#it hurts but it's okay

[ashclouds366]

one of the most difficult things to come to terms with is the fact that no matter how much or how hard you love someone, it can't make them stay. not everyone will stay your friend

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.

[abisalli]

There was always a certain shift that happened in Batman whenever he talked to kids that were hurt or scared. He would speak more softly, maybe even kneel down in front of them to personally assure them that they were safe now.

My first piece for this year's @batfam-big-bang! This is a scene from the incredible fic by @fullmetalninjabunny called 'Soft Words Left Unspoken' which you can find here <- 🦇 I had a blast working on this! Thank you so much for having me and also thank you to the mods for a great event <3

Image ID:

An image of Tim Drake as Robin and Bruce Wayne as Batman inside the Batcave. Both characters have their masks off. Tim is sitting on top of a medical bed and is looking to the side with tears streaming down his face. Bruce kneels down in front of him, looking troubled. He is holding Tim’s Mask in his right hand. In the foreground are four boxed captions with the following text, “It wasn’t Batman who was there anymore, but Bruce Wayne. Not the vigilante that had lost a protégé, but the man who has lost his son.”

[chloesimaginationthings]

How helpy tested out the FNAF pizza sim attractions

[hinamie]

brighter days ahead

[cocoabell]

A bitter reminder 🥀

[shushmal]

okay but a like post-series fic i want that's like: steve harrington being the only man left in hawkins fighting monsters

and not like a 'everyone died, last man standing' way but just. they beat it back, the story ends, nice little tie-up and neatly concluded, eleven loses her powers because their world is completely cut from the other. and life goes on. eddie (yes, eddie lives au don't fight me) goes off with his band, robin-nancy-jargyle off to separate cities for college. the kids go to high school, graduate high school, and scatter across the country. joyce and hop buy a beach house far-far-far away from goddamn hawkins indiana.

steve though. steve stays. he does it too without comment, takes all their calls telling him all these amazing things. the years pass. the calls are fewer and far between. he's mostly in contact with only dustin and robin. except robin's out of country doing some crazy temp job in some remote country, she never catches him at home right now so just leaves him messages. and it takes a couple of weeks for dustin to realize he hasn't gotten steve on the phone.

frantically he calls around "have you heard from steve???" except the most people talk to steve anymore is like phone calls during holidays and holy shit what could have happened??

and what if it's back?

cue everyone who can in that moment, rushing back. eddie hopping on a flight from fucking london direct to indianapolis somehow, heart in his throat. he manages to meet hopper in the airport and they pick up max and dustin at the bus station.

they get to hawkins that is even more different that what they left. a smaller town, a town that shuts down completely when the sun sets. it's creepy and deserted.

except for the fucking upside down monsters of course.

and they're in their stupid little rental in front of this demogorgon and they're screaming but then the thing just goes splat on the concrete and steve fucking harrington is blinking owlishly at them.

"Oh, hey guys!" he calls jogging up to the driver's side window. "Wow, what brought you back down this way? You should have told me, I would have told you about the curfew!"

turns out steve just forgot to pay his phone bill that month, didn't even realize he was missing calls and he's been fighting monsters the entire time because actually they WEREN'T cut off from the upside down at all and he's just been casually fighting monsters for the remaining hawkins residence—the whole town knows now and steve's the guy you call when you have a monster problem

sidebar: WAYNE still lives in hawkins, and he and steve are best friends, eddie munson you are gonna LOSE YOUR MIND

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[christadeguchi]

you think YOU had a bad day at work?

bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera

[pigswithwings]

Empty Houses / Empty Stomachs

Sources: Kitty Horrorshow, "Anatomy" 🏚 Josh Quissy 🏚 Wikipedia (Abandonment - Legal) 🏚 Ashe Vernon, "Love Disorders and Other Heartaches" 🏚 @/churchrummagesale 🏚 Kitty Horrorshow, Anatomy (Transcribed by @/a-missing-ache) 🏚 Kitty Horrorshow, Anatomy 🏚 @/churchrummagesale 🏚 Wikipedia (Desire) 🏚@/churchrummagesale 🏚 Wikipedia (Hunger - Physiology) 🏚 Wikipedia (Desire) 🏚Emma Rebholz, “No Good Bloodsuckers" from The Misanthropy 🏚 @/zegalba

[egophiliac]

well, I can't say I expected the new chapter to feature Idia (metaphorically) going to (metaphorical) hell, getting a pep talk from his (metaphorical) Phantom brother which helps him finally move on once and for all from his brother's death, and (metaphorically) overblotting again to fight his way back out of (metaphorical) hell, only to have his darkest fear (non-metaphorically) come true when his mom goes through his computer and finds all his secret files. but I am glad it did!

also this is all a flashback for the purpose of explaining to our group what the heck is going on (whether or not any of it is getting through is another matter)

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[itneverendshere]

Could you maybe do a one shot of insecure reader x rafe? Reader doesn't believe Rafe finds her actually sexually attractive and her insecurities/bad self esteem are putting a strain on their relationship. And there is that whole ''her having a problem with him liking her, because she does not like herself so she is uncomfortable and pushes him away'' type of deal. Maybe he shots himself in the foot when she asks if he finds her attractive, and because he knows her self esteem is so low, he is trying to comfort her by answering ''Looks aren't important in life '' and she feels heartbroken. She from then is short in texts, doesn't answer his calls etc.

get to the bottom of you - r.c (+18)

pairing: insecure!reader x lover boy!rafe warnings: angst; mentions of low self-esteem; smut

His room should have been a place of comfort—a place where you felt safe—it wasn’t tonight.

You could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running, the clinking of his toothbrush against the sink. You should have been inside with him, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully jostling him with your elbow like you usually did. His laughter had echoed through the door just a few minutes ago as he’d told some joke you didn’t catch.

Normally, you’d laugh too, even if you didn’t understand the punchline, but tonight you barely mustered a smile. You couldn’t help it. You’d been feeling off for days now.

You loved him. That wasn’t in question. But the doubts mocking you—the insecurity, the voice in your head that whispered, why would he want someone like you?—were getting louder. It had been there since the start, this ever-present thought that you were out of place. That a guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like you.

You loved him with everything you had, but how could you let him love you back when you couldn’t even like yourself?

He had been nothing but patient with you since the beginning, but no matter how many times he reassured you, the voice in your head—the one that whispered that you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t what he wanted—never seemed to quiet down. You couldn’t see yourself the way Rafe did. The compliments he gave you always felt empty, like he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. 

Earlier tonight, he'd had been busy texting on his phone, and the longer you sat there, the more the voices in your head snapped at you. He hadn’t looked at you in what felt like hours, hadn’t even noticed the way you’d been shifting awkwardly in your seat.

He was the guy who turned heads when he walked into a room. Confident, self-assured, with a sharp smile and piercing blue eyes that could make anyone feel like the center of the universe.

You weren’t like the girls you’d seen him with before. They were stunning, all sharp cheekbones, and perfect hair, the kind of women that could stop someone in their tracks. You, on the other hand, had always been self-conscious—your appearance, your body, the way you looked in clothes. It wasn’t that you hated yourself exactly; you just… never felt enough. Not enough for someone like him.

That’s what kept you up at night.

The door opened, and Rafe stepped out, smiling at you, toothbrush still in hand. His blue sparkled as he walked over to you, leaning against the wall casually. His hair was damp from washing his face, and he had that easy, relaxed look on his face that usually made your heart flutter. 

“You good?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing, as always.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile,“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured, pushing your phone aside and getting up from the bed. You crossed the room to the window, feeling the cool breeze against your skin.

You hated this—hated that you couldn’t just let things be, hated that your mind was always spinning in circles, convincing you that something was wrong. But it was hard to shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him.

He, always so perceptive, frowned slightly and walked over to you. He placed his hands on your waist and gently pulled you back against him. His warmth should’ve been reassuring, but instead, it only made you feel more fragile. “You sure?” he pressed, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you lied again, this time a little more firmly, hoping he wouldn’t push.

But of course, he did.

 “You’ve been quiet all night.” His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer. Normally, you’d melt into him, but tonight, it felt different. Heavy.

You stared out at the darkened horizon, biting your lip. Maybe this was your moment to ask the question that had been eating at you for the past weeks, but every time you shoved it back down, afraid of the answer.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to sound ridiculous, didn’t want to admit how insecure you felt. “Rafe..”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt, his shirt, and you turned around in his arms, meeting his focused gaze. “Do you… do you find me attractive?”

His brows furrowed at your question. It was such a simple question, but to you, it felt like everything. Like the entire foundation of your relationship was resting on his answer. Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to surface.

“What?” he asked softly, “Why would you even ask that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard. “I just… I need to know.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. You watched his eyes flicker with uncertainty, and that hesitation made your heart sink.

“Looks aren’t everything, y'know,” he said quietly, his tone careful, as if he was walking on eggshells.

You froze.

His words echoed again in your head, and your worst fear—the one that had been brewing inside you for so long—solidified in front of you.

Looks aren’t everything.

He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t reassuring you, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him. Instead, he was saying that it didn’t matter. That it was irrelevant. Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the heartbreak that was building in your veins.

You pushed him away gently, stepping back out of his embrace.

“Right,” you whispered, your voice breaking. You couldn’t look at him now, not with your vision swimming and your throat closing up.

“Wait, that’s not—” Rafe began, stepping forward, his hand reaching for you. “That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“C-Can you please let me go?”

He didn’t want you, not in the way you needed him to.

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes widened, and he immediately backpedaled. “No, no, you know hat’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head as the tears welled up in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t. Your voice cracked, and you hated that you couldn’t keep it together.

Rafe reached for you again, but you stood up before he could grab your hand. “Hey, wait,” he said, standing up as well, his voice pleading now. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

But you couldn’t listen to him, not when every insecurity you had about yourself had just been confirmed. You didn’t want to hear him explain, didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was going to give you. You needed space. 

Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the handle.

"Please don’t go," Rafe's voice was quiet, a vulnerability in it that you weren’t used to hearing. He sounded scared, and that hurt even more because you knew this wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was you—your insecurities, your doubts, your inability to believe that someone like him could truly want someone like you.

"I just need a minute.”

The hallway felt cold compared to the warmth of his room. You pressed your back against the wall, sinking to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest. You could still hear him moving around inside, pacing maybe, and it made your stomach twist in knots.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself but it was no use. The tears came, hot and fast, burning your cheeks as you sobbed quietly. You hated this. You hated feeling so unsure of yourself, so small, so unworthy. And you hated that Rafe, the one person who made you feel safe, had unknowingly thrown all of that into question.

Looks aren’t everything.

It wasn't about whether you thought he was shallow—Rafe had never been that type of guy—but the way he hesitated, the way he tiptoed around your question.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, your vision still blurry from the tears. It was a group chat notification from the friends you had been out with earlier that week. A picture had been sent, one of the group photos taken during the event. You scanned through it, your attention landing on a figure that made your heart sink further—her.

Rafe’s ex, standing tall and confident beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the frame. Her beauty was undeniable—perfectly coiffed hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and an air of effortless poise that seemed to draw everyone in. Adriana Lima, but real. 

And next to her? You.

The contrast between you two felt overwhelming. How could you, with your insecurities and imperfections, ever hope to measure up to someone like her? The thought that Rafe had once been with someone like that, someone who seemed flawless in every way... it killed you.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even hers. It was you.

You needed to leave. You needed space. Without another glance back, you pushed yourself off the floor and slipped out his house, the hallway eerily quiet as you hurried toward the stairs, wiping at your tear-streaked face.

As the door slid shut, you could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, but by then it was too late. You got in your car speeding off before he could open the door.

After that night, things only got worse. You’d pulled back, distancing yourself from him in every way possible. You didn’t answer his texts for hours, and when you did, they were short, clipped replies. You stopped calling him back, ignored the missed calls that filled your phone—everything. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him; you just couldn’t. Not yet.

You hated it. You hated yourself for pushing him away, but more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop spiraling.

You avoided places where you might run into him. No coffee shops, no mutual friends’ gatherings. You threw yourself into work, into anything that could distract you from thinking about him, about the look on his face when you’d left him there.

You missed him—missed his laugh, missed the way he’d pull you close just because, missed the way he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

On the third night, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Rafe had sent a text earlier, and though you’d ignored it, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it like the others.

Rafe: i miss you. please talk to me. just want to know you’re okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. You wanted to answer. You wanted to tell him that you missed him too, that you were okay—but the truth was, you weren’t. You hadn’t been okay for a long time, and you didn’t know how to explain that to him. Every little insecurity, every time you’d felt like you weren’t enough.

Your chest tightened again, you wished you could be different, stronger, more secure in yourself. You wished you could believe him, that you could trust his words. Your phone buzzed again, and this time you hesitated before picking it up. It was another text from him.

Rafe: i get that you need space, but please don’t shut me out. i don’t know what else to say except i love you. i just wanna talk.

I love you.

You stared at the words on the screen. He loved you. Maybe that should have been enough. Maybe it was enough, but somehow, you still felt hollow, still felt like you were standing on the outside of your own life. You locked your phone without responding, tossing it onto the bed next to you as you buried your face in your hands.

You were terrified that if you let him in now if you finally told him how you felt, it might break something between you two. But hadn’t something already broken?

The next two weeks seemed never-ending, the hours blurring together as you went through the motions at your internship, half-heartedly responding to emails, nodding through conversations, and generally just existing.

By the time you returned home, you felt like you’d been run over by a truck. As you kicked off your shoes, there was a soft knock on your door.

Your heart sank.

You knew it was him before you even opened it. Rafe stood there, his hands in his pockets. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. 

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading, searching your face for any sign that you might push him away again.

You stepped back, letting him in, and closed the door softly behind him. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gestured for him to sit, though neither of you moved right away. Rafe stayed standing, studying your face, and you could tell that he was trying to figure out how to begin.

“I—" he started, but then stopped, running a hand through his hair, like he’d been rehearsing those words over and over in his head. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I said wrong. But I don’t think it’s just about what I said that night, is it?”

He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t frustrated—he was just… sad. Sad that you hadn’t let him in. Sad that you had been carrying all of this on your own.

You felt a lump form in your throat, and your chest tightened again, but this time it was from knowing you’d done this to him. It was from knowing that you’d pushed him away.

You couldn’t run from this anymore.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “It’s not you. It’s me. I know that’s such a cliché, but—I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rafe took a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets, like he didn’t want to crowd you but couldn’t stay away either.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. Just need you to talk to me, okay? To tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, even if it’s hard.”

“I don’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

His brows knitted together in concern. “Someone like you?” he repeated, like the concept was absurd. He stepped closer again, reaching for your hand, but this time you didn’t pull away, “You mean the love of my life?”

The love of his life.

It sounded so easy when he said it. So genuine. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d never even considered anyone else. But how could he be so sure when you weren’t?

“What if you get tired of me?” your voice was so meek it nearly killed him, the fear in your voice so so vulnerable. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you could be with someone better? Someone like—”

“Stop,” he interrupted his voice firm. “There is no someone else, baby. There is no one better. M' here because I want to be here. With you. I chose you. I’ll keep choosing you. Even when you’re doubting yourself, even when you think you don’t deserve it. I’ll still be here, because I love you. And I need you to believe that, okay?”

You swallowed hard, your chest still aching from the emotion bubbling up inside you. 

“But what if I can’t stop doubting?” 

Rafe stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze, “Then we’ll work through it together,” he said softly. “M' not going anywhere. Doubt all you want. Question it if you have to. But don’t ever shut me out again, you hear me? I can’t lose you.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed softly across your cheek, his attention unwavering, filled with a tenderness that nearly broke you. There he was, standing in front of you, patient, willing to wait, to love you through every insecurity you tried to hide.

“Okay,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he brushed a tear away with his thumb. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful, as if he was waiting for a sign that maybe you were ready to let him in again.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice not to break. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“Lemme prove it to you, please.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and then his hand was on the back of your neck, tugging you to him. Your lips met his in a hungry kiss, moving together and tongues running along one another.

He grips your waist and moved you like you weigh nothing. You could feel his warmth seeping into your skin, and for the first time in days, your insecurities started to lift. His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss as he pressed you against the door, his body flush against yours, grounding you.

His hands touched your body with a gentle urgency, pulling you closer, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, blunt fingernails digging into your skin. 

He broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, his lips shiny with your spit, “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured softly, his fingers tracing your lips with a reverence that made your heart burst, “You don’t know how badly I want you. How perfect you are to me.”

His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, his touch firm but gentle as if reassuring you that he meant every word.

“Let me show you,” he repeated, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth before trailing down to your jaw, then lower to your neck, where he placed soft, heated sloppy kisses that made you shiver. “Every inch of you, fuck—I love everything.”

His big hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you were sure it would bruise. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned against your lips, his hands now sliding under your sleeping shorts, feeling every inch of bare skin. “Your skin—so soft. I can’t get enough of you.” 

A fervent moan slipped past your lips when his hard cock pressed against your thighs. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

“I need you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with want. "I need you to believe me."

And for a moment, you did. You let yourself sink into him, his warmth, his strength, his words—all of it. You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could love you the way you needed him to.

His fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up as his lips trailed lower, over your collarbone, to the top of your chest. His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing through the room as you whimpered, and he chuckled before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, squeezing, exploring—as though he was trying to memorize every inch of you, to show you exactly what he meant.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging softly before your nails pressed into his neck, eliciting a groan against your nipple. He then shifted to the other side, his tongue flickering rapidly against the hardening peak. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his hands moved over you with such care, made your head spin. 

You gasped as his mouth worked its magic, alternating between teasing bites and soft licks that.

"Rafe..." you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a heated kiss. You could feel him everywhere, pressing into you. It was overwhelming, the way he moved, the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered.

His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin of your hips before he tugged them down in one swift motion. You kicked them off, your breath quickening as he pressed himself against you, his hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Do you believe me now?” he groaned against your lips, his voice hoarse from how long he’d been kissing every part of you.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to hear you say it. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I believe you.”

His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve, every dip, like he was worshipping you. He lifted you easily, carrying you over to the couch and laying you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he stood, pulling off his shirt and boxers in one fluid motion before climbing over you, his body hovering just above yours.

His skin was warm, his muscles tense as he held himself back, waiting for your permission. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his chest, his abs, before pulling him down to you. He settled between your legs, his cock pressing against your heat, and you moaned softly, your body arching into his.

“God, I need you,” he groaned, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, torturous rhythm, his head nudging your clit, "Tell me you need me too."

“I do,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Rafe.”

That was all he needed to hear.

With one swift motion, he lined himself up and pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he stretched you, the feeling of him inside you so intense it made your head spin. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged as he gave you a second to adjust.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “So perfect for me.”

His breathing was already ragged, soft moans filling your ears as moved with him. 

“Fuckin’—You were made for me, weren’t you?” He murmured against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he gripped your hips. 

His words made your head spin, and you felt your breath stutter as you clamped down around him. He grinned against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

You nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, f-fuck—”

His smile widened and he thrusted into you faster, the slap of skin on skin growing louder, “Atta girl. That’s my baby.”

"Rafe," you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a breathy moan as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your body. He growled low in his throat at the sound, his hips rolling faster, driving deeper, his breath hot against your skin.

"Say it again," he urged, his voice a low rasp against your ear as his teeth grazed your neck. "Say my name."

You complied, your fingers digging into his back as you whispered his name again and again, each time more broken, more desperate. He groaned in response, his movements becoming rougher, more frantic as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” he breathed out, the sincerity of his words almost lost in the haze of pleasure that surrounded you both. But you heard it—you felt it—and it was enough to push you closer to the edge.

His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, deliberate circles that made you cry out, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure built, spiraling higher and higher until you could barely breathe.

"I-I love you," he said again, the words spilling out between ragged breaths as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. "God, I love you so much. You're everything to me."

Your body trembled beneath him, teetering on the edge of release. The way he was holding you, like you were the most precious thing in the world—it was all too much, too perfect. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down so that your lips met again, your need for him matching his in every way.

"Rafe," you gasped against his lips, your body arching into his as the tension coiled tighter inside you, ready to snap.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing yet rough, his forehead pressing against yours as his fingers worked you closer to the brink. “Come for me, baby. I need t’feel you.”

And you did—your body tensing, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cried out his name. Rafe groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on your waist almost bruising as he buried himself deep inside you one last time, moaning your name as he came.

He stayed there, hovering above you, his face buried in your neck, his lips pressing soft kisses against your damp skin as you both came down from the high.

You didn’t speak right away, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, but when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were soft, full of that same tenderness you’d seen earlier. His thumb brushed your cheek as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart swell.

He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face as he traced your cheek.

“You okay?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met his gaze. “I think I am.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it. You weren’t perfect, and maybe you never would be. But right now, in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you were enough.

And that was more than enough for him.

[chloesimaginationthings]

What if Mike got the bad ending of the FNAF movie..

[omaano]

Shaak Ti and her tiny charges join the Hades AU, complete, with colourful little highlights and a dialogue box this time (and an alternate version under the cut where I tried my hand at taking the shade/Force-ghost aspect a little further than I did with Fives)

"There is no doubt that Grogu is an exceptional youngling, but I cannot take him on as a Padawan no matter how much I may wish that I could. My duty is to look after the clones as they grow and learn - we cannot just abandon them once their war is over. As a Mandalorian you must understand this. However, I would gladlyassist in your quest in any other way I can."

Linear timeline who? Rex can have a mighty white beard and then look spry and blond simultaneously, there is teenager Omega and Boba sitting on his throne on Tatooine, so just don't worry about it XD Have three of my clone OCs as baby cadets and enjoy how cute they are instead.