#some of us can’t take it anymore it’s impossible to not be anxious about the future

[bandzboy]

it’s becoming more and more apparent that governments don’t care about young people or genuinely don’t have them in mind when they make decisions when it comes to anything but then demonize young people for speaking up injustices and how mistreated they are… make no mistake they hate this younger generation for standing for something and being tired and how we don’t wanna suffer in silence like most of our parents and grandparents did! we are fed up and we just want change and they how powerful we can be if we stick together it’s just becoming so clear but jokes on them we won’t stop any time soon

[the-hopeless-haze]

I Do Bad Things With You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni

Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk

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“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.

“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”

“You just have to say that.”

“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”

“But, sir, I—“

“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”

There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.

He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.

But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.

You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”

“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”

“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.

“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”

You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.

“Hotchner, I—“

“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”

Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.

“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?

You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.

“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”

“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”

“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.

“In private?”

“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.

“Some of them are,” he muses.

“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”

He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”

“But I—“

“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”

“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”

He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.

Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.

But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

He’s still kneeling in front of you.

You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.

He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?

“Don’t be,” you say breathily.

“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”

Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.

Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Aaron?”

You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.

“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.

“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.

He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Use your words, Aaron.”

“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.

“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”

“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.

But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.

And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?

Lord help both of you.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”

“Is that to help me, or you?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.

Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.

“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”

You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.

“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”

“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”

“Mm.”

“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“Right now… yes.”

“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”

God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.

You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.

So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.

His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay, Aaron.”

“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”

“Did you know I was struggling?”

“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”

You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”

“I promise,” you agree.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”

You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.

“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”

You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.

And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.

“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.

“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”

“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.

“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.

“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.

Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”

And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”

“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.

He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.

“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”

“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.

“What’s not fair, honey?”

“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.

“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”

And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.

“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.

“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.

He doesn’t stop.

“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”

“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”

You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.

And God. Were you right.

You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.

You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”

“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.

And you can. And you do.

The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.

What a vision.

How were you ever going to get this out of your head?

“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.

“Yes,” you affirm.

Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.

“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?

You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”

“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”

With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.

“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”

“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.

“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.

“Of me?”

“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”

“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”

“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”

“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”

Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.

“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”

“How presumptuous.”

He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.

“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”

“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”

You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.

“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”

“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”

He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”

“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.

He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.

“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”

Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.

[transparent-peach]

English is totally not my first language and i hope i spelled everything perfectly. I hope you enjoy it.

(Please be nice.)

James McAvoy x Reader

words: 1500

Romantic, isn’t it?

You were so close to getting insane, considered to the fact that you were all alone in North Scottland in a huge property. You had so many things to do but your social skills were all out and you haven’t got any energy lately. You felt the psychical pain of being alone, being without him. You felt terrible every time you saw him on tv, wishing he could have been there with you. But you knew it was impossible. If he wasn’t in the set of the “X-Men: Days of Future Past���, he was out there doing interviews, talking about the movie, promoting all of the little piece of it for the world. Your caffeine addiction went on another level, your mental health was falling into the nothingness. You always knew there was this risk of being with James but this never really affected your relationship. It’s been six months since he left.

————————————

It was a rainy morning of a thursday. It was almost templated how i went to work every weekdays, how i made my coffee and breakfast and headed out to the town. I sat down to my desk and made my day better than nothing with paperwork and telephone calls. I was exhausted by doing almost nothing but sitting down and force my mind to calm itself down was really doing something to me. In my early days i was working as a designer a graphic designer and a set designer at all in once. I had three jobs as i quit the graphic designer one. I was so full of ideas and things that i had to do for the sets and the movies but in that exact week i was doing some manager work. Some celebrities were almost like children when it came to their jobs and careers but i enjoyed working with them. I was helping them apply to work and put their life in order.

"Hello, love. It is your man on the television, isn’t it?"

My friend asked me with a lowered voice. She was nearly whispering.

"Yes, indeed."

I said it with a monotone tone, heading back to my desk. It was four in the afternoon that meant that i almost finished for that day. Excellent.

"What is wrong with you?"

She asked. Curiosity rushed through her eyes and she furrowed her brows.

"It’s just… You know… Work…"

I looked into her eyes.

"Can’t lie to me. Now tell me the real ‘wrong’."

She was following me to the desk. She was standing there, staring at me like a freak trying to read my mind.

"I miss him."

"Oh, love. I understand that."

The pity… That was the ultimate reason for me to not tell anyone about it. I am not a silly teenager anymore. I can handle this. At least that is what i thought. She knew from the very beginning, i told her first that we were a thing with James. We tried hard to hide from the world. We did great since in our four years of relationship there was only rumours about us. James’ manager did great with hiding things from everyone. I put my phone on the charger in the corner of my office. When it started to buzzing like hell, i raised my head up and started to feel a little bit anxious.

"Hey dear!"

A familiar voice came from the other side. My heart dropped and i sat down as i raised the phone to my ear.

"Hi James. How are you?"

I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

"I’m alright love. I am fine. What about my precious woman?"

He asked with a calm voice, made me feel warm from the inside out.

"I miss you."

I pursed my lips together and biting them in anxiety.

"I miss you too. But hey! It’s alright. At least you won’t get bored of me ."

He said jokingly. I heard his keys jingling in his hand. He opened his car and i heard a big sigh of exhaustion.

"Don’t be ridiculous James.”

I cleared my throat.

"You know it was a joke. Baby i need to go now. My manager set the date of my interview for 17.20 and i am nowhere to be found."

He chuckled a bit at his own words.

"’Kay. Love you."

"Love you too, Y/N. Take care."

He said softly as he hung up the call.

Devastated maybe, that is the right word to use for my situation in my head. I put down the phone started to pack my things up. Another day without him. Another night. I slept a bit better knowing that he is safe wherever he was. He sent me a picture of himself enjoying travelling. I felt the butterflies in my stomach as i looked into his eyes on the picture. I was like a girl who stalked her crush’s instagram. At least that was i did that morning. What can possibly be a more joyful project than this at seven in the morning when i almost just woke up from a coma.

jamesmcavoyrealdeal

🩷115K 💬1 956

It’s a little funky isn’t it? We are halfway there you don’t need to wait for too long.

I smiled at the mobile. I was totally in love. Until i realised i was late from work. I was in a hurry i didn’t even packed anything for the day. I was messed up but when i walked into the office i acted like i was a complete collected and mindful young lady with an attitude. I needed to go to the theatre to set some things right. I thought i must do some of my costume work. At reality i collected myself at almost one in the afternoon. I was stressed, anxious and never recovered from the fact that i was so tired that day. There was so much material, needle, threads, my ideas sketched on papers and stuff like that. I needed to make some tidying up because the room was a mess. I almost finished the costume, as i sat back down to my chair. It was dark out there already. I felt the coldish wind rushed through the room. I packed my things. I deemed the costume ready for that day. I headed home. It was pitch dark in the house as i walked in. I made myself a nice dinner and poured a glass of red wine. I sat down in the bedroom and started to watch an interview with Graham Norton. It was cosy to be honest it felt like some sort of meditation. There was Hugh sitting on the red couch. Next to him there was Michael and James. Hugh was beyond excited and kind as he enthusiastically talked to Graham. He had a lot of laughs with him and Michael. James seemed a bit off that day. I saw the problems on his face. I chuckled a bit at his attitude. I lighted up a cigarette near the window and i looked out to the busy street for a moment.

I sighed in discomfort. I was listening to their chit chat and laughs on the television. When they started to sing 'Afrika' by Toto. I zoned out a bit but when i heard James’ laugh i immediately looked back to the screen.

I heard the door opening and i tossed the cigarette stub out in fear. I almost spat out my heart in fright my pulse was racing and my head started pounding. The door opened and i saw a huge bouquet of flowers. The head was slowly peeking out behind the flowers and i nearly fell over the window.

"Oh god…"

I gasped in disbelief as he walked over to me. I looked at the tv and then to him in awe just like it was some kind of a lucid dream.

"Hello love."

He handed me the roses and gave me a kiss to my forehead while i enjoyed the scent of the flowers.

"Hi."

I whispered to the thin air. I put down the flowers and i gave him a thigh squeeze.

"I think i told you a million times not to smoke in here."

He smiled at me and poked my nose.

"Well, i think you should be at London shooting interviews and chatting with famous people."

My sassy attitude came in handy for the moment. I held him closer, and gave him a kiss.

"That was a bit cocky… but i guess you are right. I missed you."

He looked into my eyes with his cold blue ones, and spinned me around.

"You look cute with Michael."

I teased him a bit before i gave another kiss on his forehead.

"Thank you love."

He laughed with nothing but pure joy.

"I am thinking about inviting him over for dinner someday."

"We are free this weekend. You should give it a shot."

He teased me back while leading me to the bed.

[weird-is-life]

Hello loves! I really enjoy your writing and perhaps if it’s make sense could you please wrote about Aaron x Ex!Reader requited love? If you can’t it’s fine, have a nice day!<3

Hi lovely, ty for the request💕! I don't know if this is what you had in mind, but hopefully it's at least a little good, warnings: fluff, angsty, use of pet name, like one swear word (0.8k)

It was a complete coincidence, that you bumped into Aaron. You literally bumped into him, your face colliding with his chest and by some miracle you didn't spill the tea, you'd just bought all over his expensive suit.

Aaron was just as surprised to see you as you were. And he couldn't understand the weird feeling in his chest at the sight of you.

You had a similar feeling too, a breath catching at your throat as you were looking up at his handsome, slightly older than you could remember, face.

And you don't even know why, maybe it was the shock of the whole situation or maybe it was something else in you, that made you do it, but somehow you invited him out for a coffee.

And that one coffee turns into two, then three, then four, until you loose count of them and until you're spiraling back into those old, forgotten feelings.

The realisation of it takes you by a huge surprise. You weren't expecting it. It scares you, that you're feeling this way again.

You like Aaron, but you know that Jack is his priority and he probably isn't looking for a relationship, he has enough on his shoulders already.

So with every friendly coffee date your feelings grow stronger and you can't help but to worry about it. You like having Aaron back in your life, a lot actually, but you don't think you could survive being just his friend, it feels impossible.

So in your worried state, you stop responding to Aaron's texts. Yes, you know, it's not the best way to cut contact with somebody, but you don't think you'd have the strength to explain the why to him.

Aaron goes completely crazy with worry over you. You suddenly just stop responding and he doesn't know if it's because of something he did or because something's happened to you.

He hopes, it's neither.

He tries not to fret over it, but eventually the feelings get the best of him and he finds himself standing in front of your door. He stands there longer than he should, before he finally knocks.

You appear at the door just a moment later and noticing, that it's Aaron at your door, your eyes widen.

"Aaron? What are you doing here?" you debate whether you should just close the door on him and pretend to not exist.

"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but....I had to make sure, you were okay. You weren't responding to any of my texts." Aaron explains, his relief, at seeing that you're okay, is huge.

You don't look as happy as he does, you look like you'd rather be anywhere else, but there.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, you don't know what more to say to him, so you keep quiet and look everywhere but him.

"I'm just glad, that you're okay," he says and you almost wince, you didn't think of how much you must have scared him with the no responding, poor Aaron.

"But what's wrong?" he asks, trying to catch your gaze.

"I-I-I....I just can't do this anymore," you whisper with sorrow.

"Can't do what, huh?" Aaron asks softly, even if he's loosing his mind.

"This. Us. I-I just can't, I'm sorry," you take one look at Aaron's crushed and confused face, before your gaze is back on the ground.

Aaron baffles, he's thought, that you had a good thing going on," Did-Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's just....," you can't find the courage to tell him the reason why.

"What's wrong?" Aaron takes a small step towards you without thinking, he's desperate to fix whatever it is going on. He likes you and he's finally let himself to feel something like this again with you, so he is super anxious about this whole situation right now.

You sigh and irrationally, you just blurt it out, "I like you, a lot, like too much, Aaron. And-and I'd love for us to be friends again. But I don't think I could survive being just your friend. I know, you're definitely not looking for a relationship right now. And I understand, but I can't just be your friend. I'm sorry."

Aaron lets you say all of your thoughts before he reacts. Halfway through your speech his confused frown turns into a smile. Because he realises, that it's just a huge misunderstanding.

"Good," Aaron's says with a smile and now you're the one being confused. What the hell does Aaron mean 'good'? You start to almost get upset before he continues.

"Good, because I don't think I could be just your friend either," he actually grins at you.

You immediately look up at him,"what?"

"I like you too, honey. And I'm definitely looking for a relationship, if it means I get to be with you," Aaron couldn't be looking at you with more heart eyes and you think, you might melt.

"Really?" you ask shyly, too scared that you're imagining this whole thing.

"Yes, really," Aaron chuckles and reaches out for your hand," so what do you say, will you give me, us a second chance after all these years?"

Aaron doesn't have to wait for an answer for too long, because your lips are on his in a matter of seconds, answering his question clearly.

[moonlightndaydreams]

Body Language

NSFW // minors do not interact

Pairing: Lee Minho x female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers // romance and smut

Word count: 5.2k approx. mostly spicy smut 🌶️

Story: whilst attending a gathering at Felix’s apartment, you meet his new housemate, Minho. You don’t speak Korean, and Minho knows very little English, but somehow he understands exactly what you need.

Warnings: mentions of physical disability (reader has a hand impairment and wears a leg brace), anxiety and body image issues. Smut warnings below.

Note from Sorsha: This is my first piece where I talk about disability and body image issues. A person’s experience of living with disability is unique to them. I’m not implying that all people with disability experience anxiety or self-consciousness around their disability. But I do personally live with a physical disability and can only draw from my own experiences. Unfortunately my experience doesn’t include having hot sex with Minho 😫

Smut Warnings: unprotected piv sex (pull out method 🫣), oral sex (f. Rec), nipple play, aftercare.

I hope that even if you don’t have lived experience of disability that you still read this story as I think the character will still resonate with many of you.

Love you, and enjoy xxx

—————————

You take a deep breath as you approach the door of your friend’s apartment and ring the doorbell. While you wait for an answer, You look down at your chosen outfit. A White floral print on duck egg blue background ensemble of a tight tank top and matching maxi skirt. The skirt has a split up the front of one leg, your “good” leg. You always seem to refer to that leg as your “good” one. It isn’t even all that good, it just works better than the other leg. The one with the leg brace. No heels for you, but you’re sporting you favourite white sneakers. You run your hands over the fabric, satisfied with how you look today. You look great, and this party is going to be fine. You tell yourself.

But as you wait for the door to open, you can hear many voices from the inside of the apartment, and it makes you feel sick.

It isn’t the leg brace that makes you self-conscious, or that your balance isn’t so good. You actually “embrace the brace” because it is a tool to help you do what you want and need to do. It’s your hands that are the problem. No one can really see anything is wrong, not unless they look closely and really pay attention. But they hold you back from interacting with the world the way you want. Your impairment makes fine motor tasks near impossible. You can’t even undo buttons to save your life. And writing, well that went down hill at some point in the last three years, and you can barely fill out a form these days. Not being able to play guitar anymore is pretty shit too.

But your biggest anxiety inducing situation is eating in front of strangers. Cutting up food is awkward, holding finger food is risky for the floor and your clothes, and fucking hell, if chopsticks are involved you’re doomed to starve.

You are anxious. You hadn't anticipated how anxious you were going to feel when you told Felix you’d come to celebrate his promotion. But of course Felix didn’t quite know the full extent of the dread that filled your body whenever you had to be in a “dining” setting. You’d confided in him about your fears and anxiety somewhat, and he’d promised that it would all be okay and you could use anything that would help.

“It’ll be just a small gathering, y/n.” He’d smiled at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. You didn’t want to say no.

And now here you are, at your friend’s. You have turned up. You haven’t bailed.

But you you want to run away. No. You will stay, even if you don’t get to eat.

“Y/n!!!” Felix beams at you as he opens the door. “Come in, love.” He steps to the side allowing you to enter the apartment. Sure enough there are a dozen or so people already mingling and chatting. Music was playing from a Bluetooth speaker over on the right.

“Are you feeling, okay?” Felix whispers in close to your ear, and you nod and swallow hard. You’re not really okay. You tell yourself that nothing bad is going to happen. That no one is even going to care, and as you find a place to sit and take in your surroundings, you realise no one is even looking at you. See, it’s fine. This isn’t that bad. You are okay. You don’t recognise anyone, they seem to be Felix’s work friends, whereas you are his childhood friend, but after about ten minutes of polite hellos, and introductions, you begin to feel your nerves settle just a little bit.

“Y/n, want a drink?” You look up to see Felix offering you a can of soft drink. You nod and your eyes flicker to the man standing beside him. A man you have never seen before. This must be Felix’s friend from Korea. From what Felix had said previously, he has moved here for a while for work and study. What is his name again?

“This is Minho.” Felix gestures to the man standing nervously beside him. Minho. “Hello, Minho. I’m y/n.” You smile. But Minho simply nods curtly, barely making any eye contact with you.

“He’s nervous. He doesn’t speak much English yet.” he chuckles and opens the can of drink for you before passing it to you. You use every ounce of concentration to grasp the can securely, hoping to god you don’t drop it and spill it everywhere. Satisfied you have got a good hold on the can, you look up to find Minho has disappeared.

“Oh, he’s gone?” You say surprised.

“He’s just gone to start bringing the food out. He loves cook-”

“Lix!” A voice from across the room cuts him off.

“Excuse me for a sec.” Felix pats you on the shoulder as he walks away in the direction of the voice.

Minho returns the room shortly after with trays of what looks to be various finger foods, and begins to place them on the coffee table and dining table that has been set up to the side of the living room. Mini pizzas, fried chicken pieces, some type of vegetarian situation, and several other awkward looking foods that you were not planning to attempt to eat. Although, it all looks absolutely scrumptious. You feel your stomach rumble and you regret not filling up on food beforehand.

You watch the other people pick some food and use flimsy napkins as plates. It looks so easy for them, and you feel a pang of jealousy. Stop that now. You tell yourself. How can you solve this problem? You need an actual plate, and maybe a coffee mug to have another drink in, you think, looking at your tight grip around the now empty can. You look around the room and see Minho standing to the side watching the positive reaction to the food. Everyone is absolutely loving it. You look back at Minho again and catch his gaze on you. He looks at you quizically and then turns to go back into the kitchen. Fuck! You must look like a stuck up bitch.

Okay, let’s go find a plate and a fork, and a cup, or you’re just going to miss out on eating altogether. All you need to do is get up and go to the kitchen. This is always how your internal dialogue goes. You need to plan in your mind how you are going to navigate your surroundings. Are there any obstacles you need to work your way around? Which is your quickest route?

You enter the kitchen surprised to see Minho still working away chopping food, even though there is already plenty of food in the living room. Your eyes drift over his frame, and you’re surprised by the flushed feeling in your cheeks. He is attractive. Felix had mentioned he was a dancer with a passion for cooking. Hmm.. yes he definitely has a dancer’s body. You can tell his thighs are toned from the way his trousers cling to them. You bite your lip as you eyes follow his thighs up to his taught ass and you bite down even harder on your lip. Fuck. Stop looking at him, you tell yourself. You quickly lift your gaze to his upper half, his thin cotton button down draping over his back muscles. And his arm. Fuck! You can’t stop staring at the veins in his forearm as he chops a tomato.

You are suddenly brought out of your not-so-innocent thoughts when the knife in his hand stills. Shit. You quickly remember why you came in to the kitchen in the first place, and open the overhead cupboard to fetch a mug, and opening the fridge to see what beverage options there are.

Your breath catches in your chest when out of nowhere, a veiny hand grabs onto the fridge door, opening it further and reaching in to grab two cans of soft drink. You step out of the way to give the owner of the hand room, only to find Minho standing there with a Sprite in one hand and a Coke in the other, holding them both up to you in a way that could only mean he’s asking you to choose one. But all you do is stare blankly at this gorgeous man in front of you.

Minho nods his head, gesturing for you to take one. Fuck his eyes are captivating. You reach out to choose the coke, but instead of him handing it to you, he takes both cans to the counter and places a second mug down next to yours. You watch him, intrigued, as he opens both cans - one handed - and fills the mugs part way with the drinks. You take a step closer, wrapping your hand around the handle of the mug of coke, and tentatively make eye contact with him again. “Thank you.” You whisper. He nods shyly in return and mumbles a “your welcome.” Then gets back to what he was working on.

You don’t move. You barely breathe. This can’t take your eyes off of him. You are sure he can feel your eyes on him too, because his movements are little stiffer, more hesitant than when you first walked into the kitchen and he didn’t know you were there. You wondered if you were making him nervous.

He takes two plates and begins to arrange much of the same food he’d taken out to the gathering earlier. Mini pizzas, fried chicken, but also a little salad on the side. Then he proceeds to cut up everything up into bite size pieces. On both plates. What is he doing? You are intrigued. To finish off, he gets two forks out of the cutlery drawer and takes both plates over to the little two seater table in the opposite corner of the kitchen. And then he’s brushing past you to take the two mugs of soft drink, setting them down with the two plates of food.

When he is done, he looks at you expectantly. You are unsure what is happening. His gaze alternates between the little table and you. “Eat with me?” He says carefully. Wait. What? You glance at the plates on the table. This is for you? “You want me to eat with you?” You double check, even though you’re not sure how much he understands. He nods with a smile and sits himself down in one of the chairs.

Slowly, you make your way to the other chair and nervously sit down opposite him. You can’t help but chuckle to yourself. The plates of food, all chopped up small, coupled with the cold drinks in what one would normally drink a hot beverage from, looks exactly how you set up your own dinner. At home, you have a special knife to cut your food up and you make a mental note to start keeping it in your handbag. But are you allowed to carry knives around like that?

“You don’t like?” Minho breaks your thoughts again.

“Yes… No… I mean I do like.” You say and stab your fork in a piece of chicken and pop it into your mouth. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head. “Oh my god, Minho!” You say with your mouth full. “This is delicious!” You cry. “Yum!”

Minho smirks, a satisfied look on his beautiful face. “Yummy?” He asks. You nod frantically. “So good. Yummy.” You grin back, before going in for more food.

Minho digs in too, and as you both fall even more silent than you had already been so far, you wonder why Minho hasn’t joined the others in the other room. Maybe he’s shy? Maybe he’s unsure because of the language barrier? But he seems so confident, and you imagined that if he were surrounded by his people he’d be boisterous and maybe even a little obnoxious. He has that look about him. Devious. As you place the last bit of food into your mouth, you realise that you hadn’t even thought about your anxiety for a while. Minho, a complete stranger, has made your dining experience one of the least stressful in a long time. And you hadn’t even had to explain anything to him. Felix must have mentioned something to him, you decide. How else could he have known what you needed?

You look up and give Minho the biggest, most thankful and authentic smile. “Thank you, Minho. That was so fucking good.” His eyes blink rapidly at your use of the word fucking, and he quickly breaks eye contact, and a look of confusion crosses his face. His cheeks turn a shade of pink. Hmm, so he knows that word?

“There you two are!” You both look up startled as Felix enters the kitchen and crouches down beside you both. He scans the empty plates and peeks into your coffee mug curiously.

“Thank you Felix.” You say, but he looks confused. “For what, love?”

“Letting Minho know my challenges…you know, with food.”

“Honey, I never told him anything.” He shrugs. “But I probably should have. Fuck, I’m a shit friend, I didn’t even see if you needed anything.” He scratches his head. “Anyway, I came to tell you that we are all heading into town now. Are you going to come?”

You glance at Minho who seems to be pretending to be interested in how his Sprite looks swirling around his mug, and then you look back at Felix. He shakes his head “Minho already told me he won’t be coming out.”

Oh. You take a moment to consider how your night would pan out if you went out with the group. It would most likely be fun, although your feet would hate you in the morning. A night out is extremely tiring. You cast your eyes around the kitchen. There are plates, pans, rubbish absolutely everywhere, and who knows what state the living room is in? If Minho was left here on his own, you were positive he’ll clean it all up himself.

“No, I think I’ll just stay here. Help tidy up.” You say brightly. Felix raises his eyebrows and looks to Minho and says something to him in Korean. You watch Minho as his eyes widen and when blink rapidly as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Eventually he meets your eyes and offers one polite nod. You nod in return, like you have both just agreed on something important, and you feel a nervousness in your stomach. Or is the feeling something else?

“Well,” Felix stands up. “I may or may not be back before dawn. If you want to crash here tonight, y/n, you know you are more than welcome, right?” He gives you a hug and then hugs Minho. They exchange a few more words, and you are sure Felix has just teased Minho, because Minho suddenly raises his voice in a loud “Ya!” making you jump, and play punches Felix in the arm. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” He laughs as he leaves you and Minho alone once more.

———

After the group has left, and after Minho cuts you a second piece of cheesecake, you watch him begin the mammoth task of cleaning up. The place feels so silent, apart from Minho pottering around collecting plates. You retrieve a garbage bag from the third drawer down in the kitchen, because you know where everything lives at Felix’s, and go about the apartment collecting any rubbish. You aren’t really sure how much help you’re going to be, but thankfully most people had only used napkins and canned drinks, so most of the washing up wasn’t the breakable kind. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils mostly, and you find you are managing quite alright with putting those away in their homes.

Once everything was relatively tidy again, you dim the kitchen lights a little, because your eyes are tired, and set to work filling up the kettle. “Minho, would like a coffee?” you gesture to the jar of instant coffee. His eyes light up. “Mmm, coffee. Yes…please.” He smiles. “Okay, great.” You chirp spooning out the coffee and open the fridge for milk. Again, just like before, Minho’s veiny arm grabs the fridge door. But instead of grabbing the milk, like you expect, he closes the door and gently grasps your arm and turns you so your back is against the bench. The gesture is soft and gentle, not aggressive or demanding, and it makes your breath stop. Your hands grip the countertop on either side of you, trying to steady yourself in this unexpected situation. He is standing directly in front of you, close, and there is nowhere for you to avert your eyes. He swallows hard and stares into your eyes questioningly. You open your mouth to speak but you don’t know what to say. It doesn’t matter though, because Minho speaks first.

“Thank you.” He whispers. You aren’t entirely sure what he is thanking you for, but you assume he means helping him tidy up. “For eating with me.”

Your heart absolutely melts. Who is this man? “You’re welcome.” You choke, staring back at him just as intently. His brown, almond eyes convey a myriad of emotions. Nervousness, desperation, hope, desire. His eyes flicker down to your lips, then lower as he takes a really good look at your body, before returning to your lips. Then his eyes drop to one of your hands. He reaches for it, closing the gap between the two of you in the process, and brings your hand to his lips. You are caught off guard at this gesture. You don’t really like bringing attention to your hands, and having Minho deliberately tending to them makes you feel exposed. You try and pull away, but Minho just brings your fingertips back to his lips and proceeds to kiss the backs of each of your digits. Slowly. One by one.

You suck in your lower lip, both frightened and aroused in equal measure. He lowers your arm down to your side, but still holds your hand securely, and he brings his other arm to rest on your hip.

“This? Okay?” he asks, trying to guage your reaction to his touch. You nod. That’s all you can do.

You feel a heat wash over your body, and you know you are blushing. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around and there is an unmistakable ache in your core. You bring your free hand to rest on his bicep, and you bravely pull him closer to you. He reads this gesture as invitation to lean in closer to you. His eyes still linger on your lips, and his warm breath on your skin makes you quiver.

“This? Okay too?” he whispers in a husky voice, sending shock waves straight to your cunt. “Yes” you squeak and Minho chuckles low before turning serious again. The silence in the room suddenly feels excruciatingly loud as Minho pauses, centimetres from your lips, and it feels like you’re frozen in time. His lips brush yours in a featherlight kiss. It is barely even a kiss, but it feels more intense and passionate than any other “first kiss” you’ve had. He pulls away slightly, only to come back in with more intensity. He let’s go of your hand and cups your jaw instead, pulling you in towards him. You part your lips in the hopes he will explore you with his tongue, and he immediately does.

You feel yourself losing your balance slightly and grip onto Minho tighter. He slides his hands around to the back of your thighs and lifts you effortlessly setting you down on the counter. He breaks the kiss, panting and out of breath, and leans his forehead on yours to compose himself. You rest one hand on the back of his head, your fingers threaded through his dark brown locks.

Once he’s composed himself, Minho suddenly drops to his knees in front of you, taking you by surprise. You watch in anticipation as he very slowly, and very intentionally, lifts your skirt and drapes the fabric over your knees. You feel a surge of embarrassment and want to hide, and you berate yourself for how easily all that hard work of “self-acceptance” has come undone in a single moment. You force yourself to look down at Minho to find he has a hand resting on the velcro fastening of your leg brace, and he is looking up at you waiting. “This? Okay?” he repeats the same sentence as before as his fingers undo the strap a fraction. You nod. “Yes, it’s okay.”

You watch Minho’s expression intently, trying to catch any glimmer of disgust, or worse, pity, but you see none of that from the man at your feet. He carefully removes your brace and shoe, placing it carefully on the floor. Then he removes your other shoe and places that neatly beside the first. Next, he peels off your socks.

You have never felt so exposed in your entire life as you do right now. But as Minho starts to kiss and caress your calves as he makes his way back up to standing, you realise he is captivated by you. And as he pushes your knees apart to makes space for him to come in close to you, you feel that he is indeed very aroused by you too. It makes you hungry for him, and you reach up to the buttons on his shirt. There is no way you can undo these yourself, but it’s okay because Minho’s hand is there and he unbuttons his shirt swiftly with one hand while you watch in awe. You help him slide the shirt off his shoulders and it drops to the floor. Minho hurries to peel your top off over your head, discarding it carelessly. He is focused on only one thing now, the clasp of your simple cotton t-shirt bra, and he undoes it like a pro. You raise your eyebrow at him, suspicious as to why he is so skilled at undressing. But he just smirks and let’s your bra fall away.

He immediately takes a nipple in his mouth and cups your other breast. You arch your back into him and hum a “yes, Minho, yes.” He moans in reply and you rake your hands through his hair, panting as he rolls his tongue over your hardened nipple.

“Minho? Your bedroom? Hmmm…” you moan. “Bed?” You throw the words around hoping he understands. He lifts his head to look at you and you nod your head towards the hallway where the bedrooms are.

He wastes no time lifting you off the counter and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist. He devours your lips with his as he carries you to towards his bedroom, stopping on the way to press you against the wall in the hallway. You moan again, and throw your head back while he hisses as he grinds his hardness against your clothed cunt. Your body is craving his, and you would absolutely let him fuck you right then and there against the wall if he wanted to.

He pulls you away from the wall, biting and sucking the skin on your neck as he carries you to his room and carefully lays you on his bed. He continues to kiss you, alternating between your mouth and breasts, like he can’t decide what to settle on.

His kisses slowly move lower down your body, peppering your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your skirt. He lifts his gaze to check in with you yet again, and you nod your head, giving him permission to remove your skirt, leaving you only in your pale lavender cotton briefs. Minho’s face hovers incredibly close to where you’re aching to be touched. He hums in approval as he traces a finger over the wet patch of your underwear and brushes it over your clit, watching the fabric cling to your lips as he does so. You suck in a breath at the sensation. He smirks, satisfied with your response, then rubs his finger over your clit again. “Fuck!” you cry out. He locks eyes on you while he rubs a little harder. You furrow your brows and beg him with your eyes to remove your panties.

He peels your underwear off and you let your legs fall open for him, offering yourself to him completely. He doesn’t go straight for your cunt, but tenderly kisses your inner thighs and slowly makes his way to your centre. He knows, he has to know, what this is doing you. How wet, how soaked you are. How much you need him inside of you. “Minho, please.” You sob his name. He replies by licking a stripe from your entrance to you clit. Your hands fling to his hair, holding him against you, and he stops his teasing. He’s on a mission to take you to the stars.

His tongue slips inside you while his fingers finds your clit again. You are barely holding on by a thread as he expertly tongue-fucks you. And then he swaps, bringing his fingers to your entrance and tongue to your clit. He crooks his fingers, somehow knowing exactly where that spot is. You whimper, cry out, moan, almost choke on air, as he digs into that spot over and over, and his tongue laps at your clit in some kind of synchronised dance. It’s relentless, and you can feel the tightness inside you about to - “Oh…Ohh…I’m…I’m coming.” You cry as your orgasm surprises you. It is fast and intense, and you feel your walls clenching and releasing rhythmically.

Minho lifts his head, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction and his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. He takes a good look at your pussy, before quickly discarding his trousers. Your eyes widen when they land on his hard cock. Mouthwatering. Veiny like his arms. Fucking perfect. You don’t take your eyes off of it, and you lick your lips when you see pre-cum leaking from the pinkish tip. Minho kneels between your legs, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him rub the tip along your lips. Your vagina clenches in desperation to be stretched and filled. You swallow and look up at Minho. His gaze is fixated on the tip of his cock as it pushes against you and threatens to slip inside. His eyes are hooded and full of desire, his lips are parted, perhaps in awe. Then he looks up, catching your gaze, asking for permission. He needs to be inside you. You can tell because he looks like he is absolutely going to die if he doesn’t fuck you soon. But there is also hesitation in his eyes. You know he doesn’t want to hurt you or take advantage of you.

Your reach up and cup his cheek and nod your head. Then you reach down and grasp his length, relishing in how hard he feels in your hand, and you feel like a fucking goddess when his body shudders in some sort of primal way. You let go of his cock and return to leaning on both your elbows. He crashes down on top of you kissing you, transferring your juices from his mouth to yours. And then you feel it, his thick, hard cock stretching you open. He holds your face close to his, keeping eye contact as he slowly stretches you, sinking deeper and deeper inside of your body. He mutters something in Korean, and it turns you on beyond belief. You know he notices your body’s response to the way he’s speaking, because he continues to say things, watching your reaction. Even though he you can’t understand him, his tone is gorgeous, and your body doesn’t care what he is saying. It’s just responding.

Your bodies are sweaty, your cunt wet and noisy, and with each thrust a loud slapping sound resonates in the room. Minho’s noises become a mixture of Korean words, grunts, hisses, and even growls, as he builds the pace, and it only turns you on more. You respond with your own moans and whimpers, crying out every time his cock kisses your cervix.

Sweat drips off his nose, and lands on you as he repositions himself slightly so he can watch his cock fuck in and out of you, all whilst still moving his hips expertly, finding that spot again.

Watching Minho watch himself fucking you is the most stunning thing you’ve ever seen. He is concentrating so hard on chasing both his and your pleasure. He’s so precise in his movements. Careful. Controlled. Measured. But you want him to lose himself to the moment. You want him to forget himself.

Without thinking, you reach up and tap him on the shoulder. He stops immediately and his eyes widen with worry as he tries to work out what is wrong. You pat your hand on the mattress beside you, indicating you want him to lay down. He does as you ask and you throw your leg over to straddle him. He grins up at you and you can’t help but grin back. He holds your hip with one hand, helping you lift up enough for him to guide his cock back to your entrance with his other hand. You both exhale in relief when he is snuggly back inside.

Minho waits for you to take the lead, and you experimentally grind your hips. The angle feels incredible. He is so deep inside you, your bodies flush with each other. Minho helps you set a steady rhythm and pace by guiding your hips back and forth along his length, and you are on the brink of your second orgasm. You sob at how good he feels inside of you and lean down onto Minho’s chest where he holds you close. He digs his heels into the mattress and begins to brutally snap his hips up into you. The force of each thrust takes your breath away and you come hard around his cock, crying out his name. You finally feel Minho snap and he somehow has you on your back again. You hold onto his shoulders as he knocks the breath out of you with each forceful thrust. And then he pulls out of you moaning as he paints hot ropes of cum all over your stomach. He collapses on top of you panting trying to catch his breath, neither of you caring in the slightest about the stickiness between your bodies.

Eventually your breath returns to normal, and Minho slips off the bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. He disappears out of the room only to return with a warm cloth, a mug of water and the items of clothing you had left in the kitchen. Somehow he is able to hold everything at once. You watch him clean you up and offer you the drink. You gulp it down, not realising how thirsty you are while he goes to his chest of drawers to retrieve an oversized t-shirt for you to wear.

He leans in to kiss you. “This… this was okay?” he asks softly. You nod. “Yes.” And he grins sheepishly, pulling you down beside him and curling up behind you whispering words in Korean as you fall asleep.

—————

A/n: I had someone ask me since writing this how LK knew what reader needed. I suppose I wanted to tap into Minho being rather observant of other people’s needs (and I didn’t convey that well), or maybe Felix did say something to him afterall? I will leave it up to you to decide how you want Minho to know her needs.

Xxx. Sorsha

@channieandhisgoonsquad @chansmanda @antoniorhinothethird @queen-in-the-shadows @queenmea604 @lyramundana @2chopsticks2eyes @noellllslut @its-hannjisung @thatonenoona @ddyskz @bethanysnow @weareapackofstrays

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Six Sentence Sunday/Creative Proof of Life

Thanks for the tags, @alexalexinii, @shrekgogurt, and @that-disabled-princess!

This WIP post is basically a proof of life statement. I can't believe it's been over a month since I posted Chapter 1 of the Haunting of Simon Snow. I'm so overdue for chapter 2, BUT... instead I finished writing the rough draft. I've been attempting to outline, because when I rough a draft, I really rough it up. Ahem.

So I have been working on it, even if there is zero evidence on AO3 as of yet.

How about some sentences? I haven't sliced up chapters yet, so not sure if this is from chapter two or three, but here's a snippet of Simon on the phone with Penny expressing some smooshy sentiments:

I curl up on the couch a bit more, maneuvering myself so my wings aren’t crushed. “I went flying last night,” I confess then, in quiet tones. Like someone might hear me. “You— Oh, but… You can’t! What if someone sees you?” I can actually hear her biting her lip. She wants to spell my problems away, and she can’t. “But I can,” I say, smiling a bit more. “There’s no one around for acres. No one will even willingly drive here on account of the house being haunted. It’s empty. And I’m flying at night.” I say flying in the present tense and realize I fully intend to fly again tonight.

Penny huffs. Her specialty. “I don’t like it.” “I do,” I say easily, warming up to explaining, hoping she’ll understand. “It’s so freeing, Pen. Like the weight of the world can’t hold me down, anymore. I feel… It’s like… It’s like I’m closer to the stars. Like I’m close to stirring up the milky way.” I let out a sigh, my eyes closing as I drop my head back, indulging in that recent memory. “I don’t hate it as much, when I’m up there. You know?” There’s a few seconds of silence, and I open my eyes again. “Pen?” “Hate what?” she asks quietly.

(just in case you were worried I wouldn't be including angst...)

Bit more info on my progress (maybe some whinging) and tags and hellos below the cut!

Fun facts about my ineffecient writing process:

I spent more than one or two hours clearing asterisks from my rough draft this morning. (Because discord has trained me to do *this* when I write instead of this.) Because I'm trying to listen to my draft via screen readers, but it keeps sounding like "asterisk-impossible-star-fuck me" (that's my favorite one honestly, it's supposed to read "Impossible. Fuck me.") which is really annoying (more often than amusing). ANYWAY… what this has revealed to me is that I use "Fuck" a lot, as well as "So good." Ahem. Take from that what you will.

BTW, I'm sure there's an easier way to do that than manually. Please don't tell me for at least a few days, or I might lose it. I am but a mortal being, with a tattered heart and patience worn thin. (Or something.)

OKAY. It's been awhile since I did one of these posts. Time really flies. Gonna give this list my best shot, but as always, open to any who want to participate! (Also adding some new names in for the new year so this is sort of my "Gee I hope this is cool with you" super long tag list. If you'd rather not be tagged, just drop me a missive to that effect!)

@leithillustration @prettygoododds @rimeswithpurple @artsyunderstudy @blackberrysummerblog @hushed-chorus @nightimedreamersworld @best--dress @whatevertheweather @ileadacharmedlife @scribble-tier @imagineacoolusername @brilla-brilla-estrellita @alleycat0306 @angelsfalling16 @fatalfangirl @erzbethluna @tender-ministrations @anxious-m3ss @ebbpettier @bubble-gumhead @facewithoutheart @bazzybelle @theimpossibledemon @aristocratic-otter @mooncello @cutestkilla @annabellelux @ic3-que3n @j-nipper-95 @letraspal @messofthejess @onepintobean @palimpsessed @raenestee @supercutedinosaurs @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @martsonmars @orange-peony @mostlymaudlin @stardustasincocaine @confused-bi-queer

Lastly, quick note/question. Tumblr seems to be remiss in informing me when I've been tagged in other posts. Is this a common issue?

[midnightkens]

Paper Doll

TW: Domestic violence, child abuse, referenced alcoholism and strangulation.

The best part of having a window seat on a long flight, Colt thinks, is the direct view of the night sky. Twinkling stars rarely make an appearance in Los Angeles, but thousands of feet off the ground, they shine brightly. It’s one of the very few things he misses about his childhood in Florida. Home was often terrifying and chaotic, but sometimes, Mom and Dad would take him to Everglades National Park where they’d stay until dark, swallowed by stars and a calming quietness. Dad would be sober, Mom would be happy, and he would bask in the attention so rarely offered to him. They could be a happy family, if only for a few hours.

Then he and Mom fled to Los Angeles to be closer to her family. Dad, left in another drunken stupor, was served divorce papers in Florida. The illusion of a happy family had long since shattered, and there was Colt, sad, aching, anxious energy always itching just under his skin.

Always talking too much, always in the way, and for God’s sake, Colt, stay still!

Colt shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. Thinking about his childhood sends him down rabbit holes that take hours to claw out from. The stars are still oddly soothing, somewhat decent company while the plane’s other inhabitants sleep. He blinks blearily, eyes gritty with exhaustion, but sleep won’t come easily tonight. His mind races in circles, each scenario more disastrous than the last, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to jiggle his legs.

The worry is impossible to turn off. His stomach aches, and he leans his head against the window. He hasn’t felt so anxious since his fall and the horrible recovery that followed. But this feels worse.

Ken is in danger, and he’s on a flight to London for some film he doesn’t even care about anymore.

It’s intuition. Patrick reminds Colt far too much of his father, and Dad always became more dangerous when he sensed that Mom was about to leave. Ken doesn’t talk about Patrick often, and Colt follows his lead. But he does know a few things: Patrick can go on hours-long rants about the smallest perceived slights. He’s possessive. And worst of all? He isn’t afraid to use his fists.

Ken hides it as best he can with coverup, but years of growing up with his father taught Colt what to look for. To an untrained eye, the bruises would be invisible. The grimaces that just barely flash across his face would stay hidden, the hisses of pain barely audible. But Colt knows.

Ken isn’t as invisible as he believes. There are so many people who love him, who see him. Patrick has never even scratched the surface.

Unbidden, memories of his last meeting with Ken flicker before his eyes. He remembers how soft Ken’s lips felt on his, how they’d whispered a quiet I love you, how he’d declared that he was leaving Patrick in part to be with Colt. Colt’s heart had nearly exploded with elation, but any shred of happiness had been rapidly replaced with terror. Colt isn’t afraid of Patrick, but he’s terrified of what Patrick could do to Ken.

Don’t worry about me. I can handle him. I’m gonna pack my stuff before he can even guess what’s happening and dump him in a public place.

Ken had thought it all through. He can be impulsive, but he’d clearly planned all of this out without thinking of his own safety, and the thought terrifies Colt. If Ken is concerned about his own safety, he’d done a fantastic job of hiding it.

Colt shudders against the sudden chill that creeps down his spine. Growing up with an abusive father taught him early to trust his intuition.

And right now, his intuition is screaming at him.

Everything is about to go wrong, and he shouldn’t have left.

***

Colt gingerly lowers himself onto the bed with a groan. He wouldn’t want to work in any other field, but he can’t deny that stunt work takes a bigger toll on him than it used to. If he overdoes it too many days in a row, he spends at least a week paying for it. He’s been in London for a few weeks, and now that his part is done, he can go home.

He knows the drill by now, though. He’d given himself a couple of extra days to do absolutely nothing but relax in bed.

He sighs in relief when the heating pad eases the tension in his aching muscles. He grabs his phone to check his messages. True to his word, Ken has texted him every day so far, keeping him updated on his situation at home. The last text came through hours ago, and Colt’s heart unclenched. Ken’s bags were almost packed. He was almost free.

So far so good! 😊 Love you!

Colt looks at the timestamp and frowns when he double checks the timestamp. It’s 3 PM in Los Angeles. Ken not texting him for hours is strange. Maybe he’s just hyperfocused? He has a lot of stuff, and he gets sidetracked easily…

Everything okay?

He swallows, throat suddenly tight. The text goes through, and he waits for a few minutes for the familiar gray ellipses to make their appearance, but they never come. He’s probably just packing. Colt opens TikTok, but he can’t focus. The minutes pass by agonizingly slowly. The ticking clock is loud in his ears, almost mocking. Colt scowls and barely manages to smother the urge to throw the clock across his room. It wouldn’t do anything but cost him money.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He’s watched the same video four times and hasn’t absorbed any of it. He scrolls mindlessly, periodically checking his text thread with Ken again. Radio silence is unusual. He scrolls upward. Maybe Ken had a shoot today and Colt forgot, or maybe he’s out with Barb.

The messages offer no clues. He buries his face in the pillow, begging his racing mind to slow down. He can’t even go for a run without his back aching, so now he’s stuck in a lonely hotel room with no company other than his thoughts.

***

There’s an annoying buzzing sound. Colt scowls and shoves the pillow over his ears, but the noise only gets louder. Colt huffs and sits up.

“What the fuck?” He mutters. He spots his phone on the pillow. It’s lit up, a name that Colt can’t see on the pillow. Who the hell is calling him at 4 AM? He leans closer, breath hitching in his throat as soon as he spots the name.

Barb Hanlder

It’s not that he and Barbara aren’t friends. They are! She’s funny and charming, and Colt enjoys her company. It’s just that they’re both don’t call me unless you’re my partner or it’s an emergency people. The phone continues to buzz, and Colt stares at it, his heart clenching with panic. Something is wrong. The buzzing stops and almost immediately starts up again, and Colt swallows.

He shouldn’t have left. He should have stayed home, stayed with Ken and made sure he was safe. Why didn’t he do it?

He feels floaty. Detached from his body. He watches as he picks up the phone and hears himself ask, “Did that motherfucker kill him?”

Barb chokes on a sob. “Colt, Colt, thank God you picked up, it’s so bad I – Wait. No. No. He didn’t kill him. He – “ Barb sniffles and takes a few shaky breaths. “He tried, though.”

Colt closes his eyes. He knew it. “What did he do?”

And so Colt listens as Barb tells him the story, how she and Gloria came to Ken’s apartment to find him barely conscious on the floor. How he’d been choking for air, how he’d gone limp as soon as Barb walked through the door.

When she describes the bruises on his neck, he swallows bile. He puts Barb on speaker and starts frantically gathering his things, ignoring the sharp pain that runs up his spine. He yanks his suitcase from its home on the closet floor and unceremoniously shoves his clothes into it. He should have stayed. He should have stayed and helped Ken pack his things. Patrick never dared to fuck with Ken whenever Colt was around. Colt takes great pleasure in knowing that the other man is terrified of him. All Colt has to do is flex, and the bravado instantly disappears. If he’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened. Ken would be safe. He needs to see the other man with his own eyes, see the rise and fall of his chest, needs to see his big, blue eyes open and wide with life. “I’m getting on the first flight outta here. I’m coming home.” The words is he okay almost fall from his lips, but he stops himself just in time. What kind of question is that?

“How is he?”

Barb hesitates. “Physically? So far he’s okay. It doesn’t look like there’s any internal damage. He’s awake. Ummm. He can’t really talk. His vocal cords took heavy damage, but his voice should be back in a few weeks.”

Ken’s voice. It’s one of the things Colt loves the most about him. It’s deep and soothing, and when he sings, Colt always stops to listen. His voice is smooth; it never cracks. And his singing voice is one of the very few things he’s confident about. A violent attack stole that from him. Colt grips the edge of his suitcase so tightly that it creaks under his hands. That evil bastard has stolen everything from him.

I’m gonna beat the shit out of him.

“Colt? Are you still there?”

Colt takes a few deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, just the way the therapist he saw after his injury taught him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, sorry. I’m here. You said he’s awake?”

“He’s awake, yes. Gloria and Ryan are in there with him right now. We’re not leaving him alone. He hasn’t really interacted much. He’s in shock, I think. The doctors ran a million tests when he woke up, and then he just…I dunno. He’s staring into space a lot. He doesn’t even seem to realize that we’re here. You’re coming home?”

Even over the phone, Barb’s voice is thick with unshed tears. How long has she been holding it together for? “I’m coming home, yeah. How are you holding up?”

“Oh.” Barb sniffles, and Colt pictures her wiping her eyes. “I don’t know yet. Ask me later. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

“Fair enough.”

Colt zips his suitcase, not even bothering to give the room his usual final check. Stuff be damned. Clothes and shoes can always be replaced. He and Barb hang up, and the next thing Colt knows, he’s at the airport.

How did he even get here? No matter. Even at 6 AM on a Monday, the line is long, and he groans. Why is this taking so fucking long?

His phone vibrates and he fishes it out of his pocket. God, he’s ready to snap. The irritation ebbs as soon as it appears when he sees who the message is from.

Ken: So Barb told you what happened

It’s not a question. Even over text, he sounds dejected. Resigned. Colt wants to call him, he’s so desperate to hear Ken for himself, but then he remembers the vocal cord damage and sighs. She told me. How are you?????

For five minutes, Colt watches Ken start typing, stop, then start again. His hands start to shake when the next text comes through.

I’m really fucking scared.

Ken isn’t embarrassed to admit when he’s afraid of something. He’ll readily admit to being afraid of bugs, heights, and horror movies. He’s only ever refused to admit fear a few times, and each of those had a common denominator.

Patrick.

It’s the final nail in the coffin. Colt tastes salty tears, but he makes no effort to stop crying. He wants nothing more than to see Ken, to hold him close and to ease his terror, but he can’t. The next available flight is over twenty hours long with two connections. Colt jumps at the chance. If it’s the best they can do, then so be it.

Don’t worry, he texts back. I’m coming.

[twopoppies]

Hello Gina! I’ve been reading comments about H’s hiatus pretty much all day and I would like to bring my personal POV.

I’ve always been more oriented into alternative british scene. When 1D was at their peak during 2011-2014 so were many of my really loved bands - their greatest album has been released during this period of time, they played the best shows and I even had a chance to meet some of my back-in-the-day crushes. So it probably won’t be any secret what happend next - after the their top came their downfall. Some bands didn’t get the recognision they deserved and so they called it quit. Some bands haven’t topped their most famous album and so they called it quit. There was one particular band I loved the most and I can’t describe how disappointed I was when I saw them live after 5 years (back in 2017) and just came to opinion they are no longer what they used to be when I saw them last time in 2012. And guess what - they called it quit too, had few “just for fun” shows last year after another 5 years of unspoken hiatus and nobody expect them to be active (make another album and do some bigger tour) anymore.

So yes, I have witnessed so many heartbreak hiatuses and band breakups. So I’m trying to stay calm about how long it will take H to come back. Yes, I am also sad and got emotional and bit anxious how the future will look like especially when I read that this is basically his first real hiatus and nobody knows what will come next. Yes, he had my 99% interest over the last year and I can’t imagine not seeing him on stage almost every other day wearing cute outfits and doing funny interactions with fans. But I’m trying not to be dramatic because I’m sure H will come back “when the time is right” and it will be great. I don’t know how Shawn Mendes is popular in this fandom but imagine being his fan - he announced huge world tour 2 years ago after covid, played like 4 shows and took a few weeks break because of his mental health problems…and then he cancelled whole tour and nobody knows how long this hiatus will last, there’s no upcoming album and definitely no tour. He’s active from time to time on IG but that’s all. Or Lewis Capaldi who realised new album in May and now he’s on break too because of his health and nobody knows how long it will take. So I think people may stop be overdramatic about H, be happy and grateful what we got for last year and that he hopefully got his mental health sorted and found his balance so he can rest and then work again. I am personally taking it as a time for myself, my own personal growth because to be honest, being 99% focused on H was a bit tiring for me and now I can focus on everything else.

He’ll be alright. And so we will be.

Hi, sugar. Thanks for your perspective. I haven't really come to any conclusions, but I don't think H is in a rush to release music just to release music. He's got to be able to see that topping where he's at right now is next to impossible, and he's not going to want to release something he doesn't love with his whole heart. I find it curious that Sony hasn't posted anything about re-signing him (although I'm sure he would sign with them if he signs anywhere). Yet Rob Stringer was at the last show, so I don't think there's any bad blood. So, that makes me think that possibly they're holding off until they can make a big splash with the announcement. I don't think he's going away forever. But I do think he's going to take his time and come back "when the time is right".

I think we've been incredibly lucky as fans that he was able to put on such an incredible tour over these last 2 years, especially when you look at people like Shawn and Lewis who've been struggling with their mental health and had to pull back. I honestly can't imagine the pressure they're all under. Harry just makes it look easy, but we all know it takes an insane amount of hard work, a massive amount of support, and a huge dose of luck to survive the music industry.

I was speaking with someone this morning, too, about taking time for myself. Outside of my friends, Harry is the main reason I'm here these days, and if he's stepping back for a bit, it may be a good time to do the same. We'll see.

I hope he takes a much needed rest. I hope he does things that inspire and refresh him. I hope he finds balance and has time to do things he hasn't before. And, selfishly, I hope we see him again soon.

[not-a-space-alien]

Savage Sunset Chapter 21S

In this chapter: Stimming, and unpleasant secrets come to light

Warnings: Weight discussion, mentions of rape and torture (off-screen)

Story masterpost

Complementary chapter

***

“All right, up you go.”

Still in his pajamas, Valen tentatively stepped up onto the bathroom scale.

Ari scrutinized the numbers.  “All right, 73 pounds!  You’re getting there, big guy!”

“How much did you weigh before all this?” Lex asked.

“A-about a hundred and ten pounds, I think.”

“That’s still on the light side,” Ari said.  “We’ve gotta fatten you up.”

“He’s already gained ten pounds.”

“Yeah, it’s a wonder what three square meals a day can do to ya.”

“Thank you,” Valen said cryptically.  As usual, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.   He sounded like he was about to cry.

Ari asked, “Everything okay?”

“It’s just–it’s just been a lot.”

“Of course….You just take it easy.  You don’t have to worry about anything anymore.”

They’d needed to wait a while for his legs to un-break themselves, but that’d been sped up considerably now that he was no longer starving.  He’d been getting more steady on his feet, and seemed to actually have some energy and maybe, if you squinted, even start to develop some muscle and fat back.

Ari helped Valen back down the stairs and into the living room.  She eyed the coffin.  “Um…  So…I promise it’s okay…But…”

Lex followed Ari’s gaze and immediately knew what she was thinking:  Valen had once again torn up his pillow.  Both the pillow case and the pillow itself had bite marks all over, the filling spilling out.  “Oh.  We can replace it again, don’t worry.”

Valen wrung his hands.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I keep ruining them.”  His eyes watered.  “I’m trying not to, but I do it in my sleep.”

“It’s okay,” Lex said, taking his elbow.  “It’s not a big deal.”

He broke eye contact, looking down, face red.

“I noticed that you grind your teeth and bite things when you’re awake too.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, tears spilling over.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I promise I’m not–I’m not–”

“Relax,” Ari said, putting hands on his shoulders as though to push him back into his body.  “We’re just trying to figure out how to fix whatever problem you’re having.”

He sniffled and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.  “It’s an anxious habit.  It was–chewing on the muzzle was really the only thing I could do sometimes.”

Lex’s heart broke imagining all the times he’d been in massive pain and unable to move, the only activity available to him grinding his teeth on the metal bit in his mouth.  That would…also explain why all his teeth had been a little bit worn down, from the constant wear against the metal surface.  “It’s okay that you do that.  I don’t think you should try and make yourself stop.  Can you open your mouth for me for a minute?”

He did so, still not making eye contact.  Lex noted his fangs were fully grown back in.  His teeth didn’t look damaged at all–having restored themselves from their ground-down state–but there were threads of fabric stuck in them here and there.

“Do you want us to get you a chew toy?” Lex asked.

Valen shut his mouth.  “A chew toy…?”

“I bet the kind they make for dogs would stand up to your chewing better.  Or we could try and find a binky, or something along those lines.”

“....Yes, I would like that.”

***

Lex and Ari had continued to go on patrol–they’d taken a few days off work to help Valen, then once they’d settled into a routine and felt comfortable leaving him home alone, started to go back to work.  They did need the money and couldn’t just not go back to work….but they did try to avoid running into any actual vampires, the situation at home weighing heavily on their minds.

They stopped at the store on the way home, in the hours when the sunrise was still young, and bought several dog toys that looked like they could take some serious biting.  They also tried to find the biggest pacifier they could.

While they were in the children’s section, Lex noticed the books.

“You can’t be serious,” Ari said, as Lex picked up a few nonfiction books that looked to be for middle-schoolers.  “The man was practicing advanced biochemistry when we found him.”

“I’ve seen him reading, but he never turns the pages and just kind of stares at it blankly.  I think he needs something to….ease him back in.”

“...Well, it couldn’t hurt to offer, at least.  Keep the receipt, we can just return them if he doesn’t want ‘em.”

When they got home, Valen was in fact doing the exact thing Lex had noted.  He had a virology book open on his lap, but he was just staring over it at the window, where the curtains glowed from the sunlight they were holding back.

“Hey,” Lex said, kneeling by the coffin where he was lying down.  “We got some things for you.”

The paper bag crinkled as he dug inside it.  “Oh. Thank you.”  He picked up one of the books and flipped it open.  There was a picture of an elephant, with simple text next to it telling elephant facts.  His eyes drifted over the text. He slowly ran a hand over the picture, then grabbed one of the pacifiers and put it in his mouth, chewing it quietly.  Once again, it was impossible to tell what he really thought, but he seemed to make heavy use of the gifts over the next few days, which seemed like a good sign. 

***

Lex was now recovered enough that she felt confident to help feed Valen, so he now had four people feeding him.  Ari seemed to warm up to being fed from a little bit more, and Bailey and Jerome came over as often as they could, too.  He was still massively underweight, but he started to lose the sallow, skeletal appearance fairly quickly with the amount of support he was getting.

Valen was still visibly nervous, though.  He was reserved, and still didn’t seem to trust Lex and Ari fully.  Which was completely understandable, but if there was anything they could do to speed that up, that would probably help Valen feel safer.

Once when Ari was talking on the phone with Nick, Lex saw him physically flinch.  His hearing was good enough that he could probably hear Nicks’ voice just as well as Ari, and he immediately climbed back into his coffin and hid, a mass of quivering blankets.

“You’re okay,” Lex soothed, rubbing his back through the blanket.  “He’s not here.”

“Does-does he know where you live?”

“No,” Lex said.  “No, he doesn’t, remember?”  Lex had reassured him of this probably about a dozen times by now.

Valen huddled under the covers, two red, watery eyes peering out from under the blankets.

Ari quickly finished her conversation and hung up the phone, coming back in.  “Nick is still trying to rope someone else into getting a live capture.  I think he’s getting desperate, because he called just to tell me the bounty’s gone up again.”

Valen let out a terrified whine.

“We’re not giving you back,” Ari said firmly.  “We’re not letting him find out you’re still alive, and we’re not letting anyone else take you.  You say the word, and we take you straight to the border.”

Valen peeked out from under the blanket.  “You were talking to him.”  He said it in an accusatory way.

“Nick? Yeah, on the phone,” Ari said, not seeing his point.

“And at work sometimes, yeah,” Lex added.

“You were talking to him like he’s a person and not a monster.”

Lex and Ari looked at each other, then back at him.  “He’s fucked up,” Ari said.  “But everything he did, he had permission for.”

Valen burst into tears.  Lex’s stomach sank.

“...Right?” Ari said, suddenly alarmed.

“No,” Valen wept.  “No, no, a thousand times no.  He came back at night when the compound was empty because everyone was out on patrol.  He opened the coffin when he was alone, he broke the rules all the time.”

“What?” Ari growled.  “What for?”

“Ari,” Lex said.  Fuck, fuck, she almost didn’t want to know the answer to Ari’s question, but she also thought it was unfair to ask….Especially since Valen was now crying so hard that he couldn’t even get the words out to answer.

Ari knelt, steadying him and supporting him in her arms.  “Breathe, breathe, you’re okay.”

Lex handed him a tissue.  He took it, but was still crying too hysterically to use it.

“Let it out, baby,” Ari said.  “You’re okay.”

Valen took in great, sobbing gasps, wiping his eyes, then blowing his nose.  He wiped his cheeks, which were flushed with black blood.  “S–sorry.”

“You’re okay.  Let it out.”

His lip wobbled.  He grabbed the stuffed cat Lex had put in the coffin, hugging it.  “Nick has a shocking sadistic streak that he knows how to keep hidden.”

Ari stood, palming her mouth.  “All right.  Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” Lex said.  “We didn’t know.”  She was still lying to herself.  They’d suspected.  But none of them had cared enough.  It’d bothered them, a little, but they’d still been in the “he deserves it” phase.

“He did it all the time.  When we were alone.  He, he, he would do anything he couldn’t get away with during the day under supervision.  Things that–that could have no possible justification.  Humiliating things, senseless torture, rape-”

“What the fuck,” Ari said.  She was turning a cartoonish shade of red with her anger.  “I’m going to kill him.  I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Lex felt sick.  It was fucked up enough the things Nick had done with permission, but there had at least been reasons for those.  Not even the director would approve of meaningless torture.  And oh God, Valen hadn’t even been able to tell anyone that this was happening, this whole time.  Nick had known he could get away with it, because letting Valen talk had been the one thing they’d all known to avoid at any cost.  “We need to tell the director.  He needs to know.” 

“We can’t,” Ari said, through gritted teeth.  “We can’t do anything with this information without everyone finding out Valen is alive.”

Valen took one of the chew toys and put it in his mouth, grinding anxiously.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.  I’m going to shoot him as many times as bullets I have, and then I’m going to get more bullets and shoot him some more.  They’re going to be scrubbing him out of the carpet for months afterwards.”

“Ari, shut up,” Lex said.  Valen had pulled the blanket back over his, still shaking with fear.  “You just said we can’t do anything to let anyone know Valen is alive.  And getting yourself arrested isn’t going to help anyone.”

Ari left the room.  Lex could hear the punching bag Ari always used when she needed to let off steam being beaten half to death.

Lex knelt down.  “What do you want us to do, Valen?”

Valen breathed heavily for a few moments, looking positively overwhelmed.  Then he finally admitted, “I don’t know.”

Ari came back in, still breathing heavily.  She had a foil package in one hand.  “Take this.  All of it.”

Valen hesitated, then took the package.  It had several small white pills inside.  “What is it?”

“Emergency contraception.”

Valen’s eyes widened  “You don’t think–It isn’t possible, surely, for a human and a vampire…?”

“I don’t know.  But I’m not taking any chances.  The whole pack.”

“Will it even work?”

“It’s hormones, so if testosterone injections work on you, then maybe.”

Lex was so horrified that for a moment, she wanted to protest that this wasn’t necessary, that surely Nick hadn’t…

But if Nick hadn’t, then Valen would have said they weren’t necessary.  But instead, Valen just looked grim and started pushing the pills through the foil to swallow them.

***

“Try the bolt cutters again.”

“We’re not trying the fucking bolt cutters again.  We already saw that didn’t work.”

“I don’t think we’re going to make any progress this way.”

“We might if you give me longer than ten seconds!”

“We might have to use the saw.”

“We’re not using the fucking saw.  You’re going to take his damn head off.”

Valen clearly looked nervous about the direction the conversation was taking.  He was currently bent over the workbench among a nest of tools and books spread out around him.  Ari gripped his head with one hand, pushing him down a bit painfully on accident, and he winced.  “Fuck me, I didn’t expect this to be so hard.”

Ari continued jamming the lockpick into the padlock keeping the metal collar on Valen’s neck, grunting in frustration, consulting the books on the table, which all had diagrams of locks.  It’d been years since she’d picked a lock, but she was determined to get this stupid thing off Valen’s neck today.  She’d suddenly decided it was urgent to get it off, and now had the energy of an irritated, tired father on a road trip as his family sits in cowed silence, afraid to worsen his mood as he drives.

Ari took a step back, letting him stand upright.  “And you’re sure you can’t break it now that you’ve gotten some strength back.”

Ari had already asked this a good three or four times.  Lex had stopped bothering to remind her that the equipment was vampire-proof and therefore Valen would never be able to break it no matter how strong he was, that was the point.

Valen indulged her, hands pulling on the collar, then at the lock.   “Yes, ma’am, I’m quite sure.”

Ari scowled. "All right. Lex, hold the light." Valen craned his neck upwards, wincing away as Ari went at it with the lockpicks again.

"Maybe we can try and get the key off Nick-"

"No, I'm not doing anything that could clue that maniac into the fact that we have Valen."

Valen’s breathing sped up noticeably. 

Ari started to huff and puff angrily, motions becoming agitated. She eventually broke a lockpick and tossed it to the ground, cursing.

"All right, let's take a break," Lex said.

Ari plopped down onto the chair they kept downstairs next to the workbench. "Fuck.  I can’t–I can’t–I still can’t believe he did that.”  I can’t believe we let him do that.  She hated Nick, and she hated herself.  There was only one thing that could make her hate herself a little bit less.

She stood back up and attacked the collar again.

“Ari, stop, take a break.”

“I’m fixing this,” she snarled.  “I’m getting it off, I’m fixing it.  Give me the saw.”

“Ari, you’re scaring him.”

Ari looked up and realized Valen was cringing back, frightened by her intensity and anger, eyes squeezed shut.

Ari dropped the lockpicking stuff.  “I’m sorry,” she said, finally letting the tears well up in her eyes.  “I’m so fucking sorry we did this to you.”

Valen looked at her for a moment, then his face softened.  He reached out to touch her elbow.  She pulled him into a hug, burying him in her ample bosom and broad arms, and cried into his hair.  “F-fuck.  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His arms tentatively came around her.  “I’m…not going to say it’s okay,” Valen started.  “Because it isn’t.  But when we make mistakes, what matters is what we do after that.  And you’ve chosen to do everything within your power to fix things, even though it meant confronting your own feelings of shame and guilt.  Looking uncomfortable truths in the eye takes courage and integrity, and for that I admire you.”

This was the moment at which Ari fell a little bit in love with him.  She decided to handle this by choking out, “Wow, okay, Aristotle.”

Lex let out a laugh, slapping Ari on the arm lightly.  “You goofball.  Come on, sit down, let me try for once.”

Ari sat down, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.

Lex, considerably more calm and steady-handed than Ari currently was, gave it a try.  Valen seemed visibly more relaxed now that it was Lex’s hands on him, and she spent a minute examining the diagram of the lock with all its pins.  She took the lockpicks and started fiddling with it.

The lock popped open.  “There, see?  Nothing we can’t fix.”

***

Tag list <3

@aceouttatime

@annablogsposts

@cc1010foxy

@darlingwhump

@dokidokisadness

@emcscared-whumps

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@nicolepascaline

@oddsconvert

@pigeonwhumps

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@some-thrilling-heroics

@soursagas

@thecyrulik

@the-scrapegoat

@whuarri

@whump-cravings

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpycries

@whumpsday

@zillastar13

[youngbuckisms]

Matt Jackson being a big brother; headcanon list

Warnings: none!

Notes: I was watching older BTE episodes and come across one where Matt was talking about Nick being his baby brother and how he had to protect him, so it gave me inspiration to write some big brother Matt being his big brother self and Nick being an annoyed little brother. Their bond reminds me a lot of me and my older brother, so def taking inspiration from my brother here on this one. But I hope you enjoy!!

— Matt doesn’t notice it, or maybe he just denies it despite knowing it, but he can be overprotective. Always worrying, albeit subconsciously, trying to make sure Nick is always okay.

— He cares too much sometimes, especially after matches that he knows took a heavy toll on both of them. Always checking in, asking if Nick is okay, helping him to the trainers if he needs. Sometimes he helps anyway even if Nick says he’s fine — “Would you effing knock it off already? I’m fine.”

— He pokes at Nick’s bruises, gives a sympathetic little smile when he makes him wince — Nick only rolls his eyes in return — and goes back to helping him wrap a bag of ice around whatever is sore. Sometimes he jabs his fingers into his sides to tickle him whenever he’s being difficult, which usually always ends in them roughhousing with one another, slapping at one another’s hands and sharing gentle shoves between their laughter and an occasional exclaim of “eff off” from Nick.

— Matt makes Nick get a bottle of water during long drives, though he never says anything about it. Whenever they stop at a gas station, Matt just buys one for him out of habit then tosses it in the direction of wherever Nick is sat in the car. Nick has just gotten used to it and doesn’t argue about it anymore.

— He often does pass off his worries to his own needs, not wanting to seem overbearing, though Nick is always very aware of when he is — “You want to grab food? Have you eaten yet? Shoe shopping can wait, come on, because I’m freaking starving.”

— Nick isn’t a very affectionate or touchy person, but Matt can be at times, typically after Nick gets hurt even if it’s minor. There are some days where they can be found attached right at the hip, Matt’s arm draped over Nick’s shoulders or midsection to pull him over in a side hug. Sometimes being seen with his legs across Nick’s lap as they both scroll aimlessly on their phones. Nick finds it annoying sometimes, Matt doesn’t care.

— Most of Matt concerns are met with eye rolls, a huffy little “I’m fine, Matt”, and sometimes little jabs at him for caring too much. But Nick does appreciate it, glad that his brother cares. Though he think he would be okay if Matt cares a little less.

— It isn’t like Matt is like this all the time and he doesn’t do it on purpose most the time either. It’s just habit now. But there are times he keeps himself from being overbearing. Like when Nick comes to him for something.

— Like how when Nick goes to Matt’s room when he can’t sleep, Matt makes sure not to ask too many questions, although he wants to — “did you take anything to sleep? Did you have a nightmare? Are you anxious about something? Are you sore?” But he knows better than to ask any of that.

— Nick will talk about something bothering him usually only if Matt doesn’t ask. Matt thinks it’s because Nick is stubborn. Nick hasn’t denied that, but nor has he agreed.

— They’re impossibly close, despite Nick insisting he doesn’t like how protective and ‘big brotherly’ Matt is. But really, Nick wouldn’t want him to be anything else, because that’s just Matt and why would he want him to change?

[troglobite]

it’s really fucking hard (impossible) to have any kind of healthy reflection or growth when every time you try and be an honest & straightforward adult in a conversation, & try to be like “well, here are my feelings, but i get it, that doesn’t change anything. you asked, and i don’t want to lie or dump things on you, so here’s my answer”

only to be met w some of the guilt tripping passive aggressive manipulative shit that completely turns it around and blames it on you

and then it’s like

“....was what i said/did terrible? am i being unreasonable?”

i legitimately just can’t fucking tell anymore

every time i think i’ve made some kind of step of handling my feelings & situations on my own, every time i think there’s been progress in our relationship where we know and respect boundaries and needs, i’m wrong. 

and i’m sick of being wrong

and i’m sick of being paranoid and anxious that i’m always the idiot who’s not in the loop or in on the joke, who’s having something kept from them

i fucking hate it

i’m so tired

i’m trying so fucking hard to grow and be a decent person

and my life rn is literally: jobless, isolated at home until the pandemic is actually over, at LEAST three new medical diagnoses one of which is kind of scary just bc of what kind of meds i might have to take, fascism is on the rise, lgbtq people are getting murdered basically every day, and i have no independence or mobility on my own bc i am running out of money because again i do not have a fucking job and i CANNOT GET ONE BECAUSE OF THE PANDEMIC

i made so much progress in my life & was continuing on, and then the pandemic hit, &i’ve been gutpunched back so much and it FUCKING SUCKS.

and despite that, despite the fact that my base level anxiety is SO FUCKING HIGH that i CAN BARELY FUNCTION

i am trying to be a functional person in this relationship as much as i can

and instead of getting any grace or compassion or understanding or being met even halfway, i get blamed and gaslit and manipulated and guilted and all of this passive aggression

and i’m not trying to say she’s the villain here

but it’s impossible to NOT frame it that way

bc i am fucking trying and she appears to not be trying at all

and it hurts

it hurts to feel like you’re not worth any effort

you’re not worth listening to or respecting

you’re not worth the concern or consideration

i don’t get to be a part of any decisions

and it hurts, too, every time we’re watching tv and some parent on whatever we’re watching says “you stop living your life when you have kids. everything becomes about them. you do everything for them.”

and she just goes

“YEP”

it makes me wish i was dead

i don’t understand any world where that wouldn’t make me wish that

and she does it. all the fucking time.

so i’m sure to her, me not wanting her to do things THAT ARE UNDULY RISKY AND FUCKING DEADLY DURING A FUCKING PANDEMIC somehow seems to her like a fully grown kid demanding “more” of her bc i’m “selfish”

if there was no pandemic, i would never in a million years ask her not to go (which i didn’t even DO this time) or be AS SCARED as i am rn

but i guess that doesn’t matter

no matter how many conversations we have together abt how batshit other ppl are being abt the pandemic

she still does shit like this

and it’s like

no, i’m truly alone on this

literally no one in my life is like this

my friend of 16 years, who was great to talk to, even asked me

“what’s your limit?” wrt the pandemic

and i’m like

bro i just found out i have an autoimmune disorder. also i have access to information abt covid that you don’t bc our govt and media are failing us, on purpose.

my limit is when i won’t get covid anywhere i go

my limit is ZERO RISK

and that’s not stupid. it’s not. that’s a perfectly normal healthy perspective that our government SHOULD HAVE HAD.

this is terrifying and isolating and i just don’t even know what the fuck to do. 

[thisfinalsideblog]

speaking of that journal again, i shouldn’t have reread it. it just made me feel like shit and put me on edge, which is where i’ve been the past few days. i am not actively codependent with anybody and i’m not even talking to the guy the journal was related to anymore. i’m so incredibly fucking anxious (i rarely use that word because it’s embarrassing) about becoming codependent with the person who i would consider my closest friend. i can see it playing out in my mind just like my past friendships, none of which were codependent on my end with the exception of the one i just got out of a couple months ago. i can see us being friends for a year or two until something fucks it up and we’re done. it will be sad and slow and fucking painful. i’m not codependent with this person but i can feel the tendencies from my past friendship taking hold and i can’t fucking do this. i can never tell if i’m just normally attached and hyper-empathetic or if i’m becoming codependent. i get in my own head so much about everything, especially this. i can’t tell if what i’m feeling is genuinely unhealthy or if it’s perfectly fine and i’m just obsessing over the possibility that it isn’t. i think i just need help regardless. with all this election shit, this person is very upset and doesn’t feel good at all; therefore, i also feel like shit. is this me adopting and mirroring somebody else’s emotions because i’m codependent or is this just me being attached and actually giving a fuck? i should be honest with myself and see it as a mix of both. obviously i wouldn’t be happy to see them this way, but fuck if it isn’t taking over how i’m feeling. i get in my head with these stomach-twisting anxieties about the downfall of our relationship so much that it’s impossible to feel anything else. i should just talk to this person about it. we talk about everything else but it’s so fucking hard to even think about having that conversation. what would i even say? “hey, i feel like i might be becoming codependent on you and i don’t know what to do because i feel so sick at the possibility of that happening” isn’t a great conversation starter. sometimes i get… not jealous, but something jealousy-adjacent? i can’t place the feeling at all, really, but sometimes they’ll mention other people and i just feel sort of… strange. i don’t know. i was never like that before iliad. my friends talked about their other friends, and those i was sexual with mentioned other sexual relationships and i truly never felt a tinge of jealousy. iliad genuinely ruined that for me and i can’t even place how. i just feel sick. i feel sick and i fucking hate how unhealthy i am capable of being. i can feel some codependent traits resurfacing. i only feel fully 100% myself when i’m with this person. when we aren’t talking, i’m just sort of sitting around waiting to talk again. the fact that we only get to call when they come home from college on the weekends probably doesn’t help much; it creates this on-and-off sort of thing that makes me miss them way more. i feel like their emotions are beginning to dictate mine. when they’re happy, i’m happier. when they feel bad, i feel very bad. (notice how it leans more negative?) i just feel almost hopeless because i’m trapped in this cycle of my own shitty emotions and i do not have any professional help nor do i have access to it. i won’t anytime soon. i can’t let this get fucked up. i think ultimately i’m just really in my own head right now and i’m full of stress and surrounded by stress. i think this election thing is just the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak, since there was so much i was already feeling. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i feel so fucking isolated all the time, nonstop, even when i’m talking to the person i mentioned. i feel like nobody knows everything i’m dealing with and i genuinely just need (professional) help that i don’t have. i don’t know who to go to. i’m just gonna try to work really really hard on stopping any codependency before it starts.

(tumblr made me start a new paragraph.) realistically, i’m already doing an okay job of this. i can just remind myself that they are their own person fully capable of handling their own emotions and there is no need for me to take on those emotions and/or try to make them better. i can still feel sad or stressed without letting it consume me. i have other fulfilling relationships that i need to focus more on. this isn’t to say i need to focus less on this person. i just need to do both. i need perspective. this person has other relationships that he frequently puts time and effort and energy into, completely apart from me. i need to do the same. i just wish it wasn’t hard for me. i wish it could come naturally again like it did when i was younger, like it did before iliad. i am not a very healthy person, at least some of the time. i know i’ve already said it but i feel so fucking alone. i feel isolated in my feelings and in my thoughts and it feels like the only person that i want to talk to about any of it is the person i’ve been talking about in this post. i should probably give them a pseudonym, too, so i don’t have to keep saying ‘this person’. i guess i’ll go with… i don’t know, cen? (there was a thought process there, genuinely.) i am having a moment where i even feel isolated from them because they don’t know what i’m feeling or going through or dealing with. they know i’ve been feeling alone and that i’m pretty stressed out, but it’s only been in the past couple days that i’ve started feeling anything with the codependency shit. codependency is genuinely the most isolating thing i have ever experienced in my entire fucking life. i haven’t been this stressed out and/or anxious in months and i don’t know if it would be counterproductive or genuinely, healthily helpful to talk to cen about it. i cannot emphasize enough how alone and stressed out and anxious and sick i feel right now. i truly don’t remember the last time i felt this bad. all i’m gonna hear about for the next four fucking years is politics and how fucking horrible our country is. i do not know when i will not be surrounded by stress and misery. somehow the only thing my mind keeps going back to is cen—are they okay, what’s gonna happen for them or to them or with them when it comes to how they’re dealing with all of it, are they going to detransition or something, how long are they going to be miserable, etc. i can’t shake it. i don’t even know who else to go to. i really need to be intentional with making myself the focus and the center of my own life. i think i can do it. i just feel like complete shit right now. i just fucking want everything to be okay. i want myself to be okay. i want cen to be okay. i want all my friends to be okay, really, but he’s the one who’s struggling the most by far with all of this. i think what i’m feeling right now is just an amalgamation of all the shit going on right now but also all the shit i’ve had happen in the past year and a half or so. cen is such a comforting person and i wish we were both okay so we could just relax and be at peace together. i wish something in my life would bring me peace because i have no fucking clue how to find or make my own by/for myself. i’m just having a really fucking hard day. i want to tell cen about it but they’re struggling enough as it is; why would i add my own shit on top of it? i don’t even know why i’m feeling so insanely bad right now. i think it’s because everything in my life (including my own mind) feels so unstable and uncertain. i guess this is it for now but i’ll likely come back later.

[kavehater]

I used to always think about this but I just recalled it now, the thing is people used to all the time respond centuries late to me and I’d always say oh it’s okay !! I understand !! But when I said that I really meant it in my soul, and one day this girl apologised for getting back to me so late and I repeated my script and she’s like Noor 🙁 you really shouldn’t understand, and she some stuff and it kinda left me a little taken aback, I always script conversations people have in the sense like what they say in response but her reply left me floored, she seemed so sad that I was so accepting of such late replies and in truth over time the late replies kept happening and happening and happening, and I kept saying I understood and that it’s okay, but in truth it’s not okay at all, I don’t understand actually, in the sense why is it so much effort to respond, why does everyone consistently reply so late to me even when they have nothing else to do, when they’re not busy or mentally ill either.

It hurts a lot and I’ve noticed that people only reply quick to me when it’s something that is of interest to them, like a hot topic of theirs, and I try really hard but I’m so tired of being this unwanted. I want fast replies, I used to always give fast replies all the time, but now I’m worn so thin and things keep getting worse and worse for me so even texting or talking feels like my soul is evacuating my body sometimes, so I’m sorry when I reply so late but it’s just all this pent up disappointment and the realisation of WHY people don’t reply faster and take so long to get back to me just drains all my energy. It makes me so very sad and that I don’t want to speak in general anymore.

Before I’d always get so anxious if I don’t reply quick because I always felt it to be so rude to reply late, but nobody thinks it’s rude to reply late to me, so why do I bother anymore, especially when I feel like my body is failing me. I still get anxious. But I feel so very disrespected. In a normal person, even sometimes with packed schedules, one who is not physically ill and one who isn’t mentally ill either, replying back fast isn’t the catastrophe everyone seems to act like it is. Sure there’s sometimes valid reasons but honestly people just give me all those reasons now that it’s ALWAYS a reason there’s always some dumb stupid excuse. I’ve heard every stupid excuse in the book now. And now they’re just excuses to me not reasons.

This is why I don’t reply as fast anymore, because I’m so ill and so tired. Drained thin of these mind games and trying to figure out if people actually like me ? Am I an acquaintance ? Why can’t people ask about me seamlessly in a conversation, I’m obviously not okay with anything happening to me now or years ago. It’s so frustrating beyond words it feels like this is a science, a science that I’ve, through trial and error, had to learn MANUALLY with no instructions simply by observing others. Yet most people waltz into life so blind and get handed everything. I shouldn’t have to make duaa before going into class so someone can fucking sit next to me or read any surah when people get friends so effortlessly I REFUSE. I don’t even feel human at all. There’s this Arabic insult thing that just says go slam your head into the wall and shut up. But in truth everything is so overwhelming that I just might do that and I hope it’s with enough force that it cracks and I bleed to death. I. am. so. tired.

Here is the thing. I KNOW certain people pity me. Teachers have pitied me, students have pitied me, friends have pitied me the list goes on and on. And yes I have insanely strange encounters with people yes I have extraordinarily odd circumstances happen to me that seem so consistent that it almost feels impossible for it to not be indicative of a pattern and rule that I deserve such treatment. But WHY is it that the same people who pity me are the ones who transgress and do the things that make others pity me more.

I didn’t like pity, I loathed how people would see me as some sort of lesser than being just for my misfortune, but now this pity is all I have. The only indicator that I’m not invisible to others. That I’m actually real. But if only that pity could be turned into proactive choices and productively helping me to be treated better. It’s like saying you deserve better yet not proving I deserve it. What now. Clearly you proved that I don’t deserve better at all.

[hzltryingtowrite]

Sleepless in…Cassis?

I’m sitting in the shower because I don’t want to disturb Molly, who is asleep, with the sound of  the light or my keyboard. I’d be inclined to romanticise this scenario but actually I’ve just ended up with a wet arse.

Im sleep deprived, I didn’t sleep very well last night in Marseilles. There was also a Giant sitting beside me on the plane so I had to sit at an awkward angle the whole flight so now my neck hurts. He actually apologised for his legs- I felt bad for him, I hope I didn’t give off the impression that I was put out by his size- I certainly wasn’t thinking that. I wonder does he say it to every stranger he sits beside every time he takes a Ryanair flight. That would be kind of sad for him if that was the case. Sometimes I am grateful for having short legs. He sat scrolling through Instagram reels (offline somehow??) for the whole flight and laughing which was kind of endearing, but a baby a few rows behind us cried on and off and every time it started to cry he shook his head and said ‘oh my god’. I thought about saying well that baby can’t help crying, the same way you can’t help being a Giant. Well i didn’t think about saying it, I just thought it.

We walked a lot today-up a big hill covered in rich people’s mansions- we were trying to find a view of the sea but all their walls and tree borders cut off any possibility of this. Both our faces even got a little bit sunburnt. I think we might have been suffering in some way at one point because we both had two very strange moments within seconds of each other- I was telling Molly how I didn’t like the name ‘Fiachra’ anymore and it was because of ‘some annoying lad in my college’ before I stopped myself and remembered that Molly and I had both met at and gone to the same university and we often reminisced (commiserated) about people and events from that time. It was as if I’d entirely forgotten who i was talking to. Right after that, Molly tilted the water bottle she was carrying and my shoe scraped the ground and Molly thought the water had poured from the bottle even though the lid was tightly on and she stopped in her tracks and said ‘was there a splash?’. The proximity of two uncanny moments made it feel like there had been some kind of rift in the fabric of space and time. Or a glitch in the matrix. 

Ive noticed I experience deja vu more when Im tired and i feel a bit unsettled by the thoughts of what strange electrical activity is going on in my brain at those moments.  I think of some of the other strange things that happen when Im extremely sleep-deprived (I won’t say tired, because when I’m that sleep-deprived Im beyond a sense of tiredness and just feel more like a broken robot). Sometimes I get this feeling like I’m turning somersaults even though Im just sitting on a chair. Other times the walls shimmer and shake and then other times again when Im feeling very keyed up and anxious I hear invading aircraft and bombs being dropped in the distance. One night when i was a teenager I heard a strange and ominous sound in the sky outside and looked out and saw lights-  I ran outside into the street in a complete panic at an imminent alien invasion only to realise it was a Garda helicopter, searching the woods. 

I don’t think I was sleep-deprived or anxious then, I had just been reading about UFOs a lot. My dad even used to print out articles in work and bring them home for me.

I think I did see a UFO once. I was walking back from a cello lesson (I don’t play the cello anymore) and stopped at the green near my house to look up at the stars. Suddenly a star flew into my field of vision and did some loopdiloops, then disappeared suddenly, as if it had taken off into the distance. I remember being a bit frightened but also a bit excited. A book I was reading earlier had a paragraph about alien encounters and how they are a contemporary form of spiritual experience- impossible to deny their credibility but at the same time can be read as a means to rationalise inexplicable phenomena. I don’t really know what that UFO was supposed to represent to me at that time in my life but lately I do believe in attributing meaning to uncanny events. Maybe Im missing religion in my life. So, perhaps earlier Molly and I did actually tear a hole in the fabric of space time and now we are wandering an alternate dimension in Provence. We did see a dead toad in the sea which was very unusual. Later we went back and looked for him in the same place but he was gone. I like to imagine he was swallowed whole by a giant fish. I might go outside and look for UFOs. 

[soliloquyepistolary]

In the dream, my father left me UberEats on my doorstep and I had been thinking about getting some too.

I was at work and taking a really long time to fill this man’s order and he was getting quite angry with me. I just couldn’t finish it for the life of me. I was looking at it all confused and there was like 3-4 names involved and I was muddling everything up. I was just so confused I did it not know how to check the script, finish it, or do anything with it and there were other baskets piling up and I just kept leaving his one there on the side and ignoring it, but also realising I needed to do something about it. I kept telling him it was almost done, whilst freaking out and getting anxious and stressed. I also didn’t know how to professionally tell him that it was on it's way, I lost my words. I couldn’t put on the mask anymore, it was gone from me. The words wouldn’t come out, I couldn’t conjure up anything to say. He kept hovering. MN didn’t do anything. Well he kind of helped me toward the end, he finished up the script but I had a feeling there was still something wrong with it like there was some errors. I couldn't bring myself to check it because I knew the same thing would happen as before. At the scripts out counter, I just apologised to the patient without a mask, I was just my honest self, I said I’m really sorry but I don’t know how to fake it, I don’t know what to say to you and he was trying to help me and give me advice and said fake it till you make it. And I said sometimes you have those days where can’t even put on a mask. There were tears in my eyes. I didn’t say much but what I did say was compelling and honest. He was sympathetic toward me and felt sorry for me. Then he left.

When he went to go pay I saw his meds totaled around $4000 which is impossible… but I didn’t really care to follow up the situation, I just let it go

I was at TAFE that did not look like TAFE and there were some people around the corner that were harvesting a special spiny fruit like a dragon fruit or something. There was a teacher and these people were pupils from his class. There was plenty of the fruit. They were using stick grabbers to get them because of the thorns. Maybe it was more like a prickly pear. I was excited, I went up to them and asked if I could just have one of them and I waited for them to pass one over to me. I knew it was going to be delicious.

And then since these fruits were ripe and ready to go, I went to go look for a vine in a section of neighbourhood that I knew might have some fruit on them, since they'd fruited quite vigorously in the past. But I couldn’t find them. I passed a lady sitting at a table at a café outside. There was no trace of these fruit plants at all and as I walked away, I thought it was because they're probably not in season anymore.

A sleepover like a girl's night, I took off my outer layer of pyjamas and before I went into my sleeping bag and went to sleep.

A compass, which I am putting on a piece of wood to see if it was level but the pointer that points North kept spinning around all confused and crazily and so I moved the compass to the side of the wood on a part that was not level and then it was resting on North. And then I used the compass' other feature which is a spirit level to tell if surface is straight but I couldn’t see the bubble because it was too dark. And then the compass/spirit level, was also a kitchen thermometer with a long probe, which I pierced into a birthday cake but I couldn’t see the temperature.

[isthisevenrealanymore]

I can’t fucking stand living like this anymore. I’m so tired of being broke and anxious about being broke. I feel it building up. I’m gonna freak the fuck out. I don’t want to end up like my mom. Or hateful like my grandparents. I can’t stand working anymore. But we desperately need the money. The mental toll it’s taking on me to answer these fucking calls and talk to the rudest people is making me want to actually kill myself.

Why the fuck do we have to work so much to survive. Why is everything so expensive? Why do we have to fucking live like this???? I fucking hate it here. I hate not knowing if my account is over drafted. And we can pretend to chalk it up to us spending money going out all we want. But the reality is that it’s IMPOSSIBLE to fucking live in this society at this point.

I’m at my breaking point. And I know others are too. I’m so fucking anxious.

I’m going to plan out our finances properly. And stop working at this pointless fucking job. I love the people here. But the customers yelling at me are not worth it.

I’m going to plan out my chore schedule for each day. Which days we’re eating what, and that will be my job moving on. At least it fucking means something. Unlike just sitting at a desk and doing the same exact thing every. Single. Day. At least this will keep us fed. And clean. And be worth something.

I just hope we will the lottery at some point in the next couple of months. Do you know how fucking financially well off well finally be? We could actually take care of ourselves. OWN our own house. Instead of renting and the money just disappearing into nothing. It will actually go into our forever house. Won’t have to worry about dumbass landlords.

I am not well.