#its been over a month of this now- constantly on the edge of a breakdown- the worst i can be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pseudonympls · 3 years ago

Text

Taking the Night Off

Bo Burnham x Reader. AFAB. She/her pronouns.

A quick little family fluff fic that turns into smut. An anon requested this a few months ago and I just got around to writing it, enjoy!

Rating: Explicit.

References to pregnancy. Post-natal depression. Depression, anxiety. References to breastfeeding. Porn with a smidge of plot. Explicit sexual content. Cute family fluff. Some alcohol use. Cute Dad Bo. A whiff of angst?

Art by the lovely & talented @pharlapcartoonist 🖤

Era: Post Inside

Word count: 5.7k

“Why must you always undermine me, Bo?” you sigh, pressing your fingers into your temples, feeling the blood beneath them pulse ever so slightly with stress.

He looks up, clearly oblivious that he had done so, seeing your tired face - his expression drops, he stands up, leaving Ada and Bruce to their fun momentarily.

He crosses the kitchen to you, and you feel him tower over you with ease, but he bends his knees, always cautious of how much your height differences make you feel small - that would be the last thing he wanted.

“Shit, honey, I’m sorry” his hand comes to your bicep, your fingers still absentmindedly drumming against the side of your head, feeling the tiredness from that morning reach its breaking point.

His eyes are genuine and soft - he would never intentionally hurt you - you know that there wasn’t a bad bone in his body and yet, you find yourself hurtling toward another break. All because of some insignificant crackers.

“I didn’t mean to,” he pauses, his fingers gripping your arm tighter ever so slightly “What I mean to say is, I didn’t realise you said no snacks before dinner.” his other hand comes up to run itself through the long tresses you had grown to love over the last few months.

Lockdown had been hard on all of you - a young family trying to make it work. Bo had begun to look slightly feral with the longer hair and grown out stubble that hung just shy of a beard - that and his ever declining mental state didn’t help your lingering post-natal depression mood swings, even a year and a half after giving birth you still constantly found yourself on the edge of another breakdown, and Bo was always there - of course he was. Especially after finishing his latest major project, but it was hard to deny that this last year and a half had taken a bite out of the two of you.

His hand lingers in his dark blonde curls, his grip tightening as you failed to respond immediately, his stress piggy-backing on yours.

You take a deep breath and bring your hand to his elbow, pulling it gently away, his fingers loosening their grip on his hair and coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you exhale. “I’m just at my wits end right now, just, the baby and Bruce and the holidays coming up, I’m just a little bit…” your words took on a warbled high pitched quality as a sad tornado of tears threatened to fall, stinging the backs of your eyes in their inevitability, you heaved a hitched sigh as they started and Bo crouched down even lower to engulf you in one of his all-encompassing hugs, his frame wrapping around you so completely, that you felt totally free to collapse emotionally.

Shuddering with tears he held you ever closer, and you breathed in his dreamy scent, fresh from the shower and all the sudsy soapy trappings of which but still an undertone of his delightful natural aroma that made you go limp.

“Shhh, honey, it’s alright, I get it, I’m sorry” he breathes into the top of your head, his deep voice resonating with such emotion you only sobbed harder. You were both incredible parents, the last year was such a testament to that.

How he had been by your side every second of the pregnancy, sweetly doting on your every need, taking the time off from the guest house to come and massage your swollen feet, to ply you with various herbal teas said to lessen pregnancy woes. How he had painstakingly researched third trimester sex positions, taking into account the safety of the baby and your comfort and pleasure, keeping them paramount in his endeavours.

Then baby came along, and Bo had spared no expense, monetary or emotional, in ensuring the birth went as smoothly as it could. Enlisting help from a seasoned doula and booking a birthing suite complete with pool so that your birthing plan was almost as perfect as could be - despite literally pushing a tiny human out of your vagina. Bo was having his hand crushed by you at every step, masking his pain because yours was so much greater, putting himself second because he knew that once you laid eyes on your baby girl, she would take precedence.

The first few weeks had been bliss, you had been signed off by the doctors to leave the hospital, mother and baby being in tip-top health, despite your initial wobbles with struggling to breast feed, you were reassured that it was normal for new mothers to struggle, and Ada latched on eventually.

Bo was up as much as you for the night feeds - if not more - once you got the hang of pumping milk for her, he was so incredibly keen to bond with her during the wee hours of the morning when all she needed was a full tummy and comfort from her daddy - earning you some desperately needed sleep from the busy day of having a newborn to contend with.

All you would hear is a slight sniffle from her on the baby monitor, and Bo would be pushing back his side of the covers and whispering “I’m up, I’m up” sleepily, his lanky frame exiting the bed to spend some 3am feeding time with baby Ada.

All this only served to make you feel so incredibly ungrateful at the situation you had found yourself in. An incredibly loving, doting partner and father to your baby girl, who was very healthy and happy - especially in her first few months. Seeing Bo cradle the tiny creature you had both created, his longer hair falling around his face as he swayed, staring in awe in the thing you had both come together in your deepest passions to make, the labours of your love swaddled in soft blankets, made your heart feel like it was swelling - so filled with love it fit to burst.

And now, a year and a half on, sobbing into his arms, you briefly pulled back to gaze at your baby, and your other child, a scraggly terrier Bruce, playing on the floor, crumbs of crackers littering the floor around them. Bruce licking up the remnants like a fluffy, dutiful vacuum cleaner.

He grips your forearm as you gaze on to your children playing on the floor, and brings your chin up to look at him, his eyebrows raised up in soft concern for you, his blue eyes mesmerising you but for a moment.

“Look,” he sighs “You go off and have a nap,” you tried briefly to interject, before he raised a solitary eyebrow which shut you up straight away “No-no, I don’t wanna hear it, you need to sleep honey, I’ll take care of the kids” his lip curled into a smirk the way it always did when he refers to the baby and Bruce as “the kids” and you can barely stifle a smile at his good humour as he practically pushes you out the kitchen and up the stairs.

“See you in a few hours sweetie” he bends down and kisses you on the forehead, winking at you as he shuts the door. You hang there by the door frame for a few moments, hearing him walking back to the baby and Bruce and his excited, animated tone he uses just for them, and you smile to yourself, turning around and ascending the remainder of the stairs. You reach the bedroom and practically pass out on the bed, temporarily leaving all the stresses of your day thus far behind.

The sweet smell of cinnamon fills your nostrils at first, clouding over all your other senses entirely, pulling them all back into focus. You open your eyes, slightly stuck together with the stickiness of sleep and you see a couple of flames dancing on the dresser. Turning over you see a few more littered around surfaces in the room, wafting their sweet spicy scent toward you.

You wonder how Bo even got in here to light the candles without waking you up - you had always been the lightest of sleepers.

You realise that the flames of the candles are the only thing keeping the room in relative light, as the sun must have set whilst you were sleeping. You pushed yourself up onto your forearms, hearing a few of your joints click in the process, and feeling the ever present urge to see your daughter - after becoming a mother just over a year ago, you would find your stomach ached to see her, even to watch her sleep, to know she was safe. Your compass always pointed in her direction now, and it was both a blessing and a curse.

Clambering out of the bed, your fingertips reaching for the ceiling in a big stretch, you sighed a yawn, and headed for the door.

Upon opening it, you heard the low sounds of Bo humming at the other end of the house - all the lights were off in the hallway but your eyes were still adjusted to the darkness, so you plodded along, toward the mesmerising noises of your partner and the sweet melodies he made.

Opening the door to the kitchen you saw him delicately placing bowlfuls of pasta on to the dining table, a singular candle’s flame wavered in the center, and two modestly filled glasses of wine sat next to the food.

Absentmindedly you gazed around, your eyes and ears searching for your baby, asleep in her rocker or covering herself in spaghetti sauce, but the room was devoid of the baby, or Bruce.

“Oh good! You’re up, perfect timing, honey!” he readjusts a fork on the table so it sits perfectly straight and walks toward you, the grey sweatpants and hoodie he wore before had been swapped for black jeans and a plain white t-shirt. A combination he knew secretly drove you wild, maddening in its simplicity - the innocent way the white fabric hung off his frame, the way his dark blonde curls now reached the collar of the shirt, hugging the nape of his neck. Your fingertips itched to thread your fingers through his hair - Bo snapped you out of your reverie as he spoke.

“I made you your favourite, I hope you’re hungry” he muses, grabbing you into a small hug and bringing you toward the table, pulling the chair out for you and gesturing down at it.

“Wh…where are the kids, Bo?” you could only get out, trying to suppress the slight panicked undertone to your words.

“The kids are at their respective sitters, and don’t worry, I made sure that Ada’s had plenty of milk, you’ve really kept that fridge stocked, hey, honey?” he winks, one hand on the back of your chair and another gently pushing your shoulder down, giving you the nudge you needed to sit, and attempt to relax.

Forking the spaghetti Bo had made into your mouth, you made a pleasant hum of surprise, “Woah, this is pretty good,” placing a hand in front of your mouth in politeness.

Bo set his fork down and picked up his glass of wine, taking a sip and saying “Yeah…I followed your recipe,” he paused, looking you in the eye.

You sighed and tilted your head to the side “You did?” you felt an odd sense of flattery cascade over you as he admitted to using a recipe you had made - Bo was no chef, he had improved significantly since you got pregnant and tried his best, but usually he was a fan of quick and easy meals that he could just throw together - saving his finesse and attention to detail to his art.

Even after all these years he never ceased to surprise you in his efforts to please you, even something so simple as using a recipe you had created sent satisfied tingles up your spine.

Cradling your own wine glass in your hand you stared at the dark liquid within, you hadn’t drank one drop - not since discovering you were pregnant. You knew you had plenty of expressed milk stored for her but it didn’t quite quell your anxiety about your first real drink in almost two years.

Holding it up to your nose you breathed in the aroma: deep, woody, blackcurrant. Taking a sip in your mouth your eyes rolled back a little with the pleasure the hot burn afforded you as it slipped down your throat, nestling next to the spaghetti in perfect harmony. A hot, fuzzy feeling enveloping you all of a sudden.

Despite not having drank for a long time, you knew this was expensive wine. From the bouquet alone.

“Bo, this is seriously nice wine, what’s the occasion?” you asked, feeling a tendril of anxiety lick at your insides, a nauseating partner to the alcohol - the heady notion that you’d perhaps forgotten a special date or worse - an anniversary - in your parental flailings.

He set down his glass and smiled a little at you, reaching across the table to tangle his fingers with yours. “Honey, I don’t need a special occasion to spoil you, do I?” his fingers brushing against the back of your hand “But since you asked, this is actually the wine I bought you, on your birthday, a week or so before we found out we were having Ada”

“This is that wine?” you whispered in disbelief. Glancing down at the liquid sloshing around in the glass.

You remember the birthday well, you were feeling god-awful, not knowing at the time that it was morning sickness. You had thanked Bo for the thoughtful gift, an undoubtedly incredibly expensive bottle of wine from your favourite region in France, he knew your tastes well - and seemed a little hurt when you declined to drink it that evening - both of you totally unaware of why you felt so rotten.

His slight offence at your aversion to his gift was rapidly replaced with surprised delight at the positive pregnancy test, and his swift realisation that you would choose to become a mother and father together. It was something you had spoken about in passing, but became all the more real and tangible. You could still remember the way he looked at you - with marvel and wonder in his eyes, how your love had created something, something new and scary and wonderful all at the same time.

Bo said he didn’t need any help clearing up, that he would gladly do it alone, before you fed him a line about being a team, how you had always been a team and that’s what you loved best about your relationship, and he begrudgingly relented. Letting you pass him the plates, pots and pans from the table as he filled the dishwasher.

Holding the glass of wine at a slight angle, you became suddenly aware of how tipsy you were getting. It had been indeed a long time since you had something alcoholic to drink, having lost any tolerance you may have possessed before.

Setting the wine glass down you looked up to see Bo’s face closer to you than you remember, his sky blue eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

He grabbed you by the waist and lifted you up with little effort to the kitchen counter, nestling himself between your thighs, you set your palms on his shoulders - your fingers gliding along the material of his t-shirt. A flurry begins in your belly, him handling you like this. Over the last few months your sex life had taken a serious nosedive. Bo’s time spent away in the guesthouse was balanced by being there for you and Ada, but between that and childcare there was little to no time for any intimacy between the two of you.

Sleeping next to one another dreamlessly in the night time until Ada stirred for a night feed was as close as you got to one other, his sleepy hands clawing at you, pulling you into him as his little spoon for the night, bodies and minds far too drained for the fervoured art of lovemaking.

You could feel the harsh angle of his hip sitting against your inner thigh, and oh what a fire it lit inside of you, feeling a hot rush of arousal slip in between where your skin ended and your shorts began, the tingly feelings of lust returning in earnest. Eager for what it had so sorely missed these last few months.

Despite the way your stomach curdled, Bo was simply just standing in between your legs, barely pressing into you. Both of you having had your first sip of alcohol in a long time, you saw the stars dancing in his eyes as his gaze settled upon you, a giddy feeling of delight encompassed you both, as you felt his large fingers graze up against your jawline, testing the waters.

You leaned into his touch, letting your eyes slip shut as his fingertips swept along your skin, feeling the electricity flow between you as if you were a pair of blushing teenagers, steadfast on their first voyage into communicable pleasures.

“You’re such a good mom…you know” he whispers, breaking the silence, bringing his palm to the tender join of skin between your neck and your face, cupping your head so completely, his hand the satellite to your celestial body, orbiting wherever it went.

Your eyes snapped open as he spoke, your eyebrows raising slightly “Every moment, from the time we discovered you were pregnant, to the day that you brought her into the world, I’ve seen it, behind your eyes, in every movement of your body, every careful consideration you take to keep her safe, and just that I’ve been a part of it, to witness it even is,” he sighed deeply “Incredible” he finishes, his fingertips pressing lightly into your chin as he spoke.

“Bo,” you breathed, “You are too sweet, it hurts to admit, that yeah, I’ve been struggling these past few months, I just can’t get out of my own head” you said, your words faltering in the last few syllables. You look away from him, sure that a mere glance at his face would start the waterworks.

“I’m here to help with that, in any way that I can” he replies, “Look at me, honey, please” his voice strains, pained to see you hurting like this. You let yourself look at him, his eyebrows knit in your joint sorrow.

His hands hug either side of your head snugly, bringing your face to his. Your lips graze his and that lights the spark, you wrap your hands around his waist and pull him against you as a shocked gasp leaves his mouth. Your lips move against one another’s, soft and then with a little bit of urgency. The tang of the wine lingering on your tongues, the tannins pushing their dark aroma deep within your tastebuds, the alcohol burn still fresh, lighting down your esophagus deep into your stomach.

It had been so long since you had kissed…properly kissed. The days were fraught with the odd peck on the cheek or lips as you rushed around in your parenting duties, like ships in the night. It had been so long since you had explored one another's mouths so dutifully, paying attention to each tiny movement, each brush of tongue against tongue, sending giddy tremors all around your body.

His trimmed beard scuffs up your neck in a delightful burn that you wish travelled lower. Bo’s patience knew no bounds as he carefully melted his lips into yours, unbeknownst to him a fire was raging inside you, trickling out of you slowly as he continued, making a mess in your shorts.

It was not for lack of trying that you had been so long without intimacy, he had held you so tight in sleep, feeling his pressing excitement up against your back, and you had ached for it. Until the inevitability of the baby waking up had pulled you from your idle dreams, the draw of the real and concrete so much more present than the imaginary lovemaking sessions in your mind.

Pulling his hips further into you now, you could feel his growing need, a pulse beating next to your own, drowning out your anxious thoughts. All of a sudden his lips left yours, and started blazing a trail down your neck, bracing the back of your head with his hand, not letting you sway for a second. The way his bristles bit and nicked at your skin felt devastating, alongside the wet luscious way his lips pulled and pressed against your neck - suddenly you felt like you had way too much to drink, your head spinning, before realising it was him that made you feel so incredibly intoxicated.

He was travelling slowly down your neck, taking care to linger on your collar bones, sucking on the tender flesh.

His hands leave the back of your head and slowly come to your breasts, careful not to offer more than a lingering touch as he knew how very sensitive they had become since you started to breastfeed. You shudder at the brief contact, tossing your head back as he bends down in front of you, slowly descending to his knees. So tall in fact that his face is perfectly aligned with where he wants to be - between your thighs. Brushing his hands up and down your legs he squeezes at the flesh, sending tremors straight to the apex.

He looks up at you, blue eyes searching for permission as you breathily nod, and his gaze moves back down to your core, his fingers reaching toward the material of your shorts. You press back with both palms into the worktop, easing the weight off your hips, hoping he whips the shorts straight off you, but instead he presses the fabric to the side, and moves in.

Embarrassingly, you feel the fabric he pushes into your thigh crease to be soaked through, the culmination of your arousal seeping through the material, and you wondered for a second if he could see it, but he moves so quickly that any cohesive thought quickly escapes your mind.

His lips find you, and thickly lick at your entrance, seemingly trying to drink from you - a parched man gulping excitedly from an oasis. You feel him quietly groan from between your legs, and return his lappings at your folds. His hands move along your legs to graze along your hips, and find their home in your behind, pressing you into him roughly.

The tip of his nose grazes your clit and you buck against him ever so slightly, he pauses briefly before readjusting and offering broad, long licks against your begging bud, which cries out in pleasure, radiating from your sopping cunt to all edges of your mind and body equally. The sweat collecting on your palms makes it difficult to keep yourself upright, your hands digging into the countertop as he continues his mouth’s work on you, swirling you toward your peak.

It had been so long since you had treated yourself to an orgasm that you felt the tension rising within you, and quickly, filling every pore and swamping every atom, a rubber band being pulled and pulled and pulled so taut until it would eventually snap.

You feel his fingertips grip harshly into your cheeks as he used them as leverage so you could ride his face even more efficiently, the way his tongue moved, the way his lips suckled on you so perfectly you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

But it wasn’t specifically the mastery of his mouth that had you crashing around him, it was his eyes, the way they flitted up to yours and the wicked stare they gave you, egging you on, bringing you ever closer to your sought after peak. It was the groans that slipped past his lips as he saw your face contorted in pleasure at what he was doing to you.

“Fuck, Bo,” you panted, feeling yourself slip closer and closer to ecstasy “I’m gonna…” your voice cracked as one final sweep of his tongue across your clit tipped you over the edge into madness, an orgasm so powerful your vision whited out ever so briefly, the waves of pleasure cresting and crashing over you in sweet succession, pulling you under the current with them.

Physical sensation numbed for a moment, you opened your eyes, seeing Bo’s chin from below bobbing up and down above you - feeling his strong arms wrapped around your body, before spilling you out onto the bed.

The scent of cinnamon fills your nostrils once more and you look around to find yourselves in the bedroom, Bo crawls onto the bed next to you, his top lip glistening with you, a gentle smile playing across his face.

“You went totally limp, honey, I had to carry you up the stairs, are you sure you’re alright?” a smirk curls in the corner of his lips, knowing full well what he had done to you.

You chuckle lightly and push a few strands of hair out of your face, glancing up to him, “I don’t think I’ve ever had one that intense…ever” you whisper, feeling your face turn hot.

“I think that wine went to your head, sweetie” he whispers, sidling closer to you on the bed, his voice turning into a subtle growl as he bends across to kiss you, tasting yourself lingering on his lips made you melt into him, your hands reaching for him before your brain could even register what you were doing.

Clawing at the fabric of his t-shirt your fingers found the hem, pulling it up and over his head quickly. Dancing your nails across his chest, lingering ever so slightly on where the hair grew thicker toward the waistband of his jeans, relishing in the choked moan that played through Bo’s lips as your mouths continued their fervoured tasting.

His hands were never left idle for too long - his fingers bracing against your back, pulling you to him pressing his need into your lower stomach.

You pulled back ever so briefly, needing to take in this moment, Bo’s hair, slightly disheveled, his eyebrows raised, his lips puckered at the loss of yours just seconds before. His eyelids fly open, a dazed look of confusion twinned with lust so strong the blue of his eyes was but a mere sliver next to his pupils, the black dominating his eyes, making him look wild.

He pushed his hips into you, keen to let you know how much he needed you, a tiny whine leaving his lips, stoking the flames inside you even more.

Your fingertips brushing at the skin above where his jeans ended, dared to move lower, tracing over the buttons, the zip, coming to rest on the large bulge raging against the denim, pulsating almost.

You let him thrust up against your hand for a few moments, seeing the fascination spread across his face as he stares down at your hand, his mouth open, shuddering breaths peeling in and out.

“Babe, please” he begs, his cheeks growing pink, his voice hoarse, his hand coming to yours, teasingly light fingertips brushing up against the hip bones just above his jeans.

You oblige in his wishes, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, and helping him shimmy out of them, pooling at the bottom of the bed in a heap, joining his discarded t-shirt.

In solidarity you pulled your own t-shirt over your head, and Bo’s eyes seemed to roll around in their sockets watching your breasts bounce slightly at the movement, his hands eagerly grabbed you around the waist and pulled you into his lap. At the sudden movement you gasped loudly, prompting Bo to thrust up into you, feeling his fat cockhead pushing against your core through the thin layers of fabric separating you.

Straddling his hips, feeling him push his hardness against you sent you feral, dropping to your forearms you lie chest against chest with him, your breaths fast becoming ragged, mirroring each other's passions as he grabbed your hips and proceeded to grind against you, offering such delightful friction where you needed it most.

Sloppily melding your mouth against his, his patience before all but disappeared. He’s all teeth and tongue, nibbling lightly and then not so lightly on your lips, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, imitating what he would so desperately like to do to you, feeling his fingers pressing hard into your ass.

Unsure if you can take any more, you let a hand drift inbetween you, pushing your soaking shorts to the side and unleashing Bo from the confines of his briefs, palming him in your hand he moans sweetly into your ear, slowing his fervoured thrusts as you finally touch him, skin against skin.

Even after all these years, he felt massive in your hand, your fingertips unable to meet all the way around, his girthiness being one of your favourite things about his cock. How he used it being another.

Doubting your actions for a second, you persevere, pushing the head of his cock into your folds, letting him simmer in your wetness for a moment. His hips shudder beneath you and the expression on his face makes you tense involuntarily, his eyes begging you for some mercy.

Slowly, teasingly you slip him inside, you know from this angle he might hurt you, you may even struggle to walk afterwards, but you don’t care - all that matters right now in this moment is the joining of your bodies: perfect, painful, bliss.

You can’t help but bare your teeth as each inch of him disappears inside you, he was infiltrating you so perfectly, stretching you out so well, so much it felt like the very first time you slept together all those years ago.

His expression is beyond pain, beyond pleasure, flitting back and forth in the liminal space between them, his hips twitching as you lower yourself onto him, careful to take your time. His fingers glide along your waist, softly gripping you as you slide fully on to him, the bottoms of your thighs touching the tops of his, you heave a deep sigh, trying to push past the stinging pain.

In one swift movement he flipped you over, your back on the bed, easing the angle inside you so it doesn’t feel as achingly deep. “Honey” he whispers into your ear, adjusting his hips slightly “Fuck you feel so good” and you’re sure his words create a fresh flood of arousal around him, seeping out between you both.

You feel so sublimely full of him as he starts to move, his face dropping into your collarbone as he pulls out slightly, only to inch back in, making sure you’re ready for him. You tilt your hips up slightly, ready to receive him as he continues slowly pumping in and out of you, his face: a picture of beauty, dark blonde tendrils falling around his pretty features, his lips taut in a smile, making his dimple so much more pronounced.

Propped up on his elbows he hangs above you slightly, your hips thrusting up at his down, meeting beautifully in the middle, any slight twinges from his size are gone, bowing down to the sweetest of pleasures, his body filling yours in such delight, pressing your head back into the pillows at being so fully overwhelmed.

“I missed this so much” he groans, one hand coming to your hair to push a little of it behind your ear, his fingers moving to your chin and pushing your face away from him so he can litter soft bites and nibbles at your jawline. “I missed you too” you say between moans, letting your eyelids close, tuning into the sparks that fly across the backs of your eyelids, a firework show of passion.

Still there may be one sensation missing, trailing your hand down to your cunt, swirling small circles around your clit, your back arches involuntarily, causing his angle within you to shift ever so slightly. Bo notices what you’re doing and speeds up significantly, his breaths turning into pants as he presses one hand into the bed by your head to give him better purchase. “Fuck…” he pants, his breath getting away from him, his eyes flitting down to your hand, watching your fingers working yourself to another peak.

A chain reaction of pleasure begins to explode in your body, your eyes struggling to keep open or closed. Surely looking comical in their fluttering state. Rolling back inside your head with the strength of your orgasm.

Amidst the cacophony of erratic waves of ecstasy, you see Bo’s face scrunch up as he spills himself inside of you, the vein on his forehead pulsating slightly in rhythm with his spurts filling you, his cheeks turning crimson. A pleasant chain of events from one orgasm to the other, his elbows giving way as he tries his best to land on you gently, his face nestled between your breasts, spent.

Still you convulse beneath him, prompting him to let out squeaks and groans of overstimulation as he sits sheathed within you. Your laboured breaths steadily returning to normal levels.

“Oop” you hear him utter. You feel his tongue slide along your breast, and you glance down. He’s cleaning up a slight leakage from your right nipple, staring back up at you as he does. Watching him lap you up like this makes you flutter around him, sending him into a tirade of breathy laughs and grunts as he hastily removes himself from you, his softening cock slapping against your thigh as he rolls onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on his forearm, and breathing heavily.

Using his other hand to brush the sweaty tendrils of hair that had fallen into his face he looks at you, biting his lip, his teeth pushing into his bottom lip with enough force to pierce the skin.

Tremors still radiating through your body you reach for him, and he pulls you into him, nestling your head into his chest, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, feeling truly eclipsed by him.

#bo burnham #bo burnham fanfiction #bo burnham fanfic #bo burnham smut #bo burnham x reader #bo burnham/reader #bo burnham imagine

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pynkhues · 3 years ago

Note

.... any succession fic recs? 👀

Yes!! I haven't read a lot for it yet, but some of the stuff I've read has been staggeringly good. I'm generally more into gen fic in this particular fandom, but have enjoyed some Stewy x Kendall, Gerri x Roman and Naomi x Tabitha too.

A few recs under the cut!

“I wanted to get out. From under all this. Take the money and run.”

Kendall tells Stewy even though he knows he’ll never get it, not like Naomi does. He’ll never understand the crush of it, the heart-stopping head-fucking fear of failing a tyrant. Kendall’s been ignoring the shape of it for a long time, putting pieces of it together in the back of his mind in total darkness like a blindfolded man. It doesn’t matter that one day his dad will die. It doesn’t matter about the money or the hostile takeover or the stolen files or any of it. There’s no running. Kendall’s Logan Roy lives inside his head.

Stewy laughs. Stewy laughs for a long time.

“There is no out, Ken, what the fuck are you talking about? You were born this and you’ll die this. You are what you are, and what you are is a fucking Roy.”

Kendall hates him, for a moment. Lightning-strike furious. What the fuck does he know about any of it, about his dad’s swinging dinner plate-sized hands, about getting 24% name recognition in reliable international polling, about puking every time you think about a car swerving off the road in the rain. About finding out that you can do something unthinkably, unimaginably terrible, and it doesn’t matter to anyone you know but you. There’s a scar on his arm that no one else who hasn’t already been told how it got there can ever know about, and he’s sick of it, and it’s not fair. He hates Stewy for a moment because Stewy’s right.

“I wanted to do the right thing, Stewy, for once in my fucking life.”

Stewy laughs again, more briefly, and the predator flash of his eyes in the neon of the motel sign is a torture all its own.

‘There is no right and wrong, Ken. How the fuck do you not know that yet? Not for people like you. Like us. There’s shit you get caught doing and there’s shit you don’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You really, really fucking don’t,” says Ken, and fuck, there it is. The road less travelled, that only he has ever driven on. The path he’s down where Stewy can’t follow. That place beyond Stewy Hosseini where he never thought he could go.

“You’re not telling me something, and when I find out what that is, and I will find out what it is, Kendall, don’t you think I won’t, so I am warning you that when I do find out I am going to be righteously fucking pissed,” says Stewy, and if Kendall thought those were a predator’s eyes before—

“Yeah, you will,” says Kendall, because he knows exactly how perceptive Stewy is. Exactly how weak he is. Exactly, precisely what both of them are.

And treat this night like it’ll happen again by postcardmystery. 8k words. Kendall x Stewy. Post s2. (CW: internalised homophobia, some homophobic language)

I tried to pick a shorter excerpt, but I literally couldn’t, this fic is so. good. The voices are pitch perfect, and it’s got this incredible build to it overall that goes back and forth between time and point of views and just rips your heart out. The premise itself is pretty simple – after the press conference at the end of 2.10, Kendall calls Stewy, and they drive through rural America while Kendall has a breakdown, and it’s just - - unspeakably good. I love it so so so much, I have no words.

r/roysucks Connor’s gf just posted on Instagram (instagram.com) submitted two months ago by webbedscrum_2279 23 comments share save hide report

[–] DM_ME_SAMESMAIL 40 points two months ago I too like to escape to my yacht in the Mediterranean when my family and I are on trial for covering up rape and murder. permalink embed save report reply

AITA for accusing my father of multiple crimes on his own news station? By amleth 3k words. Gen fic. Post s2.

And now for something completely different – epistolary fic which is just reddit news threads of the Roy family drama. I love an epistolary fic and this is just totally charming, and made me laugh a lot out loud.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “That’s a first.”

“Yeah, well, the Turks beat it out of me. Gave you a run for their money.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So what is this? Whips and chains? Are we doing the whole boat-sex thing? I heard Shiv and Tom are looking for a third —“

Gerri finds what she’s looking for: a black leather binder. She drops it on the bed and begins paging through it, and Roman cranes his neck enough to recognize that it’s just full of documents, not like, dick pics. “I’ve given some thought to what you proposed a few weeks ago, and I agree that we should make things official in some way,” she says, and he blinks.

“Uh,” he says. “Which — what part of it?”

“Take a look.”

Gerri closes the folio and hands it over. It’s deceptively heavy, and the print on these pages is way too fucking fine, he thinks, paging through it. “Is this some kind of, like, Fifty Shades of Roy sex contract? Because it’s not that I’m not into it, but I think there’s a strong argument for going paperless —”

“Strictly speaking, this isn’t legally binding,” Gerri says. “Just something I threw together with regard to our business arrangement going forward. But with no respect to the family — the past few weeks have really illustrated that no one should take anyone at their word right now. Give me a little more than your word.”

Evacuation strategies for a yacht on fire by devourthemoon. 11k words. Gerri x Roman. Post s2. Explicit.

After the events of s2, Roman and Gerri fake being married as a professional alliance, only, y’know, maybe it’s not so fake. This fic is just so, so much fun, and messy in the best possible way. The author nails all the character voices, and the sex scenes are just the right amount of hot and ridiculous, and I just love it all a lot too.

Kendall estimates it will take an hour for the first articles to go up. Some rapid-fire blog without oversight—the New York Post, maybe, or wherever those Vaulter hippies have skulked off to—will slap a catchy headline on it and report his words verbatim. Give or take a gif of his face when he switches to script number two. New York Times, Washington Post, AP, those fuckers take longer. They like to bleed the story like Middle Ages plague doctors for its marrow, fact-check and add context and analysis and as many backlinks as their servers can handle. Still, a couple of hours, and his face will be plastered on every major news outlet. His voice will play over the nightly talk shows. He’ll trend on Twitter. A few more days, and he’ll be the star of analysis segments, podcasts, weekly briefings. Maybe, fuck it, maybe he’ll trend on Twitter again.

It’s been years since Kendall read Shakespeare. But that shit sticks with you, gets under your skin and emerges when you least expect it, like eczema or Keynesian economics. He knows how the media will spin this. Kendall Roy Attacks CEO Logan for Years of Corruption. Prodigal Son Disrupts Family Legacy to Restore Credibility. That’s how Hamlet ends, right? And Macbeth, Lear, Othello, Romeo and Juliet, even Titus fucking Andronicus. The spilled blood sinks into the ground, the seedlings sprout forth from the soil, and a new castle is built on the bones. Order out of chaos, or at least close enough an approximation that the tabloids will buy it.

Legacy for profit by owlinaminor Post-2.10. Kendall Roy. Kendall through Shakespeare analogies – just - - ooooof. It's a beautiful, lyrical character study that weaves through Roy family history and teases at a future none of them are even sure they want. It's gorgeous writing.

For the next few days Shiv would have to keep the pressure on Kira like an open wound because there were other women, victims that Nate’s people were going to find one by one as soon as that phone call disconnected. Mo was her father’s friend, good friend, for a long, long time. Nate and Gil, Sandy and Stewy, too many sharks in the water and the share price probably dipped to a new low but she would never check a stock ticker. Her husband’s nerves fraying at the edges on national television. She had promised a woman she’d never met before that she would kill roughly one third of the top male executives of her family’s company. Her company.

The last look Rhea gave her before she shut the car door was concern close to fear—no longer the same woman who heard their pitch in the safe room, who laughed with her at Argestes. Rhea had only looked into the abyss; she got cold feet and she didn’t even know what it’s like to grow up in it.

Her family’s company is hers, will be hers. Even from a whale fall, new life would spring.

Feed his flesh to wayward daughters by reogulus. 2k words. Shiv Roy. Set during 2.09.

This entire fic is set around Shiv bribing Kira not to testify, and god, it is so good. It’s bleak and rough, and really hones in on the complex ground Shiv walks as a character. It's another brilliant study of what it takes to be a Roy, and the way they make the awful choices in order to fulfill this legacy that they don't even know they want.

Kendall sets down his fork. “So. Tell me. Is it everything you wanted? Is it what you thought it would be?”

Roman stills. He never does that. He’s constantly a menace in motion, slouching and fidgeting, worse even than Kendall at his amphetamine peak. “What? The view from the tippy-tippy-top?”

“His regard.” Kendall wipes his mouth with the edge of the white cloth napkin. It comes away pink from the steak. “Dad. He’s all yours now.”

Roman still hasn’t moved. Finally, he lurches, like corroded machinery come uncertainly to life. “Yeah, man. It’s fucking tight as hell. I love every beautiful daddy and me moment I was a good enough little boy to earn.” He snorts. “Fuck you.” His face goes curiously slack then, like something Kendall’s own face would do. An intermission in the performance, an energy cut. Something genuine finding its way to the surface. “Why don’t you tell me. When you got everything you wanted, how the fuck did that make you feel?”

Nauseous, is the first word that springs to mind. Sick. Scared. I’ve never had everything I wanted, there’s that. I’ve never once had a single fucking thing I wanted. There’s that, too.

Interim leadership by arbitrarily 2k words. Roman + Kendall. Post s2.

I love Roman and Kendall scenes generally, but this one which features Kendall and Roman meeting for the first time a few months after the press conference in 2.10 is just a bit magic. The push pull dynamic that's just inherent to them mixed with the genuine affection and brotherly love is really special, and arbitrarily embraces both in equal measure. It's a great little fic.

There are lots more of course, and I'd also recommend checking out other works by these authors, but I hope this is a good place to start! :-)

#hbo succession #succession fic #fic recs #welcome to my ama #kendall x stewy #gerri x roman

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imfiguringitoutlovely · 4 years ago

Text

you're going through a depressive episode||kaminari

pairing: denki kaminari x depressed, he/they reader

type: angst, fluff, it was supposed to be hcs but its more of a drabble?

warning: mentions of depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, dissociation, symptoms of ptsd, mental breakdown

author's note: I've started spiraling again and i really need this right now. please do not read this if you feel like you're in a vulnerable state of mind. also, reader and kami are in class 2-A at this point. and ill have another lams x reader fic come out soon, im sorry, ive been swamped with academic shit.

it'd been officially a little over six months since you'd started dating kaminari. he was the one to make the first move, mostly because you were sure that he was straight after all his antics with mineta and all. but you were wrong. this shocking (im so sorry) guy had a few secrets apparently. number one was that he was bi. number two was that he loved the way you laughed. three was the way he could stare at you smiling all day. four was how much he adored your sense of humor. and so on and so forth.

you picked up on these things. and yes, it was sweet. they made you smile, made you feel loved and appreciated. made you feel secure for a while. and then your depression trickled in and reminded you that the things he loves the most about you disappeared in waves from time to time. it reminded you that you couldn't always show what he loved, you couldn't always embody the reasons he'd fallen for you.

school was getting increasingly stressful. quirk training left you feeling constantly drained. your family wasn't being supportive of neither your schooling or relationship choices, and they didn't hesitate to constantly remind you. and then there was your constant reality, the villains and everything going on with UA. you started to feel like you were fading away, fighting against quicksand. you have to try to fix one problem, but then three others worsen and you have to try and fix those, but then there's more.

you were starting to reach a breaking point. your reality was starting to fall apart. not only were you losing touch with everyone and everything around you but you were spiralling out with your own identity. who were you? who did you want to be? were you really fit to be a hero, or was it a stupid dream? was it even your dream?

your anxiety got really bad as a response. so you were low on energy, out of touch, and you'd get spikes in adrenaline that you were too exhausted to fully process which left you a panicked mess.

despite how bad it was, it took your friends a long time to notice. you hid it because you felt like you didn't deserve to be helped. everyone else was dealing with all these things so easily, it seemed, and you weren't even getting everything they were. your life seemed mild compared to theirs, and so you held it in.

kirishima was the first person to catch on. the whole bakusquad (including you) were eating lunch at a table. you sat next to kaminari, as you usually did, but this time you sat by the edge of the bench. usually you sat in the middle, but you figured you'd sit at the end so you could step away if your anxiety started revving up. this was...fine. it didn't catch any attention. no, what signaled kirishima to suspect something was off was when your boyfriend asked how you were feeling about training.

you had zoned out, deep in your thoughts that all centered around the problems you had to fix that you had no more energy to deal with. you were staring off into your bowl of udon that you'd barely touched when he asked.

"i think it's a little overkill. making us come up with another special move? i'm still trying to get my first one right." he sighed in exasperation, though of course it was light hearted. "what do you think, [Y/n]?"

you hadn't even caught his question. you only heard ringing in one ear and distant voices in another, but they were mixed up and hard to make out in your head.

"[Y/n]? [Y/n]~?" He then tried a nickname and your hero name, but no response. It wasn't until Bakugou yelled that you snapped out of it.

"hey, idiot two, idiot one is asking you something!" but the sudden boost in volume made your anxiety hit hard. you jumped a little in your seat, entire body tensing and going into flight mode as your eyes focused on the people around you. you were too panicked, though, to realize the way kirishima seemed worried, or the way kaminari seemed to start to take the sign, too. you just looked so... so confused and scared until you processed why he'd yelled and what everyone was waiting for. you didn't look okay, and you didn't sound ok, either.

"o-oh. um." you cleared your throat. "well i get why they're making up do it. it'll help...in...fighting. so... im gonna use the restroom, sorry." and you stood and rushed off.

the whole table thought it was off. but they let it go as you being tired or overthinking the special move training. again, only kaminari and kirishima were really noticing the off-ness.

the next time anything showed was during training. catharsis. this was supposed to be the way your frustrations were let out, right? so why the hell was it making you feel worse?

you were training on your general combat skills, which meant minimizing the use of your quirk unless you could ensure it wouldn't be destructuve to the environment. your mind was so foggy and you kept making mistakes. mistake after mistake after mistake, and it was starting to get annoying. of course you were paired with uraraka who'd gotten trained for this during her internship, so it was going.... g r e a t for you. by great, i mean you ended up being flipped over her and slammed onto the ground two times already with her then pretending it took all her energy because she felt bad for you.

by the third time she managed to get you on the ground, you gave up. you just laid on your back, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. the sounds of the other fights going in in the gym started to just fade into ringing, and you closed your eyes to try and calm yourself down. but the ringing got louder. the floor felt like it was sinking with you still on it, but you didn't bother trying to move away. everything you felt started feeling off, distant. second-hand. your breathing slowed, but you weren't calm. you were leaving yourself, running away from all the aching and anger and disappointment. you hadn't even noticed the way uraraka was crouching by you in complete concern, her brows furrowed before calling mr.aizawa over to help.

aizawa spoke directly to you, and because he was there, the rest of the class started looking over to see what was going on. kaminari especially, who ran over after he saw you just laying there.

"hey, what's going on-?" he kneeled next to you. "[Y/n]? [Y/N], what's-?" he grabbed your hand, gently, put a little spark went through and you immediately opened your eyes. you tensed up as the ringing in your ears overlapped the sound of small conversations coming from your classmates who were starting to crowd around you. aizawa shooed them off quickly, but kami wasn't having it. uraraka apologized before taking over kami's fight. aizawa helped you up, taking note of how after the slight shock you'd gone into a state of immediate distance. he took another moment to look at you, asked if you were physically okay, and then shooed your boyfriend off while granting you permission to sit out the rest of training, something Aizawa was known to only do when push comes to shove.

kaminari could barely focus on the three way fight he was dealing with because you were hurt. mentally or physically, you were hurting but you didn't talk to him about it. how could he help you if you didnt want help?

after class, your teacher insisted on talking to you. he recommended you to the school counselor, who you already knew after the summer camp incident. you went, but you never went back. that night, too, kami went to your dorm. he wanted to have a sleepover. he was a cuddly person, actually (which led to a ton of static all over you and your bed), and typically you adored it, but right now you wanted to shut yourself in to think, to fix. when you let him down, he noticed how... almost robotic it sounded... this had been going on for too long. he had to say something. he had to-

the idiot didn't think and put his thin-slipper covered foot in the doorway before you could close it all the way. his foot died. he inhaled and swallowed his pain before pushing the door open a bit.

"[Y/n]. what's going on? what's wrong?" he looked so worried. he wasn't dumb. you knew that. despite all the jokes the class made and the way he got when he pushed his quirk, denki was smart. he just took a little longer to understand certain subjects and often times had trouble concentrating. it didn't make him dumb. especially when it came to being aware of the people around him.

"wrong? nothing. just need to work on some studying is all-"

"for?"

"a test." he went quiet. because he knew there wasn't a test. you knew there wasn't a test until friday and it was monday and you never really studied until a night or two before. there was an uncomfortable pause that lasted way too long. way, way wayyyy too long. he was the one to break it.

"you don't need to tell me what you're not comfortable saying. but i need to know what the overall issue is so i know how to be here for you. i know im not great with tough feeling, but i want to be here for you." he watched as you went back to your desk. your textbooks were closed.

you knew you couldn't answer with "nothing". "i guess school is stressing me out. you know, with training and all-"

"you know you can always talk to me and ei about setting up a study group. we can do it for homework too-"

"no. no, it's alright."

"...then how can i help you? i want to be here for you. i want to support you the best i can, [y/n]. i know i seem stupud but i'm not blind-"

"i know you're not stupid or blind. i didn't say you were, babe, but i just need space-"

"that's what i've tried to give you. that's what i'm trying to do, but the more i give you, the worse you seem to get-!"

"then stop! then stop and go, kaminari! if im- i know im being stubborn, i know im closing myself off, but im trying to fix everything, okay?! and im-im trying to... im trying to fix this, to fix... to..." your tears started falling, quick. you stood and tried to find your breath, but the wind was knocked out of you. anxiety. "i need to fix it. i need to-to suck it up and-" you leaned on the desk, your breathing quickening and becoming sporadic. "i- i'm-"

denki was in shock. he'd never seen you this way. he was in front of you in milliseconds, trying to guide you through breathing. eventually it worked, but at that you'd already hit your limit. you were sobbing, hesitantly leaning into him even though your senses were bit overwhelmed.

"i just- i didn't- i need to fix everything..."

that night, denki held you. he laid with you in bed and held you as you cried it all out, head starting to ache from it all. he didn't speak until you were starting to calm down.

"you don't need to."

"w-what?"

"fo fix anything. you don't. we go through everything as a class. and as for us, we go through everything as a pair."

"...i have depression. and anxiety. diagnosed."

he paused, but spoke when he realized you were getting anxious again. "is it getting treated with anything?"

"no..."

"then we'll go to the counselor tomorrow together."

"you don't have to-"

"i want to. with you. okay?"

okay.

okay...

#x male reader #xmale!readerblog #my writing #writers on tumblr #denki x y/n #denki hcs #denki x reader #kaminaridenki #mha hcs #x gender neutral reader #read with me lovelies

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Note

(if you feel like it) what about “snowed in” or “comfort” with jontim for the tma december bingo? my jontim brainrot never stops and I’d love to see what you come up with (I’m sure it’d be amazing as always) thanks so much !

The JonTim brainrot is real and appreciated! I combined this prompt with one of @balanced-to-a-tea‘s, who asked for Secret Santa with the season one archives gang! Here there be 3.5k words of gifts, pining, and kisses of the Jon/Tim variety :)

“It’s a mess out there,” Tim reported, plopping down in his office chair and looking strangely cheerful, given the situation. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the time being.”

There were audible groans all around, though Jon’s was quieter than the others. If he were being honest, their current situation was his fault- he asked them to hang back at the end of the day and help him with some unreachable boxes (unreachable for him, that is). He was trying to get into the habit of checking the weather in the mornings, though he never managed to actually do it until he was too far from his flat to get an umbrella or a heavier coat. This resulted in a few sticky situations, including several occasions of arriving late, looking like a drowned rat.

“And here I was going to tuck in for the night, have a glass of wine, blast the heat at unreasonable levels,” Sasha complained, doing a half-hearted twirl in her chair. “Terrible!”

“What if we lose power?” Martin fretted, still outfitted in his coat and scarf. “I heard there’s going to be high winds. High winds!” Jon’s guilt increased. Being stuck with his (likely angry) staff in the Archives was not a great start to his career as Head Archivist. And just when we were getting along again…

“I’m sorry,” he began, his hands fidgeting. “I shouldn’t have started this project so late, I didn’t realize the weather would get quite as nasty as it did…”

“Don’t worry about it, boss!” Tim grinned, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk, an act Jon would usually scowl at him for. “Should’ve told you ‘bout the storm. You never check the weather reports.” Jon flushed; Tim knew him too well. “Besides, I can’t say I was expecting it to get this bad; London’s not known for its prodigious snowfall.”

“You don’t seem too put-out by it.” Martin eyed Tim suspiciously as he began to unwind his scarf. “You’re smiling.”

“Well, yeah!” Tim swirled around, eyeing them all with an unfettered glee. Jon wondered what he had in mind; there was never a dull moment when Tim had free time. He’d learned that the hard way. “There’s something so romantic about being snowed-in, don’t you agree, Jon?”

Jon did not agree; being trapped, even in a big building like the Institute, left him feeling anxious and restless. Sasha agreed, if her rolled eyes were anything to go by. Martin seemed to be considering it, though.

“I suppose there’s something poetic about it?” he mused, leaning back against the wall. “The snow falling, blanketing the ground in white…” All eyes turned to him and he blushed under the scrutiny.

“See! Martin’s got the spirit.” Tim clapped his hands and got to his feet. “We’ve got leftovers from lunch in the fridge. Between that and Martin’s stash of tea biscuits, we won’t go hungry. And there’s that weird frozen lasagna in the back of the freezer…”

“We don’t have an oven, Tim,” Jon pointed out. “And I’m fairly certain that’s been in there for more than a year.”

Tim continued, impervious to any criticism. “And if we have to stay the night, Jon’s got that cot he thinks we don’t know about-”

“Hey-!”

“-and we can raid all the break rooms for their gross cushions-”

“I am not sleeping here,” Sasha said, punctuating the statement with a slam of a hand on her desk. “The weather report says it's supposed to pass over soon. We’ll only be here for a few hours, tops.”

“Weather reports are wrong all the time, Sash! Think of the fun we could get up to.” Tim smiled and Jon’s heart stuttered without his permission, most likely due to the idea of what Tim considered ‘fun.’ With the way his eyes lit up, however, Jon couldn’t fight a small smile. “Ooh! We could do Secret Santa, like we used to do in Research. Remember?”

Jon did remember. He still kept some of the gifts he’d received, mostly small trinkets from Tim and Sasha that somehow managed to give him a small thrill of happiness whenever he saw them. Still, he didn’t know how they could do such a thing in the Archives, with nothing around that could constitute a gift.

“How’re we supposed to do that?” Martin asked, sharing Jon’s concern. “Statements and office supplies are the only things we have access to.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Tim replied, nudging Martin with his foot. “We’ll get creative! I’m sure with a little thought and effort, we can all find something suitable.” He’d already begun to scribble their names on a piece of paper. “C’mon, it’ll pass the time. Please?” Jon sighed, unable to argue when Tim used his most pathetic puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes at Tim’s whoop of enthusiasm. “But don’t expect anything extravagant. I’m not feeling particularly creative.”

“I guess it could be a good distraction,” Sasha acquiesced, with Martin nodding tentatively. “How long do we get to find a gift? Or make one, I suppose.”

“An hour? Two? Then we can all meet back here and exchange!” Tim nodded, and without waiting for any agreement he crumpled the pieces of paper into a cup and stood up. “Martin, you first. No peeking!”

“I won’t,” he mumbled, reaching in with one hand with his head turned pointedly away. He pulled out a slip of paper and immediately turned red upon opening it. “Um, alright. Yeah.” Maybe he got Tim, Jon mused.

Sasha picked next, her face giving nothing away. Tim held the cup out to Jon, waggling his eyebrows. He ignored this, reaching in to pick one of the remaining two slips of paper. Tim!! It read, with several smiley faces and hearts. He felt his own face heating up and shoved the slip into his pocket, staring at the floor.

“And last but certainly not least, me!” Tim took the last slip with a flourish, grinning at what he read. The four of them stared at each other for an awkward beat until Tim broke the silence with a shrill whistle.

“What are you waiting for? Clock’s a tickin’!”

Fuck.

________

It had been an hour and a half. As far as Jon knew, Tim and Sasha were waiting in the break room, steadily demolishing Martin’s stash of sweets, the man himself having locked himself in Document Storage and thereby eliminating one more place for Jon to scavenge for a gift (not that there was anything in there, but it was the principle of the thing). So now here he sat, moping in his office with nary an idea for what to give Tim.

Tim. He was glad they’d started talking again, albeit not with the same frequency as before. There was of course an adjustment period, that was to be expected- especially when someone younger and arguably less qualified than quite a few candidates suddenly became your boss. But Tim had always been there for him, tolerated his quirks, helped him through a breakdown or two. He stuck by his side when most people in the department couldn’t stand him. Perhaps, with some time, they could go back to being as close as they were. Or closer.

Jon tamped that thought down- it was ridiculous to even think about, now that he was his boss. Professional boundaries aside, what would Tim even see in him? It wasn’t his fault Jon read into every wink, every casual word of praise. A hug or a warm arm around his shoulder that he leaned into instead of turning away. Tim did that with everyone, Jon wasn’t special. He wasn’t Sasha, with her beautiful laugh and her razor-sharp wit. Hell, he’d probably pick Martin over him. Someone nicer, with less sharp edges. Someone who laughed as easily as he did.

Someone who wasn’t Jon.

He shook himself from these thoughts, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand. What did he have that Tim could possibly want? Not his rubber band ball, though he knew that Tim was jealous of its now astronomical proportions (he added to it when he was stressed, which he always was these days). Not the stale packet of crisps in the bottom of his drawer. He thought vaguely of getting a book he thought Tim would like from the library, but that was more of a loan. Maybe an article he found interesting? Tim always used to read the ones Jon forwarded him, and even had a thing or two to say at the end of them. But maybe he found them annoying. Maybe he just did that to shut Jon up. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Jon’s thoughts kept straying to the foyer of the institute, where festive decorations had been set up at the start of the month, most likely Rosie’s doing. There was a beautiful handmade wreath, filled with pinecones and red flowers and other seasonal flora. He remembered back in Research, when Tim would terrorize them all with stupid little pranks and games, his main target being Jon. Jon would always duck away, grumble and complain, and Tim didn’t take it personally. Maybe I’ll indulge him just this once.

Mind made up, he slipped out of his office.

________

Tim watched his three friends with undisguised amusement.

Martin was fidgeting in his seat, constantly crinkling the grocery bag he’d decorated to look more seasonal. Tim knew at once that he’d gotten Jon; he wouldn’t have turned that red for anyone else. Poor sod. Tim had Sasha, a gift he wouldn’t sweat over. She appreciated a good gag. He was fairly certain Sasha got Martin, judging by her neutral, unbothered expression.

Or maybe he just hoped she did. Because that would mean that Jon got Tim.

Not that it would mean anything. He was just interested in what Jon would pick out, that’s all. He could be surprisingly thoughtful, if past gifts were anything to go by. He still had the small box of fidget toys on his desk, where they got regular use.

He clapped his hands decisively, attempting to clear his mind of any more Jon-thoughts. “Well, then. As the emcee for this event, I’ll go first. Sasha, may I present to you the Tim Stoker Coupon Bonanza, valued at over one thousand dollars- but for you? Free!”

He revealed it with all the fanfare of a marriage proposal, bending down on one knee to hand over a binder of hastily drawn nonsense that Sasha would surely appreciate. She took it just as delicately, thumbing through the pages with a delightful smirk.

“One free coffee from the place around the corner?” She put a hand to her chest in faux- surprise. “Tim, you shouldn’t have!” Never mind that he already got her coffee every morning.

“I know, I know. I’m too generous, really.”

“One three hour lunch break. Don’t think Jon would like that.”

“He can come along. Marto too!”

“One date to the Jade Buffet, where we will split the check- Tim, the rest of these are more for you than they are-”

“Moving on!” He interrupted. “Sasha, why don’t you show us what you’ve got?” She ignored his wink, shutting the book with an over-exaggerated sigh. She reached out for a small bag on her desk, which she handed over to Martin. He thanked her quietly, unwrapping a mug- Sasha’s favorite, with a cartoon of a dog that she’d hand-painted (Sharpie’d, would be more accurate) to look like one of those highland cows Martin was always going on about. The entire effect was monstrous, but Martin seemed touched. Tim was happy too, as this meant Jon must have drawn his name.

“Oh that’s- that’s so nice, thank you Sasha!” His smile was infectious, even Jon wasn’t immune to it (though he tried to hide it).

“It’ll probably come off if you wash it, so I wouldn’t actually use it,” Sasha advised. “But it could make a nice pencil holder.”

“Oh! That’s handy-”

“Ahem!” Tim once again interrupted; he was eager to see what Martin had whipped up for Jon, considering he’d holed himself up for about two hours. “Martin, I believe it’s your turn?”

“Um, y-yeah.” He put the cup down with some reluctance, picking up the bag he’d decorated with snowflakes and trees and handing it over to Jon, who looked surprised that anyone had gotten him anything. It was an expression Tim was used to; Jon never expected kindness, even in circumstances when he would very clearly receive it. Silly man.

As soon as Jon began to reach into the bag, Martin stumbled through an explanation. “You don’t need to keep it, n-not if you don’t want, but y-you’re always saying you’re cold and y’know, I have extras, so-”

Martin had given Jon one of his many scarves, this one a worn, dark green that was sure to look lovely with his skin tone. He spent two hours deciding on that? It was a nice gift, for sure. Jon held it in his hands like it was completely foreign to him, though Tim could see him running his fingers over the knit appreciatively, looking at it with wide eyes.

“B-But this is your scarf, Martin,” he said, once he found the words. “I can’t-”

“Well now it’s yours,” Martin replied, his voice steadying with resolve. “Anyway, I um- it’s got your name on it. Or your initials, at least.” He gave a nervous laugh, his face turning even redder if possible.

And sure enough, at the end of the scarf was a small, messy embroidered J.S., along with a crude attempt at a small cat face. The effort was adorable, and it sent a pang through Tim’s chest for several reasons he didn’t want to name.

“T-That’s- well, thank you, Martin.” Jon ran his fingers over the small ‘J’ as if it would disappear if he looked away. “That’s very thoughtful of you.” Jon placed it almost reverently back in the bag, giving Martin a rare, genuine smile, one that Tim wished he had put on his face. Stop that.

“Jon’s turn!” he said, mustering up his last bit of enthusiasm. “I for one have no idea who Jon got, so this is going to be a real surprise-”

“S-Shut up, Tim.” Jon muttered, reaching for something behind him. He hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled out a small sprig of what looked to be pine needles, because it couldn’t be what Tim thought it was, no sir, that wouldn’t make sense-

He watched as Jonathan Sims moved closer and with shaking hands and a beet-red face, moved up on his tippy-toes to hold a tiny sprig of mistletoe above their heads. And then, in what surely must have been a hallucination or a dream sequence, two lips met his in a tiny peck of a kiss that was over before Tim could truly register it.

He stared unblinking as Jon sank back on his heels, his eyes still tightly shut from the kiss. Tim brought a hand up to his mouth, the warm tingle of slightly chapped lips on his still fresh in his mind. Jon began to stutter in the absolute silence of the room, stumbling backwards without looking up from his feet.

“I’m, um- I-I have to. S-Sorry! I’m going to... goodbye now.”

And with that Jonathan Sims fled the room, leaving three stupefied assistants in his wake.

_________

“Knock Knock!”

Tim tried to keep his voice as light as possible. He didn’t think Jon could stand anything more than that right now.

He’d given him a half hour of solitude, enough for him to overcome whatever embarrassment he felt over the encounter. Martin was stewing in a corner, looking shell-shocked and mopey over the turn of events. Tim was just as shocked as he was. Little Jonathan Sims, grumpy researcher and now even grumpier Head Archivist, giving Tim a kiss? Under the mistletoe?

“Go get him,” Sasha smirked, kicking his chair. “Bring him some food. And maybe return the favor.”

So he took a plate of reheated Pad Thai and a bottle of rum he kept under his desk for special occasions, hoping to win Jon over. Let him know the kiss was much appreciated, and that perhaps he’d like another if Jon was so inclined.

The man jumped up from his desk, where he’d had his head pillowed in his arms and his chunkiest cardigan wrapped around him for warmth. It was getting colder, and Tim hadn’t checked outside recently, too distracted by current events. His face was still flushed red, and he wouldn’t meet Tim’s eyes. I’ll have to change that.

“Thought I’d come bearing gifts.” He waved the bottle of rum around for Jon to see as he walked into the room. “Of the food and drink variety. But I wouldn’t mind a repeat of what happened in the break room.” He threw in a wink for good measure- God, why couldn’t he ever be serious? He always fell back on jokes and teasing words.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Tim,” Jon groaned, reaching out for the rum and pouring a liberal amount into a mug that previously housed tea. He still avoided Tim’s eyes. “That was completely inappropriate, I-I just couldn’t think of-”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he placed the food down on Jon’s desk, ignoring the pain in his heart at the apology. So he didn’t mean it. He plopped down on Jon’s couch, trying to feign a lightness he didn’t feel as he drank straight from the bottle. “No harm, no foul. It was nice.” He shrugged. Jon moved from his desk to join him on the couch, looking so adorable and cozy that Tim had to restrain from taking him in his arms. He watched as Jon took two large mouthfuls of the rum, knocking it back like a champ. Jesus. And then he raised his eyes to his, meeting them with a wide-eyed hopefulness that made Tim’s heart stutter in his chest.

“So- so you didn’t mind?”

“Nope.” Tim took another sip of the rum, wondering where this was going. He wouldn’t…

“Then you-,” Jon gulped, seemingly gathering his courage. “You wouldn’t mind if we- that is, if I maybe did it again?”

Tim stared.

“I-I still have the mistletoe.”

Jon sat there, so earnest and vulnerable, his hands fidgeting with the drink in his lap. Tim remembered the first time he laid eyes on him, the taciturn young researcher with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. He imagined asking him on a date, getting to know the man under that prickly exterior. Making him laugh, getting that rare smile that Martin got today. But he didn’t seem interested and Tim never wanted to push it, too respectful of his boundaries.

But maybe he hadn’t imagined the way Jon leaned into his touch. How he laughed at Tim’s shitty jokes a bit longer than necessary. That the looks he got in the library weren’t ones of annoyance, but fondness. So he set the bottle down, took the drink out of Jon’s hands and replaced it with the warm grip of his own. His voice came out low, quiet and serious and utterly unlike him.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.” And he leaned in and kissed Jonathan Sims, just like he wanted to do all those years ago.

It was a sweet, lingering thing- the taste of rum on his lips, lips that parted so easily for Tim like he’d been waiting, wanting this for so long, maybe even as long as Tim had. And when they finally parted, Jon stared at him with those deep brown eyes and gave him the smile he’d been wishing for and it was just for him. He put that there.

“Was-was that okay?” he murmured, feeling nervous and open under Jon’s intense gaze.

“Yes,” was the whispered response. He let out a small, charming laugh that Tim would always remember when he thought back to this night, the first night of many stolen kisses and secret smiles. “I-I liked that.”

“Well, good!” Tim could no longer contain the urge to have Jon in his arms and pulled him to his chest, appreciating the small squeak it earned him. “Because there’s more where that came from.” Jon leaned into his touch, as if trying to leech every bit of warmth from Tim that he could. It felt so utterly right to be here, on this uncomfortable couch with an armful of the man he’d been pining over for the last three years. Score, a giddy part of his mind yelled. They laid there in silence for a few minutes, reveling in the feeling of affection finally realized when Jon’s head perked up from his chest, a concerned look in his eyes.

“Do you think Rosie’s going to notice I nicked her mistletoe?”

Tim snickered. “Oh, absolutely. But I’ll take the fall. She’s not getting that back.”

Jon was always thoughtful with his gifts. And this was one he intended to keep.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201134

#prompt fill #my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jontim #jonathan sims #tim stoker #advent archives #fluff #pining #i will not apologize for the sappiness of this #submit to my jontim agenda #cinnamoniic

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samsexualdeancurious · 4 years ago

Text

Accidental Happiness | Part One

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 2,164

Warnings: Accidental pregnancy

Summary: Sam gets a call from his top secret girlfriend - a girlfriend not even Dean and Cas know exists.

Written for @saxxxology as her August Angel request.

Betaed by @manawhaat

She calls right as Sam is getting back from his run. There’s something in the tone of her voice - tight, like she's holding back a breakdown and trying to hide it - that makes him jump in the car without a shower or even an explanation to Dean. His mind is racing with all the horrible possibilities - angels, demons, vampires, and that's just the start of the supernatural options. Sam doesn't even want to think about the things regular human beings can and will do.

The drive across town to her safehouse is a quick one but it still feels like too long before he's pulling into her drive. She opens the front door before he even reaches it and he pauses, taking a moment to just look her over. She looks fine, if a little stressed, but he knows from experience that looks aren't everything.

"Y/N," he says stepping into the house and pulling her in his arms as the door falls shut behind him. "What's wrong?"

She looks terrified and it takes Sam a second to realize that she's scared of him. His heart twists and he presses a kiss to her forehead, cradling the back of her head in one hand.

"You can tell me, baby." He moves back a little to cup her face in both hands. "No matter what it is, I won't get mad."

"Promise?" she whispers.

"I promise," he says firmly.

Y/N blurts out, "IthinkImightbepregnant."

Sam blinks, brain struggling to process the string of words, and brushes his thumbs over her cheek bones. "Deep breath. Try that again."

She nods, bracing her hands against his chest and drawing a deep breath before saying in a shaky voice, "I think I might be pregnant."

Those words stop any response Sam might have planned out in its tracks. Finally, after a moment of stuttering, he manages, "Have you… taken any tests?"

She shakes her head. "Not yet. I- I wanted you to be here when I did. I've been throwing up a lot, though, and I missed my last period."

Shit. Sam takes a few deep breaths of his own and kisses her forehead again. "Okay. Okay. Do you have tests to take or do you want me to go get some?"

Her fingers curl to grip the front of his shirt. "I have a few. Please don't go."

"Y/N," Sam says, looking her right in the eye. "I'm here. I’m not going anywhere."

He finds himself sitting on the edge of her bed, listening to her rummaging around behind the closed bedroom door. It feels like hours before the toilet flushes and he hears her wash her hands. When the door opens, she has her phone in her hand with a timer on the screen.

"Now we wait," she sighs.

Sam scoots up to sit against the headboard and opens his arms. Y/N falls into them, settling between his legs with her own thrown over his thigh and looping her arms around his waist.

"No matter what happens," Sam says softly, tucking her head under his chin, "we'll figure it out together."

They sit like that until Y/N's phone starts vibrating, announcing that the time is up. Y/N startles and groans.

"Don't wanna move," she mutters against his collarbone.

"C'mon," Sam urges, nudging her gently. "I'll go check them with you."

Together they make their way into the bathroom, where the three different tests are lines up neatly on the counter. Three positive tests.

Y/N grips Sam's hand tight.

They end up sitting across the kitchen table from each other, mugs of tea making little spirals of steam in the air between them. Sam watches her carefully, noting the way she's already pressing her palm to her stomach. She's clearly nervous but there's a little bit of awe in her eyes when she does it.

"I guess we should talk about this," she murmurs, fiddling with her mug.

Sam bobs his teabag in his own mug. "I just have one question and I want you to answer honestly. No matter what you think I want to hear. Can you do that?"

Y/N hesitates, studying his face, before nodding.

He sits forward, looking her right in the eye. "Do you want this baby?"

There's a second of silence and then she whispers, "Yes."

Sam can't stop his smile. He leaps to his feet, rounding the table to sweep Y/N into his arms and kiss her.

"I'm gonna be a dad," he says, a little choked as his joy overwhelms him.

She's a little startled but still grins up at him, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. "Yes, you are."

Reality will hit later, when Sam misses her first ultrasound because of a hunt. He finds himself irritable with Dean and Cas the whole time. He knows that between keeping Y/N secret and hunting, the next nine months aren't going to be easy.

That's when doubt sets in. Should they really be doing this? A baby will be another person to keep secret - the keep safe - and on top of that, how's he supposed to be a dad if he's hunting and she's living on the other side of town?

Fuck.

He finds himself checking his phone constantly until she texts him a picture of the ultrasound. That's when he knows the decision is already made.

He's able to make it over there the day after they get back the hunt, giving Dean some shit excuse about needing to be away from him and taking one of the cars his brother is fixed up in his free time. She's pleasantly surprised to see him on her doorstep, quickly pulling him into a kiss.

"I didn't expect to see you for a few days," she says when they come up for air. "How'd the hunt go?" She brushes her fingers across a fresh bandage on his inner forearm, just peeking out from under his sleeve.

"Shifter. It went as well as expected and I'll tell you all the details later." He presses a kiss to her forehead, savoring the feeling of her body against his own. "I just couldn't stay away," he admits, letting go of her long enough for her to close the front door. "Plus, I have something to talk to you about." When fear turns the corners of her mouth down, he quickly leans in to kiss her. "It's not a bad thing. Just a thought I had that I want to run by you."

She relaxes visibly. "Okay. Take your shoes off. I just finished making dinner and there's plenty to go around."

They banter back and forth for a moment when they reach the kitchen, both wanting to serve the other, and Sam comes out on top. He gets to work dishing out bowls of taco soup with all the toppings she's laid out, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Y/N's also watching him, thoughtfully rubbing a hand over her belly. She's not showing yet and won't for at least another month or so, according to Sam's research, but that doesn't seem to matter to her subconscious. Motherhood runs deeper than he could possibly learn from any of his research.

"Thank you," she says when he sets her bowl in front of her, lifting her chin for a kiss. "What is it you wanted to ask me about?"

Sam settles into the chair across from her with his own bowl, automatically stretching out one socked foot to hook it around her ankle. The contact is comforting to both of them.

"How would you feel about moving into the bunker?" he blurts out before nerves can get the better of him.

Y/N stares at him in silence for a few excruciatingly long seconds. "Me… move in with you?"

Sam nods.

"But that would mean-"

"Introducing you to Dean and Cas," Sam finishes. "I know. You don't have to if you don't want to - I can understand why you wouldn't. I was just thinking with the baby, it would be nice to have you close by, and plus the bunkers warded against pretty much everything so-"

"Sam," she says gently, interrupting his rambling. "Of course I would like to move in with you."

All the anxiety about asking drains from his body and Sam grins. "Really?"

"Really," she assures him, smiling softly. "Plus, it's been how long? It's about time I met the rest of your family. I want our baby to know their uncles." She sobers a little. "You don't think Dean will be mad?"

"Dean? Hell no. He's gonna give me shit for it, I can guarantee that, but he loves kids. He's gonna be over the moon about being an uncle."

"You're seriously only telling me about your secret girlfriend because you knocked her up?"

Sam winces at his brother's words and leans back against the hood of his car. "I would've told you eventually."

"Uh-huh. And she knows about what we do?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. Her parents were hunters. They managed to raise her outside of the life but she knows."

"When are you gonna bring her around?"

"I was thinking tomorrow." He glances up to see Y/N through the kitchen window, dividing leftover soup into containers.

"I'm guessing you're spending the night?" "Yeah."

Sam can practically hear Dean's smirk. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Sam rolls his eyes and hangs up.

Sam's woken early the next morning to Y/N making a mad dash for the bathroom. He lies there a moment, blinking sleepily in the dimly lit room and trying to figure out exactly what's going on. He always sleeps so much deeper with her by his side. Maybe she's making him soft - he can't bring himself to care.

After a minute or two, he drags himself out of bed and goes to lean in the doorway. Y/N is sitting on the rug next to the toilet looking absolutely miserable.

"Hey," Sam says quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shrugs. "Some tea might help."

"Mint or ginger?"

"Mint, please."

Sam makes his way down to the kitchen and puts some water in the electric kettle. This is definitely something they're bringing with when she moves in. The stovetop kettle the bunker has is good - if ancient - but electric ones are just so much better.

Y/N comes down stairs while her tea is steeping. She falls right into Sam's arms, snuggling up against his chest and rubbing her nose into the soft fabric of his pajama shirt.

"Tea's almost ready," Sam tells her, stroking her head with one hand. "What time so you want to head over to the bunker?"

She shrugs. "Whenever we feel like it. Think Dean would like me more if we bring him food?"

Sam chuckles. "Oh yeah."

---

They stop to pick up breakfast at the diner in town, chatting amicably with the waitresses while they wait for their food, and then head right over to the bunker. By the time they get there, Sam is confident Dean will be awake. Y/N is a bundle of nerves - the bout of morning sickness that hit in the diner definitely isn't helping - and it takes a minute for Sam to coax her out of the car.

"We come bearing food," he calls as they finally make their way down the stairs to the war room and then up the library steps.

Y/N can't stop looking around, taking in everything. Sam feels a little proud of his home. He works hard to keep the bunker clean, roping Dean and Cas in whenever possible, and it shows. The hard wood of the library gleams under the old-fashioned lights.

"So many books," she murmurs, running her fingertips along the spines of the closest ones.

"I hope you went to Deborah's. Otherwise I'm kicking you both out."

Sam chuckles as Dean appears in the door on the other end of the library. "Where else would we have gone?" He holds up the bags.

Dean stops a few feet away, finally noticing Y/N where she's standing a little behind Sam. She’s prettier than Dean expected or something because he puts on his flirting-with-a-cute-girl face. "Why, hello there."

Y/N ducks her head a little, clearly nervous, and holds out the one thing she insisted on getting for Dean specifically. "We brought you a pie."

Dean lights up, eagerly accepting the box she's offering him. He looks her up and down quickly, and then nods with a boyish smile. "You can stay."

He shoots her a wink and heads off towards the kitchen.

Y/N visibly relaxes, hooking her arm around Sam's. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

"Toldja it would be okay. C'mon. Let's go get breakfast started before Dean and Cas starting fighting of who's gonna be number one uncle."

---

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—

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#sam x reader #my writing #spn fanfic

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isoisolated · 4 years ago

Text

I have ADHD and it's not fun

29/12 edit: coming back to this post, I just wanted to add that at the time of writing, my adhd was unmedicated. Thought this might be good thing to note.

My friend Ondrej kept sending me articles and texts posts written by other adhd people (mostly adult males) that it finally pushed me to write my own, because even though I could relate to some minor and major parts, something always felt a bit of and also because ADHD is a condition that's been heavily ignored by medical professionals not only in adults, but especially in adult women, which is a group I sort of represent myself.

I could talk about this for ages, my therapist frequently tells me that I have this gift of intense self-analysis and immense passion to get it all sorted out once for all. I guess it's another way of saying I'm so hyperaware of my own existence and my brain simply latches onto it and constantly tries to solve its own problems.

If you do not care about my own personal history, just skip to second headline.

I was clueless for the first 20 years of my existence

Now, ADHD isn't the only thing that's been making me feel almost alien, I dare to say that my puberty years were mostly about developing and internalising bit of trauma and processes that do no good in later life.

I love music. And I mean I truly endlessly unconditionally love music. Being a daughter of music composer, I was 6 when I first asked my dad to show me where to press record in Logic Pro and told him to leave me alone while I recorded my first song. It was called Autumn is here and it sounded like something made by 6 years old.

I remember we were attending castings for TV shows or commercials and later I was told that it was me who initiated such trips and that I always wanted to be a part of such things. I don't remember initiating such things but I remember for sure that I was very shy and uncomfortable when I was supposed to show off.

I remember I was supposed to take piano lessons. And I was so baffled that I had to follow the book and play what's in the book, instead of playing thing I wanted. I think I told my parents after few lessons that I do not like it and was dropped outta it. This became a pattern, if I recall correctly.

But that's nothing out of ordinary, kids are harder to get focused and entertained. I remember two moments from elementary school where I was told by my classmates that I'm acting like I have ADHD and it got me real mad every time, because in my head ADHD looked like not paying attention in class, being body hyper and overall just annoying.

I could find a proof that I made myself first to-do list when I was 14. Since 14 I felt like I need more self control and self regulation, that I need to fit myself more into ambitions I had and have and in order to do that, I started making to-do lists with ambiguous tasks such as “work more on music” and “work-out”. It was also in during my great isolation era, I had no real life friends but one that I was seeing occasionally, I wasn't going out, I came from school on Friday afternoon and left my room on Monday morning. I was making friends online since I was 11 and lived mostly online.

At that time I also started figuring out what was wrong with me. Since ever I always felt a bit “off” compared to my peers, I always felt weird (and was told that thousand of times in my life), I always felt like I was thinking about things a bit differently and my humour was different and my hobbies were seen obscure by my classmates (even though they weren't obscure at all). I felt alone for most of my growing up and feelings of complete loneliness and detachment haunt me to this day, making me spiral.

I thought I might suffer from bipolar disorder, because I had high energy episodes and my emotions were so intense. I was crying almost everyday for both external and internal reasons, my head sometimes felt like too much and I found temporary peace in self-help books and esotericism.

I was around 17-18 when I realised all of this is bullshit and that no book can make me do things that I wanna do. I'd spent hours, days and months thinking about doing things, being crippled by this weird force that hold my body down, unable to do anything, no matter how much I wanted it. I'd beat myself up for it, thinking I was just so damn lazy and stupid and pretentious. I wanna be a popstar, a successful musician, I have to do all these things and if not, I'm gonna fail so much and my life will lose its meaning.

When I was 17, I released my first EP and for some reason, it found some attention and success, if we might call it that. Suddenly I felt on the right path, I was seen as a musician and also very young one. Even though I still was sad almost every day or had intense sadness episodes that could last for a week, it felt right and I couldn't wait to finish high school and become a full time musician.

I'd produce music in unplanned episodes of total focus, where I would sit and do things for hours straight, without eating. My most favorite songs were made during 6-8 hour sessions and it felt amazing. I couldn't bring myself to produce music if I hadn't the right vibe or idea for it.

It was around that time this woman texted me, saying she wants to be my manager and that she really likes my music. It felt so unreal but here I am, with my own professional manager, on my way to be the most amazing music person.

I'd crush on people (and mostly boys and men) constantly, it was also very episodic, could last for days to month where I'd had nothing on my mind but them, drowned in daydreaming and just imagining things and also letting them know all of that. It was magical but it was fleeting. It still is. But it is the greatest inspiration, where I feel so much emotions it makes me see things and then I can transform them into music.

But there was still something wrong with me, I was very emotional, still struggling with making my routines work, I'd come up with new plans and schedules every week just to fail them the day after. It was exhausting and I saw nothing alike in my world too, I was alone and my experience was just not enough will power.

I could get mad so easily, I'd clench my fists and was so close to punching someone and when I hated someone I hated them with immense passion and spent hours just imagining myself confronting them. I was so mad all the time on background too and even slightest thing would put me in classic rage mode.

I have problems remembering dates and names, I'm bad at remembering people's faces, I'm bad at learning things by myself even though I have interest in them. I'm bad at making routine for myself and actually following it.

I finished high school and planned to go study abroad but it turned out it isn't what I want so I came back and started looking for a job. Around that time I met my now best friend and thanks to him I actually started thinking even harder what might be wrong with me, so I looked up ADHD. And didn't believe that at all. I wasn't like this, was I?

Then, the summer came and I met my friend (and also a fan) while being out for a beer. We chatted, had a great time and then told me I kinda am like a person with ADD. I was confused because I didn't recall what that does mean, later I remembered it's another (and outdated) term for ADHD, but it's the “quiet type”, where the hype happens mostly inside and doesn't manifest outside that much. So I started researching once again, because I trusted him and it was that one push I needed.

It's been year since that moment and it took me months to accept that I might suffer from ADHD and to this day I still have feelings of impostor syndrome, making it all harder for myself just like that, to be more interesting for myself. I still yet have to accept this.

I was transitioning into adulthood and yet had actual emotional breakdowns, I was crying and my heart was aching and I couldn't bring myself to do things I want, to learn more about music production, to learn how to sing better, to learn my favorite k-pop choreos, to work-out, to embody my own vision of who I want to be. With music, I am my own boss and it's the worst.

Covid-19 hit our country and here came the first lockdown. It pushed me over the edge and I felt like I was losing all of my friends, I felt those feelings of loneliness and weirdness again, I felt like nobody knows what's wrong because I don't have it as bad as others, I was hurting so much my body was shaking and twisting. I decided to try medication, even though I told my psychiatrist I don't want to, I just felt like I cannot be like this anymore, it's too much pain and no matter how much I try, I can't make it better, I can't make it work.

I started taking Strattera and after month or two, I saw it working. A bit, I could focus better and bring myself to do things more and more frequently, and if I had these weird emotional meltdowns, they weren't as intense as before. This serves me as ultimate proof that I am not making this up, because if I were, the medication wouldn't work and make me feel better, right?

So, what am I doing now?

I'm still a huge mess and I cannot see myself in a better light. Even though I have job that I perform at at stable rate, even though I have just a little problem cooking for myself, even though I have no troubles falling asleep, even though I can enjoy things greatly when those high energy waves hit me.

I'm tired of myself, I'm tired of myself not being able to do anything again. I ignore my manager because I already know I have nothing else to say than “I cannot bring myself to do things and you know that, I'm sorry for being a constant failure.” When people compliment me, I thank them but deep inside I don't accept it.

I have unreleased and WIP songs I can see never being released, ever. When I listen to music from my favorite artists, I can also feel the pain from the fact that I'm not like them and that I probably won't ever be, because my brain sabotages me every damn time.

From the very moment I wake up to the very moment I fall asleep, there's music playing in my head. I don't choose what's playing, sometimes it's song I don't even like and yet it's stuck on loop. I talk with my therapist in my head, I'm having weird flashbacks in my head to my memories, I'm having “you should do X right now” and “why aren't you doing Y” stuck on loop too. This all is happening at once, every moment I'm awake, even when I'm talking with people. It's exhausting.

I'm bored most of the time, I have interesting books in my bookshelf and still cannot read them because I have to reread paragraphs in order to actually understand them. And even then, I find my mind wandering again. I have problems with long texts and long tutorials.

I get frustrated easily, my head is overflowing with ideas I can't act on. I'm living in weird worlds I made up for myself, and then reality hits me.

I had my first depressive episode few months ago. I felt like nothing matters, that I don't matter, I felt nothing and emptiness, I crawled up in bed and was mindlessly watching youtube videos. I didn't want to eat or drink, I wanted to not exist at all. That episode passed but it was my first encounter with actual depressive state and I know I can slip into it more easily now, it simply developed along the way, after 21 years without acknowledging that I have problems and I struggle.

People don't understand the struggle, when talking to them about my problems, it's like talking to an automated assistant, coming up with phrases like “Did you try yoga?” “everyone struggles sometime” “you cannot accomplish everything”. They say they wanna listen and help until they don't.

I have a mental graveyard for ideas I won't ever finish, no matter how good they are, because my brain won't let me. Proper medication would help, therapy also helps but I can't talk myself out of actual executive dysfunction.

ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder, our brains are literally underdeveloped in some areas and wired differently. Our emotions lack regulation normal people have and our motivation is fragile. This can't be changed with yoga, this cannot be solved by trying more. Not to even mention, capitalist society is especially damaging to neurodivergent people (and not only them, of course).

While on this journey, I am still meeting more and more people having same struggles like me, finding people who understand you is the best thing to battle impostor syndrome. Sometimes I can't help them and sometimes they can't help me, but it's okay, because we know we understand each other and if I wanna complain and vent, we can do so without having to explain this condition over and over.

And I hope that someone finds this relatable too, because as a woman I know my group isn't represented enough. We are not children, nor adult males, we need more attention and more support, from both healthcare system and each other.

While doing this, I hope to get myself proper medication and continue doing what I love the most - music. I don't love anything else more than that. I hope to get rid of “all or nothing” mindset, I hope to be more consistent, I hope my music will reach its listeners and fans. I still have enough time, I think, even though my sense of time is neurologically altered.

#adhd #actually adhd

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entriesfromangels · 4 years ago

Text

Journal Entry (#17) ~

/// tw: mention of self-harm

Well i sorta have an update for you guys.

A few days ago i had a mental breakdown. Over what you may ask? Well just a lot of things...

1. two of my closest friends decided instead of working on our problems together, it was easier to just block me and avoid it all together. For my bpd and my past experiences, it has been hard to move on from it since they were such good friends. I know in my heart is was the right thing to let them go but i still struggle with it from time to time.

One of them moved with me from Texas to Washington state. Since day one she has caused drama with me, my bf and his friend. I have told her multiple times that we will try our best to include her in things but at the end of the day... she just couldn’t handle not being the center of attention and decided to leave. The reason for her even coming was to “protect” me from my bf who, for the 9 months we have been dating, has been amazing. But i understood that she was just being a good friend. it still doesn’t change the fact that she acted the way she did and isolated herself as soon as we arrived.

It sucks loosing people who were once close to you but if those people start to turn into someone completely different and someone toxic and unrecognizable... that's when the cord needs to be cut. I am glad i did, i’m a lot happier that i did but my heart still aches for the friendships that i had because at one point, they were important people in my life. Things change and people change and that's just how life is. i just have to understand that.

2. I was an americorps worker for a food bank and it was one of the reasons why i made the move to Washington. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for me and in the end i’m glad i took the position.

As the months went on, the more i saw how toxic the management was. The founder/CEO is the most manipulating person i have ever met. She would twist words, pressure you to say things you didn’t want to say and didn’t show any compassion for her employees. The work that is done there is awesome. They provide so many people with food and shelter. But this boss is something else. I didn’t expect the founder to be like this, so self-centered and egotistical. It was disturbing to be around. I wasn’t the only one feeling like this either. Other employees and the other americorps i worked with also felt the same and quit as did I. All the people i met while working there are all gone, except maybe for one person. It put such a strain on my mental health and really made me look at my values and integrity as a person. It was a hard decision to make but leaving was a good choice for me, despite not having income anymore.

3. That brings me to my next point.

Not having a job sucks. a lot. Especially during a pandemic and when i have a degree. Since i left, I have been doing instacart and that helps with rent and money for groceries. Of course its only temporary and can only help for a short amount of time. I am eagerly searching for jobs while doing instacart. I also decided to go into teaching so finding time to save money for grad school, having money for rent and paying other things i have to pay for is extremely difficult. Its just a lot of stress and pressure and the night i had my mental breakdown... it just all came down at once.

4. The final thing that is always constantly bothering me is my recent bpd diagnosis. I got the official diagnosis last year from my doctor. It has been really hard for me because i really don’t know much about it. Since then I have been researching and learning more things about it. I even bought some workbooks, books specifically about BPD and my bf also let borrow some of his self-help books. Its been hard because whenever something happens, it keeps going in circles, the same pattern. I start implementing these strategies, things go good for a while and then something triggers me and I start over from scratch. Its a vicious cycle and i’m FUCKING done with it. I’m done with giving up every time something doesn’t go my way or the way i want them to. Life isn’t perfect. Not everything is guaranteed. Its up to ME to make sure that i understand my journey and even though its hard, i can get through it. I’ve been at worse places in my life and this time isn’t any different.

I think the thing that drove me over the edge is that i was thinking of self-harming again. I went out of my way to get a rusty key and bring it with me into the bathroom. I had it on my wrist but something stopped me. Mostly it was the idea of what my parents would think, my boyfriend and where it would lead me if i started doing it again. The only people who know are my therapist and my bf. I know how i was when i was self-harming every time something bad happened. It wasn’t healthy for me then and it isn’t for me now.

The one thing i do have to remember however is i myself am in control of how i handle these situations. Not anyone else. Its really hard for me to accept that because i rely on so many people for my happiness when i’m missing the most important person: me

In my head it just seems selfish... to be putting myself first, you know? As i learn more and more about the disorder and how to overcome it, the more i’m realizing that it isn’t. Its not selfish to put yourself first or to take care of yourself. I’m starting to realize that... as hard as it is for me to accept.

---

So after everything i’ve been dealing with, my bf suggested i take a break and go home to Texas for a while. So i’m doing just that. I know going home won’t solve all my problems but i am really serious about getting better. I am using this time to reevaluate everything, things that matter and putting into my head that as much as the people who love and care for me are important, that i also am too. Taking care of myself is so important, especially with bpd since this disorder can paint us in a negative light and we always think everyone is out to get us or tear us down. When in reality we are ruining our relationships and hurting ourself more in the process. We aren’t protecting ourselves... we are adding more damage than good. I’m excited to see my friends and family but more ready than ever to work on myself and continue the journey when i return home.

I got this 👍🏼

#journal entry #my thoughts #journal #staying strong #positivity #bpd #borderline personality disorder #borderline problems #borderline things

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maryellencarter · 4 years ago

Text

So for about ten days now I've been playing around with the budgeting app Mint (along with a Google Sheets yearly budget template and a lot of manual work with a calculator, a calendar, and a succession of blank Google Docs because that's just the kind of person I am), and so obviously I have some Thoughts.

* I picked Mint because it's the budgeting app all the financial reviewers talk about, because it's run by Intuit who also own TurboTax so I knew their security and interface would be good, and because it does not come with built-in shaming over any of your ~unnecessary~ purchases.

* Mint is a free app which makes its money by offering you sponsored ads for financial products it thinks you might like, and getting paid by the advertisers when you accept one of the ads. The most intrusive location for these ads is on your dashboard, feed, whatever you want to call it, where the ad tile is required to be the third tile down and cannot be shuffled to the bottom or turned off.

* (There is also a desktop browser version, Mint.com. I have poked it very slightly but couldn't get it to do anything useful. More on that later. I don't remember noticing how the ads are arranged there.)

* The app's general design is very sleek and intuitive, what I'd expect from the parent company of QuickBooks and TurboTax. Other than the intrusive ad tile, it lets you rearrange everything however you want.

* Mint is designed around importing transactions from your bank account for you to do budgetary stuff at, so obviously security is really important, which gives Intuit an edge up on the competition because I'm already used to trusting them with my tax returns. It only seems to sync new transactions during banking hours, which for someone like me who does most of their shopping on Sunday is kind of frustrating. It also won't let you edit or recategorize a transaction till it's finished "processing" a day or two down the line. I don't know if these pitfalls are common to all budget apps but it would probably make sense if they are.

* One thing Mint does that's incredibly handy for me is it lets you put all your recurring bills in one place and even sync them with your phone calendar. I actually had to turn off the phone calendar sync because it was alerting me constantly on the day before payday when I couldn't do anything about the bill that was due on payday, but if you can find the setting to change the alert frequency it might be useful. And having a nice chronological list of what the fuck is due when, is extremely helpful to my brain, because previously I was trying to remember everything in my head and I kept losing bills.

* Going down my tiles as I have them sorted in the app, I don't have much to say about that list of transactions itself, except that you can recategorize them and split them into different categories -- which is handy if the rent included $105 late fees which you don't want befuckening your future averages, or if you bought groceries and also a barbecue lighter at Walmart, to take two recent examples.

* You cannot, unfortunately, rename or edit categories. On desktop only, you can supposedly add categories, but you cannot then use those categories in any of Mint's other functions, which really defeats the purpose. And their ideas of what categories you might need are pretty... idiosyncratic, not to say WASPy, so e.g. I'm currently categorizing Patreon income under "Reimbursement" because the other options were things like "Investment Income" and "Returned Purchase". And transfers to my savings account can either be "Credit Card Payment" or "Transfer for Cash Spending".

* (I suppose I could put my savings under "Investment: Deposit" or something similarly grandiose, but that seems like... a lot for the 31 cents rounded up from getting a pizza at Little Caesars.)

* Anyways. So then, after the obligatory ad tile, comes a nice colorful pie chart of my spending for the month, which I can open up and tab through to look at all the categories. I saw one finance blogger saying you should use the Miscellaneous category for some things rather than getting too granular, but I like seeing the little individual entries for my haircut and my cloth mask and my pharmacy copay. (That last one's going to be a more substantial pie slice now that I can actually afford to start taking most of my meds again. Turns out my prescription for diabetic test strips expired, though, so I have to get ahold of my doctor and get a new one sent over, and I'm looking skeptically at the copays. :P I've been ignoring my diabetes since January, it can wait a little longer till I'm financially caught up from COVID.)

* I can see list-style breakdowns by category and merchant, too. This is one of the few places in the mobile app that my income shows up, other than the actual paycheck transactions. The desktop version has some more places to budget projected income, but the handling is clunky as hell.

* Next up is the tile where I've been spending a lot of my time, Budgets. This is your basic "envelope method" where you create, say, a budget for haircuts and another one for groceries. Each budget has to be for one of Mint's pre-created categories, and when you have a spending transaction in that category, it puts the expense against that Budget. The desktop version has you also creating a line item for expected income in Budgets, and then becoming stroppy when you attempt to adjust parts in the wrong order, so I prefer the app which simply tells you e.g. that you have spent $900 of an allocated $1000 with an airy unconcern for whether the $1000 has arrived in your bank account yet.

* My single biggest frustration with Mint is that you cannot create Budgets based on user-created categories, nor can you delete, rename, or even collapse categories in the list. So if I go to create a new Budget for, say, "Housewares" to account for the $1 barbecue lighter I finally bought (I have large hands and a tall jar candle that has burned down farther than I can reach, okay, it was a necessity), then I'm stuck scrolling all the way up and down past "Investment: Capital Gains" and "Kids: Child Support" before finally settling on "Home Supplies" because it doesn't really seem like a "Home Furnishings".

* After Budgets comes Accounts, which just shows me my current net worth across all my accounts. I actually unlinked my savings account because it was confusing the hell out of me to see a 31-cent transfer out of checking paired with the same 31-cent transfer into savings, so this doesn't show me anything I can't get through my bank app, but if I had current credit card debt or non-retirement investment accounts it might be more useful.

* (I have not linked my 401(k) to Mint. I haven't even figured out how to get into my 401(k), either before or after it transferred to a different handler a couple months back. I feel like those are problems for a later time than "okay how much groceries can I buy and still pay the rent".)

* On the desktop version of Mint, you can also put things like your car in under your net worth as Property. I tried that, found that I both did not believe their Kelly Blue Book valuation at all (it didn't have any option to take into account "was totaled two years ago and looks it but still mostly runs") and that I find it extremely stressful to have non-liquid property listed as part of my net worth. Interesting to know. You learn all sorts of shit about yourself when you try to manage money.

* Next there's a tile that attempts to break down my "cash flow" by month. It doesn't seem to have noticed the Paypal transfers on which I was largely subsisting for the three months it was able to pull from my bank account, even though they show up fine in Transactions, so it's deeply confused about whether my cash flow is Healthy or Unhealthy. For now, with my acquisition of a second paycheck for August, it seems to have settled on Healthy. I might turn that tile off though. It doesn't really... offer much, I guess?

* I have turned off the tile that shows me my free credit score. That's a problem for a much later me. Right now I have more urgent problems, like catching up on my deferred car insurance and my deferred cell phone bill and my deferred healthcare deductions.

* You also can't turn off the tile for the Mint "Life Blog" or the one asking you to rate the app, but at least they sit at the bottom of the app as you scroll down.

* The desktop version also has an entire segment not found in the app, for "Goals", where you can supposedly put in your outstanding debts and figure out payment schedules for them. It sounds really good in principle, but I found that section of the site unworkably glitchy, on both laptop and iPad; I couldn't even get past the screen where you try to first enter one of your debts, as it required me to choose answers from two dropdowns neither of which would actually do anything. I was able to get an estimate from the "saving for a rainy day" goal, anyway, by putting in the amount of a debt and telling it I'd like to save up that much money in a year, but that's nothing I couldn't have done with a calculator and a bit of mental effort.

* Jumping back up to the top of the app, one other thing that does intermittently drive me bananas about the app is, when you put in a bill you get a dropdown where you select how often it should recur, but then it... doesn't recur. You have to manually put in the next occurrence. It's still a handy list of upcoming bills, but I actually had to resort to my phone calendar (which properly handles recurring events) to get a good visual on future months' bills.

* And because there is nowhere to put in your projected income and get a nice projection of "On X date you will have $XX in your bank account", or even better a daily graph of your expected cash flow so that you can see "yeah don't put that $300 in savings you'll need it for rent in two weeks", I've been reduced to, as mentioned above, manual daily projections through the end of the year using my phone calculator, phone calendar, Google Docs, and eventually my damn iPad drawing app (came with a Bluetooth stylus I never got working) because I couldn't find any physical graph paper.

* So. Um. Summary. I guess it's a good app? It's very sleek, it has nice charts and graphs and a good interface. But it thinks you can do a lot more with it than you can actually do. Its main uses for me are probably going to boil down to "stop forgetting bills" (the rolling list format works a lot better for my brain than the phone calendar format, even if I do have to re-enter data every time I mark a bill paid) and "finally figure out how much I spend on food really".

#budget #mint app #app reviews

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hes-writer · 6 years ago

Text

One and Only

Summary: Y/N leaves Harry

Warnings: angst (what else)

Word Count: 1823 words

A/N: it’s been so long and i think im a little rusty so EXCUSE THIS SHITTY PIECE

“So she just … left?” Ed quipped with uncertainty across the table from Harry. His ginger wisps caught the fluorescent lights of the dimly lit bar. The soft rock music played by the live band on-stage added to the somber mood.

Harry gulped down another shot glass filled with Hennessy—the liquid burning his throat as it bubbled down to his stomach. The acidity combining with the uneasy feeling that he felt constantly ever since she packed her bags and left out of the blue.

“Yeah. She left.” Harry nodded with his eyelashes fluttering over his flushed cheeks. His eyes watered slightly at the thought, but he forced himself to hold them back. She didn’t deserve his tears.

—-

Y/N and Harry had only been going out for a few months—3 months at most—yet Harry couldn’t believe how close and attached he felt to her already. It was as if she was the missing part of him that he somehow found through the seemingly endless rows of lies and heartbreak. She was the light at the end of the tunnel and he was absolutely relieved when the little voice in his head whispered that she was the one—and she appeared to be on the same page.

Coming out of a long-running relationship on Y/N’s part, Harry was supportive of her every step of the way, especially during the nights where she had a dazed look on her face meaning that she was thinking of him again.

Him.

The man who broke her heart and left it crumbled to dust with the wind. It was a mutual decision, she said. Explained that everything was talked through thoroughly, but Harry knew that that was far from the truth. From a close friend of hers, that man cheated on Y/N countless times–she was just too in love, too blind, to notice the signs that he was only in it for the title. Y/N was damaged, rough at edges from his constant blunting and she didn’t seem to know how to pull away from a cheating partner.

All she knew was him. All she had experienced was him and she has no idea that being loved and loving someone was nothing like she had gone through. Loving someone wasn’t giving her everything. Its definition wasn’t to blindly throw even the most minute bits of her to him— to lose parts of herself because she was so engrossed in keeping their fire aflame. She didn’t know that voluntarily tiring herself out when she knew deep down that she didn’t agree to something wasn’t okay–because a relationship is built on the foundation of trust for two people. Mutual respect on the grounds of love and care—not a one-sided justification because he said so.

And being loved isn’t the rare event of receiving a pat on her head or an arm wrapped around her shoulder because she did something so noticeable. It’s the subtle things that stand out because of the undivided attention that one will and should give to their partner. Unconsciously acquiring information; how they like their cup of tea or figuring out the perfect temperature for their morning shower– not because they did something that you basically force them to do. It’s not the constant reassurance of the spoken words, “I love you” (although that would have been good too). Love is not just a word that you can throw around to whoever. Love is a verb—something that you do, an action that requires physical determination to show your partner how much you appreciate them.

Sadly, Y/N wasn’t in the kind of relationship were equality fostered. And when he finally broke it off with her for good, Y/N wasn’t as stable as she had hoped she would be. She kept telling herself that she was strong; that she could make it without him but a part of her always beat her down for believing such impossible things. How could she ever live without someone that has been with her for so long?

—

Harry knew what he was getting into the moment they called it official. No matter how much she tried to convince him that her whole entity was his, he doubted her words. He recognized that her heart would never be his– at least, not right now, not anytime soon. The grief and trauma that she carried with her–her misery– made her who she was and Harry was so so proud of her for standing her ground. Needless to say, he felt a bit special that Y/N allowed him to get close to her during her vulnerable moments. He understood her thinking, wanted to be the best partner she’d ever had although she had no one else to compare him to.

Harry was determined to make her feel loved again; he was motivated to show her the ropes to love someone. He wanted to open up her heart to the endless possibilities of not being restricted by the limitations placed all around her. He desired for Y/N to be capable of making room for herself because as much as he wished for them not to have secrets between each other; self-care is the utmost achievement and he did not want to impose any threat to her reaching maximum self-love.

—

He was patient. He was kind. Harry was everything Y/N’s ex wasn’t and she was grateful for his presence in her life. Y/N appreciated his tolerance for her; her breakdowns and relentless hazy-eyed moments where she found herself reliving her past. Instead of degrading her like he did, Harry encouraged her to let the tears fall when they were so close to dribbling down her cheeks. He made her feel comfortable in times where she usually wouldn’t be. He stripped her down to the core until she was defenseless and instead of attacking her with hurtful words, he exposed himself, in the same way, to reciprocate her delicate action–for him, with him.

So that was why Y/N couldn’t comprehend the sinking feeling in her stomach, as if a weight had placed itself so snug deep within. She could discern a certain notion of guilt rising up in the form of bile while she aggressively stuffed her clothes in a duffel bag. They weren’t living together, but they might as well be with the number of things that somehow made it across roads from her place to his house.

Y/n shivered from a cold breeze as her palms continued to touch clothing items that now held meaning between her and Harry. How that thick, maroon sweater brought fluffy memories where he offered her his own coat as well. How the white Rolling Stones tee was almost ripped to non-existence because he loved wearing it so much– and she realized that this was his so why the hell was she taking it?

Why the hell is she taking his heart with her?

Y/N wasn’t stupid. She was well aware that between their short time together that Harry had fallen for her hard. She didn’t exactly know how or why or even when he decided that he would just shower her with an outpour of genuine emotions; he just did and she didn’t know what to do. Y/N liked to think that she knew herself better than anyone knew her and she recognized that a steel cage was imprisoning her heart from Harry.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to fall for Harry, love him to bits and forget about her ex. She was supposed to be with him. But somehow she couldn’t will herself to stick with the promises she mentally made. Her heart still longed for her jerk of an ex no matter how much she prayed and hoped for it to be nothing more than a remnant of her past. Thinking of him, of Aaron, brought butterflies in her stomach and a surge of dopamine spiking through her veins because although he struck her down to her darkest moments; he was the one that made her the happiest– much more joyful that she is with Harry.

It made her disgusted with herself for loving someone as toxic as Aaron was; why couldn’t she have stuck with the brighter future with Harry? Nonetheless, the heart wants what it wants and even it was a part of her, she had no grip on what it longed for.

—

Y/N wished that she was brisker than this. She was now regretting how she spent time reminiscing over every gentle memory she shared with Harry. A man that she demanded herself to be affectionate towards with little to no progress because then she wouldn’t have had to see his illuminated face– a wide grin spread from cheek to cheek and eyes lit up like the morning sun– fall to to a sullen, sunken expression of realization once he caught sight of her frozen like a deer in headlights with bags on hand.

Y/N wouldn’t have to hear the hitch in his throat from the withstanding tickle of a sob scratching at the back of his mouth; the pain and the damage she had caused from a single action.

Leaving–and Harry would be a mess.

His eyes still twinkled, though with salty water embedding itself from his tear ducts. His nose crinkled in a sniffle as he cleared his throat.

“W-where wh-what’s going on, Y/N?” He asked timidly and albeit in a stutter to draw out the time they had with each other because he *knows.

“I think you know,” Y/N admitted with a bite to her lip. She could feel her palms sweating through the rough material of the straps and she almost wanted to drop it on the floor and give him the biggest hug of comfort. “I’m sorry, H.”

Harry looked at her as a lone tear scraped itself by. His lips quivering in a loss for words–what was he to say? If she didn’t want to stay, he didn’t have a say on that. He swiped the wetness to his temple, wishing that his head didn’t hurt as much as his heart did because maybe then it would be more bearable to accept the fact that his Y/N was leaving him.

For what reasons, he wasn’t quite sure but he had an idea of what it might be. If he didn’t ask her reasoning, then he can conjure up another excuse to make himself feel better. He can say that it wasn’t the right time for them; that they were both too busy to make this the best thing to ever happen. Or maybe he can say that it just didn’t work out because they wanted different things.

But at this moment, as Harry stared her down in the eyes, he was given an answer that ripped his chest apart.

She was his one and only but she didn’t love him.

—–

let me know what you thought!

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rikotin · 5 years ago

Link

I’m back with some good old, Isak-centered Evak 💛 Read it on AO3 from the link, or right here on tumblr from under the cut!

Summary:

It was the heaviness of his head and the lead-like bones in his body, that really gave away the lack of rest, every part of his body screaming in exhaustion as he lifted his torso off of the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He squinted his eyes against the brightness of the phone screen, as it almost violently replaced the darkness despite the orange toned night mode he’d permanently switched on.

4:58

or: Another night of insomnia playing its tricks on Isak.

Om kvelden når det mørkner og alle går til ro

As Isak opened his eyes, he was met with darkness. Only a tiny gleam of the street lights outside made its way into the room from the side of a roll-up curtain, painting a thin sliver of the wall across him yellow. It was so quiet, the city still sleeping as the night was yet to turn to dawn, only soft and slow snuffles from his side filling the room along with his own breathing.

He didn’t really need to check the time to know it was way too early, and that he had slept way too little, but he rolled over anyway. It was the heaviness of his head and the lead-like bones in his body, that really gave away the lack of rest, every part of his body screaming in exhaustion as he lifted his torso off of the bed and reached for the phone on the nightstand. He squinted his eyes against the brightness of the phone screen, as it almost violently replaced the darkness despite the orange toned night mode he’d permanently switched on.

4:58

Isak dropped the hand holding his phone and let his upper body slump back against the bed, his head landing on his cool pillow. He sighed and nuzzled his nose against the soft pillow case, but despite feeling very much comfortable, he kept looking at the wall, following the edge of the small pillar of street lights with his gaze, and let out a frustrated sigh.

He had only managed to fall asleep under two hours ago, as the last time he checked the clock was at 02:55 and despite the tired heaviness of his body, his mind was already racing, meaning that was all the sleep he’d get tonight.

It was nothing new, really. He’d been struggling with his sleeping habits ever since he was 16, but over the years, the problems had come and gone, irregular enough for him not to pay too much mind to it, but regular enough they left him frustrated and worn out every time it happened. Not only did it mess up his routines and make his moods bounce all over the place, it also started feeding the vicious circle of worrying about the next night’s sleep, the anxiety of it making it then even harder to get a good night’s rest.

He had gone to see a doctor about it, several times, but nothing so far had been a magic remedy – the different pills would always break the cycle and help him catch some well needed sleep. And after he would finally be confident enough to slowly leave the pills out, he’d always be content for some time, several months even.

But then, after months of good sleep and no problems, something would happen that made him dive right back into the restless nights which left him exhausted - mentally and physically. So far, he’d recognized that anytime there was something big going on in his life, something that stressed him out more than usual or something that was a big change, he’d always react by… Well, not sleeping.

He’d been told that it was normal for sleep to be interrupted by things like that, by things that weighed on the mind. And that he’d fall back into the regular rhythm by talking about his worries and troubles to the people around him and maybe to a psychologist. By getting the proper medication. By writing lists of things he found troubling. By making sure he’d go to bed at the same time every evening and get up at the same time every morning. By checking whether the temperature of the room was not too warm and that the bed he was sleeping in was ergonomic. By making sure the room was dark and he wouldn’t be interrupted by noises during the night. By using lavender incense. By exercising more. By not eating too much carbs in the evening. By drinking chamomile tea to relax. By meditating. By not using his phone or computer for two hours before sleeping. By this and that and those.

Slowly, he started hating the smell of lavender and gagging at the taste of chamomile. He still got bored out of his mind by sitting down to meditate for 15 minutes everyday, but was stubborn enough to keep it up. He was able to get through four books a week after abandoning his phone in the evenings, and was still going to bed at 22 and getting up at 7 every single day. He also used a fortune on the new – extremely comfortable – bed he had been kind of dreaming about for a while, his sleeping problems only working as an excuse for him to buy it with Even.

And it wasn’t fucking helping.

Really, Isak was neither surprised that he had slipped back into having troubles with falling asleep lately, nor that he was now awake at stupid o’clock, unable to fall back asleep. He had just finished a bunch of exams and deadlines as well as applied for several promising jobs, and was now free of his responsibilities. All of his exams had gone relatively well and the ones that didn’t he wasn’t too worried about, as he was pretty sure he had managed to scramble through them well enough to still pass. All of the places he’d applied to for a job were his thing, and after taking the time to really craft applications he was happy with, he was confident he’d score at least an interview at a place or two.

Almost miraculously, during the studying and applying, he’d slept fine, and the freetime he now had on his hands was more than welcome. So it was a win-win scenario, many would say. But not for him, apparently. Instead, now that he was finally finished with what was essentially weeks worth of immense stress, his brain took the sudden shift – from being constantly on the edge of a nervous breakdown to being free as a bird – as too big of a change, which left him lying awake with barely two hours of restless sleep.

After rolling around for a good half an hour, he finally gave up and sat up, flicking on his small table lamp, the bulb casting a warm and dim light into the room. He glanced over his shoulder at Even, and turned the light a bit so he was sure to block it from shining straight into Even’s face. Isak reached into the drawer of his bedside table, and pulled out the book he’d reluctantly put down earlier that night. It had been a rather slow story so far, but as the book was a thriller, it had swallowed him whole and now, over halfway through the book, the story was sure to get its turning point very soon. He didn’t compromise his routines due to a book, of course, and did go to bed at the same time as always – but as predicted, he had gotten back up after half an hour of trying to play sleepy and continued reading. And then he repeated the process for who knows how many times before actually falling asleep, only to be awake again now.

He put his pillow behind his back for support, and as he got comfortable against it he glanced at Even again, this time looking at him long enough to register his current position, and stifled a snort: instead of his boyfriend, the other side of the bed seemed to be taken over by a huge knotted mess of limbs and bed sheets. Isak reached out to lift a corner of the duvet and there Even was, hair messily sticking out from the top of his head. Carefully, Isak pushed one loose lock away from Even’s forehead, earning a silent snuffle from his boyfriend. He smiled softly, relaxing back against his pillow and keeping his eyes on Even, examining his face.

Even looked so relaxed and peaceful that usually, Isak would have been envious – downright jealous, even – for the sleep he was able to get while Isak spent yet another night tossing and turning and doing anything but sleeping. This time though, he only felt relief, as Even had had his fair share of shitty nights over the last couple of weeks, and the dark shadows under his eyes were glaring evidence of that. Isak sighed, biting his lip and briefly wondered if he could have done something differently to help Even, the guilt making its way to the surface ever so easily when the exhaustion weighed his limbs and fogged his ability to think rationally. He was well aware of the fact that he had been rather snappy and difficult despite doing his best to contain it. Then again, Even had been sluggish and whiny despite trying his best, so it had been a doomed effort right off the bat to live like they hadn’t both had the worst week in a long time.

It was good to see that one of them finally got the sleep he deserved.

Isak sighed and reached for his book once more. He opened it from where he had closed it, the page marked with a neat, silver metal bookmark Even had proudly presented him with about a month back, after being absolutely horrified with Isak’s habit of leaving dog ears on book pages. The bookmark had a little charm dangling on it, shaped and coloured to be a red snapback. Isak didn’t really wear snapbacks anymore; however, the sentimental value they held and the fact that Even had chosen it for him because it reminded him of Isak had made him a little soft inside. Still did.

Isak placed the bookmark on the table and straightened his back a bit and continued reading. The shuffle of the pages when he turned them had become a soothing sound for him, and he felt himself relax little by little as he ran his fingers across the smooth paper, flipping page after page after page, the story – despite the suspension and twists in it – feeling like a safe haven in the middle of the deep and intimidating sea of thoughts for his tired mind.

Isak startled when the bed shifted suddenly, and turned his gaze to Even who was now blinking against the reading light, squinting and rubbing his eyes.

“You’re awake.”

Even’s voice was groggy and heavy with sleep and his hair messily pointed in all directions rather endearingly. Isak huffed softly at the sight.

“Hmm, yeah.”

“What time is it?”

Isak cringed, unable to help himself, and turned his gaze back to the pages, not really registering the words in front of him as he did.

“One should absolutely be asleep o’clock,” he mumbled, with a strain in his voice, not bothering to mask his disappointment – not sure towards what, though. Probably at himself, even if Even always had the patience to remind him it was not something he could control.

“Shit, it is huh…” Even yawned widely and snuggled a little bit closer, pressing his face against Isak’s thigh. “Have you slept at all?”

“A little.”

“Did you try falling asleep again?”

Isak shot a look at Even who grimaced immediately, reaching a hand out and pressing his palm on Isak’s bare back and making little circles with his thumb.

“Sorry, that was a dumb thing to ask.”

“Yeah, it was,” Isak sighed, giving up on the book in his hands, and picked up the bookmark from the table. He carefully placed it in between the pages before he closed the book and slid it back onto the table next to him. “It’s fine, though.”

“No, it’s not,” Even said right away. “Sorry. I know it’s difficult for you. I should’ve been more considerate.”

Even’s hand came to a halt on Isak’s back. As Isak turned back to him, the expression on Even’s face was very serious despite the obvious sleepiness, but also made him look like a kicked puppy at the same time.

“Even, it’s fi–”

“No. I’m sorry,” Even insisted again, keeping his eyes locked with Isak’s. The grogginess paired with stubborness made him sound almost childlike, and Isak couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. He reached out to gently brush his fingers over Even’s cheek, who tilted his head a bit to press his cheek against Isak’s cupped hand and then turned it a bit to give a small peck on his fingers. Isak chuckled.

“It’s okay. We can blame it on sleep talking.”

Even quirked a brow and straightened up a bit – as best as he could while still laying on his side – and an amused smile appeared on his lips. It reminded Isak all over again how much he liked that smile, and how much he had missed it in the past weeks.

“Sleep talking?” Even asked, his hand on Isak’s back dropping against the mattress with a muffled thud. Isak nodded.

“Yeah. Sometimes one can appear completely awake and talk like normal, but the words and sentences make no sense as the person is actually sleepwalking and dreaming. And, hence, sleep talking ,” he said and leaned a bit more against the pillows, letting his head fall back against the wall. “You do say nonsense while wide awake, too, though. That Gabrielle does the best pop music. That my tea tastes like wet leaves and piss.”

Isak tried to keep a straight face but his efforts crashed and burned when he burst out laughing when Even presented him with an extremely exaggerated eye roll.

“Whatever. That tea of yours really tastes like wet leaves and piss, though,” Even scoffed and laughed as well. Isak scrunched up his nose little, before he sighed, his laugh toeing the line of hysterical.

“It really fucking does, doesn’t it? It’s so bad.”

Even snickered and poked Isak’s side, making him jump with a yelp. He glared at Even, but even in the teasing look in Even’s eyes, he could also see a hint of empathy before Even rolled over to his back, yawning into his fist before rubbing his eyes.

“Can I, like... help you? In some way?” Even asked carefully as he tucked his arms under his head and turned to stare at the ceiling, a little frown forming on his face. Isak knew that face – it was the one Even wore when he was desperate to solve a dilemma that was outside of his understanding. Isak had seen it multiple times when Even was working on his school projects and got stuck, but really couldn’t figure how he felt when the face was so obviously directed at him.

Isak sighed and scratched his cheek, shrugging.

“Probably not.”

“Are you sure?” Even asked, sounding a little disappointed as he glanced at Isak with a purse of his lips. Isak could see it troubled Even that he was not being able to do anything for Isak to make it easier. And Isak really loved his boyfriend to bits as he was always ready to do anything he could to ensure Isak’s happiness, but he also felt very bad when he knew there was really nothing that Even could help. He looked down at his hands, and mumbled almost inarticulately: “Yeah. Sorry.”

It must’ve come across a little wobbly, as Even sat up immediately and pulled Isak into a bit of an awkward half hug.

“Hey, it’s okay. I just worry, that’s all.”

Isak nodded and leaned his head against Even’s shoulder despite the challenging angle, a sudden need of being close and cared for washing over him. Almost like reading his thoughts, Even let go of him, slid back down on his back and reached an arm out as an invite.

“Come here.”

Isak turned off the light on the bedside table and crawled back under the covers, making sure to plaster himself against Even, not an inch between them. Even shuffled a bit so Isak could rest his head on his shoulder. Isak felt an arm circling around his back and kiss in his hair, followed by a sound of a loud yawn.

“Sorry I woke you up,” he whispered and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and familiar scent of his boyfriend enveloping him as he hid his nose to the curve of Even’s neck. Even hummed, and Isak could hear it in his voice that Even was well on his way back to the slumber.

“Hmm, ‘s fine. How are you feeling?”

“Not sleepy. But it’s good here.”

“What is?”

“Being here, next to you,” Isak responded, feeling a lot more comfortable and content than just a while ago. “Not alone.”

He tilted his face up and blindly placed a kiss on Even’s face, aiming at Even’s lips but only reaching far enough for the peck to reach his jaw.

“You missed by a mile,” Even mumbled, his words coming out a bit slurred with sleep. Isak huffed.

“Go to sleep, you sound drunk.”

“My aim is still better than yours,” Even hummed, startling Isak as he lazily tapped a finger on his nose in the pitch darkness. Isak brushed his hand away and scoffed, burying his face back into Even’s neck, listening to his breaths getting slower and deeper as he drifted off, his arm still securely around Isak.

This time, Isak didn’t mind staying awake all that much.

#SKAM #Skam OG #Evak #Evak fan fic #SKAM fan fic #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #insomnia #my writing

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