#I’m too tired to properly articulate my feelings

[greetings-inferiors]

My friend jokingly said ‘if I was leader I would illegalise maths’ and being the token mathematician I said ‘mathematics is the language of the universe. It exists in every facet of reality. To denounce maths is to denounce existence itself’ but then they started saying that it isn’t the language of the universe, instead saying art is

And like

Ignoring maths being art and all

No???

Art implies human creativity. The universe existed for well longer than humanity, and art, but maths was there the whole time.

[sttoru]

your boyfriend sleeps on the couch after an argument you both had earlier that day. after calming your nerves and taking time for yourself, you realise that you might have been a bit too harsh on him.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff / angst / hurt + comfort. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s). nicknames used; ‘(little) baby’. he’s honestly just the perfect combination of gentle and teasing. subtle mentions of size difference.

satoru shifts on the couch whilst letting out an inaudible yawn. he was tired after an entire day at work and finally had the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.

though, he couldn’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he was in fact home, but it didn’t feel like it. not when you were missing.

you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight — just a little squabble between lovers. satoru didn’t rush after you when you had decided to walk away midst argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.

he figured that you just needed some time alone and thus decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.

satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.

it was dead silent in the apartment that was usually filled with your lively chatter. the sorcerer wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep. but, you needed space and he wasn’t going to disturb you.

he drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths were steady and his thoughts were surprisingly calm. satoru almost drifts off to sleep, however his body lightly jolts awake once he hears the creaking of a door.

careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.

satoru moves his arm to the side so his vision wouldn’t be obstructed. his eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe — one he could recognise instantly.

it was you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you didn’t take another step forwards and just lingered in your spot for a few seconds without saying anything.

“hey, baby.” satoru breaks the silence. his voice was as soft as it could be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration in it. even if he had all the reason to be upset according to you.

you remember just how childish you acted earlier; you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand. the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.

in contrast to your immature behaviour, satoru had stayed calm and collected throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you even once nor did he blame you for anything. you felt bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.

you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you were about to do.

you knew you had to apologise for your behaviour, but what you needed first was his validation. you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket satoru was using.

your arms wrap around his torso and you hug him tightly to your body, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.

satoru’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden show of affection, though he wasn’t complaining. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.

“my little baby.” he chuckles, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything was and will be fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me — thank you.”

again. that tender tone satoru uses only with you and for you. the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop the process.

“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body was enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace. satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depended on it.

no words were exchanged between you two for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out and so you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes were watery and a bit red.

the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you were so adorable and precious to him. even when you looked like a mess — a pretty mess.

“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanted to apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i apologise for that as well.”

your lover nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”

you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that was all the reassurance you had needed to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still felt bad and the guilt of your immature actions seemed to linger in the back of your mind.

you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lays on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.

“i’m sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be troubling to deal with.” you whisper as you enjoy the feeling of being back in satoru’s arms.

he grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours — even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.

the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “heh, i’d be lying if i said that you trying to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”

satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that little finger of yours in front of his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating were quite endearing.

it’s not like he was invalidating your feelings with that comment — he was genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it wasn’t like it didn’t work.

“whatever.” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response. you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.

you aren’t the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.

no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.

[sanspuppet]

dom!hwa with his low voice whispering dirty words into your ear while pleasuring you during a long night… (yes i’m down bad ever since i heard his rap in matz😵‍💫)

W/T: fingering, pet names (pretty, darling), unprotected sex (don’t)

A/O: happy to see im not the only one down for him so bad lately, wtf??? he’s so fucking gorgeous in this comeback. ALSO I LOST HALF OF THE WORK because of a glitch and i was annoyed as fuck, but i tried to write it all again, hope you like it anon! thanks for the request :3

• not proofread cause here’s late and im too tired to function properly

“Come on baby, i know you can take more than this.” Seonghwa’s laying on your body, lips near your ear as his hand’s playing with your clit. It’s been a long hour since you’re a whimpering mess, while your boyfriend’s trying to pleasure you. That’s right, he’s trying. You haven’t cum yet, and it’s driving you crazy, feeling Seonghwa’s fingers diving into your pussy but still haven’t creamed around them. “Why the fuck aren’t you cumming?” he whispers at you, a slight tone of frustration and disbelief in his voice. He’s surely more frustrated than you, you can tell it because he starts uncontrollably to exasperate. “Why? Want me to add another finger? Four fingers??”

“Should i eat you out?” “Aren’t my fingers enough for you?” you can’t deny that his whingy voice is incredibly hot, reminds you of his groans he emits while he uses to fuck you dumb. He buries again three fingers inside your pussy, sliding in and out of you faster than he did before. The sound of his palm slamming against your clit is booming inside your head. Hwa squeezes his eyes as he feels his arm burning from how quickly he’s finger fucking you, and his waist hurting as you’re gripping at it harshly, your fingertips diving into his skin. He sticks his tongue out when he feels your walls getting wetter, sighing proudly. “Is this what you want? Want me to fuck you harder?” you moan desperately, arching your back as he pulls out, your folds clenching around nothing but the air. “Keep talking” is the only thing you can articulate. “Huh?” Seonghwa rubs his index finger against your inner walls, playing with your wetness. “Is it because of my voice?” he slides out, licking joyfully your arousal off of his finger. “Yeah, fuck-“ you murmur. He intentionally groans lowly at your ear, secretly smirking as he replies you: “Didn’t know it” you bite your lower lip, your mind getting blurry from the way your body reacts to his voice. “Fuck, you always taste so good, pretty.” He leans in for a deep kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “You can’t even know how fucking hard i am” You can feel his gaze moving down your body. “Wanna ruin your pussy with my own dick.” whimpers keep leaving your mouth, wanting to feel him inside you more than anything else. “Wanna fuck you so hard, that i won’t need to stretch out your pussy before fucking you.” He gets up, and immediately positions himself between your legs. “Gonna make you cum so quickly, pretty.” his cock pops out as he drags his pants down, without even waiting a second he pulls his length inside your wet cunt, another groan escaping his mouth as he feels the warmth of your pussy embracing his dick. “Fuck, so tight.” he murmurs. You moan loudly, clenching helplessly around him. “Yeah, shit. Keep doing it darling.” Seonghwa holds your legs when he starts to slide in and out of you. He throws his head back as he tries to concentrate on the feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock without any problems.

“Ready? Imma fuck you senseless tonight.”

[kingthunder]

Prompt for Geralt and Jaskier: “God I hate you” & “Prove it.” I know you’ll make a masterpiece (like all of your work)!!💜

Rience plays with him. Rience hits him. Rience lights a flame, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and all Jaskier can do is burn.

.

Jaskier isn’t quite the same afterwards. The non-essential parts of him have gone up in smoke and what’s left is this: he has found out in the most intimate way possible that when it’s time for hurting—when the very meat of him is black and charred and he can taste the smoke of his own fat on the back of his tongue—that even then he cannot redirect the hurt onto Geralt. He’ll take it all and fold it up inside him and keep Geralt safe, even though Geralt didn’t do the same for him.

He wants to be angry about it. He wants to scream his righteous fury to the skies. Hell, he’s been doing that for a year already, in every tavern that will let him through the door, insisting that he wants Geralt to burn, burn, burn for what he did to Jaskier’s heart.

Only he isn’t angry anymore. He’s burned enough for the both of them. He’s just tired and lonely and misses his friend and wonders, like pushing on a bruise, if Geralt misses him too.

He wants Geralt to miss him too.

.

Later, when everything has gone to hell and back and the dust has settled, Geralt comes to Jaskier’s room in Kaer Morhen.

“We can’t stay,” Geralt says. “I was trying to keep Ciri safe, but all I did was put everyone else in danger. I need to take her somewhere where she can be trained properly.”

Jaskier doesn’t know who Geralt means when he says “we.” It’s been weeks since they hugged through three inches of creaking leather and metal, and in that time he has yet to figure out if he’s still included in Geralt’s life or if the shapes they’ve been broken into don’t fit together anymore. He’ll love Geralt the same regardless, but he needs to guard his heart.

“I wish you the best,” Jaskier says, thrusting his hand out for Geralt to shake.

Brow furrowed, Geralt takes it. Then he turns Jaskier’s hand palm up and says, “What’s this?”

His thumb is running over the scars Rience left.

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier says.

“It’s something.”

So Jaskier tells him, because he could never really deny Geralt anything. His words are dispassionate, a simple recounting of events, but what he means is, I love you. What he means is, I’d do it again but please don’t make me. Describing the depths of his one-sided devotion, even in such dry terms, leaves him aching and raw, and by the end of it he can’t stop his chin from quivering.

He’s clenched his hand into a white-knuckled fist without realizing it. Slowly, Geralt unbends each finger. He presses a kiss to the middle of Jaskier’s palm and Jaskier’s nostrils flare with the effort of holding in a sob.

“Stop,” Jaskier says.

Geralt stops but doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. He says, “Thank you for keeping Ciri safe.”

“Did a pretty shit job of that in the end, didn’t I?”

Jaskier’s chin is still quivering.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again,” Geralt says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to do that?” Jaskier says helplessly. “Oh hello Geralt, nice seeing you after all this time, I know you hate my guts right now, but by the way, someone tortured me for information about you, just thought you should know, cheers, mate.”

“I don’t hate your guts.”

“Yeah, well you did a pretty good impression of it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not…good at feelings.”

“He’s sorry, he says. And no, you’re not. Good at feelings, that is—oh bloody hell.” 

Geralt has started kissing Jaskier’s fingertips one by one. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs between each one.

 “God, I hate you,” Jaskier says, whimpering. “You just do whatever you bloody want, don’t you?”

Geralt pauses and looks up at Jaskier, eyes troubled.

“Do you not want this?”

“I do,” Jaskier says. “Gods help me, I do, but I  won’t give myself away so cheaply again, witcher. You have to want it, too. You have to really want it, with every poorly articulated feeling in that whole gorgeous body of yours.”

Geralt’s voice is rough. “I do.”

Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek with his scarred hand and says, “Prove it.”

Geralt kisses him. It’s everything Jaskier has ever wanted and it’s not—quite—enough.

“Prove it,” Jaskier says again, breathing hard, his forehead rocking against Geralt’s. “Prove it,” he whispers, drawing back a fraction as Geralt’s lips chase his.

“I’m trying.”

“Not like that.”

Geralt pulls back far enough to look at him. After a moment of silence, Geralt says, “Come with us. Me and Ciri and Yen. Come with us. Then you can let me prove it every day. I’m tired of missing you.”

Jaskier smiles and finally lets Geralt kiss him again. Melts into it and kisses him back, warm and soft. He feels seen. Wanted. The hurt deep inside him dislodges itself and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, that it's possible to be happy again.

“That’s a good start,” Jaskier says.

[yrlocalghost]

i cannot stop thinking about “vessel. though bound, you shall know the state of the world”. i’m a bit too tired to really properly articulate my thoughts on it right now but it really does make it feel even more like the pale king knew something was there/that they weren’t fully empty.

it just seems like quite a strange thing to say if he really did think they were entirely as empty as they should have been. i think it might be just. if he truly believed they were fully empty, what would be the need for them to know the state of the world. what comfort or knowledge would they gain in that if they had been mindless?

combined with the way that memory is so intensely hidden in the path of pain, i do think he definitely knew.

[qhazuban]

thinking a lot about how phrases like

“I’m at capacity, I can’t engage [with you] right now” / “I don’t have the capacity to reconnect” / “I don’t have capacity for more connections” / etc.

“Thank you for sharing [your vulnerability]”

“These are my boundaries, I’m articulating them so we can better show up and care for each other / be in community with each other”

“I want to honour your needs and boundaries” / “What do you need / what are your boundaries?”

“What’s bringing you joy these days?”

“I want to be intentional with our plans” / “I’m setting an intention to…”

“Let’s unpack that” / “There’s a lot to unpack here” / etc.

“Let’s practice authenticity”

“I’m looking for slowness and intentionality”

“That’s so valid”

“I want to be mindful of…”

& other such vocabulary popular in the lexicon of western social justice communities, gentle parenting and nonviolent communication circles, tenderqueer social circles, various new age / woo / healing social spheres, etc etc

just feel like lies, codes, ways of obfuscating and justifying, getting away from really being direct and honest (while ironically purporting to be direct and honest forms of communication), ways to say “wow you’re toxic / oversharing / crossing boundaries / immature / clearly in need of healing / etc, get away from me” without actually saying it

I need to articulate this more, but I guess it all feels related to my thoughts on liberal boundaries discourse

I do use some of this language too, sometimes, both out of necessity and exposure and habit and whatever, often because it feels like the only way to communicate with all these people who don’t even realize how deeply individualistic and alienating this kind of communication is, I’m not saying it’s always terrible or should never be used or whatever, it’s complicated obviously

but then I have to feel guilty both for using the language when it feels so fake *and* for feeling angry about the language itself since apparently that means I’m just a terrible person who doesn’t believe in boundaries or respect or whatever at all 🙄

anyway I need to articulate this more & there’s so much constantly swirling in my head about it but it all feels very very much part of disposability culture, the thing we do not name or talk about enough or properly, all these ways to seem so “evolved” and “self-actualized”

honestly i would just prefer if you said

“I’m exhausted I can’t deal with this”

“I’m angry about [xyz], I don’t want to talk to you anymore”

“yeah I don’t trust you, bye”

“why are you oversharing so much” / “that’s too much information” / “just shut up now”

“yeah if you do this again I’m leaving, bye”

“if you can’t communicate in a healthy way then I don’t want to talk to you”

“why are you so upset all the time, can’t you be happy sometimes”

“you’re too chaotic to do things with”

“this is too overwhelming”

“I don’t want to deal with all that”

“you’re overwhelming me”

“yeah you’re being too real, stop it”

“that’s crazy, get away from me”

“okay whatever but that’s too much again”

or whatever else

and, you know, it’s valid (haha) to feel overwhelmed, tired, scared, etc

and I wish we could just say that

instead of inventing all these ways to obfuscate and act like we’re so “in touch with our feelings” when we are really, really not

[thelampisaflashlight]

Not Forever, Just For Now

[A bit of a drabble featuring Dew and Cirrus having a bit of an emotional conversation, because we’re still on the grief/angst train atm. Does this count as hurt/comfort? I’m not sure.]

“I don’t know.” Cirrus mumbles into her palm, eyes distant as her body relaxes into the couch beside Dew, “I think... I think sometimes you can just feel lonely without there being a deeper meaning to it, ya know.”

She brushes away a strand of his hair from his cheek, “Sometimes, we want to feel the people around us, or maybe we need to feel them... Emotionally, physically... We need to feel connected, and when we spend all of our time focused on work or the things we need to do, we forget to take time to be with each other.”

Dew sags into the couch, his body leaning naturally towards the ghoulette, his head coming to rest on her shoulder, and in turn, Cirrus rests her chin on the top of him and sighs.

“It’s hard for you to be vulnerable, because you’ve taught yourself how to put up walls and just let all your feelings roll off your back like water, but, Dew...” she whispers into his hair, “You can tell us when you’re hurting... You’re very good at letting things go, but I know there’s times where something stings more than normal. We all have days like that, but it shouldn’t minimize how you feel.”

“...I don’t know.” Dew croaks, “It’s... I know you guys wouldn’t... I know you wouldn’t... I just... Fuck, gimme a minute.”

Sitting up slightly, but keeping a bit of grounding contact with Cirrus, Dew takes a deep breath and continues.

“It’s not easy for me to articulate how I feel in the moment.” he says in an uncharacteristically soft tone, “I want to be able to say EXACTLY why I’m upset or frustrated, but sometimes it’s easier just to tamp it down or get angry.”

“It’s easier to be mad than confess exactly how and why something someone did... hurt. I don’t even like admitting that much. I feel like I’m physically biting on the word...” he brings a hand to his throat, “It’s like I’m chewing on rubber, like I have something in my mouth that doesn’t belong there.”

Cirrus rubs his back, “I wish I could tell you it will get easier to ask for help, but every situation is different, and it might get easier to say you need a moment or that you can’t say what you need to say... and it may never feel right, I promise you though, it’s okay.”

Dew looks at the floor pointedly for a moment before looking at Cirrus directly, “Earlier... when I yelled at you and Swiss, I... Normally, I can deal with a bit of teasing, but it felt like... I felt like I was on the ‘outside’, I guess.”

“Outside?” Cirrus asks, “Like not included or...?”

He furrows his brow and then waves his hand in a vague motion, “Hmm... like I wasn’t in on the joke, that it didn’t FEEL like a joke, and... sort of... outside of the whole situation. Like, not disassociating, but... I felt like an outsider.”

“Oh. Oh, Dew, I didn’t realize-” Cirrus begins, but stops when Dew shakes his head.

“You didn’t realize, because you wouldn’t have known how I felt about that kind of thing.” his voice goes softer again, “I’ve only told one other person aside from Aeth and you just now... and that person isn’t around anymore so... I probably should talk about this stuff more often, but we did just talk about why that hasn’t happened yet.”

He laughs and gives a little puff of air out of his nose. Cirrus can’t help but feel a little saddened by how tired he sounds.

“Can we...” he closes his eyes, “Can we... stop talking about this? Not forever, but just... I don’t want to dwell on this tonight. I wanna... I wanna just sit here and try and get to a point where I can apologize properly for how I reacted before.”

Cirrus gives Dew’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Not forever.”

“Definitely not forever.” he hums wearily, “...and I am sorry. Really.”

“I know you are.” she says, “I don’t have to tell you to, but, just so its said out loud... you’ll apologize to Swiss, too, yeah?”

Dew snuggles up against Cirrus, “...I wanna say ‘No’, just as a joke, but we’re being all mushy right now so fine... I’ll apologize to Swiss later.”

“Good.” she smiles, “...Proud of you for opening up like this.”

Dew groans dramatically.

“...Thanks.”

[magnus-the-maqnificent]

So. Here’s a lil story.

I participate in the Malec Secret Santa every year. And every year I’m a master procrastinator and sit down and write out my fic in the last 2-3 days, maybe a week if we’re being generous (and I never learn, but that’s not the point of this story)

This year, however, things were different. I’m in the middle of Pre-finals right now, and the week of the Secret Santa deadline I was swamped with college work and record submissions (cause apparently, my professors are all also Master Procrastinators who waited till the last minute to let us know what to write in those records).

Anyway, I was overworked, I was tired, and I had no idea what to write for the Secret Santa. I made a few false starts and decided to go for a fluffy strangers to lovers college au. It might’ve been 3k if I’d written it out completely.

I didn’t. It was a hard fic to write. I didn’t have any idea about the plot, just that I wanted it to be what I wrote above, and I knew it had to be Magnus POV and I had a certain characterisation for Alec in mind.

But uhm, anyways. Plot didn’t work. I didn’t vibe with the characterisations. Fic was supposed to be a fluffy wintery slow burn, with Malec meeting multiple times at college and slowly falling (while being oblivious dumbasses ofc) and finally somehow ending up together. 500 words in, I reread through it and I was like.

This is boring, uninspired crap.

No, really. There’s no conflict. All the tension is forced. Heck, the fic itself feels forced. One tiny part of me was like, hey, maybe that’s the point of this story, maybe some love stories are just… simple and boring. It’s realistic right? We can write a monologue about it in the end?

I hated that too.

I ended up ditching the fic, and got to studying, while the deadline still loomed over me. And then, I got this lil idea, of a coffee shop and rivals to lovers. It was a tiny idea, just two scenes long, but hey it was still better than what I’d been writing before and I don’t have the time anyway. I sat down and wrote it, and it came out about 1.5k long. I submitted it in, and well, here’s the comments on it so far

I… really don’t know what it means that every single comment mentions the word count (and none of them are negative!! It’s like. I made something that matters in a very small word count. That’s something)

Anyway, I think there’s a few lessons to be learnt here-

1. Word count doesn’t matter, the words do. It’s okay if your works lean towards shorter word counts, as long as you enjoyed writing these, as long as it meant something to you and to the readers.

2. If you’re not enjoying writing something - ditch it!! It’s completely okay.

Idk if I managed to articulate my thoughts properly. I’m probably rambling. But uhm yeah. Happy writing!!

P.S if you haven’t read my Secret Santa fic yet, you can do so here

[kukuandkookie]

I don’t know how but in a tired/sleepy, nostalgia-induced haze, I ended up watching “Beijing Welcomes You” (《北京欢迎你》)—the 2008 Olympics song which is, you know, very catchy. It also just makes me happy and warm and fuzzy inside. But the thing is, I ended up on a version from years ago that happened to have English subs, and I scrolled down to see some comments like “Oh, this is such a good message, but I’m so sad about how things turned out now :( ”

Naturally, that made me go 🤨 because “are you saying you miss when the US hadn’t ruined its relationship with China, or…?”

And yeah. The answer was not that lmao.

People were responding with stuff such as “Yeah! It’s so sad how China’s become so aggressive and authoritarian now” or “I do still want to visit China, but the CCP is just too aggressive” or “it’s a pity what China’s become” etc.

And it’s just like. Hello??? China didn’t just one day turn around and decide, “Hey, fuck the world, I want to threaten everyone and cut all ties and never again welcome newcomers into the country.”

I mean, sure, the nation is a lot more disillusioned with foreigners, but again, it’s not as if that shit happened without a reason. China isn’t unfriendly. Anybody who goes would tell you that Chinese people are very open to community and making friends, and back in the day, they did really love when foreigners would come visit.

It’s just too fucking bad the west had to ruin that!!!

Basically, I’m too tired to articulate this properly or intelligently (forgive me, I have been doing difficult and lengthy readings for my classes all week and I am so sleep-deprived), but it really is exhausting seeing people label China as “being bad without reason.” They always treat the country like it’s just naturally or inherently or essentially evil in some way. And sure, these commenters suggested instead that China has become evil, but it’s still the same message: they’re acting as if China became this way for no reason.

But that’s seriously not it!! I mean, if you provoke a nation enough, it’s going to fucking retaliate!!!

The US really took one look at China’s growth and said, “That’s a threat” and then immediately set out to discredit China in every way. As someone who got more interested in my Chinese roots because of the sinophobia surrounding me, I’m not fucking surprised China retaliated!!!

I feel like I’m sitting here gesturing wildly at the sign of “Let China Sleep, for when she wakes, she will shake the world”—because clearly, Napoleon fucking warned everyone all those years ago, and yet the world (and the US especially) went, “Fuck it! Let’s poke the sleeping tiger!”

And again, China’s not even that aggressive right now. Like yes, there’s a degree of nationalism and patriotism fuelling the government’s moves now as they work to secure and maintain their rising power and potential as a superpower, but many nations try to do that (and some were even worse about it, like the US and Britain and Japan and Germany and France and the USSR etc, because idk countries that get strong enough just seem to have a habit of trying to get a little too colonialist. So at least China isn’t too much to that degree).

Like if it wasn’t for the global pandemic, China would still be fairly open to foreigners. Perhaps still less, as again, Chinese people have grown increasingly disillusioned and/or desensitized to the presence of foreigners, but that doesn’t mean the country would shut itself off and/or attack all the visiting foreigners (again, if it wasn’t for the pandemic and all the extra ensuing hate following that).

So there’s perhaps a sense of vindication I get, knowing that the China of 2008 that these westerners are so busy lamenting no longer exists. I mean, I remember 2000s China. It wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t necessarily all that great either. Pollution was still a major issue, as was cleanliness, and I did notice some “uncivilized” behaviour from citizens some of the times I went back. There was always this sense of distance and even disdain I kept, separating myself from the nation despite me being of Chinese descent myself.

But it’s hard not to, when you’re surrounded by reminders that China makes rip-offs and is dirty etc etc. And truly, back then, foreigners were a much bigger rarity, and Chinese people would flock to them with curiosity and excitement. I used to get satisfaction getting special attention on the communal playgrounds just for speaking English with my brother, basking in any of the praise and awe I received from parents and children alike.

So there was this…admiration of the westerners, you know? These trendy, powerful, wealthy, intelligent, pale people that looked so different from the Chinese, who were curious enough about our culture that they bestowed the nation with their presence.

It’s just too bad that there were—and still are—so many foreigners that never actually had any real respect for China as a nation.

Idk. I guess I’m just salty that even before China was being painted as a monstrous creature or one of the worst James Bond villains to ever James Bond villain, China was still viewed negatively. Back then, the country was something poor and dirty, with what just so happened to be brainwashed citizens who were also poor and dirty and uncivilized—but back then, that was more okay, because at least China was weak. It was something to be pitied, not something to be hated and feared.

It’s why my salt piles up even more knowing that these YouTube commenters are going, “God, I miss the old China,” because the old China they speak of (~2008) would be the China that would happily welcome—as the song says—yet also deeply admire them. And it is a little bit like…these kinds of people probably don’t deserve to be admired, you know? At least, not that much.

Sure, it’s always nice when someone takes interest in your country and your culture, but not everyone who does is necessarily viewing you as an equal.

I know I can’t fully say these guys are sinophobes—perhaps they’re just misinformed—but it’s still frustrating. Like I can’t help but be reminded of shitty assholes that took advantage of China’s “we welcome you” attitude such as Laowhy86 and SerpentZA (I think that’s how you spell their fucking usernames. I hate those fuckers so much I’m not going to bother to double-check because seriously, fuck them. The less space they take up in my brain, the better). Because it’s people like that that give me some schadenfreude that people have to contend with a China who won’t just solely and unconditionally welcome you.

I mean, even my younger brother’s growing disdain for white men who expect Chinese women to be submissive and devoted and worshipful of them (and with his disdain of Chinese women who actually do fit these expectations) demonstrates how there are frustrations with the way the west treats China versus how China treats the west.

And again, China really isn’t even that hostile!! If you want to go, you can still go and people will happily welcome you, but just know that you’re a lot less likely to get special treatment. And sure, that sucks, but I’m glad, in some ways. I’m glad that China is really growing back into its own—even though of course there are flaws, as there are with every country. After all, China really did get torn down during the 20th century and had to really build itself back up.

Hell, even China itself has been getting more and more in touch with its roots. You can see it with the hanfu movement but also with the viral Douyin videos where different shaoshu minzu (people in any 1 of the 56 recognized ethnicities within China) dress up in their traditional clothes. We’re not all just wearing qipao/changshan-inspired clothes anymore—and don’t get me wrong, qipao and changshan are great too! It’s just that such clothes became such a commercial and stereotyped sign of China that it’s refreshing getting more diversity in the portrayals of traditional Chinese culture. And I mean yes, the “Beijing Welcomes You” song definitely does also demonstrate Chinese culture, but you know. Chinese people embrace their heritage(s) now more than ever, and it’s nice.

It’s kind of like…if the rest of the world won’t appreciate them, Chinese people will appreciate themselves. 😆

Anyway, to get back to my initial point: as long as you’re not an ass and you show some interest in the country’s culture and everything, Chinese people are more than happy to “welcome you” the way the “Beijing Welcomes You” song claims.

As for the rest of the west, for the ones that keep treating China like shit and then get all surprised when China throws their shit back at them? Well, they can get a proper, warm, open Beijing welcome when they learn to fucking play nice.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I’m too tired to articulate this properly, but I wanted to post about something I think deserves a bit of acknowledgement. Today someone’s kindness stunned me.

It was the end of rough day of shopping, and I’d spent down my money more than I anticipated.* I needed to get kerosene for the hot water heater, but first I needed to figure out how much I could get. It wasn’t good.

So, decision made, I hobbled into the gas station. My feet in agony, and had been all day. Some days the ankle braces aren’t enough. I was so worn down it was taking a lot of willpower to keep going. This was one of those days that gets lost in a wave of pain.

At the register I said how much kerosene I wanted and the lady looked up at me surprised. I guess people usually get neater amounts, full five gallon containers or dollars, not a “this is how much I have in my pocket” amounts.

I shrugged, laughed, and said it was all I could afford. I quickly said tomorrow is my birthday, and I wanted to go to a movie and get take out. It looked like I’d just have $25 to do it, but if I got more kerosene I wouldn’t have anything.

Then I just sort of laughed again, thanking her (it’s funny, but I always thank people working in stores), and as I headed for the door she said “It’s your birthday?”

I told her no, it’s tomorrow, smiled, and rushed off to get the kerosene.

So there I was hunched over pumping kerosene, when the woman came running breathlessly up to me and shoved something into my hand. “Think of it as an early birthday present!”.

Stunned, I called after her as she ran back to her register, thanking her and almost in tears.

This woman that I didn’t know, that I had never even seen before, had given me $12!

Honestly, you have no idea how touched I was. The $12 does mean I will actually get to go to that movie and get some take out, yes, but it was more than that. It was kindness. Pure kindness.

Of course, in the last few hours I have wondered why she decided to do that for me. I mean, I didn’t think seemed so pathetic. I was cheerful sounding, smiling, hurting but hiding it, frazzled but still not too bedraggled, off handedly mentioning the lack of money and not in a way that sounded like moaning… I’m poor, but I get by enough I’m not starving. Surely there were people far more deserving in kindness.

But then I think of the gift and smile. A gift! For me! A birthday present when I had long ago accepted I probably never get them again.

Things have been rough. Mom’s health is failing fast, the two homes I am responsible for are almost literally falling, and inflation has tipped me over a financial cliff. Even my own body seems to have decided to turn against me.

And now it’s holidays and birthday, to make the lack of friends and loved ones be felt horribly acutely. I’d been feeling so alone and forgotten, left out as people laugh and chat in stores or talk about holiday plans, watching families and friends and missing all of mine. A kid picking out their birthday cake as their mom discusses what color frosting he wants her to make had made me ache for someone to care about my own birthday.

But there are also people that are actively jerks. The person that cuts you off, blaring their horn, or swoops into a parking spot you are already pulling into. Someone that shoves ahead of you are blocks the shelf you were looking at or makes a sneering joke out of what’s in your cart or your scuffed boots Glares. Too many glares. Little things can be easy to shrug off, but not always. People being rude and inconsiderate seem bigger when they are the only ones noticing you. I admit today I was struggling to remember people can be good.

But they can be. People can be kind to a stranger with nothing at all to gain for it. It’s wonderful to be reminded.

I wonder if that lady has any idea how much that gift has meant to me?

* Ex. The cat food supply locally continues to be only bags half my usual 30lb size, or less. And only the expensive brands. So to get the 90lbs of feed I buy every two weeks I am paying a LOT more. Just added a shocking amount to the finally tally when every penny counts.

[shrimpmandan]

I’m way too tired to properly articulate anything rn but I think, the more years have gone by, the more I’ve grown to genuinely like or at least appreciate the experience of being trans. Like, don’t get me wrong it’s an absolute fucking struggle in a lot of respects, but it’s kind of the same way I view being developmentally disabled. It’s just... a part of me. And it’s given me insight and experiences that are invaluable, and unlike the majority of the world. Sure, I could’ve had a normal life being cishet, mentally stable and neurotypical, and that would’ve been easier, but what would I have actually offered the world? What would I have contributed? All of my creative works, especially my writing, integrally requires me to have had the insight and lived experiences of a traumatized, disabled LGBT person. In writing I am giving people a window into a reality they cannot experience. And I don’t think I could’ve done that, or at least not nearly as well, if I had grown up “normally”.

I don’t really care for other people to begin with. I have my close friends (most of whom are also LGBT, neurodivergent, mentally ill, etc.) but I wouldn’t really say I care about what people on a wider scale think of me. So I refuse to censor myself, and even though I do fantasize about how easier life would be if I had just been born a neurotypical male, I’ve also made peace with the fact that I wasn’t. I’m happy being myself. I wouldn’t change a thing.

This isn't a recent revelation to me or anything, but I've been feeling pretty comfortable with myself. I'm glad to have had these experiences even if they weren't all positive.

[organized-chaotic-disaster]

I need more nalu content in my life 😭 they’re just,.. so Good… I Love Them 💕

[vander-affectionate]

softhearted bruiser

young!vander x reader

sequel to big-head and bull-head; vander takes you home and new beginnings are a whole lot of something

warnings: minors/ageless blogs do not interact or you'll be blocked, 18+, smut, reader and vander are mid-twenties, reader is notably smaller than the six foot two man that's still growing, i tried to depict a lighthearted but short tempered vander bc that's what i think he was like, swearing, mentions of injury (not to reader), blackmailing (but reader is not blackmailed/coerced), mentions of blood, allusions to literature (the song of achilles and the great gatsby), vander gets so sappy (sm puppy love), dom leaning switch vander? i feel like this is long for no reason? vander's a bit of a cockblock (unintentional), wrap it before you tap it bc van certainly did.. did not, slight breeding kink if you squint, mentions of cum eating, oral fixation, hyperventilation (its not what you think), dumbification, and a very very polite vander who likes conscent, female parts and there might be mention of reader being a woman?? im not sure im tired

Walking on the street in silence with our hand in his pocket made you realize exactly what he reminded you of. Even when he expertly avoided being bombarded by a group of people with a wave of his hand and what is becoming one of your favorite smiles, there’s no mistaking it. There’s a certain feeling that you can’t quite articulate properly when you’re with him.

He nudges you, “Is there something on my face?”

You look up and he’s stealing a chaste kiss off your lips before taking off down the street and you dart after him. “You gremlin!” You scoff, trying not to waste much of your breath as he easily turns, running backwards so he can watch you.

“You’re faster than I thought.” Vander smirks. You swat at him and barely miss him, but he trips and falls on his back causing you to fumble.

When you open your eyes, he’s got his arms circled around your waist and he’s laying on the pavement as if he’s in your living room. He’s unfazed by your unimpressed gaze.

“You know, you’re really clumsy for someone who’s main income flows from showing off in a ring.”

“You fell, too.” He props himself up on an elbows and you’re trying to get up before someone sees you lounging with this shaggy wild man and thinks you’re both exhibitionists or something much worse.

“Would you hurry up?” You wriggle on top of him, but he’s smiling like an idiot while you attempt to move. “You still have scars you know and they’ll get infected if you keep-”

“Hey.” Your attention shifts to him and your writhing finally stops. He’s smiling still, it’s soft and chock full of adoration directed solely on you, caused by you. “I really appreciate you coming. It means a lot to me.”

You smile softly and his hand comes up to your cheek. “You know what?”

“Hm?” He hums, dazed by the smile you’re directing at him. One that he swears is for him.

You yank his hair and he jolts with a groan, tapping your wrist, “It’s going to rain, you’re going to get sick, and you know who’s going to be whining the whole evening about a runny nose?”

“Okayokayokayokayokay!"

. . .

Once out of the rain, he bows slightly and flails his head wildly so that water splashes everywhere. You knock your hips into his and send him shrieking when he falls to the floor. He glares at you and he’s on your couch, in briefs mind you, flipping through the books you’ve picked up every now and again. Scattering books over your coffee table kept him distracted while you cleaned his wounds so you let him make the mess.

“I kind of don’t get these.” He says thoughtfully.

“Well you’re not reading them all the way through.” You smile and he glances over his shoulder at you with a playful glare.

“Okay, well.. explain this one.” He stops to lean and pick up a book off the table. “I read the summary and this guy is second hand to a Greek king? A general, maybe, but halfway through he changes his mind about a war that I’m pretty sure he started and his lover gets killed. Why did he change his mind? No one had to die.”

You lean forward on Vander’s back, narrowly avoiding wounds and turning the book over to read the title. He kisses your cheek while you skim the small summary to rekindle your memory of it, “This was initially about principle. They abducted two women, his boss was forced to let her go and demanded the other be turned over for ‘compensation’.” Vander initially stares at you scandalized at the prospect of the women being treated like objects. You peck his nose, “You can rant all you want about the objectifying later, but this was about the boss not wanting to earn rewards and halfway through a battle, our hero initially chose the lives of his friends over making a point out of pride.”

He snaps the book shut. “But causing a war?”

You kiss his temple and go back to cleaning his wounds, “He had a principle and I think that turned into pride, but it’s been awhile since I read that book so I’m not sure.”

“That’s stupid.” Vander rolls his eyes, “He got a lot of people killed.”

You shrug, “Sometimes pride blinds people.”

“Okay well how about this one.” He holds up another book, “I read some of this. This rich guy has an affair with a woman who’s husband is already having an affair.”

You smirk at him, “You read some of it just to find out the juicy details, didn’t you?”

Vander’s ears are turning red as he scoffs and rubs his thumb over the book, “I read some while I was waiting for you to come back from work one time.” He shrugs, “Well, do you think she should’ve cheated? Or that rich guy shot at the end?”

You laugh and shake your head at Vander, “The book isn’t about cheating. It’s about happiness, I think.” You’re wrapping his arm and he’s staring up at you from where his head is lolled back to watch you. “How the pursuit of happiness dissolved into the pursuit of wealth. The guy the book followed the whole time basically thought dreams of happiness were ridiculous masks for something else.”

Vander turned to lie in your lap, making books clatter to the floor as he stretched his legs. You started to scold him, but sincerity and some kind of promise had made those eyes a kind of striking grey that reminded you of lightning over the Piltover skies.

“What?” Your voice seemed tiny compared to his gaze that held endless possibilities, endless hopes for the visualizations that passed his mind’s eye when he slept at night.

He wrapped his arms around your hips, unravelling some of the bandages around his arm, but this familiar closeness paired with the new meaning behind it made your breath catch.

“My dreams aren’t ridiculous.” He proudly smiles.

“No?” You smirk. Fingers drag softly over his scalp and he almost closes his eyes from your ministrations, “What about that dream where you’re stealing a wheel of cheese from Silco because he wouldn’t make you mayor?”

Vander’s face burns so bright you’re sure he’d have popped. He groans and buries his face in your stomach, forcing you to lean back on the couch. “I don’t dream about that anymore.”

You smile at him when he peeks up at you, “Then what ridiculous dreams do you have?”

“You’re not ridiculous.”

“What?” you retort.

You think for a moment while he’s staring at you, scoffing like you’re the one who’s forcing this out of him. He sits up with your legs casually propped on his hips and watches you a moment longer before he realizes you don’t understand. He grins a lopsided smile framed by those shaggy chestnut locks.

“My dreams are about you.” He leans down, arms beside your head and his hair falls around your face so there’s nothing but him for you to stare at. “So I think you’re wrong. Because if I dream of happiness and my happiness is you, then that can’t be ridiculous.”

His hands cup your face and he plants a kiss so tender that it makes your heart lurch in your chest. Your eyes water and you simply wrap your arms around him, pulling him flush to you. How is this the same bloke that mixes up Daisy Buchanan and Jordan for Patroclus and Trojans?

“But Pat Claus deserved better.” He mutters against your lips.

You snicker as he buries his face against your neck. “You mean, Patroclus?”

“Whatever.” He groans, but you feel Vander rut his hips against yours. He gasps against your neck and pulls back to gauge your reaction, “M, My bad-” he laughs nervously and his hands are rubbing into your waist, but you watch as his nerves melt away when he eyes the way you’re breathing heavily beneath him.

“You want to go back to reading?” You flash him a smile and his cheeks are rich with color all over again.

You think his hands will go for where your shirt has ridden up, but you jolt when his thumb is swiping your chin and down to trace your jaw. His gaze is already on you and those brilliantly gleaming, grey eyes are completely blown as they scour every inch of your face for a place to settle. But they don’t. They can’t. There’s no place for them to settle because that gaze means there’s nowhere for them to. The stars mismatch you, every beautiful sunrise or set that’s passed over the sky mismatches you, and nothing in his eyes, in this world will ever compare to the sight of you.

“I asked Silco what words I could use to describe something beautiful and none of them came close.” To you. None of the words sounded inherently close to what he thought of you. “I was disappointed that there wasn’t a word that could describe how pretty you are.”

You’re staring at him like he told you where all the missing people that cross the rich topsiders are hidden and still he’s caressing your jaw like you’re made of glass.

He leans down with a smile, “Can I kiss you again?”

You shake your head and push his face, “Where is all this coming from?” You prop up on your elbow and he’s rolling his eyes.

“You know, I thought I was slow.” He barely dodges when you swipe at him.

“Vander.”

“I like you a lot.” He shrugs and he’s palming your sides thoughtfully. His gaze shifts outside, but you’re careful when you turn his gaze back on you. He stares for a moment and his eyes drift to his hands that are on your legs and his brows knit together in a way that makes your heart ache.“It’s not stupid to.. to bare your heart to someone, is it?”

You rub his cheek and he closes his eyes, turning so his lips are pressed against your palm and uncaring if it tilts his nose from it.

“Why?” Your tone is careful.

“Is it?” He asks again and for a moment you think you might’ve lost him.

But you sit up, cupping his cheeks, and your touch is monumentally grounding to him given how he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and sliding his legs out from under him so you’re that much closer.

“No.” You kiss his forehead and his eyes open so that he’s staring up, cheeks squished from how much he’s leaned into your hands. “It’s not stupid to bare your heart. It’s hard to care as much as you do.” You smile and his mouth parts and eyes widen like he’s seen the moon for the very first time. “But it’s that much harder if whoever you bare your heart to can’t love you the same way you love them.”

He leans on the couch and you settle your arm on the back of it, one hand propping your head and the other running through his hair. “What do you mean?”

“Sometimes they can’t love you the way you want them to. Sometimes you meet at the wrong time. Or sometimes their feelings are outweighed by your own.”

He opens his mouth and shuts it, playing with the hem of your shirt as he thinks. “How would one... carefully... avoid that?”

“Sometimes there’s no helping it.” You mutter. And your eyes drift a little, but he laughs and finds himself pressing kisses to your jaw.

“That’s not going to happen with us.”

You can’t fight off a smile when you hear him laugh and somewhere deep down he knows it. “And how do you know that, love?”

“Because we’ll make it work.”

He pulls back and the way his eyes are glimmering with promise and patience makes your heartbeat falter. “What if I didn’t want to hurt you so I broke up with you?”

“Break ups are mutual in this house.”

You almost topple over laughing. He presses a few kisses up your throat with a lovestruck smile before you’re continuing, “What if I told you I’m going topside?”

He scowls, “You know how long I’d have to walk just to get home?”

“Pfft, no. That’s why you’d stay home.”

“But Silco’s house would be so far away-”

“Wait, Silco’s house?”

You raise a brow and he nods, “Yeah, if you went topside I’d move with you, or maybe near you? I have to keep the creeps away.”

You run your hands through his hair, “If I told you I liked Silco?”

Vander pauses and he’s desperately trying not to pout, “I’d be happy for you.” he grits out.

The sight of you giggling makes his eyes soften and you lean down to kiss him.

He eagerly reciprocates, sitting up to press into you more, but your hand on his chest keeps him from overpowering you. He whimpers, hands on your hips as you move to straddle him and Vander huffs, looking up at you.

“Can’t rip those stitches on your back. Did you forget?” You smirk when his brows start to furrow in frustration as he tries to raise up again.

“They don’t hurt.” he pouts.

Those grey eyes are changing, darkening and swirling with more than the frustration you spot in his eyes. “They don’t?” You ask, lowering so you can roll your hips against his. He makes a choked sound, tensing and pulling your hips harder into his so he can grind into you the way he wants to.

A crack of thunder, much louder than you’d anticipated, makes the both of you jolt. You grab him and he’s holding you like you’re two teenagers that almost got caught making out. He’s laughing, pressing kisses up your throat and pulling you back into this haze you’ve stirred up in him.

“Can I touch you?” He asks, pulling back and stopping what he’s doing to look you in the eyes. His fingers even guide your chin so his answer is clearer than a blue sky.

“Yeah.” You smile, “Yes. You can touch me.”

He buries his face in your shoulder and hugs you so you’re flush to him. “I like you so much.”

You tilt his head back and plant a kiss to his lips that turns his bones to jelly and makes him groan, “I like you, too.”

He’s already in his briefs you realize and the thought alone makes you tense because you thought his jeans thickened up the muscle that’s pressing into your thigh.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looking down to his bulging erection that’s perfectly proportioned to his thighs that have you spread wide. It’s all mind-boggling because sometimes you forget how big he is.

“Nothing, you’re just no small feat.” Those words make that lopsided grin appear on his face for some reason and he just rolls that searing erection into the thin fabric of your shorts and you jolt with a moan when it brushes you just right.

His hands are rubbing your sides and between these languid kisses he’s driving, he still asks, “Is it still okay to touch you?”

You nod, but he grabs your jaw, eyes careful as they flick over your face. Then you see it and scowl.

He is so smug about it now.

“I need to hear it.”

“Screw yourself.” You roll your eyes and he drags his lips down your neck before mouthing up the trail with heavier, dizzying kisses.

He huffs and shrugs, “Fine.”

You’re tossed. I mean it. Thrown sideways to the long side of the couch and he’s palming himself like he’s not on your couch. “Ah, that’s nice.”

His head falls back and he fishes himself out of those skin tight briefs, shuddering as his cock meets the cool air. You almost want to scold him, but you decide you’ll play this game.

Your shorts are gone and you’re shimmying your underwear off with your legs in the air when he lurches from his spot to stop you. Obviously his plan backfired.

“I wanted…” His eyes land on you, exposed, and very much wet he licks his lips. “T-T-To…”

He sounds winded and you open your legs a little more making him settle so he’s knelt in front of you, dick half out and all because you’re sitting here in front of him.

“To what?” You smirk, hips wiggling a little.

He’s putting weight into the hand keeping your legs open and exposing more of you to his prying eyes. “You. You’re really really pretty.”

You swat at him, but he leans down and you’re reaching for him, but can’t quite make it.

“Van!” He stops immediately and clear eyes, hardly hazed with lust are meeting yours.

“Uncomfortable? You wanna stop?”

“No.” You huff, “Just- C’mere.”

He leans up, sighing against your lips like his cock isn’t pulsing on your thigh right now. He trails down your neck and back to your lips before letting out a laugh that makes you look at him curiously. “Sorry, I just didn’t think I’d get to do this.” He smiles, rubbing your thighs and pulling your underwear off before letting his hands trace feathery lines along your skin to the underside of your breasts.

“To what? Touch?”

He shakes his head, adoring eyes and a thoughtful smile on his face. “Fuck you how I want."

That makes your insides churn.

You shut your legs and stand up to kick your underwear off despite his whining, but he clams up when you straddle him again.

He’s trying to kick off the boxer briefs and they get stuck on his thigh so you lean back sliding them down. In doing so, your back arches as you hold onto his shoulder and your shirt, already bunched up because of his frantic need to have you front pressed to his, nearly exposes the underside of your breasts. You’re doing all this while pulling down his boxers and when you find he’s red in the face, he doesn’t know how to explain how beautiful that just was.

He’s sheepish when he smiles, the tips of his ears are the brightest you’ve ever seen him, and he’s suddenly very interested in you taking the lead.

He stands up with you in his arms suddenly and you shriek. It makes him laugh as he casually heads towards your room. “Don’t jump on the bed, you meathead. I had to get those reinforced be-bed… No.” As soon as reinforced slipped your lips a grin slipped on his face and he’s staring at you with innocent eyes. “No. No. I just stitched you up. “

“You have work tomorrow?” He asks, laying you on the bed.

“No. Why?”

“No reason.” The cheeky grin doesn’t fade when his thumb is at your entrance making you jolt and grab for his hand. “That’s good.”

The light touch he delivers to your sensitive bundle of nerves completely wipes you of the laugh waiting to get out of your mouth by the violent shiver that rakes down your spine. You don’t get to think when he’s knuckle deep in your sopping pussy. You don’t get to think about how he’s twitching on your thigh when your hips roll trying to take his fingers deeper. You don’t get to think about anything except how he’s stroking you so perfectly and making your nerves fray by crooking his fingers just right inside you.

He’s leaning up, hiking your shirt up so he can leave the prettiest colors over your chest in an attempt to settle the aching you’re thrusting upon him when you try to ride his fingers. You’re still tensing and clenching when he flips you onto your back.

He’s nuzzling the underside of your thigh, eyes rolling shut as he leaves harsh nips and slows his pace, bringing back to him and marking you as his.

“Can I?” There’s a flush working up his collar at the thin sheet of sweat over your body, the rise and falls of your chest and the way the bed is still settling from how carelessly he flipped the two of you- he needs to relish in all that you’re giving him. Your glistening folds and the way you’re slick is wetting the sheets because of him is tipping him closer to his end.

You’re dizzy and he’s kissing up your legs, thumbing over your puffy lips as he waits for you to come back to him. He doesn’t want to ask because it’s obscene. You flash him a grin in your fucked out state and he clutches your hips, not wanting to cross boundaries and yet he’s staring right at your clit and swallowing thickly.

“I need it.” He looks lost as he stares up at you and his eyes are lidded. “Fuck, I need it. Please, can I-” He shuts his jaw and sees you’re fucking with him. He scowls, “You know what I want.”

He’s glaring darkly now. Vander’s heart lurches at your breathy laugh and he groans, almost looking shy from where he’s got his face half tucked into the meat of your thigh.

You run your hand through his hair that’s getting damp all over again. “Ask for it.”

The slight buck of your hips makes him give immediately. It doesn’t matter that he’s needy and kneeling- you could make him do that on any given week day. He’s weak today and he needs you.

“I wanna taste. Now.” His voice is gravelly and you’re withholding what he wants on purpose.

“Why?” You toy with him. He groans and leans up so he presses his forehead on your stomach.

“‘Cause you’re sexy?” He says it like it’s blatantly obvious and to him it is. “I want you. I really want you. I want you to cum on my tongue first. Please.”

You widen your legs and his breath hitches and you nod. He’s waiting for it. You both know he needs to hear it and you tug his hair a little. “Yeah. Go-”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence. He got his confirmation and he’s running with it. His tongue flattens against your entrance and the long lick he gives, grey eyes cutting at you makes your heart sink. You can practically hear his thoughts when he pulls back to lick his lips.

He’s not going easy on you.

Vander sucks hard on your clit and you wince, trying to squirm away, but his hands on your thighs have them firmly planted into the bed so there’s no squirming away. You shriek and the slight twitch of his lips against you is lost when you feel his tongue flick over the tip of you.

“Shit! Van-” Your voice is pitched and the arch you do in an attempt to shake from this intense pleasure does nothing to shake him.

It feels so good and it’s too much all at once. Your stomach is bubbling in a way you’re not used to and your hands fly to his hair, trying to to tug him before this unfamiliar feeling makes your mind numb. You’re shrieking, bucking,pulling, and pushing from his sweet pleasure.

His fingers are light at your entrance and Vander simply stares up in awe like he’s watching you pull stars from the sky and not tug at his hair. They’re slow to intrude on your quivering entrance and he halts the devastating barrage on your nerves. You almost fall slack the moment his lips fall away from you, but you’re moaning again; so full and loud it rivals the rain beating down outside.

“I need to cum-” He gasps against the lips of your cunt that are spread by his thumb and ring finger.

You can barely answer with the sharp, unfaltering pace his fingers keep in an effort to rearrange your insides.

“So cum-” You squeak out between pitched moans and Vander shakes his head.

“Inside. I want to cum inside you first.”

You yank his hair and it shakes his core. He groans, latching his lips to that sweet bundle of nerves and you lose it right along with him. Shaking as your mouth falls open into a silent moan and you’re trying to figure out whether to pull him closer or push him off of you.

He gives a couple licks more to your entrance before pulling away and sitting on the edge of your bed, kneeling yet again. You were about to tell him to hurry up because of this greedy high he’s put you on and then you see that he’s out of breath for more than one reason.

His stomach is splattered with thick ropes of white and washing down the v-line that’s more pronounced from how he’s tilted back at the slightest.

He’s dazed and twitching, half hard against his thigh at the sight of the mess he’s left on your legs. He wipes his fingers over his jaw and nods, “Trust me?”

You nod absentmindedly. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, tips yours open with his thumb, cupping the back of your head and your face burns when you watch a pearlescent string of your slick and his spit fall to your tongue before he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

He frowns at the incredulous look on your face, “Do you not like how you taste?”

You huff and give him a few teasing pumps that make him shudder, “Do you not know how hot that is?”

He twitches a brow and you roll your eyes before giving his cock a squeeze and lean down to his cumstained skin. His jaw drops when your tongue trails up his lower abdomen and you kiss his underneath his navel. He twitches in your hand.

You pull him down and mimick that kiss from before, tugging him to meet you halfway and his ears redden when you pull away.

“C-Could you do that again?”

You laugh and go to move him underneath you, but Vander flips you onto your back. You scowl at him, “You’re going to pull something, Vander.”

He clicks his tongue at you, “I’m not old.”

“Vander.” You turn on your side and he sighs, leaning down, stroking himself and leaning his forehead on yours.

“Please?” His lips are quirked in a half smile and you groan when you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“It’s not getting any later.” You huff at him before he’s pressing his lips to yours, a victorious edge making his desire more contagious than it already is.

He spins you so your legs are on his waist and he notices your confused stare when he shrugs, “Only had you on your stomach so you’d forget about the stitches.”

You roll your eyes and are more than happy to feel his taut chest against yours that is far more plush. He squints at the shirt blocking his way, pulling it over your head and he smiles like a bittersweet, forgotten memory is being reminisced.

“I forgot about these.” He smiles.

He leans down to press a kiss to each pricked nipple. And whilst he thinks he’s discovered an oral fixation and a deeper appreciation for your body, you’re impatient.

“Vander.”

Your clipped tone makes him look up, still swirling his tongue around the nipple that's found a new home in his mouth.

“Now.”

He sucks harder just to spite you and you buck against him, catching the tip of his tapered head. He shudders and angles his hips away from you with a glare as he shivers. “I’m doing something.” he growls.

“Now or never, Van.” He stops and you raise a brow, but he merely switches up on you. “Want me to go find Silco?”

“For what?” He sounds offended. Genuinely.

Your fingers rub over your clit and you twitch. That strikes something in him. He swats your hand away, grabbing the underside of your knees and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“Silco can’t fuck.” He growls, dragging the tip of him through your folds with a pressure that has you butchering a sigh. He aligns himself with the clenching hole of yours, “He can’t fuck you like I can.”

It feels like he’s pushing in, but he slips out and knocks your clit making you whimper and throw your head back.

“Can he?” His voice is low from where his breath fans hotly by your ear. “Tell me you need it.”

Your hand is at his hip while the other is entwined with his and as he’s propped above you, staring into your watery eyes that are nothing but desperate as he scans your face.

“Hurry up.” He mocks you with a smug smirk that you don’t have the energy to combat.

“Need it.” You mutter, barely audible against his ear.

He leans down, that ego of his inflates at how fuckable you look. He’s not expecting your legs to pull his hand with his cock in it against your heat that gushes against his knuckles and your lips are on his ear.

“Make me cum?” It’s breathy and everything after that is a blur in your memory.

He sinks into you inch by inch. The world stops moving and the room starts spinning all while your silky heat keeps just beckoning him deeper and deeper until his hips are stopped by yours.

The moan you give is throaty and unrestrained. He needs to get deeper and a switch flips in his brain when he sees where you’re both connected. Your slick is teasing its way down his balls and his heart feels like it stops when he realizes what’s happening.

Your walls, that are still trying to suck him deeper, are pulsing.

His hand tightens around yours and your flesh bulges between his fingers when he lowers himself closer to you. His hand leaves yours and cups your neck. Vander is shaking. You run your hands through his hair and see his face that’s flushed with color, brows knitted tight and eyes drooping slightly.

He’s as wrecked as you feel.

Even then he leans forward and kisses you hard. His tongue drags through your mouth, sucking and trying to reminisce in the taste of him on your tongue when his hips recoil and you’re whimpering right into his mouth.

“Van.”

You don’t get another word out because the second hips ram yours, it knocks every coherent thought out of your brain. He’s groaning into your mouth, cupping your neck a little more firmly so he can kiss you with this languid fervor that makes you shiver. The hand on your hip tightens and he does it again.

His hips slam into yours and you’re digging your nails into his back to ground yourself. He does it again and pulls out slower so you feel every vein on him and the curve of his cock.

When he finds a pace, you’re babbling and digging your nails into him so much that its making him twitch and he’s forced to break the kiss. He doesn’t care about the drool that falls to your chest, he just kisses it away and smears it on his chin before he grabs your hips and tosses his head back.

His rutting and the way your cunt is taking him so well, struggling slightly from his size and gushing all the same makes him twitch every so often. His nerves are on fire and he can’t find it in himself to snark a line at you or tease you at how you’re holding onto him for dear life and making his thighs so slick that he has to hold you or he’ll slip out of you.

The thought of slipping out even for a second is devastating and he buries his face in your neck. You’re not heaving so much anymore, but he tips back when he feels your nails lose their edge.

Your eyes are clouded and your breathing is uneven. He stops and cups your face with the slightest smile.

“It’s hot, right?” He pants and you nod dumbly. He laughs, wrapping your arms around his neck and rocking back so you’re both sitting up. He waits, kissing your cheeks while you catch your breath and before long he feels your hips buck.

“You.. You don’t wanna stop?” He’s asking, but you roll your hips and kiss up his throat in a way that makes his mind go blank. “Oh fuck-”

You keep rolling your hips and his balls feel tight. Stopping just then, being so close to the edge seemed to yank his nerves because now he thinks he might cum at any second.

“Shit-” He whimpers, hands gripping your hips as he falls back into the bed. He starts bucking faster than he did before and you almost slump forward, hands on his chest as you try to rock your hips along his pelvis.

“I’m gonna cum.” He whimpers. His groan travels through you and his hand splays on your abdomen so he can strum your clit. “Fuck, baby, please-” He shouts as his hips start clumsily slapping into yours. “Cum-" he sounds positively broken, back bowing as his groans and hiccups mix with yours. And when he does cum. It’s brutal.

The way his hips are slapping up into yours draw out your orgasm and his cum fills you so much that after a few seconds it starts leaking down his cock. He keeps groaning and the grip on your hips would be borderline painful if you weren’t a trembling mess on top of him. His legs keep you from falling back and you’re sure that your shouts were heard by the whole floor.

When you both come down after lithe movements of your hiis to provoke the other, Vander flips you on your side next to him pulling out and you’re both holding each other like the other might disappear. His lips are pressed to your nape while your face is buried in his neck.

The rain sounds light compared to the heavy silence in the room, but neither of you are strangers to it. To the silence nor the rain.

“I need to open a window.” You mutter.

“‘S fine.” He says, tangling his legs with yours.

It’s warm like this. It’s not the first time that you’ve fallen asleep with Vander next to you or been tangled in his embrace. But it’s one of the first times you don’t think you could do without it.

. . .

In the morning, when you go to move, there’s an ache in your thighs. Your brows furrow and you bury your face against the warmth next to you before remembering exactly why there’s warmth beside you and why your thighs ache.

You crack an eye open and your blurry vision reveals Vander is propped up and you’re nuzzled into his chest.

“Good dream?” He smiles.

“Mm.” You're absent-mindedly agree and pull him down so his lips are on yours.

He kisses you like you’re made of glass and touches your cheek as if you’ll spook if he holds you too tight. He smells faintly of the paperbacks and smoke you associate with Silco’s apartment and more of leathers and cedarwood that are more his style. Vander pulls back, pecking your lips and cheeks and forehead before simply staring down at you.

“I was cleaning you up this morning and I didn’t get to tell you last night, but-” he shrugs, an endearing flush colors his ears. “You have the prettiest clit.”

You knock him upside the head and he laughs, falling to lay next to you as you give him an earful, but he kisses you again. This time slower and somehow softer than before. His eyes droop at the complacence that overcomes you afterwards and he can’t help but smile.

“Thanks for staying over.” You mutter, voice still laced with sleep as you stroke his cheek.

He leans down to nudge your nose with his. “Why? You know it’s instinct at this point.”

“I know.” You wrap your arm around his neck and he nestles himself between your legs. He’s still propped above you when you say, “I missed you coming to check on me. It gives me a chance to take care of you, too. And I missed that. You, I guess I mean."

He stares down, biting his lips, and trying not to let his eyes get too misty. His laugh is breathy when he buried his face in your neck. “You’re just saying that.”

“Vander.” You frown and tilt his chin up. “I mean it.”

He gazes as if he’s waiting on you to say you’re joking, but he’s letting out a ragged breath when you don’t.

“Then could we shower together?”

You grin and run your hands through his hair. “And breakfast, right? I know you’re hungry.”

He raises up to his knees, knocking blankets off you and you find that you’re still bare and at this angle you feel a little of Vander’s spend gush out. He grins playfully, thumb pushing the glob right back into you.

“Starving.” He licks his lips, but the bell near your door rings.

There’s a visitor downstairs and for some reason your doorkeeper won’t let them up. Vander groans a little, maneuvering off the bed and fishing out some clothes he keeps for when he stays over.

“It’s probably a wasted Silco.” He gives you a smile, “Don’t shower without me, I’ll be right back.”

He kisses you before he’s going out of your small building and finding no ones there. You live on the nicer part of the undercity and it’s not nearly as protected as it when you get deeper into it. No one should be awake given the sun hasn’t risen.

There’s light in the sky and Vander’s putting up his hair when he spots some kid waving him down the block. He follows, but doesn’t make it around the corner.

He’s on his knees and his vision is a little blurry. A boot on his back, in his stitches makes him groan, and a familiar face is in front of him.

“Vander.” The woman gives a wry smile. “Nice fight last night.”

He shrugs, “I wouldn’t know.”

She kicks him square in the jaw and he grunts, huffing at the smaller woman. “I lost a lot of money because of you.”

Vander gives her a charming smile and it’s bloody from her boot nearly knocking the taste out of his mouth. “Should’ve spoken to a bookie.”

She kicks him again and he’s really trying not to call much attention to himself because he knows if he might get arrested for ‘suspicious activity’. That and he’s not trying to have you thinking that he left you high and dry.

“You’re going to get me that money back.”

He honestly forgot about this part. When you don't go through with a fixed fight there are consequences from not following through. He didn't have anything to lose becore and now, well...

“How do you want it?” He asks.

The blonde laughs, feline eyes offering nothing but malice as they trail over Vander's face. “Yesterday, you would’ve told me to piss off.” Bex cocks her head and crouches in front of him. “Is it so that your capsized sweetie up there doesn’t get the brunt of your little mishap?”

Vander’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t answer.

“You work for me. A couple weeks of my sidejobs and throw a fight or two then we’ll call it even. I won’t even touch your new habit.”

Vander grits his teeth. Habit? He’s been around the block a couple times, but you’re not some toy he’ll give away at the drop of a hat.

And so he sighs. “What jobs?”

“Delivering packages, petting kitties, and maybe pilfer from the pilties.”

He hesitates, but the slender woman obviously isn’t satisfied. She’s about to kick him again, but he catches her foot and winces when spots he catches the eye of his banged up opponent from beside the muscle that had a foot on his back.

“Alright.” He sighs, resting his head on the pavement. “Okay, just… leave Silco and-”

She says your name and Vander bristles looking up at her. The brute kicks his side, nearly dislodging the stitches you’d done last night and he can’t stop the groan from leaving him this time. He hopes your window wasn’t open.

“I do my research, hun. If you walk out, I’ll knock you, Silco, and your piece of ass under the bridge, you hear me?” She waves dismissively for her goons and they follow, but not before the one he fought last night gives him a good kick.

Vander sighs, laying on the sidewalk and staring up at a sky with no sun.

When he sees you in your kitchen, the counter’s still messed up from your last argument and yet you’re smiling from ear to ear when he comes in. You’re glowing as the sun filters through the window in your kitchen and you peck his cheek, “Hey, who was outside?” you ask.

The swelling bruise on his jaw makes you frown and your undivided attention lands on him. It makes him smile softly and he kisses you, bringing your front flush to his.

“Silco.” he sighs against your lips. “Almost tore me a new one for last night’s fight, but he wanted to go get ready for his.”

You hum and kiss him again. He buries his face in your neck and now the only thing he associates with your smell is home.

“Good for him.” You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “I showered, but I thought I’d wait up on you to cook.”

He hums noncommittally, he’d be upset if he didn’t want you to see the blood trickling down his back from that lughead’s boot from earlier.

You’re in his shirt and he smiles at the slight limp you have but flashes of blood, of what could happen to you and Silco play in his mind make him quake. He steadies himself by coming up behind you.

He doesn’t want this life he’s building to fall apart before it's even seen the light of day. He needs this. This perfect life can't be capsized.

You peck his forehead and stroke the hair brushing your skin on the collar that’s much too big for you. “You alright, Van?”

He’s holding you like you might slip away. He hates that he's got something to lose, but damn it all if he doesn'g love it. He pulls you closer to him and prays that you don't feel the subtle tremor in his arms.

“The best I’ve ever been.”

[books-and-cookies]

let’s see if i can articulate this properly

i don’t care about much anymore and i truly don’t think there’s much happiness ahead for me, if any. and it’s not like...negative thinking or being pessimistic or even cynical (although i *am* a very cynical person). it just feels like reality. and i’m too tired. i’m so tired and the most that i can do is put on a brave face and try not to be a cunt to the people around me and just... try to enjoy the little moments until the darkness creeps back and i’m in my bedroom again, looking at anything but seeing nothing

sometimes i wish there were more for me. i don’t know. i just wish... things weren’t be like this. i wish i didn’t feel like screaming half the time. i wish i didn’t feel like i fucked up my entire life or that i’m a fuck-up as a human. i wish i felt loved. i wish for that the most, even though i won’t let anyone get close to me ever again.

my head is a fun place to be, isn’t it? 

[dreamcatcher139]

It will be okay

Author’s note: I was in the mood for something sad and dramatic, don’t hate me. Big thanks to Shawn Mendes who put me in that mood with his beautiful song “It’ll Be Okay”.

Summary: Rafe has a drug addiction and reader reaches the breaking point (talking about unconditional love really).

Warnings: drug addiction, slight swearing, rehabilitation and overall sadness I guess. Also, excuse my English. 

Let me know what you think!

P.S. I never struggled with an addiction of this sort and I don’t know anyone who did either, so this is purely based on my imagination (I apologize in advance if it’s not accurate).

_______________________________________________

As Rafe started pulling out things from his pockets, firstly laying his phone and wallet on the work desk in your room, a small bag with white powder accidentally fell to the floor. You looked at him in disbelief, his bloodshot eyes instantly filled with regret, an apologetic look written all over his tired and slightly pale face. He looked like he came down from his high just moments ago.

“You brought drugs to my house?” You said sternly, your eyes closing with anger.

Rafe quickly bent down to pick the source of all his problems from the floor and shoved it back in his pocket, as if you would instantly forget what you saw if it weren’t in your field of view anymore. You couldn’t believe he would do something like this, even though you weren’t sure you could predict his actions anymore. His addiction started a mere six months ago. That one night you couldn’t accompany him to a party Topper organized. He gave in to Kelce’s persuasion and tried cocaine for the first time. He did it again at another party only a week later and soon started doing cocaine on every party he attended. Before you could even realize it, he was addicted and started using drugs regularly, not being able to function properly without the substance.

“I’m sorry. I’m not planning on using it here with you…” Rafe started, his voice was weak and tired.

“I don’t care, Rafe!” You hissed, clenching your right fist. You were ready to punch something. Your parents luckily weren’t at home, so you had the liberty to yell as much as you want. “I can’t believe you! You promised me you would quit, remember? You promised me for the hundredth time!” You looked at him, not even trying to hide your disappointment, even though you knew how much it hurt him seeing that emotion on your face.

“And you also promised never to be high when you were with me.” You added defeated.

Panic besieged Rafe’s features, not knowing what would come next out of your mouth. He knew he fucked up. He’s been fucking everything up for a while now, but you were the only one who stuck by his side through it all. His brain was tired and slow, but somehow it managed to comprehend that this might be the last straw.

“I’m not high right now.” His palms gently grabbed your own, but you quickly pulled away from his touch, knowing the power it had over you.

“You look like shit anyway.” You murmured angrily, avoiding his gaze.

You didn’t know how to articulate your feelings. You were angry, sad, disappointed, tired, and finally: terrified. You were terrified of losing Rafe because you loved him so damn much. Yet, you weren’t sure you recognized the man standing in front of you with pleading eyes. You knew that the Rafe you fell in love with and still loved so much was somewhere underneath this shell of addiction, but you could feel him slipping away from you. He has been for the last six months.

It was like trying to keep a pile of sand in your hands, but the spaces between your fingers were too big, no matter how hard you tried to squeeze them and close the small gaps. The grains of sand were always smaller, finding their way out of your grip.

You tried your best to help him, encouraging him over and over again to quit. He would last without drugs a few days at most and then fall right back into his old patterns. You fought about it countless times over the past half-year, and it started to tire you out. Not to mention the number of times you paid off his debts to Barry, afraid of what might happen to Rafe if Barry was waiting for his money for too long. You cleaned his wounds after fights quite a few times to learn that Barry wasn’t really a patient guy. If giving away your own money meant keeping Rafe safe, you always did it without thinking about it twice. He would always thank you, drown you in his sweet kisses, and promise that it would be the last time he would put you in such an ungrateful position. But all the broken promises didn’t shake your hope that Rafe would get better. Every time you would give him another chance and decide to firmly stay by his side, pushing him to try again.

You and Rafe started dating two years ago. You were childhood friends who drifted apart for a few years, only to reconnect again once the raging hormones did their work, leaving you confused by the way you started looking at each other differently. He wasn’t his typical self around you; the rough shield he was wearing in the outside world was always left at the front door when he came to you. He was sweet, caring, funny, and most importantly: he was always honest with you, and he loved you dearly.

You lifted your hand shakily, slowly tracing his cheekbone with your fingertips. Rafe closed his eyes, grateful that you still haven’t run away from him. He felt like a walking disaster, knowing how much his behavior was hurting you, yet couldn’t figure out how to escape his demons.

“Please, you need to seek help.” You urged, your palm now resting fully against his cheek.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, still not opening his eyes. Your touch was healing for him.

“No, Rafe.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t help you anymore. I tried. You know I tried numerous times.” You couldn’t control the hot tears that started forming on your waterline, threatening to fall at any moment. “I’m just not enough anymore.”

Your feet betrayed you, so you found yourself dropping back to sit on the edge of your bed, face buried in your hands. You were always the strong one, ever since the addiction has started. Not once have you cried about it in front of Rafe. You were angry, and you were stern, but most importantly: you handled him gently, giving him solace when he needed it. You weighed every situation carefully, always giving him the needed dose of encouragement, comfort, and discipline. And no matter how hard you tried, you failed miserably each and every time.

A loud sob escaped your lips, and Rafe swore he heard his heart breaking in two after hearing that sound. He dropped to his knees right in front of you, his arms quickly hugging your body. He held you so hard and close to himself that you almost couldn’t inhale new air between your sobs.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He started whispering, his left cheek pressed against the side of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. You alone weren’t enough to make him stop using drugs. He knew he had a problem and he wanted to solve it so desperately, but every time he tried quitting for you, he somehow ended up following the same old habit. He hated himself for that. He didn’t care that much about the fact he was harming himself, as much as it bothered him that he was hurting you.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated once again, and you sniffed, trying to lift your head from his chest.

Feeling the wet roads your tears paved down your face were drying, you dared to speak again.

“I’m talking about professional help.”

Rafe frowned. “No, (Y/N). You know my dad…”

“I don’t fucking care about your father anymore, Rafe!” You said frustrated and grabbed his face to direct his gaze into your eyes. You wanted to be more convincing. “He’s treating you like shit. You deserve so much better. And right now you have a problem, and you need real help.”

It was Rafe’s turn to spill some tears, his eyes glossy after your words. You were both well aware of the fact that Ward Cameron wasn’t exactly a candidate for the Best Father of the Year award. Neither this year nor any previous one. He was almost bored with his son, making sure to show that Rafe was his least favorite child. The boy who was trying his best to impress Ward, to make him proud and happy, was always carelessly dismissed and called a disappointment over and over again. His dad was probably the main reason behind Rafe’s addiction. The person, who was supposed to support him and be the first one to offer him help, was the one denying the whole situation and telling his son to “man up”. The way Ward always turned his head away from his son when Rafe would ask for help was making you physically sick.  

Rafe’s head dropped in your lap, his broad shoulders shaking as he cried without a sound. That was that one drop that overflowed the glass. He was scared shitless.

Your fingers got lost in his hair as you gently scratched his head, allowing him to let it all out before you spoke again.

“My mom can help.” You offered.

Your mother was a doctor and had some pretty strong connections, which meant Rafe could go to rehab in a matter of days, and be there without anyone ever finding out about his whereabouts. Your parents loved Rafe, and they realized something bad was happening between the two of you, once worried features became an everyday guest on your face. Your mom heard you crying in your room a few months ago, and after telling her everything to get it off your chest, she offered to get Rafe professional help once he was ready.

You knew Rafe so well you could almost feel all the doubts about himself swirling around his head.

“You are strong enough, and you are brave enough, Rafe.” You started. “I know you don’t think about yourself this way, but you deserve all the love you can get in this world. You are worthy of all the love I can give you. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to love you any more if you keep ruining yourself like that.”

After a short moment of silence, Rafe slowly nodded his head, afraid that his voice might betray him if he tried to speak. He was grateful he had someone like you in his life. Someone who knows his heart like the back of your hand. Someone who understands when he’s silent and can practically read his mind. And when you tell him things like that, he somehow manages to believe every word you say.

His head stayed in your lap, your fingers still running through his messy hair, as the silent agreement entered the small space between you two.

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

Just two days later, you were dropping Rafe off at the clinic, bag full of his things laying on your backseat. You helped him pack the night before, neatly folding his T-Shirts because he was never able to do it himself.

Happiness that he was finally accepting help and fear of losing him for good were fighting inside your stomach the entire time it took you to get there. The songs from the playlist he made for you some time ago were filling the silence in your car, helping with calming down Rafe’s nerves.

“Thank you, baby.” He said once you stopped the car in front of a large building complex.

You offered a small smile, but he was too busy unclasping his seatbelt to notice it. Then he shifted in his seat so that his whole body was turned towards you, his eyes full of concern meeting yours.

“Are you nervous?” You asked, immediately wanting to punch yourself for asking such a stupid question.

“Sorry, of course, you are.” You reached for his hands. “That’s completely normal. And everything’s going to be alright. You can do it; I know you can, Rafe. You’ll be fine. We will be fine.”

You rambled, more trying to convince yourself that everything was going to be alright. Rafe smiled a little, but his eyes remained painted with sadness.

“I’m not worried about me.” He admitted. “I’m worried about you. Actually, I’m scared to death that you won’t be here when I get out.”

“No, Rafe.” You quickly reassured him, your palms that were hovering over his hands flying up to grab his face.

“I promise I will get better. You need to promise me you’ll wait for me.” He pleaded, resting his forehead against yours.

You were familiar with the fact that he could stay in treatment for several months. Your mother also told you about the restricted usage of mobile phones while patients are in rehabilitation, meaning you probably won’t be able to keep in touch for the first few weeks. Although aware of all the downsides of his stay in this facility, you knew you would promise him what he asked of you in a heartbeat.

“I promise.” You breathed out.

Rafe closed the small space that was separating you, gently pressing his lips on yours. You wanted to commit his entire being to memory, not knowing exactly how long he would be away. Although the drugs started changing him, they never overclouded his love or passion for you. He deepened the kiss, wanting to let you know how much he loves you and appreciates you.

Once he pulled away from your lips, he made sure to verbalize his feelings, too.

“I love you so much, (Y/N).”

Your heart still raced whenever he said those words, a smile spreading across your face.

“I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

He quickly pecked your lips once again before he finally exited the car and grabbed his bag from behind the passenger’s seat. Once he closed the car door, you decided to roll down the passenger’s window and tell him one more thing.

“It’s you and me, Rafe! Evermore!” You smiled to encourage him, and he mirrored your expression, meeting your gaze with a genuine, warm smile that managed to meet his eyes at last.

“Evermore.” He whispered and waved you goodbye before you took off.

Are you guys going to make it? Is it going to hurt?

One thing you were sure about is that Rafe was strong enough to pull through this experience, and you were determined to meet him again at the end of that journey.

You just wished you could sedate it, all that fear you were feeling.

Driving back home, you were trying to focus on the good things that would come out of this storm.

You will get your Rafe back.

The sun will rise again.

It will be okay.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.