#i think maybe i should have just started on a lower dose too my body processes meds so weird sometimes

[callixton]

took 10 mg of my ex's ritalin in the hopes it would balance out my adhd and i'm having like. a real weird reaction to it. it is making me paranoid i don't have adhd but i think it is much more likely that my body just isn't sure how to deal with having a stimulant in it for the first time. i'm also not like. high in any way. i'm just sort of jittery and physically unable to settle. and i'm still having trouble focusing but not the way i usually do which i suspect might also be bc this isn't overriding how tired i am. i also can't stop talking when in a conversation

[farfromstrange]

Ease The Pain | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Matt helps to ease your period pains.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), vaginal fingering, description of blood and period pain, use of "Good girl", hurt/comfort, praise kink

Word count: ≈ 3.1k

a/n: I love how Tumblr just keeps not showing my works in the tags so I have to post them again. Fun. Anyway! My period pains are the fucking worst. I hate my life. If men like him were real I'd sure feel a lot better. Anyway, I wrote this in like an hour or so because I'm that desperate. Hope you enjoy!

Pain. 

That’s all you can feel in every inch of your body. The core of that pain lies in your lower stomach and back, but it has already spread to your head and the rest of your muscles, even your legs, and feet. 

It’s Saturday, and you should be up and enjoying your free time but instead, you’re bound to the bed while the worst cramps of your existence ripple through your uterus as it brutally sheds its lining just because you chose not to get pregnant again this month. 

Every position you try feels only comfortable for a split second before another surge of pain appears somewhere in your body, mostly your stomach, but every time a cramp hits, your head seems to explode too, and shifting is futile. 

You’ve tried everything you could think of. Painkillers, heat, curling up into a fetal position, standing up, sitting down, you even took a hot shower, but none of it managed to take the pain away for more than a minute or two. So you have accepted defeat, realizing you don’t stand a chance against the monster that is mother nature. You decide to suffer in silence until the cramps ease up, which could take another day or two. 

Every once in a while, your eyes flutter close and you find yourself blinking back to life a few minutes later disoriented and almost shaking from the pain. Another wave of cramps tears through your body, keeping you wide awake as you roll onto your side and pull your legs up to your chest. 

The door to the bedroom opens and it creaks, which makes you grind your teeth. You feel the sudden urge to tear the glass apart, nerves thin from exhaustion, and the noise only adds to your pain.

“Sweetheart,” Matt’s voice is gentle from where he’s standing against the door frame. 

You bury your face in your pillow. “Go away!” you groan. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. 

“You’re right, I’m not, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I just hate my fucking body right now and it hates me.”

“Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

You lift your head to glare at his stupidly attractive person. He’s not wearing a shirt, that bastard, and his grey sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

He ducks when you toss a pillow at his head. “Fuck off!”

He wants to laugh, but the sound of your pained moan into the pillow has him sprinting toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. If it’s that bad, maybe you should take some more Advil.”

He strokes over your upper arms, pulls the hair out of your face, and presses feather-light kisses to your shoulder blade, which feel soothing at first, but the cramps ruin it for you once again. You’re forced to switch positions, curling up on the other side of the bed. 

Matt follows, sitting up against the headboard on his - previously your - side of the bed.

“I’ve already taken the full dose today,” you tell him. “If I take any more, I’m gonna have more problems than my fucking uterus stabbing me to death. Ugh!”

You hate this. You’re in pain, exhausted, and bleeding so badly, you’re sure you’re going to have to go to the bathroom soon. Every last contraction of your uterus has you cursing Eve for eating that stupid apple. 

His hand moves from your arm to your lower back. Gently forcing you onto your stomach, he starts digging his fingers into the sore muscles of your pelvis. You sigh. Now that is something you haven’t tried yet, too embarrassed to ask him for help with something like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You keen into his touch, letting him loosen your muscles one by one. The cramps continue in the front, but the tension in your back finally releases and gives you a second to breathe. 

“You need anything?” he asks, leaning over to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Tea, maybe? More pillows? Or do you want me to run you a bath?”

Sleep threatens to take over. “No,” you slur. His hands are working wonders and you start to question how you even deserve him. “Keep going. Feels good.”

Your approval is all he needs to knead firmer at the flesh protecting the bone of your pelvis. You melt into the mattress. His lips move back to your shoulder, leaving messy kisses over your heated skin.

“Ow, fuck!” The next sharp cramp directs itself toward your entire front, tearing your abdomen apart. “Why does this keep happening?” you cry. “I hate this!”

You’ve been suffering from periods for so long, you should have gotten used to it, but every month feels different, and sometimes worse.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I wish I could help you.”

“Yeah, but you can’t. Too bad!”

That was rude.

You whimper a small apology into your pillow.

“It’s okay, I know you’re in pain. If it helps to yell at me, go right ahead.”

You want to laugh, but you’re too worn out to make any other sound than pained puffs of air from deep within your chest.

Another harsh cramp has him moving his arm around your body, his hand continuing the massage on your stomach now, and you can’t help it; The pressure offers sweet, sweet relief for the pain that has kept you on edge for the past eight hours and his touch sets every fiber of your being on fire. You push your hips back, wanting him to push his fingers deeper into the flesh. In response, his other arm comes to rest around your shoulders from the front, and he pulls you flush against him. 

In his attempt to make you more comfortable though, he accidentally brushes over your sensitive nipples, and you moan, so oversensitive from the hormone outburst, it hurts. 

He “accidentally” does it again, just to test a theory, and when you moan again, louder and higher this time, Matt realizes he just opened Pandora's box. You wouldn’t have asked him to even if it killed you, which it might, and he read somewhere that orgasms produce enough oxytocin to help with period cramps. He knows you don’t care much about studies, but he can’t deny that there is something plausible about this theory. Most importantly though, he just wants to help you. Hearing how much pain you are in hurts him, and he wants to stop your suffering in whatever way he can. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes into your ear, fingers moving lower until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts that you haven’t bothered taking off. “Do you trust me?”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin. He keeps sending electrical shocks down your spine with his touch alone and no matter how hard you try to refuse yourself such a lucrative treat, your body has a mind of its own during this particular time of the month. Even though you’re in pain, the arousal is only a foot away. 

He pulls at the waistband when you don’t answer, letting it slap against your skin. It’s not painful, but you can feel the burn spread from your stomach straight to your core.

“But-” you try to interject. 

He won’t let you. “Do you trust me, angel?” he asks. 

“Always,” you say without hesitation. 

“Then let me help you.”

You’ve never done this before. You’ve never let him touch you during your period before, ever, not since you got together. You’ve always felt far from sexy, bloated and bleeding, and moody most of the time, if you’re not uncontrollably eating whatever you’re craving before puking from the pain, but you can’t help the whimper that passes your lips this time when a certain gush of wetness that isn’t blood starts coating the walls of your cunt. 

He’s shirtless and so incredibly hot, he looks almost biteable. His muscles flex, you can see every last dent in his bicep, and it grows seemingly two sizes every time he moves his hand to touch you. 

The way he’s almost choking you with his elbow has you clenching around nothing. And it hurts because God, you’ve never been this sensitive, not even after several rounds of sex with him, but you don’t care. Your clit pulsates and it rubs against whatever fabric is closest. The friction is bittersweet. You try to move your hips to feel the same jolt of electricity again, to get rid of the pressure resting between the sore folds of your cunt, but you can’t seem to find relief.

Matt grows confident in his actions and starts to cup your breast ever so slightly. You gasp, tears shooting into your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy. Your body tingles. Your nipples get hard the second he brushes them, and the more he squeezes, the harder they seem to get. Your skin flashes hot. You’re not sure what feels better – the hand on your stomach or the one on your breast. 

“Do you want to stay like this or can you sit up against the headboard for me?” you hear him ask. 

In your state, you can either nod or shake your head, and you’re not sure which one is the better option. The curled-up position is the only one you can feel comfortable in, but if you don’t sit up, he can barely touch you. It’s a desperate situation and you’re so overwhelmed, you want to cry — but it’s not a question of wanting anymore, you need to cry because your body is a bundle of hormones and your mind isn’t yours to command. 

He tilts your head toward him to kiss you. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You whimper again, tasting the coffee on his lips. 

Slowly, the hand that once rested on your stomach inches lower and lower and lower until… you throw your head back into the crook of his neck and he tightens his grip to make sure you don’t slip away. 

The moment he presses his calloused fingers to your clit, your vision explodes. You try to spread your legs while at the same time scratching at his arms and pulling at the dark hairs that adorn them. Your muscles are too sore to throw your leg over his hip, a familiar position from the many lazy mornings spent drowning in each other, and you can’t seem to find another way to get his hand closer either. He’s already cupping your pussy with his entire hand, drawing circles on your clit, and with how swollen it is you jolt with every stroke, but it’s still not enough. You need more space. 

“Wait,” you say. “I need… can you…”

The systems in your head completely shut down. 

He reads your mind. His hand slips away, pulling you up with him against the headboard. Instead of forcing you to sit up though, he places you over his lap, a pillow under your stomach, and your legs spread over his thighs. The slight bow in your back from the positioning of his knee works better than any position you could have thought of. 

“Better?” he asks.

You spread your legs wider. There’s enough space now, you can move freely and still roll over if you need to, and the sheets can easily muffle your moans.

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” he strokes a hand over your exposed ass cheeks, “are you okay?” 

You don’t want to imagine the mess you’re making, lying naked over his lap while actively bleeding out of the very folds he’s touching with his skilled fingers now. You’re wet enough for him to slide across them, returning to your clit. 

“Just touch me,” you whine. “Please, Matthew, just touch me.”

And for the love of God, you think, don’t think about the sheets. 

“Anything you want, baby. This is about you,” he says and finally, God finally, he gets to work.

There has to be something he takes to make his fingers feel so amazing every time he touches you. He never fails to amaze you with his skills. The fingers he uses as fists more often than not to beat criminals senselessly only do good for you. They comfort you and bring you pleasure where and whenever you need it most. He would never hurt you, especially not with his hands.

You cry out when he picks up the pace. “Matt,” his name is only but a breath on your lips, “Your fingers…”

“What about them?”

“I need them,” you say.

His thumb stays on your clit while he circles your entrance with his ring and index finger, pushing in only slightly and you hiss, as he expected, from the soreness of your walls.

“Fuck!”

“Relax,” he tells you. 

He moves his fingers deeper, slipping right in, the wetness and heat of you engulfing and hugging him like you were made to take him. He sighs and curls his fingers inside, finding your g-spot with ease. He knows exactly where to press to have you crying out in ecstasy, and you have to bite down on the sheets to keep yourself from screaming. 

Pain is the last thing you can think about. All you feel is the burning pleasure in your core, the electricity that spreads through your cunt like an explosion and rests in your lower stomach as the biggest knot you’ve ever felt, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel the pressure that has your legs shaking as it waits to be released.

All the while Matt keeps massaging your back with his other hand, matching the circles he draws on your clit and the thrusts of the two fingers that he has shoved deep inside of you. With every painting he draws, you inch closer to the edge of release. It’s only moments away, you can feel it. 

The sounds you’re making are incoherent, muffled through the sheets, but he can tell from the way you’re bucking into his hand that you’re closer than ever. 

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he’s purring the gentlest of praises into your ear, “You’re such a good girl, letting me take care of you. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good.”

You moan, reach for his shoulder, and cling to his skin for dear life. Your legs start to shake around his hand, locking him in place. You’re thrashing around wildly, not letting him finger you but rather riding him in a way that has you coming faster than you thought possible. 

Matt only chuckles. “That’s it, take what you need. You can come whenever you need to,” he says. “And I know you need to, baby, so do it. Let go for me and come.”

“Oh, fuck, Matthew!”

Your walls spasm around his fingers as you come apart. You’re crying, moaning, possibly even screaming and you clench so hard around his fingers, you’re scared you might break them.

His tongue is silver, trained, and too damn good at articulating words that drag out your orgasm to the point it hurts, especially now. “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

It wouldn’t stop. You’re wasted, exhausted, and spent, but you can’t stop from pulsating heavily around him. 

Only when the pleasure turns into an uncomfortable soreness does the wave of the orgasm start to ease back into the ocean. 

Your clit is aching, swollen, and wet from how coated his fingers are, and you can already feel the wetness trickling down your thigh. The blood, you think. It’s not just arousal or your cum, you’re sure of that. 

The bed probably looks like a crime scene now. You have to change the sheets. Not even as you’re crying, quivering from the intense orgasm, you can help the shame from swallowing you whole. He can’t see it but he can smell the copper. It has to be more than uncomfortable.

You whimper when you finally come down from your high, still holding onto his arm.

“The sheets,” you manage to choke out. “Matt, I’m so sorry…”

He shushes you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t not worry about it. I just bled all over your sheets.” 

He helps you sit up and into his lap where he holds you close to his chest.

“It’s just blood, baby,” he reminds you with a gentle kiss on your lips. “I don’t care. It’s natural. Besides, have you ever seen me not covered in blood?”

The crinkle in his eyes is playful and you manage to laugh softly.

“Hm?”

“No, I guess not,” you say. “But still…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

Your head drops to his shoulder. “I love you.” There are a million other things you want to say, but for now, those have to be enough. 

The pain is gone, finally, and you can breathe again without getting an excruciating headache. He hugs you tight to him, stroking your hair and kissing your scalp to make sure you’re okay, that you know you’re safe and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s with you, until the end of the line.

“C’mon.” He manages to tear himself away from you eventually. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?”

You pout, feeling his dick more than hard in his sweatpants underneath you. “What about you?” you ask.

Matt shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ll take care of that.”

“We can-“

“No,” he cuts you off with a finger to your very tired lips, “You’re too sensitive for that. Let’s wait another day and then we can think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you already are.” 

Thanks to your hormones, his considerate nature has you crying like a baby in seconds.

He is confused at first, touching your contorted features in worry before he reminds himself that it’s normal. You’re more emotional than usual, but it’s okay because your body is doing unspeakable things that no man could ever understand, and you’re going to feel better soon enough. The world just sucks for now, then maybe again in the next twenty minutes if you happen to come across the picture of a very cute dog or watch one of your comfort movies, but you’re going to be fine. 

So instead of making fun of you for something you can’t control, which he never would but he knows that some of the men in your life have and it scarred you for life, he holds you to his chest and tells you, “You’re going to be okay.” And he keeps telling you this until you manage to stop crying and are smiling again, thankful and so in love, you forget how fucking awful you feel for just a second. 

It wouldn’t take long for the pain to reappear, but until then you could enjoy the relief in the arms of the man you love.

Having Matt Murdock by your side is much better than painkillers, and much more effective, too.  

And as you lie there on his lap, his arms around you and his lips on yours, you can’t help but keep wondering,

How did I get so lucky? 

[not-so-allegiant-general]

1/? (5? maybe, don't expect anything very cooehisive it's just... some kylux shorts, they are connected but rather loose, and this one is the longest one i think, anyway enjoy!)

Hux sighed curling himself on the bed. His spine was killing him today. Surely with cooperation of old leg wound. It’s funny how his security was scared of dangers and assassins and the biggest threat so far appeared to be his own body. He should be up long ago but pain kept him lying there weak and useless. He ignored when the door opened. Only one person had a clearance to come in to his private rooms. "Mitaka told me you did not appear today yet. They start to think that their Emperor is dead." Kylo sat down next to him. "Tell them i am." Kylo snorted and look around. "Where's the hypo?" "On my desk." Knight brought it, looking at the set dose. "Isn't it too much?" "Kiff off" Hux said and rolled his eyes when Kylo reduced it and gave him a shot. He breathed out when painkillers kicked in. He uncurled himself slowly and laid on his back looking at Ren. " Let's take Night Buzzard" He gave up. Kylo frowned. "After you went in so much trouble to explain to me that it will absolutely ruin our image and ruin everything. And after sending me a list on reasons why it is the worst idea.?" Hux closed his eyes. "We will land somewhere and change for command shuttle." He sighed. Kylo nodded without arguing. " I will put your brace on." He stood up. Hux sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. Looking at metal device Kylo took out. "Did you consider medics offer?" "Yes. I did. I like my leg enough to keep it, thank you." Kylo smiled amused. " You are in great mood today, my Emperor." He clipped brace on his leg and Hux hissed grasping the edge of the bed. He rested his head on Ren's shoulder breathing out slowly. Ren held him carefully and helped him stood up steadying him. "Stop than. I am capable of standing by myself." Hux snapped at him. "I know you are, Hux." Hux rolled his eyes taking his clothes from the cabinet. "Maybe wear something more comfortable today?..." Hux shoot him angry look and pressed his lips together. "Kriff off Ren. I don't have time for your pointless caring today." Kylo fell quiet. Hux disappear in the fresher. When he was ready and dressed up Ren was gone. He sighed biting his lip. Great. He totally needs upset Ren today.

They met few hours later on the Night Buzzard. He travelled this ship quite often now as knights of Ren was far better security than stormtroopers and the vessel alone was bigger than the standard command shuttle. Hux usually stayed in Kylo's quarters or bed. He did not support travelling with it to any diplomatic event, though. It was a war shuttle and Knights of Ren were not heralds of peace. "Emperor. The course is set to Yavin Imperial Residency. Our ETA is 7000 hour. Temperature  is 0 Celsius." Mitaka said dutifully. His report was followed by burst of laughter of the knights. "Thank you, Captain. Vicrul, Turdgen. "He glanced at knights "laugh one more time at any of my officers and i will cut you open with your own weapon" Vicrul lowered his head a little but Hux knew there is a wide grin behind that mask. Times when Hux did not know their names and faces were long gone. "Emperor.”Vicrul bowed ” Master Ren’s quarters are to your disposition." "And where is he?" " Already there. He is meditating. " Of course. Hux thought annoyed. He walked into Kylo's quarters ignoring knight on the floor and sat down on the bed. He was used to finding Kylo in variety of strange position on the floor. Not really sleeping but not awake either. It was disturbing but he did get used to it. Hux took off his cape and searched his bag for the hypo. He cursed under his breath unable to find it. " There is second one in my bag" Kylo said without opening his eyes. Hux glanced at him and took out the other hypo "thanks to my useless care" Hux froze clenching his jaw and looked on the bag. "I said. Pointless not useless" "Ah. So taking a spare hypo is pointless in your opinion?" Hux sighed rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to argue with you. " Kylo snorted. "There was not even one day in the last years that you didn't want to argue. Darling." "Well. I don't want to today. What is it that you want to hear? " Kylo shook his head on disbelief. "I am sorry, Kylo. I didn't mean to offend you. I appreciate your help. Please don't be mad. Would suffice." Hux gave himself a shot of medications. "I didn't mean to offend you." "Yeah. You missed almost the whole thing with nice words." Kylo stood up, Hux followed and kissed him. 'Will holing your hand during celebration excuse me from speaking nice words?'" Kylo pressed his lips together scolding himself for even considering this but... "In front of everyone and during whole celebration? " Hux rolled his eyes. "Fine. If you enjoy watching yourself holding hands on Holonet that much" "You are excused form an apology. But do tell me one more time that i am useless" he hissed grabbing Hux by the collar. Hux did not miss that he was careful. Delicate even "and you will regret." "I will care to be properly scared, when you will care to threat me properly" he snorted and open his eyes widely feeling pressure on his windpipes. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. It was almost exhilarating but it quickly vanished. Hux took a deep breath, composing himself. "Be careful what you wish for, Armitage." Ren whispered and Hux almost ripped his cape dragging him to bed.

[magnus-rar]

Hi hello;;;; i come with a query. Do you mind explaining how you think jonathan got into that fleshy business? Did he read a cursed book? Did he have a mentor who pushed him towards it?

hello!

I should preface this by saying that I have 2.5 versions of his story in my head. aside from Flesh avatar Jonathan (Fanshawe, to be clear. I don't really talk about him much here), I am also an eye-aligned-but-not-an-avatar Jonathan believer (I think this is actually the most possible scenario, though that is a rant for another time). That Being Said I do have extensive headcanons about that

this is about to get very self-indulgent, so be warned. and note the discussions of drug addiction, Jonah Magnus (manipulation), self image issues and other Flesh-typical stuff

so, the way I like to see it going down goes like this: in the late 1820s Jonathan develops an opioid addiction (morphine, to be specific, as this part of his story is highly influenced by Bulgakov's Morphine. the plot revolves around a doctor who had the drug injected as a painkiller and became addicted to it). it soon becomes a very pressing issue as it starts to interfere with his day-to-day life and work, and as he realizes that he can't, actually, just drop it. Jonah, being his dear companion of many years, notices that something is wrong with him, maybe even Knows about it, and confronts Jonathan about it. while I do believe that by that point Jonah made peace with having to kill off his friends occasionally, I don't think it's something he does for fun. plus, having a doctor as your friend of very useful (and even more so since they are both trans, which means Jonah can trust him with his health), so Jonah volunteers to try to help him

they try a couple of things (lowering the dose gradually, quitting it cold turkey with Jonah overlooking Jonathan – diy rehab of sorts) and all of them fail miserably. so, Jonah decides to apply his knowledge of the supernatural to it: loss of control over yourself, your urges, your life sounds like a Web thing. then what is the opposite of it? which Fear would grant you total control over your body, balancing out Web's influence? it's the Flesh

or so he tells Jonathan – by that point Jonah did not believe in the ideas of balance, so he didn't really think Jonathan could "balance out" anything. he knew from the start that if Jonathan tried to flirt with the Powers, he would not walk away unaffected. he did mention to him that he may or may not end up in the service of the Flesh if they tried that, but Jonathan was desperate enough to agree anyway, which was very good for Jonah: he wanted to know what will happen. it was a very new Fear at that point, so he didn't know how it would interact with a human, since he never met an acolyte of It, and so... he made one

Jonathan was a good fit for the Flesh. as a trans man with no access to any kind of gender affirming procedures and in a very dangerous environment, he dealt with a lot of dysphoria. Jonah was trans as well and had similar feelings, but while Jonah's dysphoria came from being afraid that other people don't see him for who he is, Jonathan's came from the very experience of living in his body. plus, Jonathan was always curious about human anatomy, limits of the human body, its inner workings etc etc – it was one of the main reasons he wanted to pursue medicine. his personal philosophy resembled the Flesh's ideas too, even though it was mostly informed by his experiences as a doctor (a talk for another time). so, the only thing that Jonah had to do is suggest that path and maybe lead him a bit, but he was sure Jonathan would get the hang of it very quick. and he did

to be fair, it did help with the addiction, even if just by replacing one urge with another. it also made Jonathan rely on Jonah even more to navigate his new nature. Jonah suggested writing everything down to try to make sense of it (and to keep an account from his perspective, which Jonah could then study)

Jonathan was grateful to him for his help – he believed Jonah was fully sincere in that. and he was sincere, but... to an extent. at the same time, there was a faint feeling of betrayal, which he tried to suppress because (technically) he knew what he was signing up for. nevertheless, he couldn't come to terms with his new way of being, what occasionally led to him lashing out at Jonah for making him like this and then apologizing profusely. rinse and repeat for a couple of years

when Jonathan finally cuts ties with Jonah, he quickly realizes that without his help, it is very difficult to continue surviving. especially since he doesn't want to be a monster – never wanted to, but at least before there was Jonah to tempt him – so he struggles to keep himself fed. it gets worse and worse and eventually resolves in his suicide around 6 months after he sent the letter to Jonah. before doing that, he donated his diaries to the Magnus Institute as a way to preserve the knowledge about who Jonah Magnus is. no one would publish them, obviously, but he knew that Jonah didn't have it in him to destroy them, so the Institute seemed like his best bet

a brief pause for applause, and now we are in the paragraph where I address historical accuracy. Morphine was published in 1926, and they had modern syringes by that time. Jonathan died before their invention in 1853, but they already had morphine – it was isolated in 1803-1805. which means that he'd have to take it orally, which in turn would require a higher dose to cause addiction (but it's still the most addictive substance according to wiki, so it wouldn't take that much). does it have to be morphine? no. but I want it to be, so now it is

I'm not going to ponder how possible it would be for two Regency trans men to meet, but I want to mention James Barry who was a surgeon and a trans man born somewhere in 1789 just because it makes me happy to know about him :)

[johannestevans]

i was reading your post abt asab at the doctor and my brain tried to go into solution mode as it is wont to do, but i realized like. there is no solution. at least not one that isn't a complete overhaul of the medical system, including research fields.

i've been on t for a year as of tomorrow, and a few months in i noticed my adhd medication stopped working. it got so bad that when i would take it, i would have to fight to keep myself awake. i couldn't figure out what was going on and my doctor just said 'just keep taking it and maybe it'll level out.' several months later, i still felt like absolute shit when i took it to the point where i felt better when i didn't take it. i asked to up the dose but she said it would be 'too much of a shock to my system.' i eventually just stopped taking it because even though i barely function without it, i didn't function at all with it on that dose. i talked to a friend last week who is also on t and he said 'oh yeah your dose is too low. your metabolism can change on t, so it's likely you need to up your dose.' so like not only was this a situation where if i was a cis man my concerns likely would have been addressed immediately, but it was a failure of my doctor to actually understand how trans bodies on hrt work and what they need. so how exactly would having "afab" on my chart have helped??? bc there is no difference in initial dosage between male and female patients, the starting dose is usually 30mg across the board (my doc had me on 30mg initially then lowered my dose to 20mg after i lost access to it for a month??????), the thing that affected me wasn't my fucking vagina or ovaries, it was a change in my endocrine system!!!

and i feel like this heavy reliance on asab makes doctors lazy. they don't do regular blood tests, they don't test your metabolism, your hormone levels, they just assume based on the f or m what your levels should be, or they see that you're fat so they assume you have high bp, cholesterol, blood sugar, etc. (cannot tell you how many times i've had nurses take my bp numerous times bc they refused to believe it was average, and i still keep getting hounded abt my blood sugar and cholesterol despite the fact that every single test has come up normal.) like i don't think any doctor has ever even bothered giving me blood tests until i started t, they just assumed from the f on my chart and my body size. i remember getting put on metformin when i was young with no blood tests simply because i was fat, and i still have kidney issues because of it.

anyway sorry for ranting in your inbox, that was kind of all over the place, but your post just really struck a chord and reminded me how much i hate the medical system.

YEAH EXACTLY. I'm so sorry, it's just like... ARGH.

Like especially the weight problems and like... Doctors desperately want to go based off of people's ASAB and what their weight is and not what's normal for them! Same for racial assumptions, especially assumptions doctors will make about Black people and anyone who's dark-skinned and/or has natural hair.

Plus disability! Addiction! Mental health issues! They'll just make assumptions based off any other aspect of their identity - any excuse to dodge talking to the patient and treating them like they're a human being, or acting like as a doctor they're a human being rather than a god and commander.

Like, all these specific metrics rather than what the actual patient's experiences are, and what they're saying. A lot of medical professionals just think the world will end if they actually talk to and listen to one of their patients, and it's infuriating!

[bittybeanie]

next time, now (reigen x reader)

oh boy folks have i got a doozy for you- this is part 2 of my aspec reigen adventures, pretty much meant to directly follow after the first one, which you can find here, but you can also read it on its own! this one has slightly less feelings and double the sexy times, but also still some feelings because i think that's my trademark at this point. you technically still don't get to boink the conman but, just, i promise you'll like it. we'll get there. have faith in me.

featuring reigen discovering he actually does feel attraction, uhh a few tiny doses of cum related kinks, and a scene where reigen jacks it in the shower, heavily inspired by this audio of his va. please god wear headphones.

also on ao3!

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe next time it is, then." You lean up to meet him for a kiss, sighing with content against his lips as he lowers you back down to the bed. "You're a good kisser. Maybe we should just do this instead. Forever, maybe." Your fingers tangle in his hair as you pull him down, and he scrambles to catch himself before he lands on you.

"Woah, there."

"Mm, sorry, sorry. Just extra clingy today." You look a bit sheepish, but it doesn't stop you from peppering kisses along his jaw, up toward his ear, across his cheek, then back to his lips.

"Here, sit up, then." Reigen lays his hands on your hips, guiding you to scoot back and lean against the headboard. He slots one leg between yours, effectively straddling your thigh, and tilts forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. "This okay? Or just regular kisses?"

"Yes. Any. All." You let out a breathy chuckle and drop your hand to his shoulder as your eyelids flutter, threatening to close. "Just want you to keep touching me."

One hand slides up to your waist, and his grip tightens.

"Not-! I mean, you don't- not like- just, in general, I meant. I'm not expecting- y-you've already-"

"Hey, hey, I got it. Relax." His hand on your waist moves up to cup the back of your neck, and he presses his forehead to yours. "Relax."

"R-right." You smooth your thumb up and down his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Just making sure you knew."

"It's not like I mind, either. If you wanted me to." His thumb slides down your hip, and his fingertips trace across the top of your thigh. "Isn't that the whole point?"

You catch his hand. "N-no? Is that really what you-?" You shift so that you're sitting more upright, and your knee bumps against his side. "The point isn't the action itself, it's... The point is that it's you."

"...Oh."

He starts to move his hand down again. You lock your fingers together and pull your conjoined hands up between your chests.

"Oi."

"But-"

"I'm trying to prove a point here, y'know?" He rolls his eyes, and he squeezes your hand.

"You're so stubborn."

"Sometimes." You shrug one shoulder, making no effort to hide your grin. "Like you aren't, though."

"Hmm." His eyebrows pinch together, and he knocks his forehead against yours again. "Sometimes."

"I just wanna keep kissing for a little bit. Like a wind down, y'know? That's enough." He nods, but he doesn't seem convinced. "Hey, Arataka. You are enough." 

He blinks. Something heavy and stifling shifts in his body, falling away to be replaced by something light and clear, and it's like he's seeing you for the first time again. His breath catches in his throat, and his eyelids flutter, and his hand twitches on your hip. Heat rises to his face, collects in his chest, makes his arms tense and his stomach curl, and he's suddenly very aware of just how much of your personal space he's allowed to occupy every day without question, how many times you've leaned into his hand on your shoulder, let him drape himself across your shoulders or kiss you without a second thought.

Does he.... want to...?

"You okay? Was... was that too sappy?"

"Yes. No! I mean, I'm okay. It was fine." He's overcome all at once with the need to run as far away as he can and the need to pull you against him and never let go. His body is fighting with his brain and he realizes that he's been gawking at you for far longer than acceptable, his arm moving on autopilot so fiercely he's surprised he hasn't smacked one of you in the face already. "Let's... let's lay down."

"Okay! Yeah, of course." Your hand slides off his shoulder to let him roll off of you. "You... know you have to move to lay down, right?"

He jolts off the bed in what seems like one motion, leaving you blinking at the empty space in front of you. "Right, of course, I was just- y'know!"

You do not know.

You lean over the edge of the bed and fumble for your shirt and underwear, slipping them on so you can slide your legs under the covers. "Are you sure you're okay? If I made you un-"

"No! Nonono, you- nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Great, even." He must realize the way he's frantically rubbing at the back of his neck isn't very convincing, because he lets his arm fall limp at his side and softens his voice. "I promise. Just a lot happening at once."

You squint as you consider him. He rocks back onto his heels and spins, looking around the floor in the same way you'd scan for a lost item. He wipes his hands on his sides and sits back on the bed, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he lifts up the covers.

"I promise. I'm fine."

"Alright. Alright, fine, but tell me the minute you aren't. Always."

"Roger." As soon as you get settled, his hand is back on your waist. "Kissing still good?"

"Of course."

You kiss him until your eyes start to stay closed between kisses, until your hand starts to slide off his face, until you're too sleepy to keep track of how much noise you're making, humming against his lips and letting out little gasps every time he pulls away, scrambling to keep a hold on his shoulder to keep him close, whining when he takes too long to kiss you again.

Once he's sure you're asleep, he presses one last kiss to your forehead. He untangles your arm from over his chest, slides his leg out ever so slowly until his foot hits the floor, then the other foot, and he gently lowers your arm to the bed. He backs into the hallway, watching for signs of you stirring, and softly closes the door.

+

He lets himself get used to the idea before anything else. He's about to jerk off. To you. In your bathroom. While you're sleeping in the other room. And that's totally fine. You would be fine with it. He's fine with it.

...Right?

His shirt makes a quiet fwump sound as he drops it to the floor, and he panics before he realizes there's absolutely no way you could have heard it.

Okay. He can do this. He just needs to calm down.

He debates putting his shirt back on, giving up and trying again somewhere less paranoia inducing, but he knows if he doesn't ride the wave he might not get this brave again.

Above all else, he just wants to.

He decides to press on, almost scratching himself as he jabs his thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and shoves. He listens again, and he takes a deep breath.

His eyes settle on the shower, and he realizes that having an excuse to be naked would be helpful, so he tosses his boxers onto the pile of clothes and carefully steps in. His eyes adjust to the dark as he pulls the curtain slowly shut behind him, and he fights to listen past his own shaky pants.

The coast is clear. It's now or never.

He rests his hand flat on his stomach. His fingers drum against his skin. He takes a few shaky breaths and waits for himself to move, paradoxically still as his body hums with nervous excitement.

Just... reach. That's all he has to do - reach down ever so slightly. He does this all the time. The only thing different is the setting. And the fact that you're sleeping in the other room. His nails dig in as he clenches his fist without realizing, and he gasps as he forces his hand to relax.

You would... you always kept your hand in his hair.

He reaches up with his other hand and threads his fingers through his hair, balling his fist loosely. The hand against his stomach uncurls, and his fingertips brush against the top of his dick. He shudders, and his hand tightens in his hair. 

Okay, maybe it's been longer than he thought.

He leans back against the wall, jolting slightly from the cold, and he lets himself imagine you.

He pictures your face as you came - no, as he made you come - your eyelashes fluttering as your eyes rolled up, your eyebrows pinched together, your mouth slack as his name tumbled out of it like a prayer. And oh, god, how wonderful you had sounded, breathy and whiny as you fought to get any sound out, so overwhelmed that the only thought you could summon was of him. He remembers the feel of your skin, how smooth it had been under his hands, how your thighs felt pressed against the sides of his face, the weight of your ankle on his back as you damn near suffocated him.

God, he would have let you.

His nails dig into his scalp, and his breath comes out in stifled pants as he slides his hand over his cock. He chokes back a moan as his wrist twists on the way down, and he can hear the precum drip onto the shower floor. He swears and takes a step forward, angling himself back toward the wall.

It's... fine. It's good. But something's missing.

How would you...? You always touch him so gently at first, like he's fragile and precious, and cling to him later, like you're trying to ground yourself to the very source of your light-headedness.

He takes his hand out of his hair and lets his fingernails brush against his collarbone, imagines they're your breath against his neck, or maybe a trail of kisses like the ones you always leave when you're trying to pull him away from his desk. He bucks his hips into his hand, letting his grip go loose enough that he can just barely feel it, then tightens it with every thrust, until he's holding back whimpers and the movement becomes a desperate rut.

He's not quite ready to imagine that it's you he's fucking - he's fairly sure he'd be a goner immediately based on how tight you've been around his fingers every time - but he can imagine it's your hand instead of his own. There's no spike of anxiety, no guilt, no panic like he was worried there might be; there's just a dull rush of pleasure as his eyes slide closed and his head knocks back against the shower wall.

"Shit."

He slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle the last of his moans, too far gone to care about the way the sound echoes, as his hips tilt forward and he comes across his fingers, most of it splattering onto his stomach. He panics when he feels it about to run off his hand, swiping his hand up his stomach to collect what's left and bringing it to his face.

He freezes, fingers still in his mouth, as he realizes what just happened.

He slides down the wall, breathing out a chuckle as he wipes his hand on his thigh, and decides he might as well shower after all.

+

You're just starting to stir when he wanders back into the bedroom with damp hair. When he slides back under the covers, you reach for him on instinct, burying your face in his chest.

"You smell nice."

"It's your soap."

"Oh. Explains why it's familiar."

"I took a shower. I hope that's okay."

"Mhm. What's mine is yours." He drapes a hand over your waist, pulling you closer. You force your eyes open, not quite awake, but not willing to go back to sleep until you ask him something. "Hey, are you- is this really okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just... something I've been thinking about, I guess." You lean back just far enough to make eye contact. "I don't know, I feel a little selfish sometimes. To be the only one..."

"You're not." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "You're not selfish." You're not the only one, either, he wants to admit, but the words get stuck in his throat. "Not that being selfish is always a bad thing, but... I'm having a good time, too. Don't worry." 

"Yeah?"

He wipes his hand on his thigh, and he reaches up to hold your cheek.

"Yeah."

+

Your head flops back onto the pillow as he sets your leg down, and you hear him shuffling around at the foot of the bed.

"Fuck, you're incredible." The only response you get is more shuffling, so you prop yourself up on one elbow to find him leaning over the side of the bed, reaching for something on the floor.

"Sorry. I lost your shirt." 

"Pfft. Course we did." He tosses it to you as he rights himself. You slip it over your head and scoot over so he can climb under the covers next to you.

"What about you? Next time?" Reigen thinks he'd be offended - or maybe embarrassed - if anybody else had said it, but there's no malice in your tone, not even really any hint of teasing, just a genuine desire to make sure you know what he wants. He laughs and pulls the blankets over his shoulders, ignoring the heat radiating through his body as he makes his decision.

"Maybe."

"Perfect." You lean over him to press a kiss to his cheek before laying down, shoving one arm under the pillows to get it out of the way and draping the other arm loosely across his waist. He reaches behind him to take your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and guiding you to lay your arm between the two of you. His lips brush against the back of your hand, and you can feel his smirk. "I love you so much, you know that?"

"So you've said." He leans across your hands to kiss your forehead. "Love you, too."

You hum and let your eyes slide closed, focusing on the way you can feel his breath across your fingers, hear his hair on the pillowcase and the sheets rustling as he settles in, smell his cheap cologne and the faint remnants of smoke.

You're on the edge of sleep when you hear him again, shifting slightly, so quiet you think you might have imagined it.

"That first night..."

"Mm?" He squeezes your hand tighter when you go to rub your eyes, so you settle for blinking a few extra times. "Which first night?"

"When we came home and you- well, shoved isn't quite the right word, but-"

"Ohh, you mean when I threw myself at you because you were so hot?"

"You throw yourself at me all the time."

"Because you're hot all the time." You look him up and down with an exaggerated wink, and he gives you a half-hearted glare. "I know what you're talking about, though. What about it?"

"You said you... had something in mind for me, and- well, I've been curious."

"I did?" You do your best to replay your memory of that night. "I guess I did, didn't I?" He hums. You can't read his expression. "Well, honestly, I didn't have anything specific I was thinking of. Or, I guess, if I did I don't remember what."

"Then..."

"I don't know, I was just going with the flow. I mean it's- you were- I panicked! I wasn't expecting to make it that far!"

"Fair enough." He shifts again, and his foot brushes against yours. "But if you had to pick something..."

"Reigen. Darling. Arataka, my love. Light of my life, my moon and my stars." He blinks at you, shifting his gaze to look past you, then at you again.

"...Huh?"

"Are you asking me to in-person sext you right now?"

"What?! N-no, I'm just-!"

"I will, if you want. I mean we practically do that-" You sling your leg over his hip to pull him closer, and something pokes you in the thigh, stopping your words in their tracks. Both of you freeze at the same time, each waiting for the other to move.

"You-"

"I-"

"You're hard."

"...Yeah."

"I'm gonna move my-"

"No!" He reaches for your waist just as you start to pull back. "Y-you can stay."

"Well, this is a new development." You're struggling to keep your voice even for his benefit, trying not to scare him away, but you sound a little breathier than you'd like.

"Um. Yeah. I'm so sorry." His fingers drum against the small of your back.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I'm... I don't know. It's-" His brain shuts off in self-preservation, letting his thoughts tumble out with no filter. "It's not new. Basically every time we... it's not that I don't want you to- it's just- I wasn't ready to think about it? But you're always so h- I mean, when you- I like... seeing you, so I've always- I just wasn't ready to... have to worry about me at the same time? I guess? It's-"

"Whoa, hey, okay. Okay, slow down." He snaps his mouth shut. "Lemme get this straight." He nods. "The concept of it is good, but being involved is still a little overwhelming. Is basically... what I picked out of that."

"Mm, that too, but- How do I phrase this?" His grip tightens on your side, and he stares at your neck as he attempts to gather his thoughts and feelings into something he can express. "It's... not about the action, it's about you." He echoes your words from the other day, and it's all you can do not to grab his face and drown him in kisses. "The part I enjoy is... you. So, it's not that I want you to touch me, exactly, it's that I just want..." He trails off, staring at your lips.

"Me?"

"Yeah." You slide your leg off him and shift, trying to reel in your imagination by getting comfy again, but you can still feel him against your thigh.

"How did I not notice this before now?"

"I didn't give you a chance. I just went and, uh, took care of it."

"...You did?" He hesitates as he decides how much he wants to admit, already feeling like he gave away too much. Your eyes narrow. "Wait, is that why you disappeared the other night and took a shower?" His shoulders tense when you draw air quotes around "took a shower."

"Um."

"Reigen, did you jack off in my shower?"

"W- uh."

"You did, didn't you?"

"Maybe. Look, I'm-"

"That's hot."

"...What?" The question comes out in a gasp of air. His eyes are unfocused, darting from your wide eyes to your smirk, to the wall behind you and back.

"Did you think about me?" You roll onto your stomach, propping your head up on your arms.

"...What else would I think about?"

"You wanna do it again? Jack off, I mean. Not- I mean, you can use my shower if you want, but... but you could stay."

His hand slides down toward his waistband, settling over his hip. His hips twitch almost imperceptibly, only detectable by the rustling of the blankets, and his fingertips press down to ground himself. He considers you, your teeth pressing into your bottom lip, your chest rising and falling with your measured breathing.

He rolls onto his back. His thumbs push the waistband of his pants down, just far enough for his cock to spring out, and he shudders at the friction of the sheets against the tip. He wraps his hand around the base, and he lets out a low moan.

"Fuck." He glances over at you. "Sorry, sorry, don't mind me. I'll- I'll keep quiet."

"S'fine. I like hearing you talk."

"I know, but then I can't hear you."

"You want to hear me?"

"God, yes. Can I see you?" He nods and moves to sit up, leaning against the headboard as you kneel beside him to flip the covers back. His hand stutters a little, but he keeps going, and you drink in the sight of him. His hair sticks up against the headboard, and his ears are starting to tint pink, and he's biting his lip to muffle himself but it's not working, his eyebrows pulling together every time a stifled whine forces its way out between harsh pants. You trail your gaze down, lingering for a moment on his hips as you fight for composure, pointedly ignoring the way you're having to press your thighs together to distract yourself.

"God, I want that in my mouth." It's only when you notice his hand has stopped moving that you realize you were talking out loud. You rush to cover your mouth. "S- I- sorry, I didn't even think before I said that. Jesus."

"Did you..." His thumb slides along the top of his dick as he tightens his grip, and your gaze follows the beads of precum as they roll down. You swallow thickly. "Did you mean it?"

"Very. Yes. A lot." You shift awkwardly, hands resting on your thighs. He pauses to kick his pajama pants off.

"Y'know, you've talked all about the things you want me to do to you, but... not so much about what you'd do to me." He's holding eye contact now, looking at you through his eyelashes as his head tips back, and you fight the urge to look away, your desire to memorize every detail of his face much stronger than your embarrassment.

"Uh, hah, well, I-I wasn't sure what you'd like." Your face heats up, and you grab a handful of the sheets.

"Neither am I. Try me."

"It's..." You're struggling to think of anything other than how badly you want him to fuck you on the nearest surface with him holding your gaze like that.

"I've liked everything else you've said so far."

"Uh, w- um, I- I, you, oh god. Give me a second." You run a hand through your hair and finally break, looking away toward his collarbone, listening to his breathing get faster and faster. "Can I... Can I kiss you?"

He squirms, hips jerking upward.

"Yes. Please."

You scoot closer, your knee bumping into his hip when you reach across him to put your hand down on the bed for balance.

"This okay?"

He cups the back of your neck and pulls you in, whining into your mouth as his thumb runs across his slit. Eventually, you pull away with a gasp, and you press your forehead to his. His hair sticks to you, coated in sweat, and you breathe out a laugh before you let yourself look down again.

"Fuck, you're pretty. So glad I get to see you like this. You look so good. If you catch me staring into space tomorrow, this is what I'm thinking about. Just so you know." His hips buck again, and he forces them back down to the bed, slowing his pace to catch his breath.

"Think you'd look even prettier with marks, though. Not that... it would be a good idea to leave any, but I can dream. Maybe on your hips? Or your thighs..." You adjust yourself so your knee presses against his thigh, and he chokes out your name.

"You know what else might be fun?" You reach around to the back of your neck to take his hand. He lets you guide his arm to his side, leaning into it to hold his hand to the bed. "Not letting you touch me."

"W-why?" 

"Well, based on this, I just think it would be fun to watch you squirm. Especially if you let me suck that perfect dick of yours and couldn't control how fast I went? I could tease you forever and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it." His eyes slide closed as he whines, long and low, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. "Ooh, although... I'd let you come on my face, if you wanted. Doesn't that sound fun? Stroking yourself just like you are now and coming on my tongue? All over my face? God, I'd want you to cover me. Do you come a lot at once, or would you have to do it a couple times, I wonder?"

"Shit, you're- you-."

"Want me to stop?"

"No."

"Good. Seems like you're close."

He manages a nod. "What else?"

"I'd love to ride you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Seems like your hips move a lot, and it would be super hot to feel you pushing up into me at the same time as me fucking your brains out." His hand twitches under your weight, still pressed to the bed, and you lean back to let him move. He just reaches for your hand again. "Plus, I know how much you love holding onto my hips."

"M'so close."

"I know, baby. You're almost there. I wanna see you come so bad." His moans are short and clipped, his head tipped back, face flushed as he speeds up and rolls his hips into his fist. "Can you do that? Can you come for me? Please, god, you look so perfect. Sound so fucking good. Fuck, please, Arataka, I wanna make you come so fucking bad, please, please, for me."

His back arches off the bed as he comes with a choked gasp, fist tight as he keeps fucking up into his hand. He catches most of it on his fingers, but some drips onto the sheets when his hips drop back down, panting and whining as he shakes from the force of it. You commit every second to memory - each of his reactions, every sound, every shiver and twitch of his hand - as you grind a hand down between your thighs, trying to keep your own arousal at bay.

His hand lands beside him with a dull thump, fingers curling to avoid getting the bed any stickier than it already is. You gently lift his wrist, supporting his arm with your other hand to bring his fingertips to your face. You press a kiss to the tip of his finger. "May I?"

He laughs, and he nods.

"What's so funny? You didn't think I was serious?" You swirl your tongue around his fingers and suck, reveling in the shiver that runs through his body.

"No, just, last time when I, um. I panicked and kinda... did the same thing." He laughs again and slides down the bed, head ending up back where it started on the pillow. You set his arm back down beside him. "I was so worried about not making a mess that I just..."

"So what you're really saying is you still won't mind if I kiss you?" You swipe your hand along what's left on the blankets, bringing your hand back to your mouth.

"Absolutely not." You run tongue up your palm and swallow before wiping your hand on the bed behind you. "I will mind if we don't wash the sheets, though."

"In the morning. For now, I'm gonna cuddle the hell out of you." 

"Works for me." You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, and finally to his lips. He sighs and leans up into you, chasing you as you sit back up.

"Do you need water or anything first?"

"No, m'fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm." You start to protest, but his eyes are already closing, and you're pretty sure he might already be asleep by the time you make it to the kitchen and back.

"Alright." You slide back onto your side, fumbling for the edge of the sheets to pull them over your shoulders. "You really are incredibly sexy, you know?"

"Mkay."

"And you know we don't actually have to do any of that, right? I was just talking."

"Mhm." He rolls to face you. "I want to, though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Next time."

You laugh and pull him against you, pressing one last kiss to his nose as he drifts off, his hand stopped in the middle of reaching for your waist.

"Maybe next time sounds perfect."

[medusa-adsume]

I've always found other peoples' experiences with being trans and transition in general to be unrelatable. That sentence has no hidden value judgment; I just experience things (or maybe explain them) in a different way than a lot of the people I know. This can end up being quite troubling, though, because of how isolating it is to only read unrelatable posts online and only see unrelatable media, etc, etc. That's one of the reasons I'm writing this right now — maybe someone will be happy to see it, years down the line.

Since the time I was 12-ish years old, I've been trying to attain the same eventuality RE: androgyny, so my self-image has never changed. I spent 13 years with a life-threatening ED that never went into remission until I explored transition, particularly binding my chest. The combination of that sensory experience being lifted when I move around, and finally getting to explore the androgyny ED treatment told me wasn't allowed, helped me to make a full recovery. As of writing this, I've been totally recovered for over 3 years. I also switched from binding to taping (cannot recommend that enough; I literally don't think about it or feel it at all, and I am not restricted).

The rest of my life (not related to my body or my 'gender') kinda exploded and my career took off at the same time that my personal life fell into shambles. So, despite finding recovery, I didn't finally find actual stability until much later — maybe the end of the summer of 2023. Which is about the time I decided I wanted to try supplementing testosterone.

I wanted some things and didn't want others, didn't care about a few either way. I'd had a goatee since I was 13 years old because of a hormonal intersex condition (not the same as one from birth) and have always been tall and narrow as well, so I kind of started from a blank slate. I was mostly hoping to masculinize my body shape and some of the more imperceptible features. As a musician editing their own voice, I always loathed hearing mine. I loved editing lower voices, always, and found myself intentionally shifting mine (in real life, and in post-production) to compensate. I also wanted to have the option to have more facial hair, particularly on my cheeks where it was missing.

My concerns were valid and well thought-out. I was worried about changes to my genitals until I realized I'll probably only be sleeping with other queer people, like my partner, forever. I was worried about getting acne because I have a really bad skin-picking habit. I was worried about gaining weight because I'm in recovery from an ED and my safety-zone of comfort and ease was effortlessly maintained with literally zero thought about food or weight or dieting or anything like that.

Basically, I was in homeostasis, emotionally speaking, but looking to optimize. So I started T in September of 2023, saying (frequently aloud, to my partner) "I am feeling really stable and don't wanna jeopardize that, but I wanna give this a shot."

I started 0.20 200/ml every other week for the first 3 months. Then my doctor upped my dose to 0.25 weekly. I immediately sensed this was too high for my body, but thought I would adjust. I liked having less of a rise and fall, dosing weekly rather than biweekly.

Around 2 months of the new dose, I didn't end up feeling well-adjusted and lowered my dose a bit, down to 0.20 per week, which felt better.

I'm 6 months on T now. Some things have been very exciting and made me very happy! I have muscle on my body for the first time ever, but not in a way that's super masculine — maybe in a way I should have had all along, lol. I am in way, way, way less pain because of the extra muscle my body built just from, like, holding my head up. My spine feels supported. My arms and legs and glutes are all feeling less like they're ripping and falling off whenever I move them. My body feels good. I feel healthy on a day to day basis. Some days I literally have abs. I get fewer migraines too. I also feel less emotionally intense on a regular basis, though I have a full range of emotion and do still feel things more intensely when something is super upsetting etc.

Some things have been unremarkable. Genital stuff was super mundane and didn't actually bother me at all. Like nothing hurt or was uncomfortable the way some people seem to experience. I gained like 3-5lbs total, likely muscle and water. In the grand scheme of things, these are very minor changes.

I did get a lot of zits and clogged pores and I am constantly picking at my face in a way that isn't good for my skin, or my mental health. Changing my hormones also thinned my hair a bit, which gave me something else to fixate on. I have become pretty anxious about my voice changing and being unable to change it back, despite wanting it to change to begin with. I am also feeling anxious about something happening "inside me" (I don't know what I mean by this) that could be bad, without my knowing — like atrophy of my ovaries or my uterus etc. There is no evidence of this, I am just worried. Sometimes it consumes me. "Should I be doing this?" I find it hard to believe myself about what I want with so much noise. I also am concerned about giving myself so many things to worry about.

So, while those things aren't 'bad' necessarily, they're giving me a lot of stress. They're making me behave in really obsessive compulsive ways. It's eating a lot of my time and energy because they're literally triggering obsessive compulsive behaviors. But I've had obsessive compulsive behaviors my whole life — incredibly persistent ruminating, magical thinking and rituals, 'finding it,' intrusive thoughts, etc — so it's not like they're going to stop if I stop T.

I don't know. I need to do some research on where the endocrine deadzone is to make sure I don't end up in it. Like, you have to have enough hormones to live and function properly, and if I think I might lower my dose a little more, I don't wanna end up in it. My doctor and my therapist have been very supportive and informative, though, and my levels are getting checked every 3 months! So I don't mean an actual deadzone, just a feeling-dead-zone.

That's where I'm at. A super underwhelming 6 months on T update from a nonbinary person who was somewhat androgynous organically in the first place. I'm happy but I'm also panicking that I'm not actually happy. It's an experience I'm sure other autistic people know very well.

[nathank77]

8/17/24

1:02 p.m Added to significantly

I'm not sure if I should take methimazole everyday. I was looking at my levels and in March, I was technically Hypo t3 and t4 were low but my tsh was way lower than it was now making me also subclinical hyperthyroidism....

I wasn't struggling from insomnia then or before i started Methimazole while I was hyper and on Xanax.

My tsh despite taking away 5mg daily and going to 5mg every other day went up two months in a row to normal and even better normal more mid range. Then it started down trending, June, July and August. And August is when I became subclinical hyperthyroidism.

I just want to do what's best for me. I'm taking weight out of it entirely and looking at symptoms bc my Dr's original advice was take 5mg every other day. Only bc of my insomnia did he say take it everyday.

So I've been getting a lot of random muscle twitching randomly through my body. Legs, arms, whatever. No where specific. That could by caused by a multitude of things, hyperthyroidism, caffeine, lack of sleep (I've only gotten 6 hours the last 3 days in a row).

It could be a symptom of hyperthyroidism but it could also be a symptom of what's listed above or even the statin. It can take 3 months for that side effect to stop when stopping the statin.

My heart rate is not alarming. So I have one symptom for sure insomnia. And maybe muscle twitching. MAYBE.

Insomnia could be caused by a lot of things, anxiety, stress, loud tv (my tv has to be loud to drown out the voice.)

Idk what my heart is telling me to do bc when I look at data we TOOK AWAY Methimazole when my tsh was .06... but my t3 and t4 were Hypo and within a month my tsh went to almost mid Normal range. Then we stayed on the same dose and my tsh went into perfect mid range raising up a little despite less methimazole.

Then I research Methimazole and it doesn't effect tsh actually. It effects t3 and t4.

So that's why it's was my Dr original recommendation to stay on 5mg every other day bc my t3 and t4 by next month could normalize my tsh. It's not impossible it's happened before.

I know factually I'll go Hypo if I take methimazole daily. I know it.

If weight doesn't matter what does matter? Having too aggressive of a treatment plan. Low tsh could also be caused by pituary gland issues. Although I doubt that's the case. But it's not impossible.

Something that scares me is when the voice was intelligent and creative it told me I had clogged eustachian tubes which is why I heard my internal monolgue outside my head... yes it was fucking with me bc I heard my internal monolgue outside my head bc I was hallucinating...

Yet I went to the ENT and guess what? I had clogged eustachian tubes......

I remember seeing this awful mental image for a long time of a tumor on my pituary gland.... I saw it for the months of October through December when my mental images were awful. What if my pituary gland is playing a role. I doubt it but I mean the voice was right about my clogged eustachian tube..... it was dead fucking right. I didn't even know what they were until the voice said mine were clogged....

I'm not going to freak out and assume I have a tumor on my pituary gland. I'm just saying strange things occurred that became a fact. The voice comes from a place in my brain even if I feel entirely disconnected to it. And my brain was legit telling me your eustachian tubes are clogged and it was fucking right, well before I ever went to an ENT.

Anyways, idk what to do about Methimazole bc I think about my insomnia and I go what could be causing it when I had all 3 thyroid levels out of wack for 2 months before Methimazole and then I had my tsh low for another at least let's say week or 2 before it went to normal when we took some methimazole away.

I'm scatter brained cause I was sleeping January, February, and March. When all 3 levels were fucked January and feb of course, xanax was more powerful for at least a week.... but by march it's safe to assume when my tsh was low af, and we took Methimazole away, that xanax was no more powerful than it is now. As I developed tolerance and dependency on it.

So is my insomnia caused by low tsh? Or is it stress? Or a loud tv I'm slowly lowering the volume on so that I can drown out the voice and distract my mind with bs aka American dad.

Tsh isn't as simple as raise the Methimazole which is why his original advice was do nothing and stick the course and we will see what will happen as tsh isn't influenced by Methimazole.

So I'm seriously all over the place. Wondering why my insomnia is worse cause tbh- if it wasn't my anxiety wouldn't be bad. If it wasn't I'd attribute the muscle twitching to a lack of 7 hours of sleep, caffeine, and the statin side effect wearing off.

Of course my brain is like the white mulberries are causing the muscle twitching you'll get Parkinson! But yea I'm not going down that road. It'd obv the statin, caffeine. Lack of sleep and maybe subclinical hyperthyroidism.

It's interesting to see that in March I was Hypo but my tsh was hyper.

Idk what to do. I'm very confused and the more I educate myself the more I go should I try to stick it out every other day until I resolve anxiety. Maybe my insomnia is being caused bc of money issues, a loud tv and just anxiety about being alone forever and having a lot of ptsd about microsleep and the beginning of psychosis as I approach the year mark of my brain being broken...

And then of course today would be a red bull game day but money, and just tbh I wish i had someone to hang out with. I'm sick of my life being Dr's appts, and sleep issues, video games and family issues. Just toxicity. Sadness and terminal aloneness.

Taking weight gain out if it, being Hypo is not ideal. Let's say I stay 175. You feel fatigue. You have hair loss, dry skin, depression, "brittle nails, constipation, high cholesterol, irritability, sensitivity to cold, sexual dysfunction, slow heart rate, and sluggishness." I stole this part from Google.

Being Hypo is not ideal. Being hyper is not ideal.

One more symptom I may be suffering from is increased urination, I wasn't needing to pee every 5 minutes after about april to July. Now I pee, lay in bed and need to pee again... it's a symptom of hyperthyroidism. I pee a squirt essentially... can't get anymore out and need to go again 5 minutes later.

It's worth noting that I also cleared a uti recently another potential cause of the frequent urination.

So two symptoms... and a dr whose original advice was don't alter the medication and then data suggesting that yea my tsh has been dropping for months but it also raised to normal range after we took Methimazole away.

What's the right answer I don't know. I don't want to go Hypo and I'd rather follow my Dr original advice but I want to sleep. And Methimazole doesn't have a direct effect on tsh.

[keefwho]

December 11 - 2022

8:16 AM

I wanna come up with some loose plans today. All I got are to do a YCH I started yesterday and try to start that Christmas present again now that I know what I want to do with it. But those are both productive things, I wanna do something chill. Maybe get on VRchat in VR after I do that YCH this morning. It’s fun to get on early sometimes. I could make it a point to try to make a new friend or at least have a decent conversation with someone. 

11:28 AM

I gotta figure out how to deal with this brain fog. Its like everything, even doing nothing, drains me mentally. I think the core issue is that I’m not engaged with anything but I’m not sure how to force engagement. I’ve already tried making myself do things plenty of times and it rarely works. Maybe I’m thinking too much about what I think I should want to do vs what I actually want to do. Maybe I need to reach deep and do whatever my body is telling me right now. 

12:05 PM

I HAVE to use weekends to relax but I still can’t justify a whole day of being lazy. I might set an earlier cutoff time for when I should take it easy, like 4pm or something. Before that, I’m allowed to stress a little bit and work on something. 

3:53 PM

I’m noticing that I’m becoming very stressed and I need to do something about it. I have 3 projects that need done before Christmas and thinking about it is stressing me out in an unhealthy way. I don’t want to be stressed because I know it fucks with my tummy. I’ve been in this kind of place before though. I need a re-adjustment of how I handling all this. Instead of worrying about if I’ll make it all in time, I have to accept that I probably will if I chip away at it in healthy doses. Even if I don’t meet the deadline, everyone will understand. One person doesn’t even know he has a gift coming and likely isn’t getting me anything so he shouldn’t be a big deal in particular. 

To avoid stress I need to lower the amount of importance I put in everything and make sure I am taking true breaks. I know how good it feels to have work time and chill time working in tandem, I just have to keep it up. Today is Sunday and it’s 4pm now. I did the very important groundwork for one of the gifts for a couple hours and whatever I decide to do now, it shouldn’t be taxing in any way. Even if I decide to draw or something, it can be very fun accepting that there are no consequences to the outcome of any drawings. I’m just doing it for fun/to learn. Commissions have stakes, personal things do not. I’ve been good about putting the fun back into drawing lately. 

8:01 PM

My tummy is the usual icky tonight. This has been happening a lot less lately which is good. But tonight will be one of those nights I guess. I’m not sure if it’s stuff I ate or slightly caused by blowing myself yesterday. I doubt it’ll be too bad but it’s bad enough that it’s getting in the way of things I want to do. I feel like I have to abandon everything and be in self care mode which right now is trying to relax with a cup of tea, a stream on the side, and some Switch games. Also some background rain noise. 

11:06 PM

Im trying not to feel guilty about it but I feel bad that I feel icky and let it stop me from hanging out with people so often. But this is what I’m working on. If I wasn’t already stressed out, I would have put up with it tonight. But my batteries were low and I had to take care of myself. 

[mrfoox]

Took concerta for the first time in two weeks and I am spiraling

[blatantescapism]

@were--ralph

Trans man here!

that is 100% valid, and in fact the MAJORITY of men who take some form of T are cis!

(trans men use more of the higher-dose stuff, cuz our baseline is low.)

My cis uncle started T, at ~50 yrs old, a few years after I came out. He wishes he started way sooner, but he’s happier and healthier now!

It is much easier for cis men to be prescribed T than trans folks. Trans folks have to jump through hoops like therapy and be drilled on every possible risk and downside.

They just happily handed my uncle T without telling him JACK SHIT. He was doing the topical patch and I had to be the one to tell him 1.) that you have to move the patch location around and 2.) that he shouldn’t be putting it on any area that his wife was going to be touching, because it doesn’t know or care *whose* skin is absorbing the man juice. Also 3.) that if you overdose, your body will start metabolizing it into estrogen.

You are way better informed and more considerate than many guys who take T, is my point.

Step one is to talk to your PCP. Say that you feel like your testosterone levels are low, ask to get ur blood tested so you know what your baseline levels are. If your baseline is on the lower end of the range, your PCP will probably go right ahead and prescribe. The range is fairly wide, so even if you’re around average, your doc should be open to letting you try a small regular dose to test it out.

If you need to justify wanting T, tell the doc how you’ve been feeling frustrated and weird about your low libido, and mention you feel like your body isn’t quite right. Idk if either of these apply to you, but if you’ve had lots of fatigue or trouble losing weight, those can be tied to low T levels too.

If your base level T is high, then something else is happening in your body to prevent you from getting the benefits. Taking more T is probably not the answer, and you and your doctor will have to do some sleuthing. (Same story if you start T and it makes things noticeably worse.) At that point you might end up talking to a gender clinic or endocrinologist or whatnot, but as a cis dude you can and should start with ur PCP.

Lots of guys feel weird or conflicted to ask about T. That’s a common and normal response to the fucked up culture of toxic masculinity. It’s common enough that it really shouldn’t be a big deal. The point is, it’s your body, you’re the one who has to live in it, and you are absolutely allowed to adjust it for your own comfort.

If you’re thinking that maybe you want T… that’s actually a pretty strong sign that something is going on and T will actually help a lot. Folks with well-balanced hormones don’t get far on this train of thought. I’m willing to bet that T will improve your overall health, not just your appearance.

Like us trans folks, I advise you to keep your expectations for your appearance reasonable. A rule of thumb is, don’t expect to *dramatically* out-masc your bio dad or uncles.

The pharmacy is going to card you every single time you pick up your T, so keep that in mind. Most health insurance ought to cover it under a diagnosis of “hormone imbalance”.

You can do it!

it kinda sucks tbh. like even though im amab i want T so i can look how i SUPPOSED to and not like.....this

[talkfantasytome]

Okay, so I'm not very good at coming up with prompts, but I am a sucker for accidental love confessions! Think it would be especially cute if they were doing something casual and Nesta absentmindedly blurts out the L word and is mortified.

Just posted the first part of this, from @littleloric's ask, with the "accidental" confession...now on to Nesta actually remembering what happened. 😂

Part 1

PS - don't hate me, but I'm basing Nesta's post-op experience on my own when I got my wisdom teeth out (in terms of pain, not the romance, sadly). So...sorry to all those who had bad experiences. 😬

Nesta woke up, snuggled beneath her covers, warm and relaxed. She couldn't remember getting into her bed, or much after her doctor sedated her, but a quick look at the clock told her she hadn't slept for too long. Her procedure was at nine, and it was barely past one in the afternoon.

After a big stretch, she pulled the covers off. And then quickly tugged them back over.

Why was it so cold? Why was it always freezing after a nap? It was what made Nesta hate napping.

Her eyes darted around the room and landed on a familiar, worn, Velaris HS Hockey sweatshirt. With a deep breath, Nesta shoved the covers off again and rushed over to the sweatshirt, throwing it on and slipping her feat into her L.L. Bean slippers.

It was a start.

After a few hops, she left her room and made her way toward the sound of the sink running in the kitchen.

She came upon a familiar, hulking figure hunched over the sink, washing some of the dishes she'd left in it the night before. Nesta paused to watch. To take in the defined muscles of his back as his arms moved.

After a moment she decided to make her presence known, clearing her throat softly.

The sink was shut off, and then Cassian was turning. He gave her a bright smile and walked toward her. "How are you feeling?"

"Good! No pain, yet."

"Really?" Cassian asked, his eyebrows raising in shock. "You're a bit overdue for your next dose, so you should be feeling something."

Nesta stopped to think for a second, moving her jaw around a bit, but nothing. It felt completely normal. "Should I take the medication? Emerie was saying something about 'chasing the pain'..."

"Hmmm..." He scratched his head for a moment. "Maybe just start with Advil? And if you feel any real pain, then you can take the prescription? It's pretty strong stuff. Better not to take it if you don't have to."

"Yeah, I'd rather not get loopy again, either," she sighed. "I can barely remember anything from after the procedure."

Cassian stilled as he got out the Advil for her, his entire body stiffening. "So...you don't remember...anything?" he asked, his voice lower than it had been a moment before.

A pit began to emerge in Nesta's stomach at the question. What had she done that Cassian thought she might remember? Was it something he wanted her to remember? Or something he hoped she'd forget?

"Not even anything you said?" he added, finally turning to face her, handing her the Advil and a cup of water.

She accepted both, her face scrunching as she tried to figure out what he might mean. She was just downing a large gulp of water with the pills when the memory flashed through her mind.

I love you.

She barely managed to keep the water from being spat out of her mouth.

What was she thinking?!

Well, she probably wasn't thinking much at all.

Nesta couldn't believe she'd done that. What a stupid, idiotic, embarrassing thing to do. That's not how she was supposed to tell Cassian for the first time. It was supposed to happen at sunset, or in some pretty park, or by a waterfall on a picnic. Preferably after he said it first.

Her cheeks heated, and suddenly Nesta wished she was in pain. That she'd downed the prescription to escape this horror scene.

"Cass, I-"

Cassian stopped her with his lips, kissing her deeply as his arms wound around her waist and tugged her close. Nesta's hands lifted instinctively to his chest, grabbing his shirt to have something to hold on to.

It was just a few seconds before he was pulling away and resting his forehead on hers.

"I love you," he breathed.

Nesta couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "Really?"

Cassian huffed out a laugh and gave her another quick kiss. "Of course I do. How couldn't I?"

"I love you, too," she beamed, her hands traveling up until her arms were around his neck and she was pulling herself as close as possible to him.

"So you've said." He grinned widely at her, but before Nesta could snap back at him, he captured her lips with his. "But I'm glad to know it wasn't just the drugs."

Nesta laughed with him at that. "No, not just the drugs. It's been a long time coming."

Cassian's smile widened into something so bright it had flowers blooming within Nesta.

With Cassian, why would she need a sunset anyway?

@live-the-fangirl-life @generalnesta @secretlovelybeauty @nestaisgod @julemmaes @boredserpent @autumnbabylon @lady-winter-sunrise @moodymelanist @sv0430 @nesquik-arccheron @gwynrielsupremacy @katekatpattywack @moonstoneriver77 @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @swankii-art-teacher @lemonade-coolattas @emily-gsh @my-fan-side @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @simpingfornestaarcheron @perseusannabeth @clemidansleschoux @meher-sumedha @labetenoir @vinylcryes @shinya-hiiragi @starryblueskies7 @the-key-to-me-myself-and-i @a-court-of-milkandhoney @pintas3107 @embersofwildfire @cannellefawn @superspiritfestival @aks18

[mywritingonlyfans]

Angst fic with Damiano David

prompt: a angsty about reader being sad (dami bff) 'cause damiano doesn't feel the same way romantically. ps. there's a lot of victoria de angelis being a angel in this fic, and it's basically about reader going through it.

warnings: none? it's just a bit sad and longer than usual.

 All the soft touches still tingled all over your body. His scent was until now stuck to you, you never thought you’d feel happy to have woody essence along with cigarette smoke on you. 

 Folding the sleeve of his sweater, you put your tea in one of the cups you always use when you were there. His cotton piece was comfortable, making you didn't regret wearing it in the morning; it was cold and wearing your tank top from the night before didn't feel right. The shorts from yesterday, that were making your legs freeze were enough trouble for you to handle. The remnants of your clothes and belongings were collected from the floor of his room and placed carefully on his headboard, you made sure you were being quiet. Damiano has always been a heavy sleeper, but your counscious prevented you from risking disturbing him when he looks so peaceful. You had already spent much time at his place so you memorized where every thing in his kitchen - and others rooms - was; baking eggs and making tea wasn’t a mystery for you. You had even separated a Tylenol tablet for Damiano, so he could have it with his tea when he woke up with a wicked hangover. He wasn't the type to get drunk and forget what he did, nor were you. Since when you were teenagers, you have gone out and been drunk together a lot of times, and although your feelings were already present, nothing never happened. This time, however, alcohol helped injecting a dose of courage on him. Being honest with yourself, you didn't remember who started it; but the kiss in the midst of the loud music, his hand on the back of your neck, the exchanging glances while dancing and the moment he took you home, they were pretty vividly in your mind. You still felt relaxed, as if his sweaty body was still over yours. Minutes with your eyes closed was enough to feel his eyes roaming your body all over again.

“Hi,” he said in a slurred voice, cutting off your line of thoughts. You jumped, briefly scared but soon turned your attention to reality; a tired Damiano scratching his eyes in front of you.

He was dressed, wearing sweatpants and sweatshirt, duly comfortable according to the weather. 

 “Headache?” You knew he was. He was always a good drinker, he put up with it a lot, but he was never one to get rid of the effects of alcohol on the next day. You, on the other hand, got on better with this issue; fortunately from the night before, only the good moments remained with you.

“Yeah, a bit,” he giggled. “What a night, I’d say.” He added, in a lower tone. What was acceptable, you also felt a bit weird to be in front of him.

“I got you some pills,” you pointed it out to him on the counter, trying to maintain a normal behavior; with no shacking voice or sweaty hands. Quite impossible. “I made tea too.”

“Dear God, you’re a life saver!” He smiled at you, eyes crinkled and all of his perfect teeth on display. Contagious.

You grinned, feeling your body getting lighter. “No worries. I’m glad to help.”

“Y’know, when I woke up and saw that you weren't there I thought you were gone. You know? Friendship destroyed and that whole thing. I’m happy to see you; relieved.” He took a sip of his tea, and maybe a bit of your heart with it. You were an explosion of feeling when it comes to him, you always have been. “That sweater looks good on you, you can keep it if you want. You know that’s my fave one.” And, yeah, you knew.

The tension on you was no longer intense, comforting you to let out the breath you were holding. “It’s good to hear that,” Your genuine smile managed to say many things, you wished Damiano had noticed you earlier on other occasions. “Do you remember that one time, when we were younger, that you were a bit crazy about a girl; Alice was his name.” You stopped; in need of air - nervous - and watched Dami's attentive face. “She was the first person to whom you dedicated a song, you played it to her at school break. The cutest thing I had ever seen. I think it was there that I realized, a little jealous—“

“Y/N,” his voice had been almost inaudible, causing no effect. Had he really tried?

“How in love I was with you.”

His face was paler than usual, he was paralyzed; speechless. You had never seen Damiano like this, the men was always all over the place in a sweet talkative mess.

It took a few minutes for you to be able to read his expressions and realize how fucked up you were. The dose of happiness in your blood had been able to manipulate you to believe in what you most wanted to happen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” your blood had gone up to your ears, all you could pay attention to was the pressure in your head. How had you thought that after one specific night he would suddenly decide that he was in love with you? After all of this time that you were just a good friend for him? “I’m truly sorry but I’m don’t—“

“Feel the same way?” You finished. He nodded, apprehensively. You have never felt so stupid. It was a mixture of shame, fear and insecurity. You were unable to look directly at him, you knew that there was no change in following a friendship after what you just said, much less after the night before. You had never been so screwed.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing, I shouldn’t have said a thing.” You whispered, realizing that the lump in your throat had turned into tears that you didn't even know were running down your face.

“Come here,” he opened his arms, walking towards your emotionless frame. You allowed yourself to melt in his grip. 

 Your tears fell freely; you could even try to hold it back but there was no strength left for you to think about it. Your crying was silent, as was the kitchen room. Your head was full of questions and cursing at yourself. Suddenly you wished Damiano had yelled at you, asked you to get out of there or said he wouldn't never speak to you again. It seemed easier to deal with it in this alternative way than to have him comforting you for loving him. “Shh, it’ll alright. I could never be mad at you.”

He talked about your friendship, but you knew that nothing would end up well. Maybe for him. But for you? It’d not be that easy. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have known better, you were so loving with me last night that I thought— Fuck, we slept together. Which I know isn’t your fault because I don’t even remember who—“

“Stop, Y/N. Look at me,” He was being careful. You were making a person like Damiano calculate his words, that made you feel like pure shit. You stopped talking, looking at him was still difficult. He understood that you wouldn’t be doing so. “That’s fine. I don’t feel bad about you liking me in that way, you’re wonderful. I don't regret anything, last night was great, but I just... don't feel the same. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I can't even imagine how hard it’s being for you right now.” His words sounded sweet and sincere. He had tears in his eyes as well. His ability to be so empathetic to everyone was something you loved the most about him. He was probably killing himself on the inside for breaking you.

You nodded, leaning on the counter. You wanted to ask him if he remembered that he was your first kiss at the age of seven or all the times he sent you vinyl records with some message - that he had written himself - inside the cover. How did he not feel the same, shouldn't you be everything he wanted?

“Dami?” You sighed. Your eyes were red, your face probably swollen. You then looked straight at him; that surprisingly wasn’t much better than you. “Have you ever looked at me and seen me in another way? Something more than just your best friend?”

He didn’t say a thing, just look at you standing there. You get it.

“I think I should go,” You broke the silence that had been formed. You thought about taking his sweater off, but since you weren't wearing anything underneath, you thought it was better not; you’d have to go to his room to change, and then pick up your things only to delay your leaving.

“I can drive you home,” he said in a hush, looking for his car keys.

“It’s okay, a walk will be fine.”

“It’s fucking freezing outside, I can't let you walk over there like that.”

You ignored what he said, walking around the house to the front exit. He tried to grab your arm just for you to step back.

“I know you're just trying to help, but I need to be alone right now, without you near me.” You tried to say it in the most normal way possible, you didn't want to be mean, you only wanted to be fair to yourself.

“Sure.” It was the last thing you heard him say before you left, feeling the cold wind on your body. You didn't know if he had entered his house again or if he was watching you hug yourself as walking slowly to somewhere. You wouldn't dare to look back.

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

“C’mon girl, get up here,” Upon hearing the husky, strong voice, you were relieved. 

 Victoria wasn’t wearing her usual jewelry and looked like she had just been woken up by force. You weren’t as close to her as you were with the other boys, however, you had never been so happy to see her.

You got in her car. “Thank you,”

“God, you look terrible. You’re fine?” You looked at your reflection in the rearview mirror and well, fine was definitely something you didn't look like.

“Dami asked you to come and get me?” Your throat was scratching, it was difficult to speak.

“Yeah,” she looked at you quickly, but due to your discomfort she backed off. More tears would come. “He didn't say why though, he just said he needed someone to come to you before you froze to death.” She said it in a way that made you laugh, even with your eyes filled with tears. “Did the two of you have a disagreement? You don't have to answer me if you don't want to.”

“Something similar.” You said shakily; due to your crying and chilly. Inside the car was heated, but your body was so cold that it didn't seem to be enough. You tried to snuggle in the passenger seat, letting your head rest against the window like in a sad film. Maybe that’d help.

“Here,” she handed you a coat, without hesitation you took it. “I brought it to you in case you needed it.”

You nodded slowly. “Thank you, Victoria,”

“You can call me Vic, just like everyone else,” she laughed.

You gave her a half smile. “Okay then, thank you very much, Vic,”

The rest of the day would be crying while you curled up in your bed, you’d let yourself feel at your worst; promising that you would try and change that the next day.

———----------------------------------------------

You expected the first few days to be the hardest, but it seemed to get worse with each passing day. Damiano had tried to call you a few times and in all of them you responded dryly, using short words, pretending it’d be okay. You truly tried, but you needed time to process what happened. You told him that, and then time he gave you.

After completing a month of the incident, you noticed how 'dependent' you had become on him. He was always around since you were kids, any problem you had you would look for him to talk to, now you felt like you had nothing. Your friends were friends of his, too, more of his friends than yours. You missed having Thomas failing on teaching you how to play guitar on your couch and besides you thought about calling him - just to distract yourself - you remembered that he was more a friend of Damiano than yours. It’d be weird. None of them contacted you at that time, not even Thomas. You couldn't figure it out if Dami had told them what happened and they decided to give you space or if they just didn't care about you when you wasn’t around Damiano.

Basically, where Dami was you would be and vice versa. It had always been like that.

When you saw that just time wasn’t solving anything, you programmed yourself to live in a way that you were busy all the time. Your routine became work, home and most of the time taking the work to be done also in your home. You didn't feel energized to make new friends, and going out on dates could help momentarily but it wouldn't be fair to go out with someone in the ‘mood’ you were in; then these ideas were soon discarded. Sleeping was impossible, you spent hours rolling over in bed; both for the flashbacks that plagued your mind, but also for the fact that you missed him. The nights were worse when you visit your mother or when she called and said, "Dami never came to see me again." or something like. “Are you still talking to each other? We don't let someone like Damiano leave our lives.”

Deep down, you knew there was no way you could be in love with him forever and that no matter how much it hurt at that moment it would pass. You started to repeat it to yourself as much as you could, so when the boys got in touch with you again you didn't hesitate to answer. Nothing bad would happen, you just need to pretend to be fine. The first to send you a message was Thomas, with simple questions, he acted like nothing had happened, you liked it. Even though it was obvious that Thomas, as one of his boys, would know this in more detail than you did (which was a lie, but at least he knew how Damiano was feeling about it, which you wouldn't know). He updated you about Dami, who was great as always, and you said you were doing well when he asked. You answering him made Ethan talk to you too, although they were all polite and delicate, they seemed more to be sorry than to miss you. Pity wasn’t something you were expecting.

After five months, you still felt like crap. You had tried to stop counting the days that had passed since you last saw Damiano, but it was almost impossible. You could still remember that night vividly, but you were still trying your best to move on; leave it behind. Mysteriously, you wanted to see him, see how he was doing and find out if he had anything else to say but you were afraid to see him, go back to your place as his best friend just to realize that your feelings for him had not abated at all.

“...I haven't seen you in a while. I wonder if you're alright,” you heard when answering your phone. Your head hurt, your eyes stung. You had slept on spreadsheets that you brought home from your work.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Shit,” she murmured.

You looked at the phone screen. “Sorry Vic, I just woke up I'm still trying to copy.” You laughed to calm her down.

“I thought I didn't have my number,” her voice became softer, as if she was relieved that you had saved it. “I didn't want to wake you up, I'm sorry about that. I just wanted to know how you‘re doing, since I used to see you almost every day, y’know?”

You thought about saying that you saved her number the day Dami called to pick him up at a bar since his phone battery was dead and he was in no condition to drive, but Victoria clearly knew that. “Is Dami with you?”

“No,” her tone matched yours; Dami had told her, now she was being careful with her words. “I saved your number the day Dami needed to call you, in case I needed to call you again.”

“That’s alright, thanks for checking on me then.”

“But he would love to talk to you. He always asks the boys about you or comments on you so that someone can bring you up to the convo. He seems a bit lost when you not ‘round to be honest.”

Somehow hearing that made you happy. Still, the image of discomfort whenever you thought of talking to him scared you. The phone line was filled with silence, until Victoria's husky voice filled the line.

“Anyway, I didn't call you to talk about Damiano. We finally finished the album and decided to have a small celebration at my house,” you giggle at the formality. “We thought you should go, since you were present in more than half of the process. I‘d like you to come. We’d all like you to come.”

———

Your heart accelerated with each step you took as you entered Victoria's house. The rooms had a glow of being calm and the music that was playing helped to make the place cozy. The instrumental of the band reminded you of Fleetwood Mac, and for the little that you knew Vic you would say that the type of sound reminded you of her. 

 Her house wasn’t crowded, there were only a few people around; some you’ve seen before, some you haven’t. You thundered your fingers over some vinyl that were arranged in a corner, pretending to read them. You were looking for familiar faces, honestly even for Damiano, but for some unknown reason you didn't want to make that obvious. Your eyes captured Thomas talking to some girls, and soon you felt relieved to be dressed according to the occasion; or at least according to the girls who were close to Thomas. It didn't take long until he noticed you standing there, you waved and he came to you. He looked surprised, still he didn't wait for you to say anything else, just wrapped you in his arms so tight you had to ask him to let go in between muffled laughter.

“Vic working miracles! Come, I'll take you to the others.” He said in his cute form, holding your hand as guiding you through the house. “So, how's our best girl?”

Your lips parted in a smile. “I’m alright, pretty much the same to be honest,” there was no time for him to ask another question because you soon spotted Ethan and Victoria with their beers in hands. They seemed to be shocked to see you as well; and it was starting to irritate you for reasons you couldn't explain. Thomas put you behind him, hiding you from the two of them as if they hadn't seen you already. He was being such a sweetheart that he had even managed to soften the anxious butterflies in your stomach; but not enough to keep your mind free of worries and Damiano David. Thomas made a funny noise with his hands as Ethan ignored his attempt to be amusing, pulling you into a hug. Who would have thought you would have missed them so much.

“How long without seeing you, I force you not to do that again. Without you we are just another disorganized mess.” You laughed at his nonsense. Your smile was sincere, like it hadn't been for months, still you were forcing yourself a bit more to appear to be actually 'fine'. You’d like to know if they noticed, even though you were appreciating that they didn’t.

“No worries, I‘m not planning on leaving you guys alone.”

 Ethan and Thomas started to discuss about something, Ethan was already under the effect of alcohol, and from time to time they asked for your opinion on how Victoria had been strangely quiet. Atypical of her, but she didn't seem to be out of place or uncomfortable, just quiet.

“Did a cat eat the tongue of my newest attractive friend?”

“Not this time,” she showed you her tongue, and then smirked. Her eyes shone in differently way under your gaze and her make up was making her look more mature. “Are you feelin’ good? Thank you for coming.” Victoria was happy to see you, you could feel that. She might be curious, but pity wasn’t something possible to see in her; different from the other boys. “You must be tired of hearing that question, I'm sorry. It‘ll no longer be asked.”

Her voice was soft, comfortable to hear. “I appreciate that. I really have heard a lot of that, but despite everything, I feel good ‘bout bein’ here.”

“I feel even happier that you came then,” she put her hand gently on your waist. The other two didn't even remember you and Vic were there. “Let's get you something to drink, we bought that red drink Damiano always says you love.”

“No way, it’s bishop cocktail?” You looked at her, a big grin on your face, even though you remembered that this was the drink you were drinking when the universe decided it would be a good idea for you and Dami to have a one-night stand. Just a lovely reminder. “Have you mixed everything up? like the rum with the red wine? or with red drink you just want to say you bought wine?” You asked, ignoring your internal conflicts. Everything would be fine, you ket repeating to yourself.

“In fact, I remember once hearing you comment you didn't mind it being mixed up in a random bottle.”

She pulled a glass bottle out of a bucket full of ice and you couldn't believe she remembered that; given that you could count on your fingers the times that you had actually spoken to her. You didn’t avoid each other, just didn’t have much of the opportunities.

“Oh my god, that’s so fuckin’ lovely.” You whispered. She was quick to pick up a glass and hand it to you, filling it with the so well remembered liquid. You took a sip, and the taste - or alcohol - made your butterflies calmer. “Thanks for that, tastes like heaven.” She took a glass for herself, by her expression she thought it was a waste of rum. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”

“If you think so, who am I to deny.”

“Don’t be a bummer,” you bumped your shoulder with hers, eliciting a cute sound from her that made you laugh as well.

You wish that sensation had lasted longer, even so when a random girl approached you to ask something, you felt heavy; like a sign. Her hair was golden in perfect waves and her face was angelic in an almost divine way. You might have been overreacting, but she was the type to catch all the attention to herself.

“You’re Y/N, right? I was startin’ to think that I’d never get to know you.” She hugged you tight and you wondered if she really didn't know you. When she released you, you felt your heart breaking right there in front of her. She was wearing Dami's sweater; the same one from that night, the same one that you wore. You wanted to be wrong, but you’d know that sweater from a distance even after years. “He talks so much about you. Can you believe we never met?” She asked, alternating her gaze between you and Victoria. She had been silent, you had forgotten that she was still there. Your head was miles away in thoughts, making you dizzy.

“Hi, Bella,” Victoria said. You remembered that name. Damiano talked about her on a few occasions, anyways he didn't seem to be in love - or you just didn’t want to see that. Maybe you haven’t been able to read him due to your stupid passion. “How’s everything?”

She started talking to Victoria and you couldn't concentrate on listening; all the alcohol in the world would not ease what you were feeling. How long have they been together? What was so special about her that Damiano gives her his favorite sweater? Were they together when you slept together? How did she end up with the same sweater you slept in that day?

She held the cup that was in your hands and handed it to Victoria. “Are you okay, hon’? You look a lil’ unwell. Do you want me to get you some water?”

“No need, I’m alright,” she patted your arm, and then checked your temperature. She was being nice, yet you couldn't pretend to be interested in being there anymore.

Thankfully, Victoria put an arm around your shoulders, asking if you want to join her to have a smoke. “It’ll be good, fresh air will do good to you.”

You agreed. Bella was worried and you felt bad about having to run away from her. She looked like an incredible person, sure Damiano was lucky to have her, that was just too much for you.

“Do this, you will feel better. We can talk later and so you can tell me everything about you and Dami, I’d love to hear you, since you’ve known each other for so long.” You looked for some irony in her voice, but you didn't found it. She was interested in you; after all, you were her boyfriend's best friend. It made sense.

Victoria guided you to the balcony, or at least halfway to it. Midway, someone stopped to talk to her, she tried to dismiss the person, however, as it was a thing related to the album, she would have no way out. “Victoria, it’s fine, I need some time alone.” You whispered to her, patting on her arm. She looked at you reluctantly, but understand. There wouldn't be much she could do for you.

Entering the balcony you felt an absurd urge to cry, your eyes itched and your legs were trembling. Was being in love meant to hurt this much, or was it just a game of chance?

You tried to take a deep breath, ease your heartbeats, telling yourself it was okay. You just needed to calm down. You leaned your body against the wall and watched the place. The plants near the fence - which you didn't know how Victoria had time to take care of them - the streets, and then the sky. Starry and moist, made for good memories that wouldn't come to you. When you felt ready enough to go out and face the party again, you ran into the one you were trying to avoid, Dami. Minutes ago you were anxious with the possibility to see him to know how he was, now you just wanted to run away and wipe these last months out of your mind.

“Y/N,” his body collided with yours while his arms wrapped around you, it was supposed to be a good thing, that you‘d feel safe as the same way you used to feel, except that was uncomfortable now. You couldn't even respond to his hug, for a second you thought you would escape without having to see him. He noticed and gave you space. “I swore that you wouldn't come. My god, it's so good to see you.” He ran his hands through his hair and you remained paralyzed in front of him.

You tried to focus on your breathing so that your voice came out without too many complications. “Yeah... It's good to see you, you look great.” It didn't work, your voice was shaky making your lie sound even worse. He looks great, you didn't lie, he seemed even happier and well rested. You wondered if it was because the album was ready or because now he had Bella.

You forced a smile, but unlike the others, Damiano knew you were acting. He didn’t judge or question, his face became tense, apprehensive. He knew that nothing was right.

“I thought about callin’ you more, goin’ to see you or something. The boys convinced me that it‘d be better not, that it could be even hard for you. I wonder if I shouldn't have done something different to help you because I know I fucked up too.” His hands were undecided between running through his hair and staying inside his pockets. He was nervous, at the same relieved to have spoken to you.

“It wasn't your fault, I’d never blame you for that,” you sighed, smiling slightly. It felt terrible to make him feel that way about it, but there wasn't much you could do. “I'm glad you gave me space when I asked, it's still hard to see you or think about talkin’ to you. It is as if everything that is tormenting me comes all at once.” It was good to say that to him. He nodded and you looked at each other for a while. It wasn't as uncomfortable as you thought it would be.

He was a few feet away from you while you were admiring the night, with your back against the wall. You wanted to leave, maybe go cry in your bed until you fell asleep, still you wanted things to work out with Dami, you wanted that tension and fear of seeing him to get out of your head. Despite that, if it was necessary to suffer in that process, it would not be worth it.

“She’s amazing,” it hurt to say that, but it was the truth. “Bella’s amazing, lucky girl.” You smiled sadly. Saying her name and seeing Dami smiling at that made you thank God for not seeing the two of them together, hugging or kissing. He‘d probably put his hand on her waist while she was talking to one of his friends or giving lightly kisses to her temple, just because he felt like it. Damiano was the cute type, you've seen it before.

“She is, an amazing person. She was all happy to have spoken to you. I told her all about our teenage years and how you always supported the band,” He had told her about you, would he have told her about you being in love with him? You thought to ask, soon giving up. It’d be shameful if so. “If I knew you would be here I’d not have come with her.” It made you think that he had told her.

“What would you do? Would you hide me from her for the rest of your life?” You sighed. it was supposed to sound like a joke, regrettably your voice sounded too cruel for that.

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled. “I was just tryin’ to think of you and—“

“I think I need to go Dami, it’s being too much. I’m sorry.” You needed to get out of there, you couldn't stop the tears anymore and you knew it was a bad idea to talk about her with him.

You took a few steps back just for Damiano to grab at your arm, without putting strength, just like a few months ago, to stop you in front of him. You turned your face away from looking at his eyes, feeling as the tears run down your cheek. You'd never be able to face him, this situation was only proving that to you even more.

“Please, Y/N. Just tell me what I need to do. I will do anything for you to talk to me again. I need you, you know that. The past few weeks have been a mess without you around. Even little my mom misses you. I’d do anything to have you back like before.” He was about to cry, his eyes shone with tears and it was painful to watch. He could do anything for you to stay; except what would make you stay. Unfortunately, it didn't depend only on his good will.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” you said in a lack of air, signaling the space around you with your finger. “But this, this is too much. It kills me to have to be close to you or to be close to things or people that remind me of you, seeing someone else with you doesn't help at all. I still think about the fact that we slept together... I can’t just forget it ‘cause it meant so much to me and to you, to you? it was nothing.” You were out of breath, you just wanted to cry in peace, put everything out until there was nothing left. 

 He released his hands of you, his face red and damp. It wasn't going to be easy for either of you. Time wouldn't matter; it wouldn’t change a thing because whenever you looked at him you’d wonder about how things could have been like if he had chosen you.

He whispered one more time that he was sorry, then let you go. He could have stopped you, but it's not like he knew what to do anymore. 

He watched as you walk out without even looking back.

——-

You went through the party walking fast, avoiding acquaintances and questions about why you were like that. Your body was heavy as well as your conscience. Outside the house the street was empty, the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk and along with the silence of the street you felt invited to sit there. You brought your knees close to your body, trying to breathe calmly. Pulling the air in, and then releasing it in a normal way. Your heart was beating so fast that your whole body was agitated. You tried to stay still. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy when you saw someone walk out the front door of the house. You dropped your knees, trying to look decent, but gave up as soon as the person came closer to you and you saw that it was Victoria. She sat next to you, pulling you into a hug. You were happy that she went to you.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, hugging her waist and hiding your face in the fabric of her shirt.

“Stop saying that you’re fine when you’re far from being fine, I won’t judge you sweetheart,” she comforted you, giving you a extra squeezing. You were far from being alright, but it helped, having someone there helped.

She placed her chin on top of your head, soothing you until your crying softened. She rubbed your back and whispered that it’d be okay.

“Did Damiano send you here?”

“No, darlin’. He said that you had talked, and then you had to leave, he didn't look well, I thought you wouldn't be either.”

“And then you decided to look out for me?” You laughed, still tucked in her warm arms.

“Yep, sounds like you need me, don’t you think?” She laughed too, causing the vibration of her chest next to yours make you feel taken in.

“Why’s love so painful?”

Victoria didn't answer, she was thoughtful for a few minutes, and then she stood up, holding out her hand for you.

“What?”

“I won’t be taking no as an answer, you’ll get in the car with me and we will do something, anything, drink milk shakes, fill up our bellies with pizza ‘til we can't take it anymore, or even rob a bank.” She held you by the waist, lifting you up for her. “Please,”

You didn't see why not to accept. There was nothing worse that could get even worse at the moment, maybe going somewhere would do you good. “Even rob a bank?” She nodded, pointing to where her car was.

A smile spreading across her lovely face as you realized you’d go anywhere she wanted with her. “Yes, even robbing a bank.”

[high-functioning-lokipath]

SH - Sherlock x Depressed!Reader - With a Little Help from My Friends - Words: 2,793

IMPORTANT A/N - PLEASE READ: As stated in the title, this story contains discussions of depression. There is mention of suicidal thought and self-harm. I personally don't think it's too intense in it's descriptions HOWEVER!!! If this will trigger you, for your own health and safety please do not read. My messages are always open if you'd like to talk. I wrote this partially based on my own feelings so I can understand to at least a degree. You're amazing and I love you all. As far as this story goes, just remember: it has a happy, very fluffy ending but it doesn't start that way. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment!

Brief Backstory: Reader is friends with John and Sherlock. She is a nurse who works with John. The three met shortly after Sherlock came back. Sherlock and Reader have crushes on each other but won't admit to it. I think the story explains everything else.

"Y/N, I'm going to be honest," John said, putting his hand on your shoulder comfortingly. "I may have PTSD but I cannot fully put myself in your shoes. My depression is different than yours." You had called your best friend, John Watson, in a mild panic. You had been feeling depressed for some time, as he knew, but that day had been especially bad. There was no particular reason but your depression had gotten so intense that you knew you needed help to get past this particular wave. John invited you over to 221B, assuring you that his flatmate would be out for the next couple of hours. "As a doctor, I am going to prescribe you some medication. Lowest dose possible and only because I want to help you get some immediate relief but I know you do not want them to become permanent. Let's work on finding another solution for you, ok?"

"I don't know, John," you replied. You'd asked John to be your Doctor since you didn't go to one regularly and he didn't mind your irregular checkups. "I've tried just about everything. The only outlet that seems to help is writing and even then," you trailed off, trying not to cry again. "This feeling just won't go away and I don't even know why it's there in the first place. I just want it to stop."

"I think you should talk to Sherlock."

"What?" You squeaked. "Why in the world would I talk to Sherlock?"

"I can't tell you why, Y/N. As both your Doctor and Sherlock's, I have to respect certain amounts of patient confidentiality. However, as your friend, I think you should talk to him."

"I don't know."

"Trust me," He replied. Smirking slightly, he added, "Doctor's orders."

"Ok, John," you chuckled. He smiled and hugged you. "Thanks."

"Now how about we go and fill this prescription and then maybe get some ice cream?"

"Well, honestly," you sighed. "The ice cream sounds great but I didn't sleep well last night. I was actually wondering if I could just take a nap here for a bit. I sleep better here sometimes." You blushed but John nodded understandingly.

"Of course," He replied. "I'll run down to the drugstore and fill this for you. Meanwhile you get some rest. I'll let Sherlock know you're here just in case he ends up getting back before I do. Will you be ok by yourself?"

"Yeah," You smiled. "This is a safe space for me. I'll go grab a blanket. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it. Just remember, talk to him."

"I'll try."

About 15 minutes later, Sherlock arrived back at the flat. He'd gotten John's texts.

John: If you get home in the next 45 minutes, be quiet. Y/N is over and she's taking a nap. I have to run out for something.

Sherlock: Is everything ok? - SH

John: She said she had a bad night.

Sherlock: She must have had a reason to come over in the first place though. - SH

John: She's going to need to tell you that herself. Don't ask. Do you understand me? Let her tell you. Be nice, ok?

Sherlock: When am I not nice to Y/N? - SH

John: Ok, that is true. You like her too much to be rude to her. If you could just hold back your deductions for one second I will say this: you two have more in common than you think.

He hurried home, not to wake you up of course, but because he wanted to see you. If there was something seriously wrong, he wanted to try and brace himself for it first. He couldn't help the smile playing at the corner of his lips when he thought of you. You two were good friends, that much was obvious to everyone. But Sherlock could see the potential for something more. He liked you a lot. You were just as smart, sassy, and sarcastic as he was. But you also could be extremely kind and caring to others and especially to him. He still didn't quite understand why you cared for him so but he was grateful. Before he could dwell on that too much longer, he arrived at 221B.

He quietly slipped inside and smiled at what he saw. You were curled up on the couch, sleeping like a baby. Apparently, though, you'd kicked off the blanket you had grabbed. Instead of picking up the blanket, he decided to take off his long coat and carefully lay that over you. You quickly cuddled into the warm fabric, unconsciously taking a deep breath, inhaling his unique signature left behind on the coat. Satisfied with what he'd done, he took off his suit jacket and went to the kitchen to prepare some tea for when you woke up. He knew you had a favorite tea and, unless John moved it or drank it all, there still would be some in the cupboard.

You woke to the smell of your favorite tea and a hushed exclamation from the kitchen. Opening your eyes slowly you saw Sherlock in at the counter trying to set up a tray with the teapot and cups. Recognizing your surroundings a bit more, you realized what was on top of you. Sherlock was just about to bring out the tray but you decided to pretend you were still asleep. The chances of fooling the Detective were low, but you wanted to try.

"There," He whispered to himself, setting the tray on the coffee table. You could hear him settling down on his chair, likely getting into his 'palace pose' as you called it. For a moment you were happy. You had actually gotten some quality sleep, you were currently cuddled up in Sherlock's famous coat and Sherlock had even made you tea. But that feeling quickly faded. Tears threatened to spill out of your still closed eyes as self-deprecating thoughts filled your mind.

'John probably told him to make me tea. He probably covered me with his coat so I wasn't as much of a distraction. He doesn't want me here. He never does. Why does he even tolerate my presence? He probably wishes we'd never met,' You thought. Your mind was going a million miles an hour and gaining. Without your notice, the tears began rolling down your cheeks and quiet sobs escaped your lips.

"Y/N?" Sherlock whispered. You're eyes shot open. You hadn't heard him get up. Now he was kneeling right next to you, one hand hovering over your arm. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, Sherlock!" You cried. "I-I wish I knew."

"C'mere," he said, motioning for you to sit up. Once you did so, he pulled you into a tight hug.

"What's this for?"

"You always give me and John a hug when you see us. You haven't done so for the past 5 days. I-" he paused briefly before lowering his voice and continuing. "I missed it."

"Oh." You weren't quite sure how to reply to that. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the moment.

"Y/N? Is there something I can do to help?"

"How much did John tell you?" You asked. You wouldn't have been mad exactly if John had told Sherlock to talk to you, but you wanted to think Sherlock was reaching out on his own.

"He told me you had a bad night."

"That's all?" You asked, surprised. You pulled away slightly and stared into his eyes. Sherlock nodded, frowning slightly as he tried to deduce you.

"Why are you afraid to talk to me?" You turned away, embarrassed and unsure what to say. "Be honest."

"I don't want you to make fun of me. I have-" You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves and preparing to just jump right in. "I have been extremely depressed lately and I didn't want to hear another speech about how all I need to do is exercise and eat right and stop thinking about sad things. Well you know what? I can't stop it! I can't help it if I feel like a useless pile of trash that should be thrown in the bin and burned." By the time you finished your little tirade, you'd gotten up and started pacing the floor. Then you turned and faced Sherlock. His expression was neutral but there was an obvious sadness in his eyes, one you didn't expect to see. It wasn't of pity. If you had seen that you also would have given up on the conversation. No, it was almost an understanding, an empathy. His eyes were actually glistening with tears.

"Have you ever felt like," he paused, voice unsteady. "Like giving up?" He whispered, unable to hold eye contact. You nodded silently. He got up slowly and walked towards you. At first, you thought he would hug you again but then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"Just wait a moment. I want to show you something." He carefully shrugged off the purple shirt that you, admittedly, loved so much and tossed it on the chair. "Only one person knows about this. You will be the second. You remember I told you about Moriarty's network?"

"Yes, the day we met. I asked you about your work, a simple question. And I got an answer that lasted 3 hours." Sherlock chuckled dryly.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Oh, no. Please don't apologise. I-" You sighed, rubbing your forehead. "I tend to make jokes when I'm nervous."

"I know." He smiled at you with, yet again, a completely unreadable expression. "You remember though." You nodded, opting to stay silent as he explained. "Well, those 2 years dismantling his network weren't easy. Not physically and certainly not emotionally. As a result of the different missions, I received many wounds on my body in various locations. I was," He paused, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "I was depressed, guilt-stricken and suicidal. I figured I had hurt my friends enough. If they thought I was dead maybe I should just go on with it."

"What changed your mind?"

"I didn't want to do it on a mission. I wanted to see home again one more time. So to temporarily relieve the pain I," He sighed. Well, I wouldn't let my wounds heal. I'd pick at them. Mycroft finally convinced me to come back officially because he needed my help. I never told him about this. I think he knows but we don't discuss it." He looked down, obviously embarrassed and feeling more emotionally naked than physically. "You can look," he said. It was as if he'd read your mind. You were trying to be respectful and not stare but you realized that's what he wanted to show you. You had, on occasion, seen him shirtless before but you had never realized how bad some of the scars were.

"Sherlock, I-I don't know what to say. I-" You were completely shocked. Not offended. But actually comforted that he understood you. "Thank you," You finally said.

"Actually I wanted to thank you. I didn't just show you this to prove that I understand your feelings." You looked at him confused. "The day we met. You were leaving work, correct?" You nodded.

"It had been my first day there. John had been happy with my work and requested that I stay assigned to his office permanently. John had already finished up and headed home but there was some paperwork I had to finish so I was leaving about an hour late. Come to think of it, John said he had plans with you that evening. Why were you there?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I met you less than a month after I came back. I had still been quite depressed so I was still picking at my injuries. That day had been a bad day for me. So I cancelled my plans with John and I decided to go back to where I started this whole mess and finish it."

"Wait, are you telling me that-"

"You saved my life." Sherlock took one of your hands in his own and held it tightly. "I had memorized the work schedules of most everyone there and knew how to slip in unnoticed."

"But you didn't factor in me."

"Correct. When I ran into you, quite literally in fact, as I was entering the building, I was surprised. Not just by your presence but by what I deduced about you. You intrigued me. I had to find out more about you so I invited you to have a cup of coffee with me."

"Which turned into dinner." Sherlock nodded. "And since you were so intrigued by me, you forgot all about that."

"In a manner of speaking. You weren't a cure-all, mind you. You helped, though, by giving me a new mystery to investigate: you. That night, when I got home, I told John everything. He helped me too and when I mentioned you he couldn't stop singing your praises. He is very proud of you and your work you know."

"Yeah, I guess so," You replied, a little embarrassed. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you went through all that, but, I'm glad I have someone who understands. And I'm glad you're here to help me."

"Me too, Y/N. Me too," He replied.

"Can I, um, can I have another hug?" You asked, blushing and smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"If you must," He sighed, holding his arms out. Any other day, you would have thought he genuinely didn't want personal contact. But today you realized he was simply teasing. You wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned your head on his chest. You felt him relax as he leaned forward a little to cocoon you in his arms. "I care about you, Y/N. I don't care about many people but you mean so much to me. I-" You looked up at him and pressed a finger to his lips to quiet him.

"You don't have to say it, Sherlock. I know." He smiled and looked somewhat relieved. You knew he wasn't good with feelings and that was fine with you. "I love you too."

"I wanted to be the first one to say that," He pouted. You chuckled softly and booped his nose.

"You already have." He smiled and kissed your forehead lightly.

"I know this won't fix everything right away. I know you'll still have bad days. But I wanted you to know you could come to me too."

"I know. Thank you again, Sherlock." At that moment, John walked in with a bag from the store.

"Oh, hello!" He chirped, happy to see you hadn't gotten into a yelling match. Then he noticed Sherlock's shirt, or rather, lack thereof. "So, uh," He stuttered, unsure of what to say. "What should I do with this?"

"First of all, thank you, John, for giving me the guts to talk to him about this. And second, I think I'll give it a try. You know, to try and prevent a really bad day when you guys aren't available or if talking still isn't enough. But for today I think I'll be alright," You said, turning to John with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad. So did you just talk about that or did he finally tell you that he's had the biggest schoolboy crush on you from the moment he met you?"

"John!" Sherlock yelled. You laughed loudly.

"Not in those words exactly, John," You replied. "Don't worry," You added, turning to Sherlock and ruffling his curls. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Good. Now if you don't mind, I need your input on this case."

"Me?" You asked, quite surprised.

"Yes," He said as if it was obvious. "You're a woman after all!"

"And that is important because?"

"The killer was a woman obviously but I can't understand why she would do it!" The two of you went off into your own little world, completely ignoring John as he cooked dinner.

John: Ok, mates, get your tuxs out. Won't be long now.

Greg: He finally proposed? 😀

John: Not yet, give it a week.

Mycroft: John, you forget I monitor his spending habits.

John: And?

Mycroft: He's had a ring purchased for some time now.

Greg: 3 days tops.💍

Mycroft: I would estimate about 3 days as well, Detective Inspector.

Greg: We're in a Group Text. Talking about our friend like a bunch of teenage girls at a slumber party. I think you can call me Greg.

Mycroft: If I must.

John: So, girls, will you help me make the plans?

Mycroft: Of course. He is blood after all.

Greg: Count me in! Wouldn't miss it! 🕵️👰

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

@gaitwae

@for-hearthand-home

[allthingsarmin]

fckboy armin? + degredation is always a good combination <3

I was so excited to write this dose of Armin brainrot, omg 😩

If it’s alright with you, anon, I did this request in more of a headcanon format, but the ending is more of a fanfiction format. I’m also sorry I took so long to write this omg.

MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader, FemBodied!Reader

TW: Mentions of NSFW topics + degradation, mean!armin, manipulation, fuckboy topics

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin whose style resembles that of the horny, manipulative, ghost-y men on campus yet is just too hot for you to handle. The way he wears dark silver rings on his left thumb, middle, and pointer fingers that accentuate his slender, pale fingers and clean-cut nails. The way the small, dark tattoos on his knuckles, right forearm, and collarbone add an aura of mystery and aggression to his being that just exudes sex. The way he wears a gold chain necklace with distressed jeans and a plain t-shirt that’s just a little too tight and shows off his pecks. Or the way he wears long black joggers and an oversized long-sleeve black shirt that makes him look taller. The way he doesn’t wear his mask correctly, always hanging on one of his ears which compliment his stud earrings and devilish smirk. The way he is broke because he’s always spending money on the newest, trendy shoes. The way he always uses way too much cologne… One look at him, and you can sense his ‘asshole attitude,’ but you can’t deny it makes your lower regions pulsate.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who’s body is so perfectly sculpted and toned that it leaves you thinking dirty thoughts in class. The way he sits in class with his sleeves rolled up, laying back relaxed in the chair, right leg bouncing out of boredom as his hard cock becomes noticeable in his grey sweatpants makes you want to run to your dorm and touch yourself. The way his abs call out to you to graze your fingertips against them when he lifts his shirt up to wipe away the sweat after walking home from the gym. The way his beautifully slender fingers hold his phone or push his hair back when he’s frustrated makes you think about how good they would feel inside you. The way his accentuated collarbone peaks through his thin t-shirts, allowing you to see the hickeys and imprints of love bites from god knows how many women makes you jealous. The way his skin is so pale and so soft that his blonde leg hair becomes barely noticeable. The way his golden hair brings out a plethora of the shades of blue in his eyes, and oh how his haircut suits him perfectly, shaping his jawline very well. How his beautiful blue eyes dangerously lure you into him, the soft but manipulative stares he gives you. How he can’t seem to maintain eye contact with you for more than three seconds because he looks at your breasts. The sinister yet sexy smiles he has plastered upon his face when talking with his friends about ‘some other whore’ he fucked the other day… Armin is attractive, and he knows he is attractive. Though you hate how arrogant his looks have made him, his suggestive stares and lip bites from such a handsome man make your heart flutter and mind only focused on one thing.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who is always posting thirst traps on instagram. You know… The pictures with the squinted eyes and the bitten lower bottom lip, either showing off his money or new shoes, pictures beside a nice car, suggestive pictures with the new girls he’s been fucking recently, biting his chain necklaces because he thinks it’s sexy. Only follows ‘successful’ men and offensive meme accounts but mostly follows half-naked women and supermodels. Leaves nasty comments on ugly womens’ pictures, calling them whores while he’s in hot girls’ DMs sending unsolicited dick pics and asking for nudes. Has thousands of followers, mostly from the party girls and rude men who go to his college. Won’t let you tag him in a photo unless he ‘looks hot.’

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who takes slutty gym pictures with his shirt off, abs out, shorts low enough to see his V line, hands in his hair, and a wink. Sends it to every girl in his snapchat contacts and posts it on his story with the ‘slide up’ text.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who hits you with the “you up?” at 2am on snapchat after ghosting you for two months. Tells you how much he misses your lewd moans and sloppy cunt, and then after pressuring you to give him nudes, he saves them and then doesn’t talk to you for at least a week.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who is so intelligent and dangerously manipulative. Who is so smart that he doesn’t need or want to pay attention in class, who convinces you to let him keep the nudes you sent him on snapchat, who reels you right back in when you try to move on from him.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who was nice to you at first, befriending you when you looked so alone, shy, and innocent, who only chose you because you looked so easy to take advantage of when he finally closes in on you.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who says he doesn’t want ‘any of that relationship stuff’ because all of his exes were crazy and that he only wants to date hot chicks.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who only texts you at ungodly hours during the weekdays and plays games like ‘20 questions’ with you so he can ask you if you’re either a virgin or a whore, if you like oral, if you’ve thought about him in dirty ways before… or truth or dare, asking you if you if you want to be his slut or daring you to send him lewd pictures of yourself.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who takes every chance he can get to turn anything sexual: the way your skirt is just a little too short that makes him suddenly grab your upper thighs, the way you innocently lick your ice cream cone on a hot summer day - he tells you to put your tongue on his cock instead, how you put your hair up in a high ponytail just makes him want to pull on it and kiss the crook of your neck… it all leaves him clouded with dirty thoughts.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who calls you ‘babe’ and refers to you as his ‘girl’ even though he has a million bitches on the side.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who makes you feel like shit about yourself because he’s constantly sending you womens’ profiles on Instagram, saying you should look more like them and ‘get a nicer ass.’

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who becomes more controlling as your sexual relationship continues, basically forcing you to let him check your phone in case you're messaging other dudes and being naughty for men besides him but gets defensive when you want to see his phone.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who refuses to eat you out but expects you to praise his cock with your slutty mouth and wet tongue.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who doesn’t really care about your personal problems or pain, and whenever you tell him you’re hurting on the inside, he offers to let you come over to his house so that he can fuck you: “once my cock is inside you again, you’ll forget all about your sadness.”

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who doesn’t use condoms because he ‘can’t feel anything’ when he wears them, so he just assumes that you’re on birth control when he cums inside you.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who violates your privacy when he’s online gaming with his closest friends, Eren and Jean, as he tells them through the microphone about how tight and wet your pussy is and how much you enjoy being treated like a slut, your mouth full of his cock and pussy dripping with his cum… going as far as sending secretive videos he took of you to them where you’re whimpering and begging for Armin’s cock.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who pressures you to do risky things you don’t want to do, but you just can’t find the courage to say no to him when he stares at you with his intense blue eyes… like when he asks you to sit next to him in the back of the class then without your approval, sneaks his slender fingers into your panties and starts harshly playing with your clit. He devilishly smirks as you try to suppress your cries of disapproval. Or like when he convinces you to let him take videos of you when you’re in a position that exposes your slick cunt to him so well. Or even how he manipulates you into trying something new that you’ve never been comfortable with, like swallowing his thick cum, letting him put you in a full-nelson, maybe letting him choke you while he spits in your mouth.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who finally closes in on you, begging you to help him study for the upcoming test since he wasn’t paying attention in class because ‘you’re just so distracting’ to him, acting so smart and innocent and respectably in front of the teacher when Armin really knows that your slutty outfits and wet pussy says otherwise… so you excitedly go over to his dorm, thankful that finally it will be a normal get-together where you could actually find out more about Armin instead of finding out more about how he likes his cock sucked. Upon entering his dorm, it is apparent that he never planned on studying with you as his textbooks are nowhere to be found, and he is sitting on the couch half-naked with Netflix on the TV.

ᵔᴥᵔ “Oh hey, y/n, didn’t expect to see you here so soon,” he says nonchalantly. You unknowingly stare at his broad shoulders, his strong chest, and of course his V-line that is not hard to miss as he carelessly talks shit about his teachers. “See something you like?” arrogance seething from his teeth as he brushes back his blond hair. You don’t say anything as your face grows red. He takes your hand and leads you to the couch. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

ᵔᴥᵔ The sound of skin slapping drowns out the voices on the TV. You don’t even know how Armin managed to get you into this position again where you’re so submissive under him, giving into him yet again. He flips you over on your back, and he props himself up, looking over your figure that’s so pathetically displayed below him. You can see his angelic hair stick to his forehead as the sweat drips down his soft but sharp cheeks. The look in his eyes has gone dark, and his smile is sinister as if he was a predator about to devour a prey. He wickedly laughs as you grind your needy cunt against his hard cock. This is where he really gets mean.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin loves to degrade you like the whore you are, constantly reminding you just how easy you are to take advantage of, how easy you are to win over with just some dick, how easy it is to make your sloppy cunt squirt and tingle from multiple orgasms, how easy it is to make you whimper and beg for his thick cock to make a complete mess of your pussy.

ᵔᴥᵔ “You really didn’t think I invited you over just to study, did you?” he snickers as he cruelly and slowly thrusts into your aching cunt, making eye contact with you and grinning as your face turns red. He grabs your throat, choking you, and begins to thrust faster which pulls shaky moans from under your breath. He inches close to your ear and whispers, “you even came over here without wearing underwear under that short skirt of yours…” he switches to the other ear, “and when I started touching your dirty cunt during the movie, you were already so wet,” you shiver at his words. He pulls back and gives you a gentle slap with his left hand, his rings stinging your face, and uses his right hand to twist your perky nipples. He begins to laugh, “but I’m not surprised that a filthy slut like you - my filthy slut - would think of such impure thoughts during something as innocent as watching a movie.” Armin leans closer to your face again, still thrusting into you at a quick pace. His warm breath raises goosebumps on your skin. He harshly grabs your mouth and tells you to open, which you submissively comply with, and he spits into your mouth which causes you to whimper. He smacks the side of your thigh. “You like being treated like some depraved slut don’t you?” You don’t reply, but the fluttering in your tight pussy says otherwise. He flips you onto your stomach, your breasts mushing into the couch, and without warning, he forces his girthy cock into your tight pussy. He is thrusting into you at an ungodly pace, making you scream and moan incoherent words. “What’s my little slut saying? Use your words, baby,” he teases. At this point, you can only call out his name. “A-armin…” He begins to torturously thrust into that one spot, and within seconds, you're bucking your hips, intensely squirting onto his couch and leaving a sopping wet dark spot. “Fucking whore, gonna have to buy a new couch because you can’t control your filthy cunt,” he growls into your ear. He quickly flips you over onto your back again, wanting to see your face. Your face is contorted with such pleasure; your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your mouth is wide open with drool dripping down your jaw. Armin shudders, his cock getting even harder in your tight pussy. “So hot… such a lewd slut.” He immediately brings out his phone, taking a picture. “Want me to show my friends what a cock-hungry whore you are?” You quickly nod. “So fucking pathetic,” he snarls. “I’m going to destroy your cunt, slut.” He shoves his warm tongue in your mouth, gently grabbing the hair on your foggy head. “I’m gonna break you in so bad,” he mumbles, wiping the tears from your face.

ᵔᴥᵔ fuckboy!armin who maybe in fact does want to have that ‘relationship shit’ with you ~

__________________________

Requests are open, and feedback is appreciated <3

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiiii! Here’s part two of my Katniss and Peeta Taking Of Each Other bookcomb! It’s pretty long so … sorry 😬. There was a lot I didn’t include and a lot I wasn’t sure about including, because so much of Catching Fire and Mockingjay is about them wanting to protect the other but I tried to narrow it down to actual acts that were caring, or times they at least tried to care for the other.

-

Then, as if I can’t stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn’t entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that’s where we have our first kiss in months. It’s full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I’m not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won’t expose me in front of the cameras. Won’t condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He’s still looking out for me. Just as he did in the arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry. Instead I pull him to his feet, tuck my glove through the crook of his arm, and merrily pull him on our way.

-

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers follow a pace or two behind us.

-

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. Not well enough. I drift off only to be roused by nightmares that have increased in number and intensity. Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms, guarding against dangers that can descend at any moment.

-

“He was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man.

“He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.”

-

When my mother has locked the door behind them, I slump against the table.

“What is it?” says Peeta, holding me steadily.

“Oh, I banged up my left foot. The heel. And my tailbone’s had a bad day, too.” He helps me over to one of the rockers and I lower myself onto the padded cushion.

My mother eases off my boots. “What happened?”

“I slipped and fell,” I say. Four pairs of eyes look at me with disbelief. “On some ice.” But we all know the house must be bugged and it’s not safe to talk openly. Not here, not now.

-

My mother gives me a cup of chamomile tea with a dose of sleep syrup, and my eyelids begin to droop immediately. She wraps my bad foot, and Peeta volunteers to get me to bed. I start out by leaning on his shoulder, but I’m so wobbly he just scoops me up and carries me upstairs. He tucks me in and says good night but I catch his hand and hold him there.

-

Peeta sits on the side of the bed, warming my hand in both of his. “Almost thought you’d changed your mind today. When you were late for dinner.”

I’m foggy but I can guess what he means. With the fence going on and me showing up late and the Peacekeepers waiting, he thought I’d made a run for it, maybe with Gale.

“No, I’d have told you,” I say. I pull his hand up and lean my cheek against the back of it, taking in the faint scent of cinnamon and dill from the breads he must have baked today.

-

Each afternoon he carries me downstairs for a change of scenery and I unnerve everyone by turning on the television.

-

Effie, shining in a wig of metallic gold, lacks her usual verve. She has to claw around the girls’ reaping ball for quite a while to snag the one piece of paper that everyone already knows has my name on it. Then she catches Haymitch’s name. He barely has time to shoot me an unhappy look before Peeta has volunteered to take his place.

-

“Why would he paint a picture of me, Effie?” I ask, somehow annoyed.

“To show he’s going to do everything he can to defend you. That’s what everyone in the Capitol’s expecting, anyway. Didn’t he volunteer to go in with you?” Effie says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

-

I lock my fingers tightly into his and say, “Watch my feet. Just try to step where I step.” It helps. We seem to move a little faster, but never enough to afford a rest, and the mist continues to lap at our heels.

-

Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My heart sinks as my fingers draw back my last arrow. Then I remember Peeta has a sheath, too. And he’s not shooting, he’s hacking away with that knife. My own knife is out now, but the monkeys are quicker, can spring in and out so fast you can barely react.

“Peeta!” I shout. “Your arrows!”

Peeta turns to see my predicament and is sliding off his sheath when it happens. A monkey lunges out of a tree for his chest. I have no arrow, no way to shoot. I can hear the thud of Finnick’s trident finding another mark and know his weapon is occupied. Peeta’s knife arm is disabled as he tries to remove the sheath. I throw my knife at the oncoming mutt but the creature somersaults, evading the blade, and stays on its trajectory.

Weaponless, defenseless, I do the only thing I can think of. I run for Peeta, to knock him to the ground, to protect his body with mine, even though I know I won’t make it in time.

-

While I help Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, Finnick deftly cleans the meat from the shellfish.

-

I stretch out, pressing my hot cheek on the grass mat, staring at the thing in aggravation. Peeta rubs a tense spot between my shoulders and I let myself relax a little.

-

I know it’s stopped when I feel Peeta’s hands on me, feel myself lifted from the ground and out of the jungle. But I stay eyes squeezed shut, hands over my ears, muscles too rigid to release. Peeta holds me on his lap, speaking soothing words, rocking me gently. It takes a long time before I begin to relax the iron grip on my body. And when I do, the trembling begins.

“It’s all right, Katniss,” he whispers.

-

“Katniss!” I hear his voice though he’s a far distance away. But what is he doing? Peeta must have figured out that everyone is hunting us by now. “Katniss!”

I can’t protect him. I can’t move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best. I do the one thing I can to draw the attackers away from him and over to me. “Peeta!” I scream out. “Peeta! I’m here! Peeta!” Yes, I will draw them in, any in my vicinity, away from Peeta and over to me and the lightning tree that will soon be a weapon in and of itself. “I’m here! I’m here!” He won’t make it. Not with that leg in the night. He will never make it in time. “Peeta!”

-

I’m rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I’m in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I’m devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. “When the war is over, if we’ve won, Peeta will be pardoned.”

-

At the mention of my name, Peeta’s face contorts in effort. “Katniss . . . how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you . . . in Thirteen . . .” He inhales sharply, as if fighting for air; his eyes look insane. “Dead by morning!”

Off camera, Snow orders, “End it!” Beetee throws the whole thing into chaos by flashing a still shot of me standing in front of the hospital at three-second intervals. But between the images, we are privy to the real-life action being played out on the set. Peeta’s attempt to continue speaking. The camera knocked down to record the white tiled floor. The scuffle of boots. The impact of the blow that’s inseparable from Peeta’s cry of pain.

And his blood as it splatters the tiles.

-

I poke around in the pile, about to settle on some cod chowder, when Peeta holds out a can to me. “Here.” I take it, not knowing what to expect. The label reads LAMB STEW.

I press my lips together at the memories of rain dripping through stones, my inept attempts at flirting, and the aroma of my favorite Capitol dish in the chilly air. So some part of it must still be in his head, too. How happy, how hungry, how close we were when that picnic basket arrived outside our cave.

-

In the fluorescent light, the circles under his eyes look like bruises. “There’s still time. You should sleep.” Unresisting, he lies back down, but just stares at the needle on one of the dials as it twitches from side to side. Slowly, as I would with a wounded animal, my hand stretches out and brushes a wave of hair from his forehead. He freezes at my touch, but doesn’t recoil. So I continue to gently smooth back his hair. It’s the first time I have voluntarily touched him since the last arena.

“You’re still trying to protect me. Real or not real,” he whispers.

“Real,” I answer. It seems to require more explanation. “Because that’s what you and I do. Protect each other.” After a minute or so, he drifts off to sleep.

-

“Katniss!” He whips his head toward me but doesn’t seem to notice my bow, the waiting arrow. “Katniss! Get out of here!”

I hesitate. His voice is alarmed, but not insane. “Why? What’s making that sound?”

“I don’t know. Only that it has to kill you,” says Peeta. “Run! Get out! Go!”

-

It’s a long shot, it’s suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. “Don’t let him take you from me.”

Peeta’s panting hard as he fights the nightmares raging in his head. “No. I don’t want to . . .”

I clench his hands to the point of pain. “Stay with me.”

His pupils contract to pinpoints, dilate again rapidly, and then return to something resembling normalcy. “Always,” he murmurs.

I help Peeta up and address Pollux.

-

While Cressida and Pollux make fur nests for each of us, I attend to Peeta’s wrists. Gently rinsing away the blood, putting on an antiseptic, and bandaging them beneath the cuffs.

-

By the time I make it back to the fence, I’m so sick and dizzy, Thom has to give me a ride home in the dead people’s cart. Help me to the sofa in the living room, where I watch the dust motes spin in the thin shafts of afternoon light.

My head snaps around at the hiss, but it takes awhile to believe he’s real. How could he have gotten here? I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He’s come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn’t stand it there without her, so he came looking.

[…]

Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. Because hours later, when I come to in my bed, he’s there in the moonlight. Crouched beside me, yellow eyes alert, guarding me from the night.

-

Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup.

-

I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.

-

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver.

-