#struggling reader

“Love?” he called out.

It wasn’t unusual for you to get quiet when you were worn down, but something about this silence had a trembling edge. Before he finished drying his hands, he was already moving down the hallway.

He found you sitting on the floor beside the bedroom doorway, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your arms. Your whole body was shaking. Not violently, not dramatically, but in that small, frightening way that looked like something inside you had come loose.

“Hey,” he breathed as he crouched down. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t even acknowledge the question. Just a slight, shallow rise and fall of your shoulders, like your lungs couldn’t find a rhythm.

He reached toward you but hesitated, close enough that you could sense him, far enough that you didn’t feel crowded. “Can you lift your head for me?” he asked softly.

When you did, it was slow, almost painful. Your eyes were already wet, though no tears had fallen. Just that glazed, glassy sheen of someone whose emotions had outpaced their body’s ability to process them. The kind of look that said you weren’t fully here, not in the present, not in your skin, not in anything you could hold onto.

“Everything’s too much,” you whispered. “I can’t. I don’t know how to... I just—” The rest of the sentence collapsed under its own weight, turning into a choked inhale.

Vessel moved immediately, sinking all the way to the floor beside you. “You’re overwhelmed. Okay. Okay, I hear you. Breathe with me.”

“I can’t,” you said, shaking your head hard, like the words tasted wrong. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t stop feeling everything. It’s—” Your voice cracked. “It’s like everything is too loud inside my head. And it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel like this, and I...”

“Hey,” he said sharply, not unkindly. “Don’t dismiss it. Don’t minimize it. Look at me.”

But you couldn’t, not yet. Your gaze kept slipping away, lost somewhere far beyond the wall, or the hardwood floor, or the ceiling overhead. You were here physically, but mentally you were spiraling down through layers of feeling you couldn’t name fast enough.

Your hands were trembling. Your breathing was thin and uneven. Every instinct in Vessel screamed to reach for you, to pull you up and into him, to become something solid for you to hold onto. But he forced himself to stay slow, patient, careful.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “Tell me what pushed you here.”

Your breath came fast and unsteady. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I feel like I’m drowning and I can’t tell where it started. I just keep trying to hold everything together, and I keep failing, and I... I can’t keep doing this. I’m so tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

Vessel exhaled, heart twisting at the rawness in your voice. “It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to fall apart.”

“No, it’s not.” Your hands went to your scalp, fingers threading in your hair, tugging, not enough to hurt, but enough to seek sensation. “Because if I fall apart, then everything falls apart. And if everything falls apart, then I don’t know how to put it back. I don’t know how to put myself back.” Your voice rose at the end, thin and desperate.

He reached out slowly and placed a hand on your forearm, grounding without trapping. “You don’t have to put anything back right now. You don’t have to fix anything.”

“But I do.” The words came out strangled. “I have to. Because if I don’t, if I don’t keep it together, then what am I good for? What do I even—” You curled forward again, burying your face against your knees. “What do I even do? What’s the point of me if I can’t fucking cope with anything?”

Vessel closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself before he spoke. “Love,” he murmured, voice low and aching. “You’re not defined by how well you hold yourself together. You’re not measured by your strength or your resilience or your ability to swallow the hurt and smile through it.” He shifted closer, gently coaxing your hands away from your head so he could intertwine your fingers with his. “You’re allowed to break. You’re allowed to need help.”

“No,” you whispered again, but it was weaker this time. Not defiant, ashamed.

“Yes,” he said, more firmly. “You are.”

He pulled you gently toward him until your forehead rested against his shoulder. For a moment you resisted, your muscles taut, your body locked in its panic, but then something in you buckled, and you collapsed into him fully, trembling from head to toe.

The first sob was silent. Just a shudder, a breath stolen too quickly. The second came with a small, choked sound. The third broke you open.

You clutched at him with desperate fingers, pulling at his shirt, holding onto him as if everything else in the world were sliding away. Vessel wrapped his arms around you instantly, one around your back, the other around your shoulders, holding you close, holding you together, even as you came apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispered into your hair. “It’s okay. Cry. Let it out.”

But that only made something inside you collapse further, and the sobs came harsher, deeper, spilling out of you like a dam broken under impossible pressure.

You weren’t loud, not exactly, but the sounds you made were the kind that tore at the edges: quiet, but full of pain; broken, but full of truth. “I’m sorry,” you kept gasping between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Vessel pulled back enough to tilt your chin up, gently but insistently. “What are you apologizing for?”

“For being like this,” you choked out. “For being so much. For being—” Your voice cracked again. “For not being enough.”

His expression changed. Not anger, but something close to heartbreak. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek. “Don’t you ever say that.”

“But it’s true,” you insisted, tears streaming and catching on your lips. “I’m tired of disappointing everyone. I’m tired of failing. I’m tired of being…" You couldn’t finish that sentence. It felt too heavy. Too final.

Vessel’s hands came to cradle your face, urging you to meet his eyes. His gaze was steady, warm, painfully tender. “You’re not a disappointment,” he said, every word thick with conviction. “You’re not failing. You’re not a burden. You’re not too much, and you’re certainly not ‘not enough.’ You’re human. You feel deeply. You carry so much. And sometimes the weight becomes unbearable. That doesn’t make you weak, it makes you real.”

Your breath hitched, your mouth trembling as another sob clawed its way up. “I don’t know how to stop it,” you whispered. “It feels like everything is swallowing me. Like I’m disappearing.”

Vessel pulled you back against his chest, one hand on the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

“Don’t let the world swallow you, my love,” he said softly, voice breaking in a way he rarely allowed. “Don’t let it take you from yourself. Don’t let it drown out the parts of you that are still fighting.”

You clung to him, shaking hard, your tears soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. “But how?” you asked. Small, helpless, exhausted. “How do I not drown when it feels like I already am?”

He exhaled slowly, holding the back of your head like he feared you might disappear if he let go. “You lean on me,” he whispered. “You let me help you surface. You let yourself feel what you need to feel without punishing yourself for it. And you let me love you through it.”

You broke again at that, shoulders shaking as another wave of emotion pulled you under. Vessel held you until the worst of it passed, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles against your spine.

After a long, trembling silence, he shifted enough to kiss your temple, a soft, lingering touch.

“Come here,” he said gently, guiding you so your knees stretched out beside his, and you sat between his legs with your back resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, firm and protective. “Breathe with me now. Just follow my pace.”

You tried. God, you tried. And for a moment it felt impossible, every inhale shaky, every exhale catching in your throat. But he kept his breathing slow and steady, chest rising and falling in deliberate, calming waves.

Eventually, your breathing began to sync with his.

Eventually, your trembling slowed.

Eventually, the sharp edges of your panic dulled into something heavy but bearable.

Vessel rested his chin on your shoulder. “That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well. I’ve got you.”

Your voice was still raw when you spoke. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But you’re not broken. You’re overwhelmed. Your body is begging for rest, and your mind is trying to carry a world’s worth of worry alone.” He tightened his arms around you. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Silent, slow, softer than the ones before. You wiped at it weakly. “I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You’re not a problem,” he said immediately. “You’re a person I love more than anything in this world, and right now you’re hurting. That doesn’t make you a burden. That makes you human. And it makes me want to hold you even closer.”

You leaned back into him fully then, your head resting against his shoulder, your exhaustion spilling through every inch of your body. “Can we stay like this?” you asked quietly.

“Of course,” he replied. “For as long as you need.”

Time blurred after that. The apartment stayed quiet, but not in the frightening way it had earlier. Now it felt like the two of you were holding the silence together, shaping it into something gentle, something safe.

Your breathing steadied. Your tears slowed. And though the exhaustion still clung to you, it was no longer suffocating. “Vess,” you whispered after a while, voice small. “Do you ever… get scared like this?”

He stroked your arm slowly before answering. “Yes,” he said softly. “I may not show it often, but I do. My fears just wear different faces.” He exhaled. “But I know what it feels like to collapse under invisible weight. I know what it feels like to drown without a drop of water in sight.”

You turned your head enough to glimpse him, eyes tired and swollen but searching. “How do you deal with it?”

He gave a quiet, sad laugh. “Not always well,” he admitted. “But I learned something. Something important.”

“What?”

He tightened his hold on you. “That letting someone hold you isn’t weakness. It’s survival.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Gentle, but devastating in their honesty. You swallowed, throat thick. “Then… is this okay? Letting you hold me like this?”

“More than okay,” he murmured. “It means you trust me. And I will never take that lightly.”

Your hand found his and held it tightly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“You never have to thank me for loving you.”

The hallway dimmed as the last light of evening slipped away, and Vessel reached up to switch on the light. The glow was warm, soft, unobtrusive. The kind of light that didn’t demand anything from you.

You shifted slightly, curling into him more fully. “I still feel… heavy.”

“That’s alright,” he said. “The weight doesn’t vanish instantly. But you’re not carrying it alone anymore.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “And it won’t crush you. Not while I’m here.”

Your eyes closed. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” he whispered against your skin. “You deserve someone who won’t vanish when things get hard. You deserve someone who stays.”

A small sound escaped you. Half sob, half relief, and Vessel’s arms tightened around you again. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he said gently. “You don’t have to be anything except here.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You listened to his breathing, slow and steady. You felt the warmth of him behind you, the weight of his arms, the grounding presence he offered so freely.

“I’m still scared,” you admitted.

“I know,” he said. “Being scared doesn’t mean you’re failing.”

“But what if it happens again?” Your voice was almost inaudible. “What if I fall apart like this tomorrow, or next week, or—”

“Then I’ll be here,” he answered simply. “Every time.”

You felt something unravel inside you at that, not painfully this time, but with a strange, overwhelming tenderness.

Vessel shifted, guiding you so he could look at you, his hands warm as they framed your face. “You’re not alone,” he said. “Not now. Not ever. Not as long as you want me with you.”

Your breath hitched. “I do,” you said. “I do want you with me.”

His forehead touched yours, his voice a whisper. “Then I’m yours.”

A tear slid down your cheek again, but this one didn’t hurt. It was like your body was finally letting go of something it had clung to for too long.

Vessel brushed it away with his thumb.

“You scare me sometimes,” you confessed. “Because you see parts of me I don’t let anyone else see.”

He gave a small, gentle smile. “That’s because I’m not afraid of your darkness. Or your pain. Or your mess. I’m not here for the parts you polish. I’m here for you.”

Your chest tightened in a different way now. Not panic, not despair, but the deep ache of being cared for more fiercely than you knew how to accept. “Can we go lie down?” you asked softly.

“Of course,” he said, rising and offering his hands. You took them, unsteady but present, and he helped you stand, keeping one hand at your waist to steady you.

He led you into the bedroom, not rushing, not pulling, just walking beside you at your pace. When you reached the bed, you sank onto it with a slow exhale, and Vessel sat beside you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You want me here?” he asked quietly. “Or do you need space?”

“I want you,” you whispered, voice trembling again. “Please.”

He slipped into bed with you, pulling the blanket over both your bodies. You curled into him immediately, and he gathered you into his arms, one hand tracing soft lines down your spine.

Your breathing steadied even more, your body slowly loosening its grip on the tension it had carried all day, maybe longer.

“I love you,” Vessel said softly, brushing his lips against your forehead.

You closed your eyes, exhausted but safer than you’d felt in hours. “I love you too,” you whispered.

He held you until your trembling stopped. Held you until your breathing softened. Held you until the world outside the bedroom faded into something distant, something small, something that couldn’t reach you for now.

You fell asleep first, worn out from the storm inside you. Vessel stayed awake longer, watching you with an expression full of fear, devotion, and infinite tenderness.

It was 3 a.m. when Wanda woke next. The warmth surrounding her was the first thing she noticed. She sighed deeply as she moved her hips, and her head whipped to the side when she heard a sigh come from the other side of the bed. As she looked around, she finally realized where she was and cursed herself for not being more cautious. Carefully, she slid out of you as she eyed your face to be sure you were still asleep. She crept across the bed towards your face, tempted to fuck your face again, but she decided against it and kissed your lips as she tucked herself away, still erect, but that was fine if everything went as planned; she’d have you all to herself later that night, and she’d finally be able to care for you the way you deserved. So just like every night before she left through the fire escape with a smile on her face. 

–

It was already time for Wanda to see her Sugar again by the time she arrived home. Before heading to the cafe, she changed into gray sweatpants and a white tee. Something simple, but she knew her Sugar would still appreciate it nonetheless. 

–

Today, when Wanda walked into the cafe, she wasn’t greeted with a smile like the last time. She knew why, but still, it hurt her a little bit. "What happened to that pretty smile of yours, Sugar?" She said with a pout on her face. 

That statement got her a little bit of a smile, but not as full as she was hoping to see.

"I’m sorry, Wanda. I guess I’m just a little upset. What can I get you for today, though?" You sighed, picking at your eyebrows. The stress is practically eating you alive at this point. It was taking everything in not to break down right in front of Wanda.

"Same as yesterday, Sugar. Would it make your day better if I took you out on a date?" She smiled sweetly.

You stared at her, shocked; there was no way this woman was actually serious. You just met her two days ago, and now she wants a date? She hasn’t even had a real conversation with you yet.

"Come on, darling, don't leave me hanging. I'd like to make you feel better if you'd let me," she murmured, pulling your hand away from your brow while locking eyes with you. She realized that picking at your brows must be a nervous tick of yours. She'll correct that soon, but for now, she just needs you to say yes.

"Wanda. I-I can’t ask you to do that for me." You mumbled, trying to let her down lightly, hoping she’d catch on.

"Well, then I’m not asking. I want you to go on a date with me, Sugar. End of discussion." And with that, she sat in a booth to wait for her drink. She sat in silence as you turned around to make her drink. As the tent formed in her sweats, she didn’t bother to hide it; she was proud that her dick always stood at attention for you.

"Wanda!" You gaped openly at the bulge in her pants as she approached you. Was she actually packing to come to a fucking cafe? You snapped out of it when she eventually appeared at the counter. "Here's your drink," you muttered hesitantly, almost spilling it on her.

"Thank you; I'll see you at 8, Sugar," she said, pretending not to notice your stare. She slid a $100 bill across the counter and walked out before you could even react. 

—

It felt like the world was crashing down on you. No matter what you did or how hard you tried to push your predicament to the back of your head, it always came back times ten. It was like fighting through waves of zombies just to end up back where you started. You’ve been in this place plenty of times before, so this is not new. Depression has always been a constant in your life, but sometimes you wonder why you fight those zombies; you wonder why you don’t just let them eat you alive, and you curse yourself for all the times you fight just to end up in the same place months later.

By the time you were able to bring yourself out of your thoughts, you were already halfway out the cafe door. You hadn’t even realized you were just going through the motions and that you had already packed everything up. But you didn’t care; you had a date with Wanda later, and you needed to figure out how you would get through it. 

— 

"Be there in 20 minutes, Sugar 🥰" 

The text came through a long time ago, and you were still obsessing over how you would respond to it. Eventually, you gave up. The thought of even having to reply stressed you out. Instead, you tried focusing on which fragrance you would use and what you thought Wanda would like. In the end, you went with a lavender-citrus scent to match your formal attire. You were so distracted by everything that you glossed over the fact that she knew where you lived.

Three knocks sent you practically sprinting to the doorway. You opened the door so fast, that you almost hit yourself with it. 

"Well, hello, beautiful! You look amazing." She said reaching out to you with a big smile on her face, having to hold back her laugh seeing the gawk on your face. She didn’t blame you, though; she knew you’d love the red suit and had it made for this exact occasion. "Come on, Sugar, we’ll be late if we don’t get a move on."

"Wanda I-… Wow." You were short-circuiting; you couldn’t even form a complete sentence as you let her pull you to her car. A very fancy all-black Pagani Huayra that costs more than your entire existence. 

 "You like it, sweetness? I was having doubts about this one." It was easy for her to lie to you. She never once questioned the suit. 

"Hell yes, Wanda, you look so damn good." A genuine smile finally appeared on your face, and Wanda was determined to keep it that way.

—

The date went amazing. Wanda almost didn’t want to leave the restaurant, but she knew something even better was waiting for her once she got you home. Before she left her house, she triple-checked that she had everything prepared.

The drive back to her place was relatively normal until the end. Wanda had parked the car on the side of the highway. She placed her hand on your thigh; she knew you wouldn’t object to it, and she knew you had trouble saying no your entire life. "Sweetness, I want to know how this date was for you." And while she genuinely did, she also needed you to be distracted. So as you were telling her how much fun you had, she was able to prick the side of your neck.

"What the hell was that?" you said flinching moving your hand to your neck.

"You’re all mine now, Sugar." And that was the last thing you heard before you passed out. 

The rest of the drive for Wanda was silent. She was super anxious and kept her hand on your thigh the entire time, occasionally glancing over to make sure you were still breathing. 

When she finally arrived home, she brought you to your new room in the basement, mentally thanking herself for adding more weights to her workouts. She just couldn't wait for you to wake up.

— 

It was only an hour later, and finally, your eyes fluttered open. The bed beneath you was so soft, that you were tempted to close your eyes again. 

"Oh, you’re finally up, Sugar! I’ve been waiting so long for this; please kiss me."

You didn’t have time to comprehend what was going on when suddenly you felt her lips on yours. You tried turning your head away, but she gripped your cheeks so tightly that it hurt. Your only other option was to kiss her back and hope she’d stop soon. 

"Oh, sweetness, that was better than anything I could've imagined! Daddy is so hard right now. I need to make love to you. Please, baby, don't deny me any longer." She said panting heavily. All her movements were rushed as she practically ripped the dress off your body. You scrambled to cover yourself, but she smacked your hands away.

"Wanda! Wanda! What are you doing?" You screamed, trying to throw her off you. 

Finally, she stopped for a second, but the look in her eye told you she wasn’t done. 

"I don’t want to have to punish you on our first night together, Sugar. But I will if you continue to misbehave. I understand this is our first time, but from now on you will be calling me Daddy. Do you understand?"

What was wrong with this woman? You should’ve known better; you knew it was too good to be true, and now there was no way you were getting out of this. So you nodded, hoping that if you played along, it would get you out of here quicker. 

"I knew you would sugar; you’re so good for me," she said, leaning down to suck your nipple. Moaning wildly as she practically humped your leg. It took everything in you not to moan. "I hope you’re ready, sugar." She said while ripping her pants off. She didn’t even bother to take off her underwear, instead opting to pull her cock through the slit. 

Your eyes went wide once again. It was real! What the fuck?

"Enough staring; open your legs for me. I can’t wait anymore." She states practically tearing your legs apart. She didn’t even prep you as she sunk into you slowly with a deep groan. She gave you exactly two slow thrusts before quickening her pace.

"Oh fuck!" You accidentally let slip, and it gave her the confidence to speed up. Your hands grasp her muscular waist as if that would slow her down. You were going to cum really soon if she didn’t stop. "Daddy please!" That only seemed to spur her on more as she brought her hand down to your clit, rubbing it harshly.

"You can do it, Sugar, cum for me! Cum all over Daddy's cock." And with that, you did. You came with a scream, shaking under her. You watch as she pulls out and starts quickly jerking herself on your face. "Open that pretty mouth nice and wide for Daddy." She panted. You parted your lips, and she shoved the head of her cock in your mouth and came so hard you could see the veins on her abs.

"Swallow for me, Sugar. You’re such a good girl." She panted watching as your throat bobbed up and down with effort while stroking your cheek.

You couldn’t help it anymore, and you started to sob as everything came crashing down on you all at once. 

"It’s okay, Sugar. Daddy’s got you now, and she’s gonna take care of everything."

Taglist:

Vessel sat at the edge of the bed as though he had always belonged there, black robes spilling around him like ink dropped into water. His painted mouth was set in its permanent, expressionless curve while his hands rested loosely in his lap.

Silent.

Watching.

You kept your eyes on the wall.

“You shouldn’t linger this long beneath the ocean,” he said quietly.

Your throat burned. “I’m tired.”

“You say that,” he began, “as though tiredness is a grave instead of weather.”

A bitter laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “That’s easy for you to say.”

His head tilted slightly. “No,” he replied. “It’s merely easier for me to survive.”

Something in that answer made your chest ache worse. You swallowed hard and pulled the blanket closer around yourself, cocooning into it.

“I can’t do anything anymore.” Your voice came smaller than intended. “Everything feels impossible. Eating. Sleeping. Talking to people. Existing.” You shut your eyes. “I think something in me is rotting.”

For a long while, Vessel said nothing. The radiator hissed softly in the corner. Then he leaned forward.

“In the forests where gods are buried,” he said, “there are trees that feed on decay. They split death apart thread by thread and turn it into green things.” His masked face turned toward you. “Rot isn’t the absence of life, my dear. It’s transformation witnessed too early.”

You felt tears sting immediately, which only irritated you more. “You always talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything means something.” You huffed out an annoyed sigh.

He considered your words quietly. “Everything does.”

“That’s bullshit.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from him. “Ah,” he said. “There you are.”

You frowned faintly.

“The angry creature.”

“I’m not angry,” you snapped.

“You’re furious,” he corrected gently. “You’re furious that the world continues demanding breath from you when every inhale feels earned through violence.”

Your face crumpled before you could stop it, and the shame hit immediately after.

You turned away, covering your eyes with the heel of your palm, but Vessel moved closer this time. Not enough to crowd you, just enough for warmth to exist beside you.

“You speak of yourself,” he said softly, “as though you’re a failed thing.”

“I am,” you mumbled.

“No.”

The word came firm enough to cut through the room.

You looked at him then.

Vessel lifted one painted hand toward your chest but stopped just before touching you.

“A star collapsing beneath its own weight,” he whispered, “is still a star.”

Silence swelled between you.

Heavy.

Breathing.

You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

“I don’t know how to get better,” you admitted at last, barely audible.

“I know.”

“And what if I stay like this forever?” Your eyes met his, defeat riddled beneath them.

His masked face tilted downward slightly, almost thoughtful. “Then… I’ll sit beside you forever.”

That broke you.

The sob tore out ugly and sudden, your body curling inward as though trying to survive itself. Vessel caught you carefully, reverently, gathering you against his chest while your grief soaked into him.

He held you like something sacred. Not fragile, not broken, but sacred.