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Description
[Please read the description before proceeding!]

You sighed as you turned on the diffuser on your bedside table, the last step of your nighttime ritual before finally taking your rest. For a brief moment, you watched the thin stream of mist float delicately from the top, disappearing into the small space of your bedroom. The relaxing scent of lavender traveled up your nasal passages and rushed through the rest of your bloodstream. You didn’t particularly like doing this every damn night. It felt no different from any of your other rituals. But, at least, this one had an actual goal rather than appeasing the stupid worries concocted from the depths of your fucked up brain.

Obsessive compulsive disorder was always a part of your life. You never thought much of it. Even as a child, you ordered your belongings a certain way. You washed your hands a little more than the average kid. You were much more withdrawn and shy than any of your classmates. According to any outsiders, it meant nothing just that you were another quiet, neat, studious child, preferring the company of your books, music, video games, art materials, any object that constructed your own, little world.

It wasn’t until junior high that you noticed the strange habits of your brain. It latched onto images you found disturbing, noises that bothered you or produced thoughts triggered by outside fears and replayed them in your mind over and over....and over. No matter what you tried to distract yourself, the synthesis of terror circulating through the surface of your mind never subsided. You tried to push it aside. You tried to focus on your studies. You endured each day, bit by bit, pursuing your goals, cultivating your favorite hobbies. Certain days, you found relief. You pondered about what you so chose. You lived freely without that little demon in your head torturing you. Other days, especially as you plowed through high school and college, you wanted desperately to die. Your mind transformed into a hideous monster, forcing thoughts you never wanted there to begin with into your consciousness. You attempted with all your might to push them away, to stop yourself altogether.

It was as if you lost control of your brain.

You reached your limit. The blackness the anxiety pushed you in truly made you believe that death was the only way out. You utilized every device you possessed. You tried everything that normally made you happy.

Nothing.

Before you resorted to taking the last, most desperate of measures, you found a therapist, one that you liked, trusted and quite easy to talk to. She diagnosed you with obsessive compulsive disorder, a mental illness found in a huge portion of the population. Much to your relief, she informed you that it could be treated with therapy, medication and a healthy lifestyle change. After a few more very helpful sessions with her, you rejected her offer of a prescription, deciding to work through his on your own. You knew that only you contained the ability to really change, so outside sources, though helpful, were not the ultimate answer for you.

At first, you immediately regretted that call. It was slow and more painful than trudging through the fiery circles of Hell. Of course, your problem required you to actually turn and face your fears, to drop your compulsions and rituals. But, no one saw the war you were fighting. Even when you noticed improvement, you faced relapses and setbacks that discouraged you and reduced you to angry tears. Still, you pushed forward.

To help release some of the anxiety and adrenaline, you took up journaling, different forms of exercises, healthier eating habits. Your bedroom became a lavender scented sanctuary where you played peaceful music and incorporated a noise maker that filled your room with the sound of rain, a storm, whichever you were in the mood for.

Along the way, during your junior year of college, you met Levi Ackerman, ironically, a psychology major; ironic in the senses that you were suffering from a common disorder and ironic in the sense that he had the personality that would scare off every gang, thug and criminal he’d ever come across. He was the last person you’d ever expect major in psychology. But, you were grateful all the same. You worked on projects together, which lead to studying together outside of class, which lead to many, many dates.

As much as you tried to hide your struggle, it came to light eventually. Levi found you in the midst of a compulsion. Panicking, you attempted to explain some bullshit reasoning behind what you were doing. He knew you better. In fact, after you answered, that was exactly how he replied:

“Bullshit.”

To your dismay, he found you out.

Choking back guttural sobs, you explained your disorder, how you were diagnosed, your obsessive thoughts and the rituals you broke and were currently trying to break and deal with. Everything. Thankfully, he understood better than most people would, as he studied this very field. But, that didn’t stop your obvious worries and insecurities.

To your surprise, he took your therapist’s advice to the next level. Whenever he caught you giving in to those infectious compulsions, he gripped your wrists tightly. Though the power of your anxiety pinned your heart with its cold fingertips, Levi was there for you to lean against. When you woke up from your chilling night terrors, he held you against his chest, talking sense into you in his usual foul mouthed fashion. He permitted your nighttimes adjustments, which he actually found helped his own insomnia. He was here for you in your good times. He was there for you in your worst.

Whenever you asked him if he would ever leave you because of this, he batted you upside the head and replied,

“You shithead. Everyone’s got problems. Why would I bail out because of something so stupidly obvious?”

And so here you were today, graduated with stable jobs and finally engaged to the love of your life. Thankfully, your hard work paid off, and you showed so much improvement. Your lapses were few. Your thoughts barely bothered you anymore. You slept so much better than you used to.

But, that didn’t mean your setbacks didn’t occur. When they returned, it cut you deep.

You sighed again, rubbing your forearm, deeply inhaling the sweet, gentle scent. You hated going to bed when you felt even the slightest bit of anxiety. You absolutely hated it.

“Ah, right,” you slapped the side of your head. “My brain’s just wired differently.”

As your breath came shorter, you closed your eyes. To your dismay, those damned thoughts and disturbing images crawled the surface of your mind. Your chest constricted with your lungs; your stomach twisted into knots. Your blood both burned and chilled through your veins, your pounding pulse pushing it through at a rapid pace. Sweat glossed over the skin of your cheeks and forehead, freezing your insides even further. Instinctively, you brought shaky fingers to your hair and tugged.

“Hey, brat.”

A sharp thwack came to the back of your hand, causing you to yelp and jump back. Levi stood before you, dressed in his flannel pants and white, long-sleeved shirt. His head cocked and arms crossed.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” you grumbled.

He took his place next to you on the bed. He simply grunted in return.

“It’s just really bad right now,” you mumbled, clutching your arms. “I guess I’m trying too hard because it’s so close to the wedding or-shit, I don’t know. The nightmares are back. The anxiety won’t leave. I’ve tried everything and-!”

Before your cries escalated into screams, he grasped your shoulders, almost roughly. “[Name], you’ve fought this before. You can do it again.”

“I don’t know, Levi! I’m scared of going back,” you whimpered. “I can’t go back. I can’t!”

“[Name],” he said.

“Yes?”

“Lie down.”

Just as you were about to obey, he carefully, still holding you by the shoulders, lay you flat, head comfortably cradled in your pillow. You were too upset to even wonder what he was doing. You just assumed he was getting you ready for bed. However, he settled himself over you, his weight sinking you further into the warmth of the comforters. His pale eyes remained stoic, but his calloused hands tenderly cupped your face. He bent down, touched foreheads with you. The cool breath from his nose tickled your lips.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

You hesitated. With OCD, sometimes the tiny act of closing one’s eyes was utterly horrifying. It meant facing the very thing that was terrorizing you: your mind. But, Levi was here. He’d be here to hold you if you couldn’t take it anymore.

Swallowing hard, ignoring the cries of protest within you, you closed your eyes.

Just as you expected, the reel of frights flowed through you as vivid as ever. Each one was a stab to your heart. Your panic increased.

“Hush,” the voice of Levi reached out for you in the darkness. “Try to focus on me. Let them pass through then focus on me.”

Clasping his wrists tighter, you nodded, still watching every single damn impression into your wounded mind travel through as often as possible. You felt so disgusting. To think that your mind was so distorted to latch itself onto such horrible things! But, then again, everyone suffered with bad thoughts once in a while. You just reacted strongly to them, far more desperate to get rid of them. In some strange way, it made sense.

To your relief, your anxiety and comfort eased away. Soon, you were able to fully sense Levi’s hands encircling your face, his breath brushing aside loose strands of hair, the weight of his body closing you protectively, as your shield. As the scary thoughts faded away, your mind pulled out the precious memories of your time with Levi, all you study sessions, your dates, your quiet walks together, long, strenuous nights, holding you close on the couch, every single embrace and kiss you ever shared, constantly cleaning your apartment, his gentle handling clashing with his horrible mouth and rotten attitude.

He was your guardian angel, even if he cussed more often than every sailor in existence.

Sensing your now relaxed muscles, Levi closed the space between you, pressing a chaste kiss against your parted lips. Even with your captured mouth, you were still able to finally breath deeply, everything inside you slowing down, soothing you. He pulled away, gazing into your sweet face full of nothing but gratitude.

“Best form of therapy ever,” you said with a giggle.

“Tch, it’s also the most expensive kind,” he mumbled, reaching over to your lamp and clicking it off.

“Oh yeah?” you lifted the covers, letting him bury himself underneath them. His strong arms wrapped snuggly around you. “What’s the price, Dr. Ackerman?”

He rested his chin in the crook of your neck. “You.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the price. All of you,” he kissed the base of your neck. “Think you can handle that?”

You fought the tears burning the rims of your eyelids. The love you felt for him expanded within you, snuffing out every bit of anxiety you previously endured.

“Yeah,” you finally replied. “I think I again.”

He silently chuckled in approval. “Go to sleep now. I’ll be here if you need me,” embracing you tighter, he fit his cheek perfectly in the curve of your neck, silently drifting away.

You sighed in relief. You would always take comfort in that. No matter how often you relapsed, no matter how long it took for you fight your way out of them, Levi would always be there to hold you tight and help you face your fears. He couldn’t magically make it go away, but he understood that this was just a challenge you faced, and he’d be there every step of the way.

All you had to do now was close your eyes.

Description
[Please read the description before proceeding!]

You sighed as you turned on the diffuser on your bedside table, the last step of your nighttime ritual before finally taking your rest. For a brief moment, you watched the thin stream of mist float delicately from the top, disappearing into the small space of your bedroom. The relaxing scent of lavender traveled up your nasal passages and rushed through the rest of your bloodstream. You didn’t particularly like doing this every damn night. It felt no different from any of your other rituals. But, at least, this one had an actual goal rather than appeasing the stupid worries concocted from the depths of your fucked up brain.

Obsessive compulsive disorder was always a part of your life. You never thought much of it. Even as a child, you ordered your belongings a certain way. You washed your hands a little more than the average kid. You were much more withdrawn and shy than any of your classmates. According to any outsiders, it meant nothing just that you were another quiet, neat, studious child, preferring the company of your books, music, video games, art materials, any object that constructed your own, little world.

It wasn’t until junior high that you noticed the strange habits of your brain. It latched onto images you found disturbing, noises that bothered you or produced thoughts triggered by outside fears and replayed them in your mind over and over....and over. No matter what you tried to distract yourself, the synthesis of terror circulating through the surface of your mind never subsided. You tried to push it aside. You tried to focus on your studies. You endured each day, bit by bit, pursuing your goals, cultivating your favorite hobbies. Certain days, you found relief. You pondered about what you so chose. You lived freely without that little demon in your head torturing you. Other days, especially as you plowed through high school and college, you wanted desperately to die. Your mind transformed into a hideous monster, forcing thoughts you never wanted there to begin with into your consciousness. You attempted with all your might to push them away, to stop yourself altogether.

It was as if you lost control of your brain.

You reached your limit. The blackness the anxiety pushed you in truly made you believe that death was the only way out. You utilized every device you possessed. You tried everything that normally made you happy.

Nothing.

Before you resorted to taking the last, most desperate of measures, you found a therapist, one that you liked, trusted and quite easy to talk to. She diagnosed you with obsessive compulsive disorder, a mental illness found in a huge portion of the population. Much to your relief, she informed you that it could be treated with therapy, medication and a healthy lifestyle change. After a few more very helpful sessions with her, you rejected her offer of a prescription, deciding to work through his on your own. You knew that only you contained the ability to really change, so outside sources, though helpful, were not the ultimate answer for you.

At first, you immediately regretted that call. It was slow and more painful than trudging through the fiery circles of Hell. Of course, your problem required you to actually turn and face your fears, to drop your compulsions and rituals. But, no one saw the war you were fighting. Even when you noticed improvement, you faced relapses and setbacks that discouraged you and reduced you to angry tears. Still, you pushed forward.

To help release some of the anxiety and adrenaline, you took up journaling, different forms of exercises, healthier eating habits. Your bedroom became a lavender scented sanctuary where you played peaceful music and incorporated a noise maker that filled your room with the sound of rain, a storm, whichever you were in the mood for.

Along the way, during your junior year of college, you met Levi Ackerman, ironically, a psychology major; ironic in the senses that you were suffering from a common disorder and ironic in the sense that he had the personality that would scare off every gang, thug and criminal he’d ever come across. He was the last person you’d ever expect major in psychology. But, you were grateful all the same. You worked on projects together, which lead to studying together outside of class, which lead to many, many dates.

As much as you tried to hide your struggle, it came to light eventually. Levi found you in the midst of a compulsion. Panicking, you attempted to explain some bullshit reasoning behind what you were doing. He knew you better. In fact, after you answered, that was exactly how he replied:

“Bullshit.”

To your dismay, he found you out.

Choking back guttural sobs, you explained your disorder, how you were diagnosed, your obsessive thoughts and the rituals you broke and were currently trying to break and deal with. Everything. Thankfully, he understood better than most people would, as he studied this very field. But, that didn’t stop your obvious worries and insecurities.

To your surprise, he took your therapist’s advice to the next level. Whenever he caught you giving in to those infectious compulsions, he gripped your wrists tightly. Though the power of your anxiety pinned your heart with its cold fingertips, Levi was there for you to lean against. When you woke up from your chilling night terrors, he held you against his chest, talking sense into you in his usual foul mouthed fashion. He permitted your nighttimes adjustments, which he actually found helped his own insomnia. He was here for you in your good times. He was there for you in your worst.

Whenever you asked him if he would ever leave you because of this, he batted you upside the head and replied,

“You shithead. Everyone’s got problems. Why would I bail out because of something so stupidly obvious?”

And so here you were today, graduated with stable jobs and finally engaged to the love of your life. Thankfully, your hard work paid off, and you showed so much improvement. Your lapses were few. Your thoughts barely bothered you anymore. You slept so much better than you used to.

But, that didn’t mean your setbacks didn’t occur. When they returned, it cut you deep.

You sighed again, rubbing your forearm, deeply inhaling the sweet, gentle scent. You hated going to bed when you felt even the slightest bit of anxiety. You absolutely hated it.

“Ah, right,” you slapped the side of your head. “My brain’s just wired differently.”

As your breath came shorter, you closed your eyes. To your dismay, those damned thoughts and disturbing images crawled the surface of your mind. Your chest constricted with your lungs; your stomach twisted into knots. Your blood both burned and chilled through your veins, your pounding pulse pushing it through at a rapid pace. Sweat glossed over the skin of your cheeks and forehead, freezing your insides even further. Instinctively, you brought shaky fingers to your hair and tugged.

“Hey, brat.”

A sharp thwack came to the back of your hand, causing you to yelp and jump back. Levi stood before you, dressed in his flannel pants and white, long-sleeved shirt. His head cocked and arms crossed.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” you grumbled.

He took his place next to you on the bed. He simply grunted in return.

“It’s just really bad right now,” you mumbled, clutching your arms. “I guess I’m trying too hard because it’s so close to the wedding or-shit, I don’t know. The nightmares are back. The anxiety won’t leave. I’ve tried everything and-!”

Before your cries escalated into screams, he grasped your shoulders, almost roughly. “[Name], you’ve fought this before. You can do it again.”

“I don’t know, Levi! I’m scared of going back,” you whimpered. “I can’t go back. I can’t!”

“[Name],” he said.

“Yes?”

“Lie down.”

Just as you were about to obey, he carefully, still holding you by the shoulders, lay you flat, head comfortably cradled in your pillow. You were too upset to even wonder what he was doing. You just assumed he was getting you ready for bed. However, he settled himself over you, his weight sinking you further into the warmth of the comforters. His pale eyes remained stoic, but his calloused hands tenderly cupped your face. He bent down, touched foreheads with you. The cool breath from his nose tickled your lips.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered.

You hesitated. With OCD, sometimes the tiny act of closing one’s eyes was utterly horrifying. It meant facing the very thing that was terrorizing you: your mind. But, Levi was here. He’d be here to hold you if you couldn’t take it anymore.

Swallowing hard, ignoring the cries of protest within you, you closed your eyes.

Just as you expected, the reel of frights flowed through you as vivid as ever. Each one was a stab to your heart. Your panic increased.

“Hush,” the voice of Levi reached out for you in the darkness. “Try to focus on me. Let them pass through then focus on me.”

Clasping his wrists tighter, you nodded, still watching every single damn impression into your wounded mind travel through as often as possible. You felt so disgusting. To think that your mind was so distorted to latch itself onto such horrible things! But, then again, everyone suffered with bad thoughts once in a while. You just reacted strongly to them, far more desperate to get rid of them. In some strange way, it made sense.

To your relief, your anxiety and comfort eased away. Soon, you were able to fully sense Levi’s hands encircling your face, his breath brushing aside loose strands of hair, the weight of his body closing you protectively, as your shield. As the scary thoughts faded away, your mind pulled out the precious memories of your time with Levi, all you study sessions, your dates, your quiet walks together, long, strenuous nights, holding you close on the couch, every single embrace and kiss you ever shared, constantly cleaning your apartment, his gentle handling clashing with his horrible mouth and rotten attitude.

He was your guardian angel, even if he cussed more often than every sailor in existence.

Sensing your now relaxed muscles, Levi closed the space between you, pressing a chaste kiss against your parted lips. Even with your captured mouth, you were still able to finally breath deeply, everything inside you slowing down, soothing you. He pulled away, gazing into your sweet face full of nothing but gratitude.

“Best form of therapy ever,” you said with a giggle.

“Tch, it’s also the most expensive kind,” he mumbled, reaching over to your lamp and clicking it off.

“Oh yeah?” you lifted the covers, letting him bury himself underneath them. His strong arms wrapped snuggly around you. “What’s the price, Dr. Ackerman?”

He rested his chin in the crook of your neck. “You.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the price. All of you,” he kissed the base of your neck. “Think you can handle that?”

You fought the tears burning the rims of your eyelids. The love you felt for him expanded within you, snuffing out every bit of anxiety you previously endured.

“Yeah,” you finally replied. “I think I again.”

He silently chuckled in approval. “Go to sleep now. I’ll be here if you need me,” embracing you tighter, he fit his cheek perfectly in the curve of your neck, silently drifting away.

You sighed in relief. You would always take comfort in that. No matter how often you relapsed, no matter how long it took for you fight your way out of them, Levi would always be there to hold you tight and help you face your fears. He couldn’t magically make it go away, but he understood that this was just a challenge you faced, and he’d be there every step of the way.

All you had to do now was close your eyes.