is smile softly at you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your skin.

“I know,” he says. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, nothing’s helping,” you retort. 

“That why you’re lying on the floor?” 

Another tear rolls down your cheek and past your cracked lips. “I told you. Nothing helps.”

Snapping at him for only trying to care may be petty of you, but there is nothing you loathe more than feeling so utterly helpless. 

Matt moves closer, your words pearling off of him like he is made of stone. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Can I try something else?”

The voice in your head is screaming, what else is there to do? You are tired of trying everything and nothing ever working. Two more weeks until you will meet with a new doctor, but those two weeks might actually kill you. That’s what it feels like, anyway. 

He sighs, “C’mere.” Without another word from you, Matt slides his arms under your sticky frame and lifts you off the ground. His skin offers a stark contrast from the cold kitchen tiles, but he’s clean, and he smells like home. Not this place, not this city, but him. 

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Bathroom,” is all he tells you. 

Your brain is too slow to even dare protest. He carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on unsteady legs. 

“May I?” he asks. You nod, but even as he pulls his shirt over your head, he doesn’t once let go of you. 

You close your eyes. The pain in your abdomen is dull yet searing. You try to focus on anything else, but just when you think it’s getting better, it breaks through again, burning through you like a wildfire on the blade of a hot knife. And that makes you sad. It makes you so sad and angry you don’t know what to do with yourself. You want to scream and cry and tear the apartment apart, but you’re exhausted and tired and you know that if this pain keeps rippling through you, you might fall apart. 

You hate when he sees you like this. When you’re falling apart and there’s nothing either of you can do, and you blame yourself even though there is nothing to blame yourself for. Matt knows that. You sometimes wonder if you are a burden to him and he just won’t tell you because he doesn’t know when to stop. To stop caring, to stop helping, to stop trying to change everything. But then again, he has always told you that loving you isn’t a burden. If you get lost in the what ifs, you might actually fall apart.    

“I’m gonna start a cool bath,” Matt murmurs next to you, snapping you out of your thoughts with his gentle baritone of a voice. “Just stay here.” 

You nod weakly, too exhausted to argue. The thought of immersing yourself in cool water, even for a few minutes, seems like a small mercy. 

Water starts to run in the distance. His belt hits the floor, followed by the fabric clinging to his skin. You’re afraid you might get dizzy if you open your eyes. Dizzy because of the pain. Dizzy because of him. 

The cabinet behind you rattles when he reaches for it. “Claire gave them to me, but you took these before,” he says, skillfully working on the cap of an orange capsule. “They’re a bit stronger than Advil.”

You don’t protest, you simply let him place one of the pills in the palm of your hand. He is right behind you with his hand on your waist when you take them, swallowing with a handful of water. There’s nothing sexual in the way he touches you, just a tenderness born from years of knowing each other’s bodies inside and out. 

Maybe that is why you could never be a burden to him; he has felt like one for most of his life, and the last thing he wants is for his love to feel the same way. And he needs you to remind him that he is everything to you, too, his hands never wavering when they find your skin. You’re his lifeline as much as he is yours.

The cold water hits the inside of the bathtub, pattering down like raindrops on a windowpane. Matt gently tugs you closer to him and guides you toward the tub. At first, when he lifts you in, the cool water is a shock to your overheated skin, but it doesn’t take long for you to welcome the change in temperature. 

He eases you between his legs once he is sat, your back against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hands come to rest on your lower stomach, close enough to allow you to pull your legs up to your chest. It’s the only position that doesn’t hurt. 

You remember nights spent crammed in the same position, not because of you but because of his nightmares. The roles were reversed then. When it’s too hot outside, he needs the world on fire to burn a little less bright. Today, you finally realize what he must feel like on days like these. 

“How’s that?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.

You nod. “Better,” you whisper. Better isn’t perfect, but the pain is just dull now, and the gentle movement of his fingers against your sore muscles lulls you into a state where you can breathe. It’s not perfect, but it is as good as it gets. 

Your head falls back against his collarbone. “Thank you,” your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him.

He shushes you, lips moving to your temple. The gesture is supposed to say, don’t thank me. But it feels wrong not to. 

You lift your head enough to look at him, finally, your eyes fluttering open to look back into his hazel orbs. “Matt…” 

“Yeah?” he breathes. 

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” you confess. It’s a truth you’ve grappled with, the stark realization that his presence has become indispensable. It is a burden, to be loved so fiercely, as much as it is an addiction. Because a life without him seems like a sheer impossibility you don’t ever want to face again. 

Matt holds his lips against your skin, smiling. “Good thing you never have to find out, hm?”

You chuckle weakly. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm.”

“What if you get sick of me?”

“Then I’ll be sick of you for a few hours,” he says, “and you’ll be sick of me ‘til we’re not.”

Your eyes roam his face for any indication that he might not be telling the truth. “That easy?” you ask. 

He nods, fingers coming up to find your lips. He touches them for a moment, exploring the soft skin there. Instead of kissing you though, he halts.

“What?” You frown. 

Matt shakes his head. “Nothing. Just… You’re gonna be okay,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

A whimper breaks from your chest. He believes it wholeheartedly, but it is incredibly hard to hear it out loud because you don’t believe it. You press your lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way,” you whisper. “I wish I could be… normal.”

Again, he nods, fingers brushing over your cheek to catch a stray tear. “You are normal,” he insists softly. “Your pain doesn’t make you any less. And ‘cause I know how strong you are, I know you’re gonna be okay.”

“Even if I’ll be ill for the rest of my life? Even if I–”

“Of course,” he stops you. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise. Not ‘even if’ but regardless of whether it’s endometriosis or… or something else. Your pain is a part of you, but it’s not all of you. I love all of you.”

There is no stopping the avalanche of tears that is forced down the hill by his words. They hit you harder than an arrow to the heart. 

You crack under the weight of your emotions. “I love you,” you whisper. Those three words mean the world, but they feel inadequate to describe what you feel. 

“I know,” says Matt. “I love you too.”

The once open wounds of the blood you shed just to find him are nothing but scars now—scars you can learn how to live with once you accept that there is nothing wrong with you. Being a human being with an illness, both mentally and physically, doesn’t make you any less worthy of love. It doesn’t make you any less worthy of life. 

With Matt by your side, you are no longer alone in this. You have him, all of him, and that makes all the difference. 

Matt Murdock (Angst) Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @abucketofweird

Also tagging: @moncherriis

[thedevilsoftruth]

Megalomaniac ( concept )

Civil War B. Barnes x reader ( gender is not explicitly stated )

Megalomaniac - A person who is obsessed with their own power.

Steve Rogers originally sent you to James as a therapist and a way to help him regain his memories. Little does he know that his good friend is using you as a way to keep himself calm and withdraw from his violent, obsessive thoughts.

Warngings/tags: smut/suggestive content. Dark content, dead dove, knifes mentioned, dubious concent, little drabble I wrote because I got sad again and was listening to too much Tool. Just a concept of a much bigger fic i had planned out. Not beta read. Do not come here for a happy read.

Mdni! I am not responsible for what you find on the internet.

[ My marvel request box is open. Please see my pinned post for my request rules. ]

James Barnes would do anything for a singular once of control. A sense that he's not just a robot being manipulated. A sense of confidence. A sense of self worth. A sense that he's not weak.

But he knows he's not weak. He's far from weak. He's powerful. He's strong. He's worthy. If he wanted to, he could take down an entire army with his bare fucking hands. If he wanted to, he could set fire to the entire world.

Because James Barnes had control. He had power. And that was something he had confirmed whenever he had you. Weak. Pathetic. Helpless. Like a caged animal right under his palm. His metal, brutal palm. His metal, violent arm that he killed people with.

Why in the wide world would Steve Rogers send you to him was a mystery. But you and James an spoken, and you spoke the words clearly and honestly together, that you would never tell a single soul what went on inside that beat down apartment he lived in.

Nothing but the information you were able to get from him, the information the avengers needed. That was excluding the information you were hiding.

And when you had studied him, you would remember cases you had studied in college when you were working on your doctorate for Psychology. Cases of children in bad households. Cases of people who were kidnapped and tortured for months or even years.

James Barnes suffered not only from a major Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Clinical Depression, but he also had been struggling with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. These would cause him to go through many different mental phases when you were with him. Phases that would span from spontaneous bursts of energy, to continuous sobbing, to anger that would cause him to get violent.

" It was usually just with his words. Never with his actions. "

And now you realized why James had shoved that lie down your throat the first time he had an outburst. Because he could get violent, and he was scared of getting violent--mortified, even. But that night, James was not the man he had been working hard to be.

His way of stress relief and the way he tried to keep himself tame? Having sex with you.

Of course, he never wanted to hurt you. You were a friend of Steve Rogers. And Steve Rogers was his friend. He wasn't going to hurt you. He didn't have the courage to.

But he had the courage to strip you of your confidence. Of your clothes until you were bare and embarrassed. Of your skin until you were completely unraveled in his arms.

Because he had the power to do so. Because James Barnes had control.

" You shouldn't have come here. "

It was already raining outside. It was too cold, and inside the building it was even colder. But maybe for a second when he was above you, things felt warm. Just at the wrong time.

" I know. "

You were shaking, nervous and even fearful under his touch. Under his knife. Under the disgusting feeling of him filling you. It was so disgusting, so utterly gut wrenching, but it felt sinfully good. It felt like home.

The words he spoke to you was full of venom and spite, but it made you feel warm and welcomed. The slaps, the manhandling and the constant degrading words were full of hatred and self-loathing, but did not make you want him any less. Even with the sadistic ways in which he tried to fulfill his need for dominance.

The blindfold around your face reminded you that he could do anything to you and you would never suspect it. The little cuts on your thighs proved that he had done the unexpected to you. All because he was finally gaining control of something, and James Barnes would do anything for a singular ounce of control.

[unabashednightmarepizza]

Imagine Neuvillette having a cheeky lover, who just enjoys his reactions and lives for making him loose his cool.

He was just so damn cool and powerful, a power to beckon with. Neuvillette was a strong pillar of Fontaine, a protector many looked up to. Even with his stone cold face that didn't give anything away at first glance and caused many men and women's heart to throb, you knew for the better.

Neuvillette was indeed a cutie whenever he got embrassed from your ministrations and hid his red face from all world, mainly you, whenever he had a chance.

This time wasn't any exception as Neuvillette was huddled inside his office, doing paperwork. One might think that this was what he liked doing most of the times by how almost a pleasant face he wore and frequent it was becoming.

But he couldn't have been more bored than he was right at this moment.

As he wrote down his notes and signed the documents, he couldn't help but think back to how lovely and absolutely breathtaking you looked at the morning.

As the true being he was, The Hydro Dragon... who opened up his heart and soul for you to embrace, who was accepted as who he is without a question.

The sunlight was slowly hitting your body and face just in the right way while you laid on his bed peacefully, chest rising up and down with one arm tucked under the soft pillow and the other curled next to your chest. A soft and small smile was on your lips, lightening up his dimmed soul as you laid facing him, making him be able to trace the soft contours of your face with his clawed hand, hair blanketing his scaled torso and your arms...

And how easy it was for you to accept him, as if it was second nature.

Thanks to how he and his kind was perceived, cold and harsh with no care for humans, he had deprieved of himself the beauty of touch. He refused to have that when he didn't deserve love, in his opinion.

How could someone even love a creature like him? Powerless, thought to be dead and even weak but still a danger nonetheless... Who could stay for him in his toughest times when even he didn't understand what he was feeling or thinking?

Therefore, he devoted himself to a long and eternal life of solidarity. He was fully convinced that this was all he could get, and even he was shocked at how the human mind can easily overpower their own self.

Another magnificient mystery of the universe, he would often say and think to himself at the dead of the night while staring into his own reflection and long tail.

Well, these were all before you came and broke everything he thought was right.

Quite literally actually.

"Monsieur Neuvillette, I'm so sorry! I wasn't actually looking where I was going-" you hurriedly tried to gather all the paper that fell on the marble floor from the hands of none other than Neuvillette, the Chief Justice. You absolutely hated, even loathed being in a hurry. It always made you loose track of what you did or said, which resulted in chaos and a life time of embarrassment.

Such as right now.

"It's quite alright, dear Y/N... Are you okay?'" As the gentleman he is, Neuvillette only gave you a worried look, also bending down to help you and prevent you from piercing your knees from the glass shards on the ground as a result of you two's collision. You didn't even realise the glasses you were holding was indeed broken, too occupied with making sure he was okay and not to loose your mind by how much more handsome he looked up close-

"Am-Am I okay? Monsieur, I dropped almost all the cups on you- Oh my! Are you hurt anywhere? Are you bleeding? Come, we need to immediately look for any injury, one of the shards could have pierced you!"

Just as he was about to tell you that it was fine, you didn't have to worry so much, enough to come close to crying and he wasn't hurt at all, a shard pierced his finger through his gloves, making him hiss and almost jump away from you...

Whiiich resulted in a horrified reaction from you.

"Oh the Archons... I'm gonna die. Please hurry, let me treat them!" You mumbled in a daze, quickly pulling yourself together as you took a hold of his hand and made him sit down on one of the chairs outside his office, as if he would faint from a simple scratch. All the while, Neuvillette was in a deep shock at how things turned out as he sat there with his palm facing up, staring at you as only a wisp of your form was visible to eye by how fast you were moving.

He didn't understand why you, even if he had a "crush" on you for the longest time as Furina and Navia often told him, would dote on him and openly show worry. He was a strong individual, apart from being the literal Hydro Sovereign who had all of his powers back, and he definetly didn't need to be coddled like a little kid even if you two were getting closer and closer each day-

"This might sting a bit, but I'll try to be gentle..." You frowned sadly as if the thought alone was enough to make you cry, already feeling bad enough for possibly ruining his busy day with your clumsiness.

And his expressionless face as he stared up at you did nothing to help your nerves.

Neuvillette could feel his gaze on you had become softer, much more gentle as he gazed at your careful hands more. The feeling was foreign to him but not unwelcomed, the pleasant and soft warmth in his heart pulled a small smile out of him which was a rarity by itself. Many would argue that he never smiled or showed any emotions, a man unmoveable and cold as the highest peak of Liyue itself...

Well, you begged to differ right at this moment.

"Why do you care about me so much?" He didn't really mean to sound so rude and harsh with his question, but it was the affect of being by himself all these time, with having only himself to care and patch his wounds.

Even as small as a scratch like the one on his finger.

But it seemed his tone didn't really scare you, as a confused look settled upon your face, brows scrunched together and head tilted to the left.

A frequent thing you did which he finds to be very adorable.

"Why wouldn't I? You deserve to be cared for..." You knew there was a deeper meaning behind his question, his eyes filling with silent tears as a confused gaze settled. Hands fiddling together as he lowered his eyes and gnawed on his soft but slightly chapped lips, probably as a result of his habit of biting on it. He was being slightly vulnerable more than usual, something he had just started to do with you after months of pestering him and convincing him that you meant no threat.

But still, it was cute.... He was cute.

And it brought a different kind of bravery to you, a power that pulled you towards him by his hands, shocking both him and yourself as you rubbed his knuckles softly. Neuvillette's eyes widened noticably, shaking in your hold as the warmth you had slowly got absorbed by his greedy heart and soul that had been all alone by itselves.

Perhaps everyone was right about his feelings of you that he tried to hide, that you were such a sweet and kind person that suited him the best and obviously loved him back.

"Life might not have been kind to you before, Mr.Neuvillette... However, I hope that we were all able to change it even a little bit and that you feel loved and happy." You softly say with a closed-eye smile, head tilted to the side and he knew... He knew you said them whole-heartedly, without any hint of malice or I'll will.

Ba-dump...

All his life, Neuvillette only knew harshness and loneliness. Never once was he ever cared for, coddled up or worried over. He had never seen someone as selfless as you are, as kind as you are and also as persistent as you with a soft and pure heart, and even more pure soul.

Often times, people avoided him at all costs and he too avoided them as long as he didn't have a job to get done with them.

But not you.

You were stubborn to see past that cold mask he had put over his face, the stoic and uncaring mask he had on so that he didn't get attached to anyone deeply and got hurt in the end. You always stuck with him throughout the day, asking him questions or just simply sitting there as he tried to noncholantly answer them with a thundering heart.

You knew the sweets he loved, how he liked his tea and even readied the water he loved before he started working and made sure the container was full.

But none of the sweet gestures would be as meaningful as the one you just did: Openly tell him that you love him and care for him.

Maybe he was being delusional, blinded by his growing feelings for you and having to keep them locked inside himself, but there was one certain thing he knew as he looked up to your precious jewels...

He wasn't. You trully loved him for him, wished to make him happy and wipe that frown away and just make him see the happiness this world could offer... And maybe, you might have muttered your confession under your breath but he couldn't have heard it... Right?

But now, as the cloudy feeling of the questions that was caused by his own insecurities were washed away, there was a much more important question as you waited anxiously in front of him for his reaction and he sweated awkwardly...

What kind of date was the best one to confess to you?

He sighed out tiredly, already planning if anyone would notice him sneaking out of his office, even with his tall posture, at how appealing the thought of being with you, even with how often you teased him with your silly comments and reactions, sounded so nice.

Oh how he wished you were here, he already felt guilty leaving the warm bed you shared because of these papers that absoultely meant nothing and all the stupid people he would have to-

"My love, are you busy? Shall I come in?"

You were trully an angel sent to just him and only him.

Neuvilette's face noticeably softened at the timid voice he heard behind his office door, following soon after a soft knock as his feet already took him to the source. He quickly gave you a kiss on your forehead as soon as he opened the door, his rich perfume filling your nose as a dopey smile stretched your face and you reciproceted with a fond kiss on his lips.

Just being two sickly in love people.

After some time with basking in each other's presence, he sighed out with a half relief and half tiredness as he nuzzled his nose deeper into your neck, his arms thightening around your smaller frame.

"You need not ask, never, love... You are always welcomed, my dear."

You let him lead you to the sofa in his office with a wide smile, where you usually laid after picking up a book and read it while Neuvillette did his job- though you often got distracted by how handsome and absolutely ethereal he looked, how peaceful he seemed after years of stress.

But today, he was different.

His back was more rigid and tense than normal, his eyes were scrunched up more frequently and he sighed almost angrily at any given time so much so that you were worried his dragonic features would come out.

And even his precious water cup alongside its container, one which would always be full to the top, was empty and he never for once tried to grab it.

Yep, it seems he is very irritated and on a knife's edge today...

So, as the amazing significant other you are, you saw the troubled and disheveled state he was in and couldn't help but want to fix it as soon as possible.

And what better way is there than being the cheerful and teasing one you were? That side pulled many reactions out of him after all, and would surely cheer hım up as well!

"Neuvi~"

He immediately lifted his head to look at you with a dumbfounded yet curious look, a smile so bright on his face at just hearing his nickname out of your lips, with the voice he adored the most. He could already feel a little bit of the exhaustion slipping out of his body, his quil on his hand was slowly put aside as his whole attention was turned to you and you only.

"Yes, my dear? What is it-" he said with a soft smile, voice barely covering his happiness but soon trailed off when you got up from your position on the couch, shutting the book you definetly didn't even read a word from and stood in front of his desk with a playful smile.

Oh... Oh! Not this time, he was exhausted and he definetly wouldn't be able to uphold his serious face-

But oh boy, he didn't expect to hear what came out next as his whole face reddened in embarrasment.

"According to the judgement of Oratrice Mecanique D'analyse Cardinale, you have been found guilty..."

You leant over the table teasingly without a care, arching your back more and tilting your head to look down at his piercing yet soft amethyst eyes that widened upon hearing your imitation of his usual commanding voice when he declared the decision of that machine, already anticipating what else you planned with this-this... This flustering and heart picking, breathtaking act of absolute love and playfulness.

"...of being cute~"

Oh how nice it was seeing that redness coating his cheeks...

Neuvillette, to be quite honest, was left slacked jawed, shocked to his core and absoultely flabbergasted with his jaw on the floor. Never in his long and eternal life, did he ever think that his line and the Oratrice itself would be used... To flirt with him.

But he loved it. He loved it so much, his heart beated hard and the air in his lungs were knocked out because it was you.

You, who had stolen his soul and heart all for yourself to never give up on it. You, who had a heart of golden and soul as soft as the Silk Flowers of Liyue.

You, who he called his partner and would continue calling that forever.

You, whom he was ready to sacrifice the world for.

But he didn't realize he had been too silent, enough to make you worry and drop the facade sooner than you anticipated as you looked at him from each side.

"Neuvi? Are you okay? I didn't say something out of li-" you worriedly asked with a hand over his arm, the shocked and frozen expression of his face making you take action, ready to cool him down because the redness that was steadily going towards a purple face couldn't just be normal.

But your lover only smiled like a fool and shook his head, taking a hold of your hand that was smoothing down his hair and rubbing his nape for comfort and laid a kiss on it, before bringing it close to his face.

"Sorry, my love... Your loving eyes had just taken all my words away."

Damn him and his charming words...

You giggled shyly, desperately trying to hide your cheeks from him to save yourself from the embarrasment. Your eyes landed on his inviting lap, all cozy and soft embrace as you slowly pushed him back to straddle him easily, loving and wanting to feel his arms around your frame as your heart was filled with unconditional love that often poured down from the confines of your heart.

All the while, his eyes never left yours as he watched you with dilated pupils, mouth open in awe as you moved around to find a much more comfortable position.

He promised to lay the universe before your feet if you wanted so, after all.

"So, my words didn't even affect you?"

You asked cutely, a hint of disappointment behind your voice as your hand played with the hair he often pushed aside and not clipped back as per your request. Even though he got flustered each time you stroked his hair and he remembered the reasoning you gave him why you wished him to do so, he wasn't going to deny you of anything.

On the other hand, your excuse of "It just gives you another kind of vibe... which makes me want to make out with you." did certain things to him... Which could be often seen on his pants-

"No..?" He hesitantly asked with a raised brow, earning a giggle from you as you pointed to his chest with equally flushed cheeks.

"Then why is your heart beating so hard?"

"It has been that way ever since I met you, my lovely spouse. It's so full of you that I can hardly call it my own."

He flushed suddenly, burying his face to your neck with a groan as he laid open mouthed kisses to divert your attention from the sudden surge of love and shyness he felt from what you said. Nuzzling his face closer to yours, he couldn't help but agree that this cheekiness you only had with him was the best part of his day and life.

Only he got to receive this, it was something only he had and no one else did.

Well, damn the smooth talker...

You could only shake your head in fake disappointment with a loving smile, bonking his head softly with yours in an affectionate move as you tutted at him and kissed the corner of his mouth with a burning face, giving all your love and energy to the tired man and showing how much you liked his words.

"You are such a silly dragon... And as much as I love you, it doesn't mean I won't tease you about this later. For now though? Let's cuddle, you can read those damn papers later."

He trully was a silly dragon deeply in love.

He chuckled under his breath at how much closer you nuzzled to him while pushing the papers away, as if you wanted to become one with his body. Nodding his head as he laid back with you on his lap, a hand rubbing up and down your back, he sighed out in bliss and left his work unfinished for the day, yet another new thing he did after he had gotten together with you.

Just as always, you were right.

And he could live with that, forever, if he had the chance.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

‘Beside the one you have waited for to be mated with…’.

I’m a huge champion of Stede and the power of his emotions. With that in mind, I feel it’s Stede’s emotional state and gender-nonconforming reactions which partly save his life in 109.

He tells Ed initially he will accept the firing squad, that the ‘bill has come due’. It’s a strange declaration because Stede certainly doesn’t deserve such punishment for leaving his family, and Stede also knows he didn’t mean to kill Nigel. But this is Stede’s self-loathing talking rather than a belief in natural justice.

It might also be an attempt at ‘correct’ masculinity. Stede’s initial speech contains overused tropes, things he believes he should say as a man waiting to die. After all, he doesn’t want to appear ‘weak-hearted’ or ‘lily-livered.’ We get noble platitudes of deserving this fate and facing the music: ‘It’s time, Ed.’ Never mind this is what a man’s work looks like; rather, this is what a man’s death looks like: silent, stoic, accepting. Plus big boys don’t cry.

And if Stede had stood silently and taken his execution, I’m not always sure Ed would’ve intervened despite his own heartbreak. I don’t think Ed (or Izzy) would’ve seen another sunrise, but I don’t feel Ed would’ve taken away Stede’s agency.

But then Stede declares he wants to live after all. This is major character growth. There is a ‘Do you want to live?’ through-line from the Pilot’s passively suicidal that’s-a-tough-question Stede, to 103 gut-stabbed Stede, appearing rather resigned to his fate whilst standing on the barrel, to this Stede whose position is very different and very clear.

We cut to Stede in a blindfold. He’s crying ‘I don’t wanna die’; and if you listen carefully, when it cuts to Ed, Stede cries out, ‘The bill hasn’t come due.’* Within minutes he is reneging on his previous words. Faced with death now, Stede’s instincts tell him he has something to stay alive for. And big boys do, in fact, cry - which might prove very powerful.

Meanwhile, other than the deserved punch, Ed seems oblivious to Izzy’s presence. Ed’s psychology is entirely tuned to Stede’s. And I feel it’s Stede’s uninhibited, emotional state, which pierces the workings of Ed’s mind in a way it’s never been before; and that causes Ed to find the answer, to shout, ‘Act of Grace.’

It’s a reciprocity, the neurology between lifemates. It’s primal, you can see it in Ed’s face: Stede lives in his synapses. Stede cries out; Ed finds a way to save him.

And it works both ways. When Ed is the one who needs saving, banging his hand like an SOS, Stede finds the words instinctively, nurtures Ed back from the brink. There’s a synchronicity in how they hold each other’s lives in their hands.

These events are even more compelling between men who were never loved properly by the people who should have done so in their childhoods. They cried out to indifference or worse then, and learned to be silent. They cry out now, and the other half of their soul finds a way to rearrange the stars.

It’s nature’s law. Connections between people who love are powerful.

*stede also says something else afterwards I can never make out - ‘I…?’

Edit - ‘I unconfess’

[vaquerospurs]

arthur morgan w tb. (ANGST)

he refused to tell you. but his condition was worsening by the day, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that he wasn’t doing well.

so, he became… attempting to distance himself. it would be easier this way, he told himself. but god, did it hurt. to see your smile fall when he refused to talk to you.

like a nervous man, he’d scurry away and pretend like he couldn’t hear you. his cough would disrupt his sleep, and make it difficult to manage daily tasks.

you comforted him. there was arguing, and you just couldn’t pull it out of him.

“arthur, please, just talk to me!” you pleaded through bleary eyes.

“darlin- no. i can’t, okay?” he said gruffly, moving your hand aside.

if he could’ve died without you knowing, he would’ve. eventually, it was clear that whatever this mystery disease was, was eating at him.

his movements became sluggish, weak. micah mocked him for it, and he’d just grumble.

“black lung, you doing alright?” he asked in his sickly voice, blatant sarcasm dropping in his voice. “cause, you don’t look so good.”

the self loathing was the worst part. somehow, in all of this, he expected more from himself. he had never been weak.

he had to be strong. had to be the tough one. had to be the cold-blooded killer he was made out to be.

but it wasn’t possible, not anymore. and he hated himself for it. his inability to deliver in his last few weeks.

the gang was crumpling around him, and it suddenly felt like his fault. he wouldn’t be alive to see young jack grow up, or to see john and abigail wed.

wouldn’t be there for you. you mattered more than you knew. which is why he couldn’t stand the way your eyes looked at him.

full of pity. everyone looked at him like he was a beast, tamed by this awful disease.

all he could taste is blood.

he longed for the taste of you. your soft lips against his own, calming his every worry.

but it was all too late for that now.

he’d spend most evenings alone now, reminiscing. one evening, you approached him.

he sat in front of the fire, glancing up at you. as silly as it seemed, he didn’t want to risk it around you. to be anywhere near you.

but you sat beside him.

he used his fist to cover his mouth as he coughed, the crimson blood coating his fist. he wiped it against his pants, his breath ragged.

“h-hello, miss.” he greeted, his voice rough. “oh, arthur. what’s happened to you?” you asked softly, heart aching at the sight.

arthur sat there, unsure of what to say.

he really didn’t know.

he died on that mountain. not knowing of his purpose, or how much you loved him. not knowing the impact he left on every person he’d met, good or bad.

you cried. for weeks, months, years. you’d never hear him sing by the fire, never see those ocean eyes crinkle as he laughed.

never know what could’ve been if you spoke up about your true feelings.

a/n: …….. i never write angst, like ever. so if this is really bad im sorry 😭🙏