#i'll be constantly exhausted for the first six months or so | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dykeomania · 1 year

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𝒎𝒊𝒂'𝒔 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒔: parenthood (3).

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: parenthood means stress, and endurance, and exhaustion, and learning curves, and ... sometimes, really, really, really good sex?

𝐚/𝐧: this is my Parenthood (Thought) Piece because i understand that i am mentally 30 but i llloooooooooooveeee a good domesticity concept i eat that shit up nnomnomnonmonmnom. i needed to talk about early parenthood with ellie and i needed to talk about some of the ... Alternate Consequences ... of early parenting .. if you will. this was fun. this was also composed between the hours of like, 2-4am. i think it's pretty literate, and kind of alright. you may have a fun time reading it. if you don't, sorry i'll venmo you a dollar. not ssssure if i really have anything else to say, honestly. proofread (at a very early hour, mind you) but i always make mistakes, i'll always edit over time.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: i understand these tags are like super weird and i always preface my fics like "fuck around and find out," but just to be clear, this fic does not sexualize children in any way. any way. just to really make that clear. mentions of you and ellie being engaged. joel's technically alive. mentions of children. parental uncertainty. stress. a little bit of sub bottom!ellie. we're dipping our toes in. also dom top!ellie. mentions of oral (both receiving), mentions of vaginal penetration (reader receiving). both ellie and the reader being milfs / ellie thinking its really hot how you are a good mom (there are still so many things in this category that i could've hit that im probably not even thinking of, so if y'all like this and wanna talk about them, Please talk to me) i write in past tense for literally all of it and this is just a me thing, but that's not really my style, so things may be .. off. or maybe it's just me. maybe i'm tripping. we'll see. it's like, 4am. so.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.1k, just about (i did too much).

. . . .

you both lived on the farm. it was a quiet, proud little life that you lead. a picturesque actualization of all of the little thoughts and dreams that you and ellie have had about living together, about having a family. though, parenthood was new, and difficult. there were some nights that the baby wouldn't stop crying, and both of you would take turns feeling like shit -- one usually at a grander magnitude than the other -- because neither of you would know what to do. what, am i like, a bad mom? does he hate me? you spent time convincing each other that that is simply not the case, and that this was all part of the process. that you were both new, and learning, and that it's okay.

if you knew nothing else, whether that be due to not having experienced parenthood before or the delirium accompanying the heavy set bags and dark circled ruminating under both of your eyes, then you did know that there were a few things for certain: he will suck his thumb. his cries will turn to wails which will turn to sniffles, which will turn to sighs. he will get tired. he will roll over, and coo, and will go to sleep.... eventually.

granted, while this mentality in general made things easier throughout the early days of raising your newborn son, there was still no doubt that it was.. exhausting. in every way. parenting was a constant learning curve, and it took tolls on both of you in different ways. for ellie, she'd get quiet. snippy, even, and gain a little bit too much audacity at times. a snarky remark or demonstration of blatant impatience towards something minuscule, but still hurtful. her frustration would always point toward some deeper issue that she often struggled met with annoyance first, and words second. one of the first things that ellie learned while parenting was that she was really bad at communicating. she'd find herself throughout the first three, maybe even six months, constantly finding ways to say sorry.. even without saying really having said it. like, slipping into bed when after you'd finally went to sleep, and pressing kisses to your temple. or making sure the dishrack was completely empty, so you'd have one less thing to work about. albeit she struggled to verbally explain that while she understood you were too, she was just.. a little tired.

maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or her willingness to take up most of the tasks that required attention in areas other than just the inside of the home. which.. you did have to admit, were a little bit more intense than cleaning and washing dishes. no one asked her to do all of that. she took it upon herself to do extraneous tasks, like fix the fucking roof, during the peak of summer. and you'd always offer to help, truly. but it was always no, i've got it. you've got other stuff to do. you just go play with him, and i'll be in to take over in a little, okay?

you would, at times, have to sit her down and remind her to take it slow. that the roof isn't really bothering either of you, right now, and it won't until .. october, probably. that it's okay to swap out, if need be. she can do dishes, cook if she wants (burn down the house, if she wants), clean up while you go fix the wiring of the fence, tend to the horses, whatever the fuck she feels the need to do, on top of having to do already.

you would have to remind her, that she just can't do everything all at once. and that's okay. but that's also neither of your faults.

both you and parenthood alike would teach her to .. slow down, take it easy, and to talk.

ellie would have to teach you something similar, believe it or not. your back hurt. your tits wouldn't stop fucking leaking, and ever since you gave birth, you wouldn't stop getting these aching migraines that made your ears ring. you quite literally found yourself bending over backwards, trying to do everything all at once all of the time (sound familiar?), because you knew that it was as much of your job as it was ellie's. you can change the diapers, you can pump the breastmilk, you can clean the house, you can stop him from crying, you can read him books (that he couldn't understand, yet, technically), you could do everything. and theoretically, you could. and you would, until it made you frayed, and unhealthy.

that would be enough to make ellie to step in, put her hand on your shoulder, and advise you in a tone that was about as gentle as it was stern:

hey, let maria take him for a couple of days. you're tense -- i can feel you from across the house.

despite the anxiety and the frustration and the sleep deprivation and the exhaustion, you really would feel grateful to be experiencing this trying time together. there were some patterns characterizing it that were obviously stressful, and anxiety-inducing. but there were some consistencies throughout it that were be sweet, and tender. like, running each other warm baths. sitting – either in the bath, with the other, or on the toilet, or the side of the bath – and talking in low volume, not really out of fear of waking the baby, but just to kind of relish in the pocket of peace that existed between the two of you in that moment. the affection never died between the two of you. you were always snuggling close to each other when it came time for bed. always pressing tender kisses to each other's shoulders, holding each other's hands, circling your thumbs and indexes over each other's engagement rings.

… But!

you know... i'm a whore. so honestly, what really spurred this whole thought, is the fact that .. during parenthood your sex lives would practically be nonexistent. and it's not something that either of you really notice, until one of you explicitly brought it up. raising a child -- especially raising one in an environment that you both worked to keep safe, secured, and comfortable -- is a lot of work.

it wouldn't dawn upon either of you until you both were eating one night at the table - another tradition that you did not forfeit. you managed to dance around the subject due to something entirely tangential, and then it hit you, and you said – out of pure realization, ellie, we haven't had sex in .. like, months.

and just like that, the consequences of at least 98 days of involuntarily celibacy hit you both like a fucking truck.

for you, it came in the form of .. the simple reminder that your soon-to-be-wife is really... really fucking physically flawless. you'd notice this everytime she'd wear short-sleeves, or shirts no sleeves, which was really only.. every once in a while, as jackson got colder, or whenever you both woke up. sometimes you'd find yourself looking at ellie's back profile as she sat upright on the bed, adjacent and turned from you, stretching a big, grand stretch, and you'd feel a specific heat beginning to tickle the insides of your thighs. you found it harder to keep your gazes to yourself as ellie exited the shower, muscles apparent, and glistening. her whole body was littered with scars, and yet she was still so gorgeous. it was hard to believe that even for a second you failed to recall – or be conscious of – the fact that as much of a teddy-bear as she was, you were practically dating a fucking sculpture.

naturally, you would act on your desires first. and frankly, ellie would be so willing to lean into them.

she'd be lying if she said sometimes she didn't wake feeling a bit restless, and like there was only one thing that soothe her. she craved it, sometimes – your hands, on her. all she needed were some quick rubs against her clit and kisses against her skin to motivate her to get out of bed and feed the animals. and she was so, so fortunate to have a fiancée good enough to her to give her just that.

she dared, shame on her, to forget how good you could make her feel. ellie never really let anyone touch her, before she met you. before she met you, she was honestly convinced a lot of the parts "down there" didn't work. she could hardly achieve making herself cum. it’d take so long. ellie hardly masturbated because she’d get impatient in any ordeal that wasn’t some needy, feral 3am occurrence that left her stirring, sweaty, and overwhelmed. it was a lot of buildup for what she saw as, in the end, very little payoff. and as far as other people making her cum went? well, no one had ever gotten that far. frankly, she didn’t think anyone would get that far.

that was until she met you.

it definitely wasn’t easy. there were a lot of tired wrists and upper biceps, and your jaw did get pretty sore. her pussy was gorgeously messy. but her clit liked to hide sometimes underneath the extra skin. when you found it, you learned that it was usually, extremely sensitive. but you told her that that was okay. you could make that work.

you spent a lot of time learning all of the technicalities. what was too much, what wasn’t enough. what to say to her; how fast to rub her.

it paid off, because about a month into dating, you showed her that it — and frankly, anything — was possible. just takes a little bit of time, and patience, kisses and whispers of affirmation how about how good she feels. how good she’s doing. takes some listening, intently, to what she needs. to what her body needs.

can feel you twitching. you want my finger right here?

fuck, yeah. right there. just like that, baby -- please don't fuckin' stop.

and once you got good at it (and you got so fucking good at it), ellie couldn’t get enough. she jokes, regularly, that that’s one of the reasons why she’s going to marry you.

ellie's voice in the mornings would breathless and empty. all bostonian accent, rasp, and nothing else. they were vulnerable. whenever she'd let you between her thighs and you placed those kitten licks across her clit transitioning into these longer, learned drags, her moans would break, like glass. her hips would shuffle. sometimes, you’d have to hold her still.

no no, fucking running. it’s okay. just let me. can you let me? can you let me take care of you, baby?

fuck. yes. yes, yes, fuck. s— sorry just – oh, fuck.

it would mostly just be wake-me-ups. but ellie's back would always be arching by the middle of it. she'd find herself gasping, and sighing, and fucking -- against your tongue, against your finger -- and gripping onto whatever, all while mumbling to gods she didn't believe in.

that feels so, so so fucking – g–good.

so fucking good to me; feels so good, babe, thinki'mgonnacum–

ellie's orgasms hit her the same way every time. hard. ridiculously hard. leaving her breathing heavy, and screwing her eyes shut while she grasped at your hand, or your hair. her thighs would tense -- sometimes scramble -- and then collapse, after a while. she became this perfect amalgamation of tinted cheeks, chapped pink lips, messy brown hair, and sticky skin.

she was such a fucking .. painting. she's so incredible.

the plan, as she wrote it, often was to immediately get out of bed after you made her cum. but oftentimes, she couldn't do anything for the first couple of minutes except lie there, body just a sack of bones and jello. her head would rest instead of pressing into yours, or would nuzzle its way deep into your neck. both occasions a precursor to her finally catching her breath. when she moves her head to kiss you, capturing your lips in something thankful, and sweet, it is almost always grounding for the both of you.

better?

so much better. holy shit, babe.

and that's not to say that ellie would never act on her desires. she was always just a little more calculated.

for ellie, her frustrations would creep up on her in the weirdest ways. it would be.. small things. things that were, actually, probably mutual. watching you wash the dishes, even when you’re not bent in a particularly promiscuous way. watching you cook, even when she wasn't really watching you, 'cause she was keeping the baby busy. but what really did her in was watching how you handled your son. something about seeing you have him on your hip, cooing at him or laughing with him, or playing with him, or smothering his cheek in big kisses that elicited these big, big giggles from him, drove her.. a very, questionable? kind of crazy? it was pure. it was so sweet, and most of the time, it was just that. but you were so, good with him. after so many months, despite all of the struggle, you really did blossom into a beautiful, capable mother, who still held the glow and all of the weight from the pregnancy and just–

ellie would realize how good it all looked on you. she would feel.. really proud.

and it made her feel like you .. deserved something.

you both remember the first night she’d acted on her desires like it was yesterday. it was on the night that you two had hosted a dinner party for all of your mutual close friends and people who you called family. the dinner was a 3-week-long process of grocery picking, tablecloth finding, invitation designing, and recipe collecting. it honestly stressed you out more than it did ellie because, to be honest, she was kind of just there for moral support. it was your idea, after having had maria over for dinner once. and it was a great idea. but it left you drained – defeated from the final week of preparations, which was especially hectic. when you bathed that night, you bathed alone, a little overstimulated from the day. but you’d let ellie run the bath, though. only because she insisted on doing so.

the soak cured some of the ache that settled deep into your joints, muscles, and bones.. but not all of it. after you'd set the tub to drain, brushed your teeth, and wrapped a towel around your body, you entered the room with an expected level of silence. you slathered moisturizer on your face, over your arms, over your stretch marks. when it came time to take off your jewlery, the rings – except the prized one – came off easily. but when it came to your necklace, your hands were simply too slippery. you sucked your teeth. you always did this.

you eventually sighed, filling your lungs to call:

hey, bug. can you come help me take this necklace off, please?

ellie eventually would appear behind you, probably shuffling off of the bed or rounding some corner after changing and becoming into her own definition of comfortable. if she seriously complained, you didn’t hear it. you only felt her, how her hand placed itself on your shoulder just to let you know that she was behind you.

some things never change, move your hair over.

you do as asked, and hang your head. ellie's fingers brush against your skin with a kind of delicacy that makes shivers run down your spine. you lift your eyes, catching ellie's in the mirror before you. yours, heavier than hers.

you watched as she fought a smile, or a smirk. either was a given with her, honestly — in retrospect, it was most likely the latter. you couldn’t really tell, though. she’d dipped her head, eyes fixated on her fingers that fiddled with your necklace clasp.

you did a really nice job on the dinner, tonight.

suddenly, you were the one fighting the smile. you watched her, still.

yeah?

oh, you like.. completely knocked it out of the park. you did great. it was really, really really nice.

you didnt know if ellie was referring to the food, or the setup, or the wine choices – whichever. but something about the appraisal made your head buzz, like you were coming down off a two glasses of champagne (which.. maybe you were). ellie successfully removed your necklace, and yet didn’t back away. instead, she pressed herself closer to your back, and tilted her head so that she could speak just above the top of your ear,

you looked really nice, too.

been waiting for you to settle down, a bit. so i could tell you.

you probably hummed something in response, something that was probably suggestive but also thankful at the same time. it gets lost, though. because ellie bent down, and placed these slow, unassuming, appreciative kisses down your neck, and against the plateau of your shoulder. between those words and the way her hands lingered over your skin, the way she was breathing you in and drinking up the moment, and your scent, made you melt into her way too easily. like butter in a warm pan.

you exhale, like you've been meaning to for .. you don't even know how long.

el..

mhm?

you realize though, that the house is quiet. too quiet. there is a stillness to it that makes the pit of your stomach twist, and anxiety and guilt bubble in the base of it before you could even stop it.

...where's our baby?

you felt ellie grin against your shoulder. she masked it with a peck,

he’s at joel’s.

and then you felt her tongue drag across your skin. a long, open-mouthed kiss across the midpoint of your neck. she presses the padding of her tongue against tender flesh, sucks hard enough for blood to make the skin bloom, and almost -- against your own will -- makes your eyes roll shut.

the simple act -- acts rather, of ellie coordinating behind your back to have the baby taken off your hands (you knew it for a few days – it's always a few days). she thought she was so slick. it was odd, how much relief those three words gave you,

but at the same time, you kind of wanted to be mad at her.

it was hard to, though. but you couldn't think straight, with how her hands were moving over you, over your towel. with her pelvis pressed against your ass, and her lips on your neck.

you tried,

he was fine here. everything was .. fine, ellie.

but she was so..

i never said everything wasn't fine.

i just think... you've had a really long, stressful week.

you hate how your body reacts to ellie's hands smoothing up your towel. your whole body broke out into goosebumps, seemingly trying to fit into the pores of ellie's palm,

and i think i wanna make it better.

ellie's breath was hot on your ear, and you didn’t realize it, but your head was already tilted. your eyes had begun to flutter closed. you felt yourself, almost swaying against her. your mouth hung as her teeth grazed over sensitive flesh. her tongue pressed against familiar spots that had been untouched -- like the rest of you -- for so, so long. it was too activating.

in your best effort of defense, you spun yourself to turn around to face her. ellie’s head was tilted, her eyes were low. her breath spanned over your mouth while your palm laid flat against her chest. you stalled – shivering, shaking, suddenly caught in a rapture of toiling emotion that you hadn't felt that strongly in .. god knows how long.

her head dipped back into your neck. she pressed her cotton-clad hips against your towel-covered ones, and it just wasn’t enough. it was a lot, and yet, not enough.

your hand snaked over the nape of her neck as you breathed against your cheek, whole body feeling heavy and compliant. your knees were jelly. you could feel your clit. pulsing, and pleading. it ached as you feel ellie's hand slip over the backs of your thighs, inching under the cusps of your ass.

you needed something. you needed anything. you like to think that you had no idea what necessity meant before this moment, because you had never felt it so strongly. it knocked the wind out of you, only leading you to ask – to plead, without pleading,

e... ellie?

and she understood.

ellie’s head lifted from the crook of your neck she crashed her lips upon yours. the kiss was heavy, and deep. your knees buckled, and where you swore you may fall, she made sure you didn’t. you were shuddering, a hand suddenly possessive around the back her neck. her hands suddenly possessive and stabilizing with the grips she held on your ass. months worth of unknown tension relinquished itself in the pushes and pulls you demanded from each other's bodies while teeth clattered and bit into chapped flesh, turned glossy. moans and breaths circumvented between the two of you, and suddenly, the whole room felt like it was on fire.

she delivered a verbal command, teeth tugging at your lower lip as she half-way parted from it,

jump.

you’d used whatever remainder of your energy to follow the simple instruction, your legs wrapping around ellie's waist like she was your lifeline. they remained around her as your back fell against the duvet, and as she kissed you so deep, your head ran dizzy and your body was left no choice but to arch into her.

you remember your hand smoothing over her abdomen, and reaching up to grab her chest. you remember sighing into her mouth over the fact that you could. you relished in the moan she released your mouth, and only returned it halfway.

you remember gripping her and massaging her and bucking your bare hips up against her in hopes of making her make that noise again, louder. you remember how she bucked her hips into you in hopes of the same sentiment, her waistband grazing against your bair clit cauisng her to succeed far quicker than you.

the night was filled with mind-blurring, fuck-until-the-sun-rises kind of sex. sex that you had no idea your body had needed until ellie had given it to you. your body reeled with every kiss that she'd placed over your skin – you’d watched as she peeled back your towel, and replaced bits and segments of the fabric with her lips in soft, attentive kisses. it was hard to believe that they would transpire into messy, sloppy things. wet, tantilizing things that would trek down the axis of your body. that would hold your body hostage as her tongue and her lips worked on your clit to bring you closer and closer to your third orgasm of the hour.

your body wasn’t used to it. any of it. it was, however, too used to and hyperaware of having a tiny human in the house that you simply couldn’t wake at this time of night.

you were shuffling, at one point, scrambling to put a hand on your mouth, or to bite your own knuckle. when that didn’t work, you let your head fall over to a pillow while you fucked up against ellie’s tongue and bit the fabric, trying so hard not to moan. but you felt yourself cracking.

you’ll never forget how ellie looked up at you. eyes a deep, pointed shade of green as she shook her head – mouth still attached to your clit – which in and of itself had almost made you cry. when she pulled away, it was the only time you let yourself make a noise. only because the whine that was ripped out of you was entirely unanticipated, just like her action.

her breath rippled over your the nerves as she ran her fingertip up, and down your hole. you whimpered, hips shifting up relfexivley, cunt tightening just from the invitation. nearly gushing from the feeling of her beginning to small rub circles against it, instead.

i’ve missed you so fucking much.

she dipped a finger inside of you with such ease, and no warning. a long, slender digit bottomed out inside your cunt, before she pushed in another, and made your jaw go slack. her eyes hung on yours – glossed over with lust and a bit narrow as a result of the devious smile that’d begun to overtake her expression.

she’d begun pumping her fingers.

he’s not here, baby.

it’s just us.

her fingers were so fucking long, you swore to god, you would never want a life without them in it. couldn’t bear another 3, 4, 5 months without having them in you. jesus fuck.

wanna hear you.

wanna hear you be as loud as you fuckin’ want.

ellie emphasized her words by proceeding to fuck you faster. her tongue latched back onto your clit, rolling over and slurping at the nerves, rolling beads of saliva and your juices into and against the bundle. the sound of your cunt was so encompassing, it was hard to believe that it became the backdrop for the moans that ellie had ripped out of you. that made it into, and mostly out of, the pillow, amidst a sea of praise and bucking hips.

the next morning was luxuriuosly unproductive. ellie had only woke to feed the animals and returned to bed and slept with you until noon. she was always affectionate, come mornings. but especially riding off of the honeymoon buzz of the night prior, she made the morning after memorably tender, often pressing kisses to your forehead, and your shoulder, regardless of how awake both you or she was. she’d whisper sweet nothings into your ear, promises of how much she loved you. how she’s really glad this is how she gets to spend her life, as long as it’s with you. all of the sugary things that eventually caramelize into jokes and giggles and laughter, and that how you’d know it was time to get up.

it’s safe to say that parenthood brought you and ellie both very interesting things. it brought you challenges, and it brought you lows. it brought you highs, and photographs, and moments where you did feel like all of your hard-work was paying off, even when it didn’t seem that way. having a family meant having the opportunity to open your house up to people you who you loved. having a family meant having traditions, and things to fall back on – things that you would develop over time, as you learned more and discovered more of what you wanted. and having a family with ellie meant that you could fall back on each other, no matter how tough things got.

.. it also just meant sometimes having really.. really good sex.

(whenever you remembered that that was something that the two of you could actually do, that is.)

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams smut #joel miller #the last of us smut #literally no one asked for this i just needed this #it's pretty valid i guess #i always notice its so easy to just write thoughts that come to my mind as opposed to like Hovering over one idea for like 2 months #idk that's wild #i feel like i have texts that are literally just written a lot prettier but like #i like the vibe setup #i just can’t reread it anymore or else i get really like critical and for good reason but bleh #actually no (10am mia speaking)#this is probably like fine im gonna give myself the benefit of the doubt #i Finished it which was Good i'm gonna pat myself on the back #good job mia!!!!!

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thollandx · 2 years

Text

We can do it together

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Angst to Fluff

Impatiently I waited for my husband to join me in our marriage bed. It had been a week now that Benedict always came to bed when I was already asleep.

But not tonight!

I would stay awake and fall asleep with him, as we always did.

As two hours passed and I became more and more tired, I realized that he would not come anymore. Sadly, I put my right hand on my belly and tried to fight off the tears that were coming.

I am six months pregnant and I want nothing more than to have my husband by my side. This pregnancy is my first and I want to enjoy that together with my husband, but Benedict was hiding in his studio for more than two weeks now. I did not know why he was constantly in his studio, when I visited one there, he immediately sent me away.

Sadly I stroked my bulging belly and slowly I got scared.

Did my husband no longer find me attractive enough? Had I become too repulsive to him because of the pregnancy?

Quietly more and more such thoughts crept in and with tears in my face I found my sleep.

Tired, I walked around our large estate and stroked my belly. I was very tired today, because I had not slept well during the night. I was constantly plagued by thoughts that Benedict no longer loved me and I was also preoccupied with our child. It kicks today stronger and more often than usual. In addition also that I felt today constantly nausea.

I wanted Benedict to take me in his arms and calm me down. To told me that he was there for me and would not leave me alone.

Where was my husband? Who had always carried me on his hands...

Where are you Benedict?

Quietly I crept into the studio and opened the door very slowly, I did not go in.

From the door I just watched Benedict and cried silently.

I miss him so much...

We live in the same house, yet we were miles away from each other.

Suddenly I sprayed another strong kick from my child, I groaned in pain and went to my knees.

My husband turned around and his eyes widened in fright.

Benedict was with me in seconds and half helping me get up.

"My dear, what's the matter? Are you not feeling well? Aren't you supposed to be in bed taking it easy? Why did you even come here?" my husband asked me as he helped me take a seat on an armchair.

"I miss you Benedict...You've been so distant from me and the child for the past few weeks...Don't you love me anymore?", I finally asked him and started crying again.

My husband opened his mouth to say something to me as I groaned again in pain.

Fearful now I looked to Benedict, I didn't know this pain.

"Benedict something is wrong...The child is always kicking me but never this extreme. I am scared..." I explained to my husband.

My husband nodded quickly and called my maid over.

"She will take you to our rooms and you lie down in bed and recover. I'll get a doctor," my husband explained to me and kissed my forehead gently.

With tears in my eyes, I went back to the bedroom with my maiden.

I lay in my bed, sad and exhausted, waited for the doctor. Hopefully everything was all right with my child.

After a while the doctor came together with my husband.

He examined me quickly and then looked at me seriously.

"Mrs. Bridgerton, you and the child are fine. But I think you are worried about something. This is not good for you or the child, the child is nervous and therefore kicking more often and harder. Please get a grip on yourself quickly, otherwise you will harm yourself and the child," the doctor explained to me and then said goodbye.

My husband looked at me and looked sadly at my belly.

"What are you so worried about, dear?" asked Benedict into the silence and I immediately looked at him.

"I'm worried about you about our relationship! About whether you even love me anymore! For two weeks you barely looked at me! All the time you were painting! Do you still love me or the child?", I asked him and started crying again.

My husband looked at me stunned and immediately hugged me.

"Oh dearest, please forgive me...I didn't know what I was doing...It's my fault that you are in such pain...", he whispered in my ear.

I detached myself and looked at him.

"Why did you ignore me?", I asked him.

"Because I'm afraid...afraid of failing...afraid of not being able to be a good father and husband. But I already failed at that last one," my husband spoke sadly, gently placing his hand on my stomach.

"You don't know how happy I am that we are having a child, but the closer the birth gets, the more scared I get. I'm afraid that I can't be a good father and my child will be unhappy...Damn...I made you so unhappy because of my own self-doubt. Instead of being by your side to support you. What a bad husband I am!" my husband scolded himself.

Gently, I put a hand on his cheek.

"It's normal to have doubts and fears, please just talk to me about it next time. Don't close yourself off from me. I am also afraid of becoming a mother, but I am confident that we can manage together," I explained and my husband looked at me lovingly.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked shyly.

"Of course and now come to me, I want to cuddle",

My husband quickly joined my side and together we cuddled. Happily I closed my eyes and finally found my restful sleep in the arms of my loving husband.

"I love you both," Benedict still whispered, but was I already asleep.

#he is so cute #he is my everything #he is so beautiful #perfect #imagine bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton brothers #luke thompson x reader #luke thompson

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on-the-couch · 1 month

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Parenting thoughts and tips...

From a first-time mom who's trying to get it right :)

I'll be honest being a parent is hard and no matter how many books I've read and videos I've watched I still didn’t and don’t feel prepared, but you learn as you go. I’ve called my mom just about every day. I’m a first-time mom, my daughter was born in October 2023, and she just hit 6 months. These are some tips and opinions I've picked up through my journey so far.

Babies in my opinion can’t be spoiled because you're holding them. The way I see it is this baby has been in the womb for 9 months, they were warm and safe and surrounded by mom all that time and now you want them to not be held. It doesn’t make sense to me so please hold your babies, let them take contact naps on your chest, keep them close to you because that's what they are used to and that's what they need. They are used to hearing mom's heartbeat, so they sleep better when on your chest. Skin to skin contact helps them regulate their temperature and helps them bond to their parents, so dads should do this too. Seemorehere

Moms don’t be afraid to ask for help. I know it's hard and you want to do everything for baby, but it can get overwhelming and exhausting. Talk with your partner and let them know what they can do for you and for the baby. This is new to both of you and it's going to take some time to get it right so be open and direct with your communication. Know that your emotions and hormones are all over the place and what works one week might not work the next and that's okay. Seemorehere

What's worked best for us these six months is a flexible schedule and I know it might not work for everyone. If things don’t get done right on time that’s okay for us. If she's a little fussier than normal, and we don't get out of the house because of it I'm not going to stress over it. We can go for a walk tomorrow instead. If the dishes don’t get done because she napped on me instead of in her bassinet then that's okay. For me dishes and laundry aren’t a priority. Priority will always be my baby, and what she needs.

Chest carriers are amazing, they keep baby close while leaving your hands free. If the baby is fussy and can’t sleep, I put her in the carrier and walk around with her and she knocks out right away. If I'm going to the store I pop, her in the carrier and get my shopping done. Same goes for doing the dishes and doing laundry. They're a great way to get her up and out of the house without having to hassle with a stroller and car seat. Go for a walk around the block and get some sun and fresh air. It'll be good for both of you. Seemorehere

Talk to your baby just like you did when they were in the womb, narrate your day, what you're doing, where you're going. They won’t really understand of course but they will be soothed by your voice, and it promotes brain development. What I like to do follows the book goodnight moon, while I turn off the tv or the lights I say goodnight to each item. I also like to lay in bed with her and make plans for the next day or talk about what she did that day. And when we're going to the car to go out somewhere I sing the Little Einsteins theme song, “We’re going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship” These little things will help form a routine and habits with her helping her understand what's around her.

Lastly, know you don’t have to constantly entertain your baby. Give them time to take in the world around them. Let them lie down and view the room without interruption. Babies can get overstimulated too and they can get fussy when too much is going on around them. So, take some time to slow things down and have them in a calm state. Have them sit against your chest where they can view your face or sit with them outside. Seemorehere

Just know you got this and you’re doing great. The days fly by so enjoy every moment of it they don't stay small forever. Everyone has bad days so don’t let them get you down there’s always tomorrow. :)

#parenting #tips and tricks #firsttimemom #baby #you got this #mommabear #new mom #newdad #advice #health and wellness #mental health

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chasingmemoriesofficial · 3 months

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CM!Jay is next. Here's my short(ish) stocky junkyard boy. I think he's the one who (physically) changed the least between here and canon (minus the godawful anime segments in the later seasons).

I added a bit more yellow to his color scheme because, you know, lightning? Electric stuff is normally yellow. I'll be honest, when I first saw the LEGO characters way back when, I was confused at why the Blue Ninja had lightning powers when my seven/eight-year-old brain associated lightning with the color yellow. It wasn't until my 11th grade science class that I saw that lightning/electricity was in fact blue in real life when my teacher showed us some tesla coils. Science is the best school subject and you can't change my mind.

While I went in an academic style for Zane, an andrognous style for Kai, and a grunge style for Cole, I took a cyberpunk/techie route for Jay's everyday outfits. He was originally the inventor and tech-savvy nerd of the group, which is an aspect I kept for my AU.

So, for the meat of it. Shadows under Jay's eyes? His powers are broken (literally) and his body produces electricity constantly, which not only electrifies his skin (hence the gloves) but it interferes with his sleep schedule and keeps him awake.

Sure, he'll crash from exhaustion every so often but he really only gets to sleep for maybe an hour at a time. Why are his powers like this?

Well, I made his eyebrow scar more important. Instead of being from a misfiring invention of his, it's actually from the car crash that killed both of his birth parents when he was six months old. Jay was thrown from the car and had a piece of shrapnel lodged in his soft skull (thank you MatPat for giving me this information through one of your many FNAF videos), which shredded one of his natural limiters (little additional parts of an EM's brain, one on each side of their frontal lobe.

Basically, Jay's powers are screwy because brain damage. Yeah, all the Ninja are messed up in my AU, each of them in different ways.

Also Jay was nearly kidnapped by Project Oracle like... 3 times? By the time he was a toddler. Cyrus (the same Cyrus from the last post) interfered the third time, which got Project Oracle to back off. How? Well, that's another story...

#ninjago #chasing memories au #fanfic #character design

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deliahroseland · 10 months

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I'm honestly on the verge of exhaustion, burn out and a mental breakdown working in the business I am currently working for.

For the last six months, I have been trying to work as hard as I possibly can to get things done. Since November, I've been more stressed than normal because of redundancies being made in the company and more work falling on my shoulders. Because of this, I am incredibly tired and need a long break to rid myself of the permanent exhaustion resting in my bones.

Nothing you do is good enough. You could have a mountain of work to do regarding one course you are in charge of, but you need to work on another course that you put to the side. What happens in lieu of this revelation? You are reprimanded for it and made to feel like what you have been working on is not good enough. However, when you switch focus to the course you have been neglecting, the same happens about the other course you have now had to put to the side. It is a frustrating cycle that has led to burnout and no longer caring about either course because I cannot win in this situation.

It is only made worse that I am unable to clearly keep my head straight on what I need to do and when. There aren't many staff, and I'm constantly feeling caged in because I don't feel like I can honestly offer my opinion to defend myself. If I do, I will be met with hostility and more prepared responses that further my suspicions that I will never win because the bosses don't understand what is happening.

I read something a while ago that said if every item of work is important, then none of it is important. I wholeheartedly agree with this.

The last year or so has been an absolute mess with my apprenticeship starting late, my first assignment not occurring until a month or so into my apprenticeship, and the extra work piled onto my desk this year that is not in my job description. I have worked my arse off, but I don't feel like it is enough to save the business or to get every task completed before Ofsted comes in. It all feels so useless and pointless, especially when I barely have the time to get everything done that needs doing. However, I refuse to work more hours—not that I have much choice because that means they'd have to pay me for that time. The business is in deficit. They cannot afford to pay me for more time.

Anyway, that is my first rant about work over. I have more joyless stories with more detail because I need the outlet for it and I cannot complain too much about work to the people I know. Mostly because I am always complaining about it.

I just want to make clear that I do love my job and what the business is trying to achieve. However, my main issue is there is not enough staff and there is a lot that needs fixing, but not enough time to fix everything. There are other issues as well, but I'll address these in another post. Until then!

#work #work rant #work rambles

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stxrvel · 3 years

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three months in

summary: Bucky was careful about how to keep his life (routine) in order until a loud, sentimental woman moved into the apartment next door.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: +2k

warnings: none, except English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

note: hi, long time no see. this is a draft of something i could more or less finish, but i wanted to upload it because i missed being around here. i haven't had a good few months and much less in relation to my inspiration to write, or lack of it, and i've also avoided forcing myself too much to write something. but this came out, and i don't have planned yet if i'll do a second part or not, i'm just going with the flow and i'll see if something else comes out of this or something new. i hope you like it!

- part 2: the part where it gets weird

Bucky had a set time to start his days. His shortage of personal items that were not extremely necessary made a lot of things easier for him in the morning. His small apartment was a gray cubicle, half empty and so lifeless that you could easily think it had been abandoned. Even before he got that place for himself, he knew that there would be almost nothing to keep him there (he was right, since he spent most days away from it). In this vein, his routine was monotonous, but safe.

Bucky had a set time to start his days. At six o'clock in the morning he would drink his coffee and ten minutes later he would be out the front door to return until after eight o'clock in the evening. On Sundays he would leave at nine o'clock and rarely stayed in that place past eleven in the morning. Every day he would take a different route, pass by different parks or buildings, and buy his lunch at places far from his apartment. Although he was trying, he still found it hard to shake the habit of believing that someone was constantly watching him.

Bucky... You could say that Bucky had a bit of patience. He put up with Sam and his constant messages, that was quite an accomplishment. Plus, he came out of his psych sessions completely undisturbed to finish going about his daily routine. Very few things really altered the security of his habits, and he was content to know that that was enough to not exhaust his little patience each day.

However, there were limits. And they centered on one person: his new neighbor.

Mrs. Hampton had moved in a week ago. The apartment was getting too small for her and her eighteen cats, so one of her children who worked for the government had gotten her a larger space where she could live peacefully and healthily with her animals.

The place was empty for a week. Bucky hardly noticed the absence of his old neighbor, since she did not continuously intrude on his routine. A few chats now and then, a few comments in the hallway and the words he overheard at the front desk when he passed by in the evenings. Bucky had probably heard something about the new tenant, but would simply have preferred to dismiss it from his memory.

Lousy decision.

The noise of her moving in certainly unnerved him. It was one of those strange days when he had decided to stay in his apartment all morning, with the sound on his TV of a documentary about koalas that he wasn't even paying attention to, understandably lost in the sea of his thoughts.

It was the sound of a box falling a few floors down that alerted him. Then it was the footsteps coming up, closer and closer. Female and male voices mingling in the commotion that was getting closer and closer to his floor, until he felt the hubbub originating right in his living room. For a moment he thought Mrs. Hampton had invited her numerous children to lunch, but he remembered how she had once told him they were too busy for that.

Promptly, Bucky understood that it had nothing to do with Mrs. Hampton. There was someone moving into the apartment down the hall, just to his left. The constant sound of boxes and furniture being transported and voices filtering through his walls caused him to short-circuit mentally, crushing a pillow over his face in a moment.

He had clearly regretted staying there that day.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

The next day, Bucky was opening his door at ten past six in the morning when something strange and magical happened. The door to his left also opened, and a brunette woman with her hair tied in a high ponytail and sportswear peeked out absentmindedly with headphones plugged into the cell phone she held in one of her hands. Bucky watched her, frowning. He swept his gaze across her accessories, a bit defensively, as she calmly hummed along to the beat of the song he could hear clearly in the distance, fully focused on trying to lock her door before turning around to meet the man face to face.

“For God's sake!” the woman exclaimed, her hands at chest level over her heart. She watched him with exorbitant eyes, her face drawing into a grimace, “Do you always stand like that to scare people?”

Bucky just watched her, his brow deeply furrowed. The woman arched an eyebrow, walking cautiously in front of him without taking her eyes off him, as if she wouldn't trust him with a pack of donuts. The feeling was reciprocated.

“Okay, creepy neighbor, see ya.”

And that “see ya” wasn't sarcasm, it was a curse.

Every day, that woman went out at the same time he did, and went to almost the same places he did. In the evenings, the music distilled from her apartment noisily, and echoed in Bucky's room deafeningly. He felt it haunted him, although he was aware that it was either coincidence or a clash of personalities. For some reason, he felt that this woman was a female version of Sam. And the thought terrified him.

Bucky tried to avoid it. He tried to avoid her. However, the stress also left him exhausted from time to time. And when she told him that a little music wasn't going to hurt his old man ears, Bucky decided to stop fighting the current. Weeks had passed.

So he began to get used to the music, stopped walking with his arms crossed or with his hands in his pockets when they coincided on their route, and stopped avoiding her when she sat near him on the subway.

He was coupling up once more, until she broke with his routine once more.

“Why do you take different routes every day?” she spoke to him one day, on the subway.

They hadn't spoken to each other for a couple of weeks, and Bucky felt puzzled for a few minutes, doubting if the words were really meant for him, and if so ignoring them, until he felt a blow to his side from a nudge from his neighbor. Bucky tensed in his chair and turned to look at her with a frown.

“Are you afraid of someone chasing you or something?” she continued, followed by a chuckle, as if that was the most normal, everyday thing in her life, “My sister is similar. My dad thinks she has persecution delusion. Her front door has seven locks and she has a million different routes to work. I don't even know how she remembers them all. Not to mention the outings. She keeps looking everywhere, she can't sit still in a restaurant. Her phone has one of those things... black tape on the camera. Can you believe it? She broke up with her last boyfriend because she thought he was too invasive, and the poor guy just-”

The subway had stopped at Bucky's stop and he didn't waste a second getting up and out of there as fast as he could.

For some reason he didn't understand, his neighbor had thought he was some kind of complaint box when they'd barely exchanged a glance since they'd met. Mainly because Bucky preferred to avoid the source and reason for the mess of his daily routine.

Because he definitely needed a new change if he didn't want it all to get out of hand.

So he started leaving his house an hour later than usual. It worked for him for several days. He felt peace for finally finding a healthy routine that didn't hurt his patience or challenge his tolerance. He could definitely live like this.

And that was what Bucky wanted for his life, but not what life wanted for him.

There were a considerable number of things that made the super-soldier feel overwhelmed. One of them was obviously not being able to find order in his life, feeling like he was losing control of the things around him that made him feel safe. Losing that sense of security was what kept him constantly on his toes.

“May I know your name?” you had spoken to him again, after a couple of weeks where it seemed he had regained control of his routine. Bucky's body tensed, much more solid than it had minutes before when the elevator in your building stopped abruptly, giving way to the realization that he was to stay locked with you in that cab for quite a while, “I know everyone on our floor. I even met Mrs. Hampton, she left me an amazing muffin. I pretty much know everything about everyone in this building but you. You're an enigma.”

Bucky felt your gaze on his face. You were facing each other, you with your legs tucked in front of your chest and he was standing leaning slightly against the metal wall with his arms crossed. His brow was furrowed, as always, studiously avoiding looking at you or giving you a sign that he wished to continue this conversation.

“Do you really dislike me that much?”

That question earned you that his gaze rested on you. And you couldn't deny that that imposing, sullen expression was quite intimidating.

“There's a guy on the second floor who said that, depending on how much you frowned, was the magnitude of hatred you felt against a person.”

Bucky couldn't believe what had just come out of your mouth. His face contorted in disbelief and confusion, the first expressions to be devoted to you that had nothing to do with wanting you to stay as far away from his presence as possible.

“It also seemed a little over the top when I heard it...”

“A little?” Bucky replied, skeptical.

Your eyes darted to his mouth, as if it was the product of a miracle that they had moved to address a couple of words to you. Bucky noticed your grimace of astonishment and quickly returned to his tense posture, turning his gaze to stare at the metal doors.

“Look, I'm not that bad of a person, and I really think we'd make awesome neighbors if you'd let me get close to you.”

You clasped your hands in your lap, a pleading expression on your face that he ignored without taking his eyes off the elevator doors.

“Tonight I'm having a movie marathon with my two best friends - Netflix and a pizza. You're fully invited.”

That earned you another look, but this time a reprimanding one, “You shouldn't invite strangers into your home, kid.”

You let out a snort as you stood up on your feet, one of your hands stretched out in her direction.

“First of all, I'm not a kid, I'm twenty-six. And secondly, my name is Y/N.”

The man stared at your hand, as if weighing inwardly the possible consequences of the act of taking your hand, shaking it and introducing himself back. Which was clearly what he was doing. Your presence around him already in itself disrupted many things in his daily routine, and he had no idea how things would change even more if he agreed to that absurd plan. However, he had to remind himself that he was starting to work on his empathy and cordiality.

He hated that part of his mind, and let out a sigh when he lost his own mental fight.

“Bucky,” he muttered, shaking your hand back. You were about to crack an incredible smile as a bunch of future scenarios took shape in your head, but the man punctured them all when he spoke again, “And as... tempting as the movie thing sounds, I prefer the spacious silence of my apartment for now. Thank you.”

Bucky watched your face go from stupefaction to confusion to amusement in less than five seconds. You also didn't overlook the way he blurted out the word tempting, as if he was mocking. He's like an old-fashioned man, you couldn't help but think.

“Okay, Bucky. I respectfully accept your declination,” you smiled teasingly at him, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes twinkle slightly in a smile that his lips were tightly suppressed.

“Don't get comfortable so quickly, kid.”

You were surprised at how quick you were to suddenly understand the expression on his face and the meaning behind his words. We're going at my pace, and you knew that just getting his name had been a big win for you.

The sound of the elevator coming back on distracted you, turning your gaze to watch as the numbers on the bar came back on. Bucky resumed his recurring defensive posture, but not too tense this time, his face looking straight ahead and his hands inside his pockets.

He was already regretting saying what he said. He was literally in an unknown minefield, where anything meant danger. Although he also knew that this was a big step in his inevitable social immersion, he wasn't entirely sure if he could cope with it the way everyone else did, which was to say... normal. He had been alone for too long, and the memories he had of social interactions were not how he would behave nowadays, or even knew if half of those behaviors were still seen in this day and age.

His insecurity suddenly overwhelmed him, and he felt too exposed and vulnerable to run into another person again and have to talk about something deep like his feelings. In conclusion, his psych session had all the red lights that day. Although he was silent almost every time he went, it was a silence he could control. But he feared that this time he couldn't stop the woman from seeing through his walls and starting to ask questions that Bucky didn't want to give voice to.

The elevator doors opened.

A brown-haired man in a brown jacket, from the quick visual sweep Bucky gave him, was in front of them when they were finally able to step out into the outside world.

The man and Y/N, melted into an effusive embrace that ended in a kiss on the lips. Bucky frowned at them, suddenly uncomfortable with such an unexpected display of physical affection. When you broke away from your obvious boyfriend, you turned to say goodbye to Bucky with a half-smile and he barely gave you a nod.

That's something, isn't it?

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes angst #marvel #avengers #mcu

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inactive-luv · 3 years

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Normal

normal

TW: depression, gender dun dUN DUN

word count: 2216

a/n: i’ve got a lot more gender neutral Spencer Reid fics loading :P

(Spencer's POV)

On a normal day, I would set my alarm for five in the morning and wake up slowly. I'd pour a cup of coffee and make myself some toast. I take a shower and brush my teeth and maybe listen to an audiobook on my way to work. I got this recommendation from Garcia, Ready Player One. I listened to the narrator's voice at a pace 'normal' people would read.

A part of me always felt self-conscious about myself, how I was different compared to everyone else. My mom called me special but that just made things worse. Special still sounds like there was something wrong with me. And that was just my I.Q, later on, I constantly got made fun of for the way I dressed, how I wasn't 'normal' enough. Never 'masculine' enough.

I haven't had a normal day in months. I started to wake up naturally around three am, if I ever slept. My thoughts kept me awake, thinking about the insults and taunts I got. I lay in bed most days. I told Hotch I was sick and stayed in a comatose state for most of the day. I would stare at the ceiling and wonder about myself.

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't use the bathroom. The thought of having to stand up in front of the toilet. Washing my hands in a men's restroom, everything just made me sick. I hadn't gone to work in a week. It sounds odd but I didn't feel safe there. Work used to be where I could concentrate and use my abilities to my advantage, I watched and analyzed people's emotions for a living but now, it became so hard to think about myself.

I felt exposed in the workplace, at home I felt more comfortable using my own bathroom and I could wear my own clothes. I felt like someone else in the bullpen, someone different. Having to hear my name makes me feel imaginary. I didn't feel real in my body.

Getting out of bed this morning exhausted me. I dragged my feet across the wood and looked down at my sweater. The temperature in my house was always hot, something with the thermostat, but I couldn't stand looking at my own skin. I wore a thick sweater and a robe on top of it, long pajama pants and big socks. I knew I had to take off these clothes if I wanted to go to work today. I really did, I missed my friends, I missed having to do something.

Having a purpose meant a lot to me. I lost sight of what I was meant to do with my life, I would just mope around my apartment without doing anything and I still felt exhausted. I hated being here, I needed to do something. I couldn't just stay here for the rest of my life. I so desperately wanted my normal life again, but I couldn't even think about stepping outside my house.

I hate thinking about having to do normal things. I hated using public restrooms and wearing my normal clothes. Life becomes meaningless if you can't even look at yourself in the mirror.

A while back I put towels over all of my mirrors, this morning I lifted the one in my bedroom. I looked at myself for the first time in a long time. I looked at my eyes, the bags underneath them screamed tired and disgusting. My whole face looked blue and purple. I saw the veins in my neck, and when I touched them I winced.

Taking a deep breath, I started to remove the robe in front of me. I watched the fabric fall to the floor when I felt the ends of my sweater. A burst of energy filled my gut and flooded through my veins, causing me to haphazardly lift the shirt fully over my head and shimmied my pants off. I felt angry. Angry at myself for not being able to do the easiest things. And sad watching my body shake and my skin crawl.

I forced myself to stare at my chest. I stared long and hard at the flat shape and bare skin. I started to run my hand over my abdomen and I could feel my ribs protrude out of my skin. Tears started to fill my eyes when I glazed over my underwear. I could see the outline of my legs and the thought of what was between them made me sick. I felt like throwing up.

I rushed to the bathroom and clutched at the sides of the toilet. I quickly thought about all of the germs and bacteria and immediately lunged away from the seat. I washed my hands five or six times until my skin curled underneath the stream. I splashed the water on my face and began to sob. I ran my hands over my face and my eyes tinged from the tears.

When my hands roamed their way back to my chest I fell to the floor in a mixture of emotions. I felt depressed, gross, I felt cheated in my own flesh and blood. I felt contained to the bottom of my bathroom sink. The tears relaxed and I started to slowly lift myself off of the cold tile.

I wobbled back to my bedroom and tried to open my drawers. I reached for a dotted shirt and slowly buttoned the clothes on myself. With each button, I sniffed and let out a heavy sigh. I wanted to change my underwear but every time I slid my fingers past the waistband I cringed. I couldn't bring myself to look past my abdomen.

I just tried to pull on a pair of work pants without my eyes and slide a brown belt through the loops. I stared at myself in the dresser mirror and reached for another layer to put on over my body, a brown cardigan. I wanted to smile. I tried to force the corners of my lips to move upward but they only drooped a little lower. I swallowed my tongue and went to get my coat.

...

I walked into the lobby and saw people walking throughout the halls, I felt so out of place. I slowly slumped up to the elevator and pressed the button. It was halfway through the workday, a little after lunch. It was raining so hard outside I could hear it through the elevator walls, I heard the pat pat pat just outside the floors and I started to feel thirsty. I hadn't drunk much water in public because I didn't want to have to use a public bathroom. It wasn't a problem until one day I had to be sent to the emergency room.

I got nervous as the elevator doors began to open. I lifted my head and was relieved not to meet anyone as I stepped out. A sore feeling manifesting itself in my throat. I look up to see everyone in the conference room. I barely catch Rossi's eye when I start to walk up to the bullpen. Soon I can feel everyone's eyes on my back when I rest my bag on the edge of my seat.

J.J. walks out of the room to wave me over. I watch her walk back into the room, I look at her heels and her pretty blouse. I think back to what I'm wearing and feel gross. Why do I keep stressing about these sorts of things? Morgan doesn't worry about how he's dressed. Hotch doesn't care about shoes or what he has to wear. Rossi was the one who probably cared the most and even he didn't notice the things I do.

I rush up the stairs noticing how everyone is waiting on me. My pace slows down as I get closer and closer to the threshold of the conference room. "Hey, pretty boy's here!" I clench my jaw at the sound of that nickname. My stomach turns inside out and I think about just running out of the room and heading back home, or anywhere but here. "Why don't you sit down we were just starting." Garcia tries to talk to me in her sweet voice. I missed her so much, I missed everyone.

"No thank you," I whisper. I hadn't spoken words out loud in a long time. I don't talk to myself and I hadn't seen anyone else in days. I clear my throat gaining a sliver of strength from the anger in my gut. "No thank you I," I start stronger before pausing mournfully again, "I think I need to say a few things before I come back, officially. C- can you all please sit down." I choke in my breath and all of their faces turn worried when they look at me.

"Uhm, I know I haven't been here in a while but uhm," I turn my head to the floor, "I want to be able to come back, I do, and I uh," It gets really hard to talk without tearing up. I swallow hard when J.J tries to pat my arm, I don't mean to but I flinch and try to push her hand away. "I can't come back until," I'm afraid I'll start hyperventilating, "God I'm sorry." I move my hands up to my face and wipe away a few tears before swallowing and whispering again. "I can't come back until I figure out what's wrong with me."

"Kid there's nothing wrong with you-" "Yes there is! I- I- I can't sleep! I can't get dressed by myself! I can't even use the bathroom without feeling sick!" The words pool out of my mouth in a harsh tone and J.J. steps back when I flail my arms, "I can't look at myself in the mirror," Tears stream down my cheek when I turn my face around the room. "I need things to be different around here." Even Hotch's expression turns saddened and weak.

"I-" I choke and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. " I hate the name 'pretty boy'." I try to turn my eyes from Derek who's leaned over to see my expression, "I hate being referred to as 'Sir' or 'Mr.'" I bite my quivering top lip and draw my eyes back to the floor. "I hate hearing," I pause and clear my throat again thinking it would help stop my cracking voice, "he did this or it was him who," I sniff looking at Garcia whose eyes are also filled with tears.

"I'm not comfortable," I whisper and Emily gapes her mouth as if to say something then closes it rubbing her nose instead. "I haven't been comfortable for a long time. I don't know what I am anymore." The word 'what' sticks in the air for a minute before J.J. tries to pat my arm again and I let her. She eases in to hold me and I shut my eyes to stop sobbing.

"I- I- need," I start before shaking my head, "I'd like people to treat me differently." I furrow my brow thinking what to say next, "I looked online," I wipe my face again trying to slide J.J away from me, "and all the labels really scared me but uhm," I pause again "I think I'd like to try something I've been pushing down for a while." Rossi nods his head.

I feel awkward standing in front of all of these people, my friends. Years ago I could trust them with my life but now I felt so exposed and broken. I was scared of how they were going to react, I felt like screaming in my stance and running out of the room crying. I muttered out the first words before shaking my head and trying again. "I think," I clear my throat again, "I want to try different," I look at the group, averting my eyes off the floor while the edges of my lips curl into a saddened smile, before whispering the last word, "Pronouns."

I see Emily mutter a small "Oh," and Morgan's face turns confused. I slump into a hunched position and continue to cry softly when people start nodding their heads looking up at me. "Well," Hotch starts and people start to look at him. "I think that what you're asking for is," He pauses looking to the group then back at me.

"Perfectly reasonable and we will do or call you whatever you want" They all nod and mutter incoherent words. "Yes, yes of course we can." Garcia stammers wiping tears from her eyes looking at me from across the room. "What, uhm what would you like?" She asks rubbing her hands together, "To, you know," she shakes her hands before wiping more tears from her face.

I smile for the first time in weeks. It's not a toothy smile or a cheek to cheek grin but, it makes me feel safe knowing I can still do the things I used to. Come into work and smile. I catch my sighs and draw in a deep breath before looking at Garcia, "They/them." And the rest of the team smiles too.

...

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lauwrite1225 · 3 years

Text

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : And there it is, the first chapter of this fic I have been working on for a few weeks now! I'll post every Friday! A very BIG thank you too @maggiescarborough for all her precious help and thanks to whom this is story is way better than originally ahah!

Warnings : mention of blood and death

Chapter 1 : I'm fallin' so I'm takin' my time on my ride

“Vicky you shouldn’t drive home so late.”

Victoria sighs as she climbs down the few stairs from her parents’ house down to the garden, her mother following her close. It’s dark and the motion detector activates the outdoor light, making the little path leading to where she parked her car more visible.

“Stay for the night at least, you can leave early.” Her mother insists, arms crossed upon her chest to protect herself from the cold.

“I can’t mom.” She unlocks her car, throwing her bag on the passenger seat before turning around and leaning against the door. “I have to open the shop tomorrow and I don’t want to be late if there’s too many people on the road.”

“That’s not safe, Vicky.”

“Come on, mom, it’s not the first time I’m driving during the night.” She exhales, sitting in the car and starting it. “I’ll text you when I’m home.” She smiles, ignoring her mother’s eye roll and closing the door.

She slowly drives away from her parents' house, an old house lost in the middle of Essex. Her mother wasn't wrong about the risk of driving during the night on country roads, but Vicky took this road so many times, she's not really worried. She turns on the radio and turns the sound up when she recognizes the melody of Ride by Twenty one Pilots. Her fingers tap the steering wheel in rhythm with the drum, her head nodding regularly. She knows that song by heart and can't resist singing the lyrics as she drives in the direction of London.

After half an hour of driving, a heavy rain is now falling, Vicky starts to regret not having listened to her mother. She woke up early this morning to be in time for the family lunch her parents have been harassing her about for a month. She yawns, her hand passing through her blond hair as she drives on a small quite deserted road. She tries to turn up the music louder to not fall asleep, but inevitably, her head starts to nod and her eyelids grow heavier. She closes her eyes, just one second, but when she opens them again, she’s blinded by the headlights of another car in front of her. Panicked, she hits the brake with all her strength, a slew of insults escaping her lips. The person in the vehicle in front seems to do the same and swerves. But inevitably, the two cars meet and the shock makes Vicky’s head hit the steering wheel violently.

For a long moment, it’s just darkness and silence and Victoria finds it awkwardly peaceful. She feels weak and out of her body, the strangest feeling she has ever felt. She can’t tell how long she’s been that way but suddenly it vanishes. She’s overwhelmed by all her senses who awaken at the same time. She panics, the feeling of her heart beating resounding in her whole body and the air painfully filling her lungs. She abruptly opens her eyes, straightening until the back of her head hits the car seat.

It takes her a few minutes to calm her breath and to realize where she is, morning’s light blinding her. She’s still in her car, the windshield broken in a million pieces dispersed everywhere. She quickly notices the blood on the steering wheel and her clothes and immediately she brings her fingers to her forehead and indeed she finds fresh blood, but no wound. It should have reassured her, however it horrifies her. She tries to open the door and has to force it to finally leave the car. In the process, she falls on the floor and crawls to move away from the vehicle. The sleeves of her shirt are torn and stained with blood, but again, she’s perfectly healthy. Her confusion makes her sick and she leans on a side to throw up, her whole body shaking with a long thrill.

Once her stomach is emptied she starts to look around her, now that there’s daylight she is able to see the fields that expand as far as the eye can see. She’s alone on this road, with her car with smoke coming out of the hood and absolutely no sign of the other vehicle. She stands on her feet, her legs shaking, and walks a little further to see if there’s anyone.

“They fucking left me alone.” She grumbles as she realizes she really was utterly alone.

She walks back to her car and grabs her bag and jacket before searching her phone. When she finally has a hand on it, she sighs of relief. Though it doesn’t last long as she discovers how the screen is cracked.

“New car and new phone it is, then.” Victoria speaks to herself, more to try to stay calm than anything. Fortunately, it’s still working but she realises right after that there's no signal. “Obviously.”

She looks around her one last time before facing the facts, she has to walk back home. She fills her bag with the important papers stacked in her car before walking away. After a quarter hour of walking, she starts to recognize where she is and estimates she should arrive in a village in another quarter hour. This time alone gives her the occasion to try to understand what happened last night. She obviously got into a car accident and the other person involved let her on her own, didn't even try to search for help, it is morning now, in six hours at least, if they left to find help, they should have already been back. No, they left her on her own as if she was dead.

Victoria stops, the thought troubling her. She can't explain what she felt after the accident, she has already fainted a few times in her life, and it has never been like this before. But what is even more troubling, is that she's perfectly healthy, not even a scratch despite the blood she found on her clothes and in the car. Nothing is making sense.

She covers her face with both of her hands, then rubs her eyes as waking up from a bad dream. But she's still in the middle of a road, in the middle of nowhere.

“What the hell?!” She shouts, frustrated by so much incomprehension.

She continues to walk, she wipes the blood from her face before she reaches the village and puts her jacket on to hide the state of her clothes. She has no idea of what happened and she definitely doesn't want to have to explain it to anyone. She finishes her way home with public transports, and it's past midday when she arrives in London. She gets a few messages, from her boss and even more from her mother. She sends excuses to her boss with a lie and another lie to her mother, saying she fell asleep and forgot to text her before.

Once she's in her small flat, she rushes to the shower after throwing her clothes in the washer. She stays at least an hour under the water, her mind playing the past events over and over until she's upset again. When she steps out of the shower, she’s starving. So she grabs the first thing she finds in her fridge, which happens to be the leftovers of her lunch from two days ago. She tries to remain distracted, turning on the TV and starting an episode of Game of Thrones, her best friend Rebecca has been harassing for a month to start watching the show. And for a brief hour, she’s captivated by the Battle of Bastards, and by how good looking Kit Harrington is in armor.

The rest of the day is uneventful and when Rebecca visits her later in the afternoon Victoria hesitates to talk to her about her accident. But she’s pretty sure she’d simply think her completely crazy.

“Are you alright, Vicky?” Rebecca eventually asks when she hands her a cup of tea.

Victoria smiles kindly. “Yes.” She’s not used to lying to her best friend. They have known each other since middle school and she could count the number of times she lied to her on one hand, one being for her surprise birthday for her 18th birthday. “Why are you asking?”

She sits next to her friend on the couch, bringing her own cup of tea to her lips to blow on it. “I don’t know you’re very silent. And you said you weren’t feeling good this morning.”

“Oh… Well it was nothing, just felt nauseous.”

Rebecca narrows her dark eyes but doesn't push further. “How were your parents?” She asks, changing the subject, much to Vicky's pleasure.

“They were fine.” She takes a long sip of her tea. “They wondered if you'd like to come for dinner one day.”

Rebecca grins, her parents have always been pretty fond of her, even proposing her to join family events. It never bothered Victoria who was happy to have a friend with her. “Of course, I'll come. I just need a date.”

“I'll text you.”

Rebecca leaves after dinner and as soon as the door is closed Vicky falls into her bed, exhausted. She doesn't have time to overthink as usually when she tries to find sleep, she finds Morpheus' arms the moment she closes her eyes. But her sleep is far from being peaceful, her dreams bringing her sometime in the Middle Age, judging by the clothes of the men surrounding her. She's in the middle of a fight opposing warriors with long hair and tattooed faces and others with more modest appearance, only a fire alighting the area. She looks around her, trying to understand the scene, but her vision is almost constantly brought back to one of the warriors. It's a tall man, wearing leather armor above a greenish tunic, with dark hair and beard. He is using his sword with such ability, his movements swift and precise, Vicky can't help but be impressed. From the corner of her eyes she can see men falling and how trees seem to delimit a clearing. She looks up to the sky and can see the stars shining in the sky, never before she has seen them so clearly. Then, a sound catches her attention and she's staring at the warrior again. He is not fighting anymore, frozen and his face twisting into a grimace. She looks down to his abdomen in sync with him and she gasps as she sees the sword coming out of his belly. And it's like she can feel all his pain as the sword leaves his body, her guts tearing apart. The man coughs blood, falling on his knees, his hands pressed on the gaping hole in his abdomen. He finishes his fall, head first in the mud and Victoria can feel the life leaving his body as the man takes his last breaths, his brown eyes looking into the void.

Victoria wakes up abruptly, sweating and panting. She presses a hand on her chest, desperately trying to calm her breath. Once she's calmed she pours herself a cup of water, still haunted by the sensation of her dream or maybe nightmare. She doesn't find sleep after that, so she just lies on her couch, watching TV, until morning comes and the hour she has to leave for work.

It's only the first night of a dozen as sleepless. Most of the time, she finds herself in the Middle Age, in various places, some faces regularly appearing. Sometimes she's in other periods, even in modern days. But the common point to all her dreams is this man. Each time she can see him more clearly, his thick hair is most of the time cut short around his ears, a scar slashing his forehead while two small others are ornamenting his left cheekbone. One day, she decides to draw him, she spends the afternoon on it, but she's determined to make it as realistic as possible. As the lines darken the paper, she realizes how the man reminds her of someone. She sends the drawing to Rebecca without much explanation and she immediately replies to her that he reminds her of the guy from the conspiracy theory video they watched one late night.

Victoria takes the time to search the video in her browser history, and indeed, Rebecca was right. The man is the spitting portrait of the one called the “time traveler”. She watches the video with probably much more interest than the first time, desperate to understand why he is haunting her nights. That's clearly the least credible story she has ever heard: a man, the same man, captured in pictures at different places and at different periods of time. A guy talented with photoshop could perfectly create this whole theory. She sighs, closing her laptop and just comes to the conclusion that her brain registered the man's face when she watched the video with Rebecca and simply has a fixation on it since.

Curious to know the origins of the other faces she can see in her dreams, she draws them as well and she finds herself with three other men. The younger looking is blond with a bowl cut, a long face and an endearing smile. The two others look much more like warriors, one has long hair tied and shaved on the sides, his eyes a piercing blue, the other has different colour eyes and a tattoo covering the side of his neck. Once again, she sends her drawings to Rebecca but this time she has no idea of where she could have seen them.

Days pass, the dreams don't fade but Victoria forgets about her accident and all the strange things that happened, until the police call her. Obviously, her car had to be found as she didn't call anyone to take care of it, she just wanted to forget what happened. She tries to give the best explanation to the police, telling them she's alright and shock made her forget to deal with her broken vehicle. After an hour on the phone they finally let her alone, adding that if she wanted to file a complaint there would probably not be a lot of results. She just replies that she will think of it, when in fact she won't at all.

As things couldn’t get weirder, one afternoon she meets an odd customer at the bookshop she’s been working for years now. She doesn’t notice him particularly, until she feels like he is staring at her behind his sunglasses. She tries to ignore him, but can’t resist staring back. He is wearing a grey sweatshirt, the hood covering his hair, but at the color of his beard she guesses it’s as dark. There’s something familiar to him and decided to understand what his problem with her is, she fully turns to face him.

“Can I help you?”

The man seems to freeze, his hands sinking in the pockets of his trousers. He lowers his head and reads the badge with Victoria’s name on her jacket. He looks back to her and this time she raises an eyebrow, her arms crossing over her chest.

“No that’s alright.” He mutters with an accent she doesn’t get in the moment. “Sorry for botherin’ ya.”

He steps back and leaves the bookshop without another word. She doesn’t move for a moment, frowning and still staring at the shop’s door. She has dealt with a thousand customers in five years of working here, sometimes extremely weird, even more than this one, however it’s him who remains stuck in her head even a few days after his visit.

But the culmination of this month filled by weird events happens a week after the man came to the bookshop. It’s a friday, and as usual, Vicky has her free afternoon and spends it at her flat, watching the last episode of Game of Thrones while drawing. But she’s interrupted by a knock on her door. She frowns, pretty sure she expected no one to come today. The person knocks again and she gets up from her desk chair. She unlocks the door, opens it, and before she can even say “hello”, she gasps in surprise at the sight of the man standing in front of her.

Victoria has no doubts. It’s the man from her dreams or the one theorists call the “time traveler”, standing in the corridor of her floor with a tight, uncomfortable.

A/N : A first chapter full of misteries ahah ! Don’t hesitate to comment, express your ideas regarding what could happen or whatever could happen, I’m really curious to know ahah! See you next week for some answers ;)

Tags : @maggiescarborough @geekandbooknerd @obipoelover @finansarms ; Don’t hesitate to tell me if you want to be add to the tag list of the fic!

#finan the agile #finan #Finan x OC #finan the last kingdom #The Last Kingdom #fanfiction #somebody to die for

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invisiblerambler · 2 years

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Is there a word for when you want to harshly and desperately lash out at people who are supposed to be helping you? Because secretly I kind of just want to accept being miserable if it means I don't have to put my heart outside of my body anymore. Like I will slowly die here but it is the lowest possible effort thing I can do. I don't know how to say I don't want help anymore. I just want to suffer because I know suffering well. Suffering is a good friend and it's like an old coat. The absolutely unbearable tension between the gnawing ambition and the desperate bottomless exhaustion of fighting off trauma and burnout for all of your preteen and adolescent years is completely soul-crushing. Some days, seemingly most days I've lost the want to get better. Not to even d*e but to just let mediocrity envelope me completely. To forget anything I ever wanted. Making it out is overrated. Living in your hometown and letting your internalized homophobia and mental illness kill you slowly over a period of 30 years is in. I don't want to help myself anymore. I don't want to rescue myself. I want to live in the steady but completely innocuous peril. Accepting your fate is underrated. Accepting what you have is what you get is underrated. I support anyone who wants better but I've decided I'm out of that business for myself. Hell on earth has waged a war with me and I've decided that instead of staying and fighting or walking away I'm giving into whatever it wants for me. I no longer have the capacity to hope or change or want more. That has been wrung out of me along with my delusions about how I've been running on fumes for nearly 10 years now. I thought I was getting better, secretly I was just putting off everything until I could actually deal with it. And then I didn't get to so now instead I get to sit in everything constantly for 20 months and have no way of coping healthily. I'm under no delusions that it's going to get better if I leave. In fact I know that the first six months will probably be harder than the previous six years. Except if I never leave I never have to cauterize the wound because it stays open. I never have to let it heal because it stays unhealed.

I don't know what the point of any of this was. Except to say all the shitty things I can't say to people who love me to people on the internet instead.

I'm so glad for their help but I'm also so tired. Sometimes I want them to let me give up. But they don't and sometimes i'm glad and sometimes I want to scream and cry and say every single immature thought I've ever had.

Above all. I want life to not be an active fight. For one thing to come to me without feeling like I've pried it from the mouth of the universe with my arms torn to shreds.

I don't know what higher power I believe in, if any at all. Separating myself from an Evangelical framework makes me want to throw the baby out with the bathwater because it all feels too similar. In the traumatized parts of my brain it all feels too much like blaming me for angering something I can't see. The planning of it all cruel in it's design. These days something about the chaos and randomness of it all appeals to me. Nothing is on purpose everything is random. It makes the cruelty easier to swallow. So I'll sit and swallow my own cruelty keep it from spewing on those that love me for a little longer.

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whiro-sh · 4 years

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I don't want to keep going if it's not with you~

So basically I had this idea for a one shot and I thought, why not share it? I don't know if you'll like it but I had fun imagining and writing it so here you go !

Tw self-harm/ suicidal thoughts

>angst with a happy ending

Summary: The Doctor finally come back to Sheffield after escaping the Judoon prison. It has been six hard months for Yaz, will the Doctor be too late to save her favorite companion ?

(angst with a happy ending, cause I'm a sucker for a happy ending)

It had been six months, six months that the Doctor sent them back to earth. Forced to go back for their own safety. Yaz knew that, Graham and Ryan told her enough. She knew the Doctor just wanted to protect them. The boys had understood it and accepted it and if at first it was hard to go back to normal life, after a month or so they seemed to be okay. They were still missing their amazing alien friend of course but they had moved on. Graham had started seeing other friends more often and Ryan started dating Sonya.

The only one who hadn't moved on - who didn't want to - was Yaz. She had tried at first, truly tried. She went out with some friends, got a promotion at work and even tried having a date with someone but it didn't work out. Truth was Yaz was not accepting this situation, she couldn't forget the Doctor and the life she had with her, she couldn't imagine that the Doctor really died that day on Gallifrey. She had constantly this hope of hearing the engines' noise of her favorite spaceship, of seeing a blue box parked in front of her flat. She dreamt countless time of the Doctor coming back and each time waking up was awfully painful. The harsh reality was painful.

As weeks passed she slept less and less at night, not wanting to see the familiar face of the blond in her dreams. She focused on her job to forget how she hated being stuck on earth, not knowing if the Doctor was still out there or not. Her family did see at first that Yaz wasn't well but soon she learnt to hide the bags under her eyes and the trace of a night spent crying silently under her makeup . She began to live in a lie, putting a great amount of effort to hide how broken she was.

One night worst than the others, she cut herself on her right wrist to ease her pain. She hadn't done that since highschool but right here and right now she felt relief in the pain. So she did it again and again, taking care to hide it well too. Yaz knew she couldn't keep up like that, she needed help but who could understand her ? They would force her to stop if they found out. Yaz didn't want to stop, this was the only thing helping her to cope.

Graham was in his room when he heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS in his living room. It had been so long that he first thought that he dreamt it but when he saw the blond coming out of the blue box he realised all this was real. The Doctor was there, smiling shyly at him. She looked skinnier than the last time he'd seen her, her hair had grown too. She seemed fine though a bit tired.

'Hey' said the woman timidly

For only response she received a hug from the old man.

'I thought we'd never see ya again doc !'

She froze for a moment she'd forgot what it was to feel someone against you. It was soothing, reassuring.

'Are you okay ?? What happened !'

'Long story but I'm fine had a little nap of 2 or 3 days in the TARDIS and a good meal.' her smile grew wider as she felt more comfortable. 'Where are the others ? How much time as it been ? I hope they are okay, how is Yaz ?'

Graham smiled at all those questions, he'd really missed this crazy woman.

'Six months only' he said but could see the worries on the Doctor's face. 'Ryan is fine, Yaz is... Coping in her own way, I haven't heard a lot from her recently'

The Doctor could remember like it was yesterday the girl's face when she left her. It had broken her hearts but she had to leave, she had to save her fam even if that meant dying for it.

The sound of a door opening interrupted the duo.

'Grandad we have to go, Sonya just-' he stopped abruptly when he saw the Doctor. 'Oh my god, no way !'

'Hi Ryan' said the Doctor amused by Ryan's surprise. The boy instantly gave the woman a big hug just as did Graham a few minutes before.

'I'm so happy your alive doctor !'

'Glad to see you too.' she answer truly happy. 'Yaz isn't with ya ? I missed her, I'd love to see her'

Ryan's smile disappeared as he suddenly remembered why he was here.

'Sonya just called me, Yaz is in the hospital...'

'What ? What happened son ?!'

'Apparently she collapsed while on duty and was very pale so they decided to call an ambulance.'

A few minutes later all three of them where in the hall of the hospital. Nadja was there too, she'd just finished her conversation with a doctor.

'Nadja !' called Graham.

The woman turn to them and was very surprised to discover the Doctor by the boys' side. She wanted to ask her where she was during all those months but right now she was more preoccupied by what she had learnt from her daughter's doctor.

'Is she okay ?' asked Ryan.

'They said she collapsed because she was weak and tired, I knew she wasn't sleeping well but I never imagined it was so serious...'

'She going to be okay...' tried to reassure Graham

'That's not... That's not all. She also has marks on her wrists and thighs. How could I not see them ? He said judging from the cuts that she had been doing that to herself for a few weeks now.'

The Doctor felt a rush of culpability and sadness, Yaz's state was her fault and she knew it. She had hoped the girl would move on from her, build her life but it appeared to be quite the contrary. Yaz's was drowning, what would have happened if she didn't come back ?

'We saw nothing either Nadja but we're gonna help her now, everything will be alright' said Graham.

'Can we see her ?' ask the Doctor, she felt the urge to see the brunette with her own eyes and be with her.

'She's sleeping, the doctor said we can visit her tomorrow.'

The Doctor wanted to insist but knew it was useless, she would have to wait and she hated that. Her brilliant, amazing Yaz in such a poor shape because of her. The blond hated herself for not escaping sooner. Yaz kept her alive and gave her a motivation to get out when she was in the judoon prison, now she needed to save and protect her.

The boys went home for the night, the Doctor parked her TARDIS in a street nearby the hospital ready in the morning to run back and find the girl she had dreamt of for months. It was around 1 am when she received a call from Nadja.

'Doctor I need your help ! It's Yaz, she ran away from the hospital, no one knows where she is !'

The Doctor didn't wait a second, she ran a scan of the area for trace of artron energy. Yes it had been six months since Yaz had travelled in a time machine but she should still have some trace left on her. Indeed she found out that the girl was only a few box away from the TARDIS position. The blond stormed out of her ship and ran as fast as she could.

She finally saw the brunette, she was in the middle of an empty street only wearing her hospital gown. She seemed lost and scared like a little girl, looking frantically around her like something was chasing her.

'Go on kill me you stupid machines !' she yelled.

The Doctor wasn't sure who the girl meant by machines but decide to slowly come closer, hands up to show she wasn't a threat.

'Yaz.' the girl froze

'No... No it can't be... It can't be you !' the brunette wasn't trusting her own eyes. If the Doctor was her it must meant that she was dreaming. The blond took a new step toward her.

'Hey Yaz, it's okay I promise..'

Yaz took a step back.

'No ! You said that the last time, but you disappeared, you left me like you always do ! I wake up and you're not here' she said now sobbing.

This broke the Doctor's hearts.

'Oh Yaz, my beautiful Yasmin Khan, what did I do to you.'

'The Cybermen I heard them, they are coming.'

'What do you mean ? Is that why you ran from the hospital ?' the Doctor asked taking her sonic to scan the area. No trace of any alien species. No Cybermen. 'Yaz it's okay, what you heard must of been some machines in other rooms next to yours. You're safe I swear.'

'How are you really here... You're DEAD ! You're-You're...' she cried harder falling on knees. She was exhausted, body trembling in this cold night.

The blond came closer and fell next to Yaz and she noticed the bandages around the girl's wrists. She was so angry at herself for letting that happen. She pulled Yaz in a tight hug.

'I'm so sorry Yaz, so sorry. I'm real I promise. I'll be here tomorrow when you'll wake up, I want to be by your side and never leave you again.'

This felt real thought Yaz, she wanted to believe this was real. Tomorrow she'd be sad again but for now she just enjoyed the warm embrace.

The Doctor took out her coat and put it on Yaz shoulders, she also noticed the girl was barefoot and decided to scoop her in her arms.

'It's okay now...' whispered the Doctor.

'I miss you so much... I love you Doctor.' the brunette whispered back before falling unconscious.

Yaz woke up the next morning in her hospital room. The first thing she felt was sadness as she opened her eyes to see the bedside empty. That's why she didn't like to sleep but before her thoughts could go farther she heard a familiar voice.

'Hey you...'

The brunette turn her head and saw the Doctor.

'So it was real...' she said softly, genuinely smiling for the first time in months.

'Pretty much yeah...'

'You've come back, you're here.' the girl stroke the Doctor cheek gently like to make sure the woman wasn't an illusion.

'I'm here Yaz and I love you too.' said the Doctor gently but serious.

Yaz's smile grew wider and she did what she didn't that day in the TARDIS just before the blond left her and the other humans. Yaz leaned forward and kissed the Doctor.

They didn't hear Graham, Nadja and Ryan enter the room.

'Seems like things should alright for those two now' said Graham glad and relieved.

The End

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor #doctor who series 12 #thasmin #yasmin khan #post timeless child #dw s12 spoilers #angst with a happy ending #cause i like happy endings #13 x yaz #13 x yasmin

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shawnpetermuffins · 5 years

Text

In Case You Didn't Know

(Based off In Case You Didn't Know by Brett Young)

Summary: Shawn's so in love with you, but he doesn't know how to say it.

A/n: this is all over the place, theres time jumps and flashbacks and no real distinction between them, so yeah. I actually really like this song and I might end up writing some more stories based off songs, so let me know if you want that.

Requested: no

Warnings: just fluff

***

I can't count the times / I almost said what's on my mind / but I didn't

She's sleeping soundly on the couch, head laying on the arm rest, blanket up to her shoulders. She's absolutely beautiful, I think to myself. Her hair falls messily in her face, lips parted with a soft snore, and even though she's covered, I know her arms are wrapped around her middle in an attempt to keep warm in this arctic apartment of mine. I make a mental note to turn on the heater after I take her up to bed. She couldn’t even make it through half of the movie before her eyes became heavy, and if I was interested in watching the movie, I wouldn’t have even noticed, but I was watching her the whole time. It’s the first time I’ve been able to see her this way, completely exhausted from studying for her exams, hair a mess, face bare and slightly red and blotchy from stress crying.

I want so badly to wake her sleeping figure and tell her to just quit, come on the road with me for the second leg of tour. I’ll take care of everything; I’ll take care of her. Anything she wants, it’s hers, no questions asked. But I can’t tell her that. Because no matter how stressed she is now, I know it doesn’t change how incandescently happy she is when she talks about her favorite class, her favorite professor. The way she talks about all the things she’s going to change when she finishes school.

Just the other day / wrote down all the things I’d say / but I couldn’t / I just couldn’t

Being with her only a few months, eight to be exact, I keep finding myself refraining from telling her how I feel. And I know that being on tour for six out of the eight months we’ve been together is definitely taking a toll on her, and me too. I’m never here when she needs me, and to see her the way she is right now, I know that I can’t keep these feelings from her much longer.

Because if she’s crying over a test that she’s about to take when I am here, I’m scared to know what she cries about when I’m not. Does she cry about me? About me not being here? When I left before, she held in the tears - so did I - but we’d only been together a month. Maybe she didn’t want to seem too attached. I know I didn’t, but Brian knows how much leaving her put me in this week long funk. I called and texted her constantly until I realized that doing that only made it even harder to be away from her. So I calmed a bit, not by choice, but by necessity.

Seeing her sleeping so peacefully, now curled in my sheets, hugging my pillow, I can’t help but smile. I could write a million songs just about this moments alone, and that’s exactly what I go back to the living room to do. To write yet another song about the girl in my bed, hoping and praying that she’ll still be there come daybreak.

Baby I know that you’ve been wondering / mmm, so here goes nothing / in case you didn’t know / baby I’m crazy ‘bout you

Sheets of paper litter the top of the piano, the coffee table, literally any surface that was once clear isn't now. I'm scribbling out a new lyric, and start strumming the melody that's been stuck in my head since she fell asleep next to me.

My mind is a jumbled mess. She has me feeling every possible emotion and I can't convey it in just one song. So every new idea gets written down and I hope I'll find a place for it in another song later. I'm going crazy, my mind working faster than my hand can write, and the song doesn't sound right with the guitar riff, but then it doesn't sound right with the piano. It's all wrong. None of it is good enough for her and I need it to be good enough.

And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you / even though / I don't tell you all the time / You had my heart a long, long time ago / in case you didn't know

I know it hasn't even been a year and I sound like a love sick puppy. And that if you ask anyone that doesn't know me personally, they'd say that this relationship is all for show. That I'm doing it for the publicity. That she's getting paid. None of it's true.

She's everything I have ever wanted. Ever needed. And its so hard for me to think back to even just nine months ago. I wonder how I did anything before her. How did I cope with my anxiety when she wasn't there coaxing me through it, lulling me back to reality and not the fucked up place my mind always wandered to?

If I can't think back to nine months ago, before she became my everything, how am I supposed to look forward and not see her in every possible situation that I could be put it?

The way you look tonight / that second glass of wine / that did it, mmm

Dinner at her apartment is everything. Except she won't let me actually cook. She's scared I'll burn the building down. Which, to be fair, could very well happen. So I'm only allowed to cut things, and of course pour her wine. She's stirring the rice while I sit at the little bar area, head resting in my hand while I stare lovingly at her. Her cheeks are slightly pink from both the heat from the stove and from the glass of red she's sipping from.

"You're staring," she says softly, and looks over at me.

I clear my throat and look down at my half empty glass, "Sorry. Can't help it. You're just so pretty."

She looked down at her outfit, and squinted skeptically at me. "Jeans and a two-sizes-too-big flannel? Oh yeah, I'm sure I look real cute," she replies sarcastically, with a disbelieving eye roll.

"You do," I say, matter-of-factly. "With you hair pulled up like that," I gesture to pony tail that was currently falling because she didn't wrap the rubber band around enough. "And your eyes just being as beautiful and bright as ever. How could I not stare at you forever?"

This causes her to become even more red, if that's possible, and I pull out my phone, swiftly snapping a picture of her because she is just so pretty and I want to see her like this forever.

"Stop it!" She whines, turning away from me.

"But you look so cute," I say, turning my phone around so she can see the vibrant blush on her cheeks.

She just shakes her head and takes another sip. I can't help but watch the way her lips curve around the lip of the glass, and my whole body tingles at the promise of those lips touching mine later.

There was something 'bout that kiss/ girl it did me in / got me thinking / I've been thinking

I pull her body close to mine when she puts the dishes in the sink. "Thank you for tonight," I mumble into her shoulder.

She hums and her hands cover mine on her stomach. "You're welcome bub. So glad you could make some time for a meal this week. I was starting to think you didn't eat," she says teasingly.

I manage a small apology, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her collar bone. I know I've been literally everywhere but with her this week and it's been killing me. But even just a night like this was enough to make me forget about all my stress up to this point.

She turns her head to face me and plays with my currently overfluffy curls. "I adore you, my little rockstar," she whispered into my hair.

I look up at her with a sleepy smile and hooded eyes. I only have a second to react before her lips press to mine in a soft, passionate kiss. And all I can think is that I could stay this way for the rest of my life and never get tired of the feel of her lips.

One of those things that I've been feeling / mmm, it's time you hear 'em

I'm still watching her as we wash the dishes together. She's washing, I'm drying. It's the simplest of systems, but it's also so domesticated and it makes me sad knowing that I can't give her that domestic life one day. Husband a d kids, nice suburban home to come to every night. I'm traveling too often to give her that simple life that she so desperately deserves, even though she's told me before that she doesn't care about that.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks after washing the last plate, handing it to me. I smile sheepishly at the way she's leaning against the counter, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands playing with the neck of her shirt.

I finish drying the plate before I speak. I place the towel I was holding on the counter and reach for her hands. "Can I tell you something, pumpkin?"

You've got all of me / I belong to you / yeah you're my everything / in case you didn't know

"Anything," she squeezes my hands reassuringly.

I can't look into her eyes, so I stare at our linked hands and sigh contently at the feel of her small, soft, cold hands in my large, calloused, hot hands. I don't know why telling her this is so hard for me, it shouldn't be. I write about love all the time.

But I've never felt it. Not like this. Not when my heart feels like it's literally about to burst out of my chest when she smiles at me. Not when I can't help but stumble on my way to her because I'm staring so hard that I trip over my own feet. Not when an interviewer asks me what my favorite thing about going home is and my immediate thought is her. She's my home. Whether we live together or not. She's it. She's my everything and that's fucking terrifying. I never thought I would become this dependent on someone else.

"Bub, what's going on inside that beautiful head of yours?" She asks, breaking me from my own thoughts, trying to catch my eye.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and finally meet her intense gaze. If I had to decipher what that look meant, I'd say she was looking at me the same way I look at her. With that endless amount of love, lust, compassion, and adoration that my expression hopefully conveys. Why she chose me of all the people to be with, I'll never know. But she did. So I say it.

"I love you," I finally manage to say, but it's so low I don't even know if she heard me.

She doesn't respond for a while and I'm searching her face for any sign that it'll give me, saying that I crossed a line, that we weren't ready. But just as I'm opening my mouth to apologize, her lips cover mine, tongue slipping effortlessly into my mouth. And I hold her body tight against me, so tight I don't think she can breathe properly, but she makes no move to leave my arms and I have no intention of letting her go. So I hold her while we kiss under the harsh light of her kitchen and I let out a low whimper when she goes to ultimately pull away.

"Say it again," she begs.

And I do, kissing her cheek. "I love you." Her nose, "I love you." Her forehead, "I love you." And finally, once again. Her lips. "I love you."

She sighs, eyes fluttering shut while her fingers trace my jaw and then the curves of my mouth, my nose. "I love you, too." She kisses both of my eyelids before she says it again. "I love you so much."

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @bbellbagel @turtoix @tomshufflepuff @ivegotparticulartaste

I've literally been writing this since February and it's not even the way I wanted it 🤷‍♀️ but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it. A little fluff to counteract with the angst I gave y'all on Wednesday.

Like, reblog, and leave feedback!! 💙

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn peter raul #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #smfsource

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cosmicdreamworld · 5 years

Text

Hank McCoy: Painted The Stars

Pairings: Hank McCoy/Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2095

"Hank, can you hand me the wire cutters, please," you asked, holding out your hand.

"Hank?" Still nothing, it was like the lab had been deserted, but then you looked up, trying to figure out where he went and that's when you saw it, plain as day.

Raven. It's not that you hated Raven, you thought she was nice, but it always pained you the way Hank would look at her - the same way he is now. Eyes lit up, hanging on her every words, his cheeks dusted pink cause she brushed his arm, he was beginning to stutter cause he was getting nervous. The same way he was when you and him first got together - now you were practically invisible and second best.

Quietly, undetected, you slipped out of the lab, to your room to pack your bags. You made sure your thoughts were loud enough for Charles to hear and made him promise not to tell Hank. You had everything planned and the taxi called - grabbing your bag, you walked the end of the road, making sure you didn't miss your cab.

"(Y/N), wait," a small voice called from the distance. Turning around you saw Hank running to catch up. Catching up, he looked at you confused. "You're leaving, why?"

"I uh- I got a better job offer," you lied.

"Liar, Charles said its because of me. What have I done wrong?"

'Goddamn it, Charles! You promised you wouldn't tell him.'

'Sorry, (Y/N), but he deserves the right to know and I knew you wouldn't tell him.'

"It's for the best, it's for your happiness, Hank."

"My happiness? My happiness is you, it's you staying. (Y/N), I love you."

You give a small smile to fight back the tears. "Now you're the liar, cause you don't."

Hank opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

"No, just don't. I can see it, so can everyone else. You don't love me, you love Raven. The way you hang on her every word, the way you smile when you see her walk into a room. How you blush when she compliments you, how you stumble over your words when you talk to her. You look at her like she hung the moon and painted the stars," you paused to catch your breath. "It's the same way you used to act around me, it's the same way you used to look at me," you whispered.

"(Y/N)," Hank whispered, you didn't even need to look in order to know he had tears on his eyes too.

"It's okay, sometimes people grow apart. That's why I'm leaving, I don't want to stand in the way. You can pursue her now and I wish you guys the best."

"So, not only are you leaving, but you're breaking up with me?" His voice was breaking and it killed you, but you thought it was for the best. Looking down the road, your taxi was in sight. Grabbing your bag, on your tips toes, you place a kiss on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Hank. I love you."

Getting in the taxi, you didn't dare look back for fear of not being able to control the tears.

••6 months later••

Theo and you were so engrossed in conversation, neither of you heard the sets of footsteps that walked into the break room.

"Wait, so you're meaning to tell me that you can build quinjets, build fighter jets, pilot them, breathe and control fire, you're a telepath, and can manipulate and rebuild any molecular composition, and split atoms, yet you can't even knit a pair of socks," Theo laughed unable to believe what you had just told him.

You laughed and gave Theo a little push, "Oh hush, I'm not a knitter, alright."

"Ahem, are you two finished?"

Both of your heads snapped up at the sight of your boss, making you both stand up immediately.

"Professor Xavier, Dr. McCoy, this is Dr. Theodore Marx," he gestured to Theo, "and this is Dr-"

"(Y/N)," Charles cut him off.

"Charles," you smiled sweetly.

"Dr. (L/N), Charles tells me he has a project he'd like you to assist with. It will be a lengthy project, so I have permitted eight weeks leave for you."

"What exactly is this project?"

"(Y/N), I need you and Hank to help rebuild one of our jets. You two are the ones I trust with this the most," Charles explained.

You hesitated to answer, you were worried about having to work with Hank, you still harbored some feelings for him and working in such close proximity was sure to bring them back up.

You forced a smile, "I would love to. I'll pack my bags and be down in a minute."

'Just so you know, the only reason I accepted was for you, Charles.'

'Thank you.'

••At the Mansion••

Hank and you never had much conversation aside from discussing how to rebuild it or asking each other for tools or direction. Both of you were focused on the rebuild or talking with others.

When everyone would take a break, you'd hang around Jubilee and Peter and Hank would station himself with Logan and Charles. Hank was in mid-conversation with the two men when he heard you laugh at something Peter had said, it made his heart and his head drop - the same reaction he had when he walked in the break room and saw you with Theo.

No matter how hard Hank tried to concentrate, he'd always turn his focus to you, hoping to catch your eye, but you'd always have yourself focused at the task at hand or Peter. He was constantly hovering around you and flirting. You liked Peter, not in that way, but you indulged his flirty antics with some of your own, knowing you'd be back to your apartment in no time.

In no time the jet was rebuilt and you were on your way back after having said some tearful goodbyes; your taxi pulled up and you were on your way.

'Rememeber, (Y/N), no matter what, you are always welcome to come back.'

You noted the slight smile in his message. 'I know, thank you, Charles.'

The trip back was slightly exhausting, but you wanted to get your clothes unpacked. After taking a couple articles of clothing out, you noticed a white envelope addressed with just your name. Grabbing it and sitting on the edge of your bed, you open it and see an array of numbered pictures.

The day you arrived and first met Hank. He had a small smile and was looking at his feet.

-After that day everyone joked about how you had him hook, line and sinker.

You had been there just a few days shy of a month. You were sitting in the gardens admiring the flowers with Hank beside you. Except he wasn't looking at the flowers - he was looking at you, a shy smile on his face as he watched your face light up as you talked about your love of gardening.

-That was the day no one let him live down how smitten he was with you.

You were at the piano, fingers dancing across the keys effortlessly. Eyes closed, feeling every note, but Hank wasn't watching how delicately your hands glided over the keys. He was watching you, completely entranced by how lost, how much you felt the music.

-Everyone started calling him 'lover boy' after that.

You were in your room on bed rest after an incident on a mission, Hank was sitting on the edge of your bed with a trey in his hand - some soup, juice and new bandages scattered across it. He had promised to take care of you until you were well again. It made Hank worried sick when he realized you could have died.

-That was the day everyone, but you, knew he truly was in love.

It was after your first year at the X-Mansion. You and Hank were dressed to the nines, in the middle of a slow dance, your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. Somehow the students convinced Charles to have a small dance for the students and teachers. Hank had to hype himself up, with a little help from Charles and Logan, in order to get the courage to ask you to dance.

-That was the night he decided to go for it and ask you out.

You and Hank were coming back from a movie, hand and hand up the driveway, smiles on both of your faces. You had been dating for six months at the time.

-He had told he loved you and asked if you'd 'officially' be his girlfriend, even though everyone knew you already were for a while.

That was the last picture until a note, you opened it to reveal a few more pictures. The were from the recent weeks when you were helping rebuild the jet.

When you arrived back at the mansion to help rebuild. Everyone encapsulated you in a group hug, while Hank just stood back, an adoring smile on his face, waiting for you to make your way to him.

-He held hope that you'd come back permanently. Hank didn't sleep that night, he was up thinking about you.

Hank, hands around your waist, helping you jump out of the engine. Dirty and greasy, you climbed out of the jets engine, ready to jump. Hank noticed and dropped what he was doing to go over and help you down; he didn't want you hurt.

-He didn't want to let you go once your feet hit the ground. Hank wanted so badly to pull you into him like he used to.

You, with Hank reading over you shoulder, looking at the blue prints to the jet.

At the table, you had the blue prints for the jet rolled out. You were concentrating on the paper in front of you when Hank came up behind you, pressing himself against you. You paid it no mind, continuing to focus on the diagram, letting him read over your shoulder if he wanted to.

-He never once look at the blueprints. The only thing he looked at was you. Even in the photo, anybody could see the adoration and love he still had for you.

10:

You and Peter talking. The entire time you had been there, you avoided Hank as best you could, only talking with him when neccessary. So, you usually occupied your time with Peter. Peter had walked with you to grab some tools, and that's where you decided to sit down and talk for a while. In the background was Hank - practically staring daggers towards Peter.

-He hated not be able to get your attention anymore and as ashamed as he would be to admit it, he wanted to fight Peter that day.

11:

A single picture of Hank, forlorn, back against the wall, looking at an old picture of you and him.

-He missed you, anyone could see that. If he could change what happned he would.

12:

The picture Hank had been staring at in the last photo.

You, face covered in frosting, kissing Hank.

You, on the last birthday you had at the mansion.

Hank had attempted to make you a cake and surprise you with it and small party with everyone. Jean lit the candles, and after you blew them out, some of your friends decided to push your face into it. Everyone started laughing, even Hank. As slight "revenge" you get on your tiptoes and gave Hank a long kiss on his lips, making extra sure to get frosting all over him.

-Even though he hated how sticky it made him, he wouldn't have traded that day for the world. He loved the smile you had on your face and the fun you had. He loved you then and still does now.

That was the last photo that covered the writing on the paper that held them. Unfolding the paper, you braces yourself, thinking the worst.

(Y/N),

If it wasn't obvious enough to tell, Hank never stopped. He loved you then and he loves you now. He still thinks and still looks at you like you hung the moon and painted the stars. He waits every night; he walks out to the end of the driveway, hoping you'll come back. I know you still love him too.

Please, (Y/N), won't you come back home?

-X

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