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thebirdandthebee · 10 months

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Back to Sleep (18+)

A little something to try to get back into writing - let me know what you think! 18+ only! This is not edited, so please excuse any glaring issues.

Title: Back to Sleep Ain't sorry that I woke ya. WC: 1839

“Baby, you almost done?” Jake asked from the kitchen, where he’s just finished loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counters. “Come on, let’s be couch potatoes,” he insists.

It’s tempting, it really is, but you’ve got so much work to get done to stay ahead of schedule. Perched at the dining room table, your hair was tossed up in a ponytail as you focused on the laptop ahead. Yes, you were first in your class in your occupational therapy program, but final exams were coming and you were gunning for the number-one spot.

“You go ahead and I’ll meet you,” you said, tipping your head back for your fiancé to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“You’ve been studying like a maniac for weeks,” Jake pointed out, one hand gripping the back of your chair and the other braced on the corner of the dining table, “one night isn’t going to break your streak – exam isn’t for a few weeks, still.”

“I know, I promise, give me thirty minutes,” you insisted, looking up at him through your blue light glasses that you knew he loved.

“Thirty minutes,” he repeated, kissing you again.

But thirty minutes came and went, and you were still staring intently at your computer. Admittedly, Jake got swept up in Thursday Night Football, and at halftime, he shook out of it.

“Excuse me,” he called from over the back of the couch, “Where is my fiancé?” He asked. You peeled your eyes off of your study cards, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Twenty more minutes!” You called back, tucking your hair behind your ear. But as twenty minutes passed once again, you found Jake dragging your chair back from the table. “Jake, please, I’m on a roll,” you whined. You barely had time to grab up your notecards before Jake lifted you from the chair to bring you over to the sofa.

“You can study from the couch if you must,” he said, only somewhat dramatically.

And that’s how the evening progressed, with you flipping through notes and Jake’s arm firmly around your shoulder as the clock ticked later and later. Soon, you were yawning and focusing more on the back of your eyelids than your flashcards.

“Jake,” you murmured, eyes still shut. “I gotta sleep,” you said, reaching over and patting him on the stomach twice.

“I’m going to finish the game, be up in a second,” he assured. You dropped another sweet kiss on his lips before making your way upstairs, flashcards in hand. After changing into a pair of Jake’s boxer briefs and a big t-shirt, you crawled into bed, still flipping through your notes.

Jake was surprised to see you still awake when he came up to bed about forty-five minutes later. Leaving the bathroom door open, he quickly showered and brushed his teeth

“Baby, time for bed,” he gently plucked the cards out of your fingers, tossing them onto his nightstand. You groaned quietly but snuggled up to his side instead. You’d been hitting the books hard and it was finally catching up to you. Jake’s warm, vetiver skin lulled you quickly to sleep.

However, much later, during the wee hours of the night, Jake awoke to find your side of the bed empty. His eyes strained in the dark night and if he listened carefully, he could hear the soft clicking of a keyboard.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jake muttered, wiping at his eyes as he rolled out of bed, lazily pulling his sweatpants up his hips to pull the drawstring tight. He padded down the stairs to see you yet again perched at the dining room table, the chandelier above dimmed to the lowest setting. “What are you doing?” He asked, eyes still adjusting to the light, “it’s almost three in the morning.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, turning to see your fiancé frowning at you in the soft light.

“I know, but I had a dream that I showed up for exam day and couldn’t remember the steps to the malleability scale and I woke up panicking,” you listed off. “I just thought if I could re-arrange some of these class notes into a more visual aid, it would help me remember,” you gestured to the computer, a giant yawn overtaking your face.

“Babe, it’s time for bed,” Jake said, stepping closer. You protectively splayed your hands across your notebook on the table.

“I’m not done,” you said quietly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Jake reached over closing your laptop.

“You’re done. Bed, now,” he ordered, which gave you a little shiver, but you complied nonetheless – dragging your feet down the hall. Luckily for you, you could turn the brightness down on your phone and run through the study guide your leading MD sent out.

After tucking into bed yet again, Jake rolled over, invading your space.

“Phone,” he said, holding out his empty palm.

“Jake,” you began to protest. He tipped his chin up in a challenge. “I need it for my alarm,” you weakly argued.

“We have an alarm clock and I’ll make sure you’re up,” he reassured as you reluctantly placed your phone in his hand. Jake rolled over, his back to you as he set your phone on the side table before snuggling down into the mattress.

“M’not even tired,” you lied with a petulant tone. Jake rolled his eyes, not that you could see it. You spent the next minute being dramatic, sighing heavily and flipping all around to find a comfortable position.

“Baby, go to sleep,” Jake grumbled. You glared at his back for a moment before flopping on your back, arms crossed over your chest, staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you could remember what the study guide looked like from memory.

A few beats passed.

“I swear to god just you being awake like this is keeping me up,” Jake said with finality, rolling over to face you, a stern expression on his face.

“You could have kept sleeping if you just left me alone at the table,” you pointed out.

“You have to sleep or that pretty little brain aint’ gonna remember shit,” he countered, nearly taunting. With a huff, you turned to face away from him, lying on your hip with one knee bent up.

“M’not even tired,” you mumbled again. Ten seconds later, you jumped when you felt Jake’s full body pressing into you from behind.

“You’re not even tired, huh?” Jake asked, knowing damn well you were just being a brat.

“No,” you grumbled, trying to keep in a squeal as his stubble scraped against your neck.

“You want me to put you to sleep?” He breathed into your ear, big hand landing on your upper thigh, just below where his boxer briefs had ridden up your leg with all your tossing and turning.

“You can’t,” you replied, still feeling put off by Jake confiscating your flashcards.

“Sure I can,” he said, hips shifting so you could feel his soft erection against you.

“Bet I can get you to sleep in twenty minutes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“Not even tired,” you tried not to gasp as his fingertips slipped below the stretchy band of your borrowed shorts.

“How can you be tired when you’re this wet?” He asked, swiping his fingers through your sex, making you huff.

“You know I like those boxers on you,” you muttered, embarrassed, but at least you were honest. “You’re on the clock, Hangman,” you reminded. Jake gladly cradled your clit between his two fingers, rolling them up and down against your skin. The way you almost avoided his touch by pressing your hips down into the mattress made him grin. Sometimes it was almost too easy. You frowned softly into your pillow as you felt Jake’s hand retreat from your body, but squealed as he quickly dragged the waistband of his boxers all the way down to your ankles.

Jake softly huffed as he pressed his blunt tip against your sex, jaw clenching at the resistance as he sunk in further and further. Turning him further beneath you, your front was pressed down into the mattress.

“How’s that, hmm?” He murmured in your ear. “Gonna listen to me when I tell you to go to sleep, smart girl?” You simply whined gently at the feeling as he filled you. “You hear me?” He asked, knowing he was being haughty.

“Yeah,” you whispered, pushing your hips back against him. Jake reached underneath you, palming your breast in his hand as he continued to fuck you gently down into the mattress. “Jake,” you huffed softly.

“I know, pretty girl,” he cooed patronizingly. “Put you right back to sleep tonight,” he snapped his hips, making you jump. His hand traveled down your stomach, the other braced against the bed so he didn’t squish you entirely, to find your clit again, and gently circling it.

You could feel it start to tickle at the soles of your feet – a telltale sign of impending orgasm.

“More,” you murmured, eyes shutting gently both from pleasure and pure exhaustion.

“More?” Jake asked, pulling his hand out from between your body and the mattress, dipping his fingers in his mouth as his hips continued their steady thrusts. Zeroing in on your clit once more, he knew you were getting close – after this long together, he could read you like a book. He didn’t mind, he was close as well. “Going to fill you right up with a sleeping pill,” he didn’t care that he sounded corny, he was putting his money where his mouth was. One more strategic roll of his fingers and you were fluttering around Jake’s cock, toes curled tight at the end of the bed.

“There we go,” Jake grunted, meeting his own orgasm as he pumped into you dutifully. “That’s a good girl,” he exhaled.

You hated it when Jake was right, because now, your eyelids felt like they were being weight down with bags of cement. Whining once more as he withdrew, you jumped when he tapped the head of his spent cock against your clit.

“Wait right here, precious,” he said, pressing a kiss to the round of your hip.

As if you were going anywhere now. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, you knew an alarm was set for the morning, because now you simply couldn’t be bothered to lift your head from the pillow.

“Warmed it up for you, baby,” Jake murmured as a warning before a wet washcloth swiped through your folds. “I know, I know,” he hushed. Jake wiped himself down before padding across the room to drop the towel in the laundry hamper.

Crawling back onto the mattress, he threw a blanket over the two of you, double checking his alarm once more before tossing an arm over your waist. Your lashes laid across your cheekbones in pure serenity as you entered deep sleep.

“Thought you weren’t tired, huh?”

#jake seresin smut #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman fluff #hangman smut #hangman fic #hangman x reader

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irisintheafterglow · 9 months

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heyy hope you're doing well (iykyk).

You know me lol...i got an idea for a fic but my exams are going on and i can't write it myself...like... that scene where gojo is panting? everyone relates it to well....but for me, i always feel a little hurt. i just wanna hug him and let him lean his weight on me as he catches his breath while i caresses his head cuz LOOK AT HIM! HE'S EXHAUSTED! MY MAN DESERVES A BREAK!!

Anyways so that's what i was thinking lol....a fic where (for the sake of my sanity) he gets a break and leans on the reader on the floor while catching his breath as the reader holds him close... it's okay if you can't do it though i just hope we all recover from the trauma that we call jujutsu kaisen. amen 🙏 😭

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours

wc: 0.44k

cw/tags: swearing, angst if you squint real hard, pet names (baby, angel), just loving satoru things

note: you're literally so right i think all my problems would be solved if i could just hold him for a second and let him breathe because GEGE WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU- anyways hope you like this, it's just a drabble because i felt like getting straight to the point without exposition oops. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <;3 gege you will pay for my therapy

Your back collides with cold, grimey tile as you slide onto the floor in the corner of the subway stop. You stopped counting the number of Curses you’d exorcized a long time ago, but you knew it was a large enough number to have your body physically depleted. Your eyes shut from sheer exhaustion as you continue to steady your rapid breathing and you sense him collapse on the floor next to you. You don’t open your eyes, even when his forehead falls onto your shoulder and you can feel his heavy exhales through your clothes. Somewhere in the dim fluorescent lights, his right hand grabs your left, holding it tightly as he grounds himself in your presence.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking tired,” he mutters against your body. Like clockwork, your fight-or-flight response starts to recede now that he’s here. You’re always safe when he’s here. “I’m so, so tired.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“I’m safe, ‘toru. Even more so now that you’re here. Just rest.” The familiar feeling of Infinity extending itself to envelop you sends goosebumps on your skin; it was like his technique knew to cover you from sheer instinct after doing it so many times. Whether he knows it or not, he slowly starts to completely slump against you and you let him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders while his head fits snugly under your chin. His body continues to melt into you when you rub his back without him asking and sighing when your fingers comb through his hair. If Nanami or Yaga saw you two curled up on the dirty floor, neglecting your duties of slaying Curses, they’d have a field day. But, as of now, the only people in the green-tinted underground were you and Satoru.

“We gotta get back out there,” he groans and you tighten your grip on his shoulders ever so slightly to pull him back to you. You didn’t want him to go yet, and it seemed like he didn’t want to, either. The universe allowed Satoru very limited moments to catch his breath and you damn sure weren’t going to let him rush into danger again so quickly.

“Give yourself a few more seconds to just breathe, please. No one’s gonna hurt us right now,” you murmur into his hair. “I won’t let them.” He huffs out half a laugh at the irony, at your promise to protect the one who’s supposed to be guarding everyone else.

“Thank you, angel. Just give me a little longer and I’ll get up.”

“Take all the time you need; I’ll stay here forever if you need me.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ask iris!#gojo angst #gojo fluff #gojo satoru

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elizabethsnuts · 3 months

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Can I request Connor Rhodes x teen!daughter!reader where she's falling behind in school but is trying to hide it from him so as to not disappoint him, and then when he finds out he expresses that he's not disappointed but that he wished she would've come to him for help. If not, I completely understand, but I just gotta say, I love your writing!

You’re Not a Failure

Connor Rhodes x Daughter!reader

Summary: Connor’s daughter is struggling in school and tries to hide it from him.

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I’m glad you like my writing, it means a lot <3

———

It was the exams after exams after exams, the nights of endless studying and the sleep deprivation that hit you.

You sat at the boring old wooden school desk, your test paper was flipped over to the back so the result was hidden. You stared at the back of the test paper , you couldn’t bring yourself to flip it over but you did. Yet another ‘D’. You groaned to yourself in frustration, shoving your paper in your bag, zipping it up and slinging it over your shoulder.

———

That night, Connor walked into the apartment, weary from a long day at the hospital. As he kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat, he noticed you sitting at the kitchen table with your textbooks spread out in front of you. You looked tense, your brow furrowed in concentration.

"Hey, sweetheart, how was your day?" Connor asked, walking over to you.

You looked up and forced a smile. "It was fine, Dad. Just studying for a test."

Connor nodded. “How’d your test go today? You said you were getting your results back?”

You froze, your eyes slightly widening. You swallowed down the lump in your throat and answered your dad. “Uh no not yet… they said there was still a uhm couple more to be uh marked.”

Connor stared at you for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “Alright, that’s okay.” He knew something was up but he didn’t want to push her to talk.

———

That same night, Connor received an unexpected email from your teacher. It detailed your recent struggles in class—falling grades, missed assignments, and a noticeable lack of focus. Concerned, Connor called the school immediately and arranged a meeting with your teacher.

Later during dinner Connor decided to confront you, he wanted to help you. He couldn’t let himself just ignore the fact his own daughter was struggling.

“So, Y/n. I got an email from your teacher, you’re struggling in school. Why didn’t you tell me? I want to help you sweetheart but I can’t if you don’t tell me these things.” Connor said as he saw your eyes fill with tears and stream down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry dad! I didn’t want to disappoint you. I can’t focus, I can’t listen properly! It feels like everything the teacher says just goes in one ear and out the other! I didn’t want you to think I was a failure…” You let the tears fall, the waterworks arriving. Your nose running and tears overflow as you spoke.

Connor wrapped his arms around you, his heart breaking at your obvious distress. "Y/N, sweetheart, I'm not disappointed in you and I will never ever think you’re a failure. I just wish you had come to me sooner. You don't have to face this alone. I want to help you, I don’t want you to suffer alone."

He assured you that the two of you would work through your difficulties together, and he would do whatever it took to help you succeed. Whether it was tutoring, therapy, or simply spending more time studying together, Connor was determined to support his daughter every step of the way.

The next exam that rolled around, you passed with flying colours. You felt a weight lift off your shoulders. With your father by your side, you knew that you’d never be alone in tour struggles. And Connor, proud of his daughter's resilience, vowed to always be there for you, no matter what challenges you faced together.

#connor rhodes x daughter!reader #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #chicago med #daughter!reader #connor rhodes x teen!reader #teen!reader

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love-kurdt · 2 months

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just a little announcement for fanfic readers who aren’t writers

(not all of you!! most of you are wonderful!! this is just specifically meant for those who repeatedly ask me about updates and shit even after i’ve explained why i haven’t updated in x amount of days)

ok hi i’m breaking my silence. call me offensive, cancel me, whatever you want to do. but i’ve had enough. sometimes some of y’all make me want to quit writing altogether. specifically those of y’all who are solely readers who don’t write. because i don’t think y’all fully comprehend what it’s like to be a writer, let alone understand the creative process and all it entails.

writing is a tricky thing. because i could sit in front of my computer with all the motivation to write and with nothing else on my plate and come out of a writing session with absolutely nothing. it’s so frustrating. i’ve pulled my hair out trying to wrack my brain for a mere sentence. on the other hand, i could spend a short amount of time writing and get a shit ton of work done. it all happens by chance.

all creators are different. some are able to work at lightning speed and not care about the quality as much. there are some who work super slowly because they care too much about the quality and not about the time constraints. and there are a bunch of people who are scattered in the middle of these two extremes. inspiration also plays a huge role in writing. it can be found in many places, and sometimes, it can’t be found at all. i can read book after book, watch stranger things 10 times in a month, spend time outside, talking with friends, and still draw a blank when writing.

y’all don’t understand the amount of work that goes into writing. authors spend hours. days. months. on stuff that you’ll consume in five minutes. and then you demand more. people have been sending in comments, dms, and asks about when i’m going to update my stories, youtube channel, etc., and telling me things like “omg this is taking forever” and “why did you stop.” i didn’t stop. i just have a life. giving y’all the “writing takes time” spiel doesn’t seem to make any difference at all. you guys just don’t care. all you want is content.

last year was one of the worst years of my life, and i churned out “this is me trying” as therapy. i hadn’t even planned any sequels back then. i just wrote what i had in my head and hoped for the best. i shouldn’t have even mentioned the possibility of sequels at all, because that just set me up for all this bullshit. this week, i just finished my last final exams of my life. i’m graduating from college next saturday, which i attended while working full time for all 4 years, and writing music and fanfic on the side. and i’m fucking tired.

long story short,

if you feel called out by this post, then you’re part of the problem. be more considerate.

#byler #byler fanfic #byler fic #stranger things fic #fanfic authors #love kurdt bullshit #love kurdt asks #stop harassing people #i’m fucking tired #ao3 writer #writers on tumblr

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howaboutcastiel · 2 years

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That One Angsty Fic (Moon Boys)

Summary: It doesn’t always make sense, but some days are just bad ones. Sometimes you’re your own worst enemy, and it takes losing a battle with yourself to see that. Marc, Steven, and Jake are able to see it, even if you can’t at first.

Author’s Note: This fic was originally supposed to end differently. Writing it was therapeutic for me, and the ending was also supposed to be, but revelations in therapy and changes in medications have made things different. Just… it exists.

Content Warning: ⚠️ Mental illness, sensory overload, anxiety and panic attacks, self harm ideation, self harm (cutting), suicidal language/suggestiveness, kinda graphic depiction. Other stuff I don’t know how to tag, just generally take caution. Hopeful ending.

Word Count 7.3k

Sometimes rabbit holes are hard to climb out of.

Sitting at your desk alone, waiting for your boys to come home, it was easy to dig yourself deeper. The cars on the street below you were too loud. The overhead lights were too bright and the draft from the windows was far too strong. The inclination to sink into your own thoughts was hard to resist, especially since you didn’t realize you were doing it.

Today really fucking sucks. I feel like I can’t do anything. I can’t eat right, I can’t sleep right, and I certainly can’t do my schoolwork correctly. I’m overdue on returning a library book and I haven’t scheduled that very important meeting with my advising professor. Everything is working out and my life is going dandy right now, but holy fucking shit do I feel like a massive failure.

They always say to reach out for help. The professionals say “you have people who love you, they want you to come to them.” God if that isn’t further from the truth. Sure, my mom told me she was proud of me yesterday, even after I told her I can’t graduate with honors like I planned to do. Sure, my friends tell me all the time that I’m funny and smart, but they’re just being nice to me. They don’t like making fun of people. Maybe my grandma cried the other day over the phone because I’m the only grandchild who calls to ask how she’s doing, but I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.

I’m the bare minimum. I feel like I'm at the bottom of the barrel. I’ll never live up to my potential or to the expectations of the people that I love.

I don’t even think that I’m enough for Steven anymore.

If I’m not enough for him, then I really have nothing at all, don’t I? There’s no question either, if I’m too much of a fuck up for him, I’m certainly not good enough for Marc or even Jake. Hell, the way I’m performing right now, Jake Lockley probably wouldn’t even give me the time of day.

Rabbit holes are hard to climb out of, especially when you’re alone.

There wasn’t anything in particular that made today worse than any of the others. By some metrics, in fact, it was a very good day. You had gotten an A on your midterm exam. You’d found a twenty-dollar bill inside of your coat pocket. Hell, someone had even left your favorite dessert in the break room, and you’d gotten to eat a serving of it between class and work. It should have been a good day, but it just wasn’t.

That’s the thing that people don’t understand about being ill. It’s just that: an illness. It doesn’t matter how much you eat healthy, or how much you exercise. It doesn’t matter how much meditation you do or how much you write in your diary or how much you pray to God—sometimes a day is just going to suck. It’s not rational, or even understandable, but that’s the truth of the matter. Sometimes sick people just… feel sick.

Steven understood that. So did Marc, and so did Jake. If there was anything in this world that they did understand, it’s that sometimes a person can be their own worst enemy. They understood that it wasn’t your fault, and they understood that some days were harder than others. The compassion that you couldn’t have for yourself? Well, they somehow always managed to have it.

You were convinced, though, that they wouldn’t have it today.

This has to be the final straw for them, doesn’t it? They’re going to come home and the dishes won’t be done, the laundry will still be dirty, and there won’t even be dinner on the table for them to eat. I’m going to have to tell them I don’t have a reason for it. I didn’t get it done only because I’m lazy and the lights were too bright. They’re going to laugh at me. They’re going to hate me.

Steven Grant is going to hate me.

I think maybe that’s what I deserve. He's so much more than me, isn’t he? They all are. They’ve been through so much, and yet they’re so strong and so wise. Steven is so kind. But look at me. I’m not… any of those things, am I? I’m all the wrong things. Too big, too awkward, too stupid. I’m not enough for him. I’m not enough for any of them, and I think maybe today they’re going to realize that. I don’t know if I can handle that.

It was half-past seven now. Steven would be coming home from his shift any moment. Or someone would. Whoever was fronting tonight didn’t really matter. It was all going to end the same way, you were convinced. You moved from the desk, tired of the weight on your back, and curled yourself up on the floor of the study. It wasn’t exactly a screaming and crying kind of panic, but it was still panic.

Why can’t I just do more? Why can’t I get up and get all of these chores done, right here and right now? Nothing’s stopping me. I know exactly what to do, I’ve done all of this a million times or more. It’s the easiest thing in the world to do. Why can’t I just get up and do it?

It wasn’t just that, though. How much easier it would have been if it was, but it wasn’t.

Why can’t I do anything right? I can’t even be sad right. Why can’t I cry? Maybe they would understand if I was crying. God, what if they yell at me? I don’t know what to do if they yell at me. Please don’t yell at me. Just get up and do the damn chores. Just do something. Do something.

They’re going to yell at me.

This is all so pathetic. I’m being dramatic, but I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. I feel like I’m ready to explode or implode or just wither away. I feel like I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I can’t stop it, though, and it makes me feel like I’m insane. I feel like I’m out of control. I want to feel in control. I want to be in control.

I want to be in control. How do I take back control?

You heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall, instinctively curling in on yourself a little bit more. You had memorized the sound and usually it brought you a warm and welcoming feeling. Today, though, it only made your pounding heart sink deeper into your chest. You braced yourself resignedly for the yelling and anger, or at the very least for the disappointment. Honestly, you didn’t know which one of them was worse.

It was Marc Spector who walked through the front door of the apartment. Admittedly, you couldn’t tell that he was at the front just by his body language, but luckily the boys were used to announcing themselves as they came through the door. It made things easier, and they knew that it comforted you.

“Hey, baby,” he started, the keys clinking in his hands as the door latched shut behind him. He was the only one who called you that. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but we got distracted on the walk home. Why’re you sitting in the dark? Are you here?”

You didn’t have the energy to answer him. Well, you had the energy, but you didn’t have the confidence. That, and you couldn’t really find your voice under all of the panic. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth, and you were nauseous. You feared if you opened your mouth, it wouldn’t be words that came spilling out. Marc ventured further inside and finally spotted you, hugging your knees in the space between the desk and the wardrobe. He tilted his head and widened his eyes in concern, and you could feel the heat on your face.

“You okay?” He furrowed his brows when you didn’t answer him. You could only look up at him, breathing slowly around the lump in your throat, and you wanted to bury your head right back into your knees when you saw the look on his face. Of course he was going to be concerned, and you were going to have to tell him he had no reason to be. It didn’t make sense for it to be so difficult, though. Why couldn’t you just make yourself speak up? It was the simplest thing.

“Did something happen?” His voice was low and little, and you managed to shake your head at his question. Some other feeling was fighting the paralysis now that he was here, but it wasn’t a good feeling. You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. “No? Well, are you hurt?”

Again, you shook your head. It was technically true, right? You weren’t hurt. You couldn’t really even pinpoint what was wrong with you. He pressed his lips into a thin line, surveying your body for any signs of damage. He found none, so Marc brought his hand up to touch your arm and you instinctively cowered away. You felt guilty as soon as you did it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of the pressure on your skin.

“I don’t know how to help, baby.”

That was what made the tears start to slowly stream. You didn’t feel the need to sob or choke, just to press your nose between your knees and hide your face from him as it contorted into a crying mess. For him to understand, you knew that you had to say something. It was just so hard to get anything out.

“I didn’t do the dishes,” you mumbled. Your admittance confused him and he moved to sit down across from you. You fought back a sob that tried to erupt from your throat. Hearing it out loud, you could understand how your words didn’t quite clear things up for him. “I didn’t do the laundry, either, and I haven’t made dinner.”

“Okay?” He almost laughed, but he could see anguish that you were in, so he stifled it. Marc waited for you to explain yourself further. It became clear you were having trouble with that, so he began to think meticulously through his answer.

“I’m sorry.” A sob broke around your words, but they were still unmistakable. His face twisted again into confusion and something that looked like offense. You hoped it wasn’t that.

“Why are you sorry?” he asked. That was a hard question for you to answer.

“I should have done it by now. I should have finished it all. You should be able to come home to a clean apartment and a warm meal, and I said that I would do it. I should have done it.”

The self-inflicted misogyny aside, he was shocked by your statement. Marc understood the mindset of having to please your housemates. When he was a child, skipping his chores meant more than just a few words of disappointment from his mom. But this wasn’t that. Marc had never, never yelled at you before, and he certainly didn’t expect you to do all of his housework for him. You were partners. You shared the responsibility.

“Honey, they’re just chores,” he tried to explain. He couldn’t imagine exactly where you were coming from, but he’d talked you down from enough panic attacks to at least know where he should start. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal, and we can order take-out for dinner.”

You felt stupid. He wasn’t even mad, and you’d made such a big deal out of all of it. Of course he wasn’t going to yell at you. Marc would never yell at you. None of them would. You should feel relieved now, right? But you didn’t feel relieved. You just felt stupid.

“You with me?” He peered into your eyes with nothing but genuine softness. You couldn’t resist that look, not even in the state you were in. So, you pretended for him.

You nodded.

“Good. Come on, let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Marc took your hands into his and helped you to your feet. Your limbs were stiff from sitting like that, and your chest was heavy from all of the worry. He gently led you over to the couch, coaxing you to sit down and pulling a throw blanket from the shelf under the coffee table. You shuddered as he opened it and tossed it over you. He noticed that you were shaking.

“I’m gonna order dinner, okay? You need to eat something.” Marc moved to pull his phone out of his coat pocket. You didn’t really feel hungry, more nausea than anything filling your gut right now. “I think that you’ll feel better after that.”

You put on a brave, numb face for the rest of the evening. Well, for the next little while, at least. Marc ordered one of your favorite meals for dinner, making sure to buy so much that you would have leftovers. He wasn’t too great of a cook himself, so he was used to ordering out after a long or busy day. When the food finally came, you nibbled at it just enough to prove to him that you were trying. It tasted pretty good, but you couldn’t be sure you would keep it down, and the thought of swallowing just made you shudder some more.

After a while, Marc had decided that you looked calm enough. He let Steven take control of the body once he finished his meal, the tiring day having weighed on him, too. He made sure to warn his alter to keep tabs on you, noting how you seemed to be having a particularly rough day. Steven had no problem with that, as he was more than happy to give you his attention no matter the circumstances.

He didn’t exactly know what he was getting himself into.

When dinner was done and you’d convinced Steven that you really couldn’t eat any more, he packaged the rest of your food in heat-safe boxes. He also did the dishes, which he meant as a gesture of affection. Steven didn’t realize that his simple act of service would send you farther down the spiral.

Now you felt guilty. Not only had you failed to do the housework you’d promised you would, but now he was picking up your slack. To you, that was just unacceptable. I’m so much more trouble than I’m worth, you thought. Maybe they were just dishes, but they felt like so much more than that to you. They were a symbol of your failure, a symbol of all of the good things that he was and the bad things that you were, and why you could never be deserving of him.

The familiar urge started to bubble in your chest. You knew you should have said something the minute you felt it, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to, not in the middle of the spiral that you’d already begun. It always started as a spike of energy, an ironically paralyzing energy, and a buzzing in your skin. From there, it would grow and evolve and mutate into something else. It was an urge to self-destruct, to punish yourself and gain control. It didn’t make any sense, not in the slightest, and it surely didn’t make sense now, but such was the nature of being ill.

It didn’t have to make sense. It just had to be.

You felt the heat draining from your body as you watched him pass the plates from the sink to the drying rack. The shivering was only beginning, and you knew already that nothing would help you get warm. Not a blanket, not a hug, not a piping hot cup of tea. This was the kind of chill that ran further than skin-deep. The sensation grew outward from your chest. It made you want to press your palms into your eyes and scratch at your skin until it was raw. A lump was starting to thicken in your throat, your saliva becoming too thick to swallow.

I can’t believe I’m letting them baby me like this. I should be taking care of him, not the other way around. They must be so tired of coddling me like this. I wonder if they think I’m too sensitive. They must think that. I am too sensitive. It’s a matter of time before they get enough of it and kick me to the curb. It must be. I just wish I could stop. I have to stop.

Steven was turned away from you, intently focused on the task at hand. He didn’t notice how you had gone pale. He had a chore to complete. He wasn’t one to leave a dish half-washed, so he had to meticulously scrub each plate until he was sure it was clean.

He’s even better than me at this. What else do I have to offer him?

You pulled yourself up from your seat at the table, making sure to drag the legs of the chair against the wood just enough to alert him to the movement. You shuffled over to the couch as he finished up at the sink. When you clicked the power button on the TV remote, it flashed on to reveal some old sitcom you weren’t interested in seeing. It would look normal, though, when Steven dried his hands and emerged from the kitchen to join you. He would think that you were okay, and that was a good thing. You didn’t want him to think that you weren’t okay.

“Can I join?” Steven meekly asked as you scuffled to one side of the couch to make room for him. He was wearing a soft expression that made you feel like he saw you as fragile. He looked away from you as he sat down. “I think I might stay up a bit tonight. I want to read this new book I got about Neferefre.”

“What is that?” You prompted him, knowing you were opening the conversation to a classic Steven Grant infodump. If you looked interested and you got him to start talking, he wouldn’t even notice how much of a mess you’d been today—and how much of a mess you were now.

Steven began his little spiel. The man he spoke of was apparently one of the pharaohs of Egypt, a prince who ascended to the throne and died young. You watched his face light up as he told you about the man. It wasn’t uncommon of him to lose himself entirely in his little stories about ancient Egyptian history. He would speak for hours if you let him, which was a relief, because you certainly didn’t know how to fill any gaps of silence. Steven’s eyes widened and glistened as he went on, touting knowledge to you that would impress even the most prestigious academics of the subject.

His smile was such a pure and innocent thing. Steven was proud of himself, as he very well should have been, and he was happy that someone was here for him to share his knowledge with. It put into perspective for you just how much you didn’t compare. He was a living, breathing encyclopedia. A life-long researcher who would pour his heart and soul into the subjects he loved. In contrast, you were just going through the motions. You had reached your last semester of your undergrad, but you had no passion at all for your major anymore. Maybe you would get some fancy latin honor at your graduation, but you were by no means a good student, and you sure as hell weren’t an expert on the subject.

Why can’t I just stop myself from spiraling? Why can’t I just be someone that he deserves?

It was getting to the point where you were afraid that the feeling in your chest was going to start boiling over. Your skin was on fire and you were covered in a thin layer of icy sweat that did nothing to calm you. You wanted to curl into a ball and rip out your hair. You wanted to rock yourself back and forth with your head between your knees, and you wanted most of all to take yourself apart piece by delicate piece.

The urge was almost overwhelming. You had managed to hide this part of yourself from them for your entire relationship up to this point. Marc had his suspicions about your behavior in the past and Steven had noticed your sensitivity and lapses in communication, but neither of them had ever been there with you when you had an episode of self harm. You’d been in recovery when you first started dating them, and you’d only broken your clean streaks on occasions where they weren’t around. They didn’t really know what to look for and they didn’t know how close to the edge you really were.

You were very, very close to it.

Steven blinked at you confusedly. He’d asked you a question, apparently, and you’d failed to hear it over the pounding thud of your heartbeat inside of your ears. There was no denying that you’d spaced out while talking to him, no pretending your mind wasn’t clearly somewhere far away from here. He raised his eyebrows at you as you widen your gaze and pressed your lips together, pulling yourself back to him.

“Sorry, I just have had a long day, love,” you tried to deflect his unyielding inclination to peer into you. Steven Grant was a caregiver, an innate protector of those who were mentally vulnerable, and you certainly fit that category right now, but you would be damned if you let him baby you. Or, god forbid, worry about you. “I wanted to hear about your Pharoah guy, but I think I’m too tired to take it all in.”

You hoped he would ignore the fact that, despite your words, you seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy. The last thing you’d ever want to do was make Steven worry. You hoped to God that he couldn’t see the panic rising within you, stirring up the familiar frenzy in your limbs and enticing you to have a rendezvous with your razor in the bathroom.

He scooped you into his arms, pressing around you with a calming strength that almost touched the chill underneath your skin. Your body was half-limp as Steven encased you in a sturdy hug. He nuzzled his face into your neck and he breathed you in with an exhausted sigh.

“It’s alright. I’ll talk about him later.” Steven hummed into your skin, no doubt just as tired as Marc had been. “I’m sorry about your long day. It’s okay now, though. You can just relax with me.”

Guilty. Stupid.

“Okay. Thank you, baby.” You swallowed hard and dipped your head into his chest. Steven’s grip around you was strong, but casual. To him, as far as you could tell, you appeared to be doing just fine. A little tired, a little shaky, but overall just fine. That was a good thing, right? You were glad to not be worrying him. But some primal part of you was screaming to tell him you needed his help. You suppressed that part—it was bound to make things worse for you both.

There was silence for a little while. The television droned on, drawing small, breathy laughs from Steven and smiles from you in response to his laughs. The beating of his heart against your ear served to chip slowly away at your unease, dampening the pounding in your head. The pressure in your chest released bit by bit. The unspeakable urge fizzled out from your hands just a little. You finally were starting to feel like you could breathe normally, when a stray thought drew Steven away from the telly.

“When you did laundry today,” the words shot hot iron spikes through your ribcage. You froze in place, “did you happen to see my green button-up? The one with the stripes. I was going to wear it tomorrow to the museum holiday party, but I couldn’t find it when I looked this morning.”

How could you respond to him? You’d have to tell him it wouldn’t be clean in time for the party. You hadn’t washed it. You had not even touched the laundry today, in fact. You’d come home from work a few hours ago and plopped right down at your desk, wasting the evening away instead of doing the chores that you’d promised.

“I’m sorry,” you began. His lips turned downward into a puzzled grimace. “The laundry isn’t done. I don’t know if your shirt is in there, but if it is, it’s not clean. You won’t be able to wear it tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His face remained as puzzled as it was, now tinged with disappointment as well. You couldn’t live with his disapproval, no matter how much your body and mind seemed incapable of performing correctly.

“But I can go wash it right now! It will be ready by morning if I start a load—”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it, darling. It’s late, and it’s just a shirt. I can wear something else to the party. God knows Donna won’t appreciate the effort I put into my outfit anyway.” He bore an uneven smile and grazed the back of your neck with his hand, pushing your head back down to rest on his chest.

The coil around your heart re-tightened.

You laid in his arms as long as you could manage to sit still. Soon enough, the shaking of your bones and the pounding in your chest was so strong that it would be noticeable if you continued to sit in his grasp. So, with a shy cough and a fake, lopsided smile, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid! Stupid! You couldn’t believe the way you were behaving. Why couldn’t you just be normal for one single day? Why did you have to worry your boys, why did you have to be so miserable, and why did your heart still threaten to beat right out of your chest even though Steven had held you in his arms and told you everything was okay? Stupid. So fucking stupid and pathetic and whiny and stupid.

You could feel the ice trickling down your spine, sinking into the curves of your ribs and clenching your muscles tense. The heat of your anger—at yourself and at the world, but mostly at yourself—did nothing to warm the deep chill in your bones.

Be fucking useful for once.

The sound of the electricity was too loud, the light coming under the door too bright. You banged your open palms against your head, curling them into fists and pounding harder when the noise only grew more irritating. Your breathing was rapid and empty, silent tears streamed down your face. Your knuckles drummed against your skull forcefully, over and over and over again, until the action was automatic and numb.

Stop being a burden. Stop being stupid. Steven has been through more shit than you ever will have gone through. You’re a useless fucking partner to him. Stop wasting space.

The dull knocking against your head wasn’t nearly enough. The seething inside your bones demanded something more. Something urgent and strong. You grew tired of the motion and lowered your hands, leaning into the dizzying soreness at the sides of your scalp. Your heart began to calm, unbeknownst to the agony in the rest of your body.

Stop wasting space.

You clutched the vanity. Your now-raw knuckles were white and the room was spinning. Maybe if you’d eaten more, you’d feel the need to throw up.

Stop taking up space.

The way that your hand rose to the medicine cabinet made you feel like an observer inside your own skin. For a passing, ever-so tiny moment, you wondered if this was what Jake felt. What Marc felt. Was this what Steven Grant felt when he wasn’t in control?

No, surely not. This was you taking control.

You weren’t one to show yourself mercy. Even in something like this, where mercy was a severely relative term. The thoughtful thing to have done would have been to grab your razor from the shelf, or taken one of Steven’s replacement razors from the pack beside the mouthwash. A sharp, unyielding weapon for a clean, quick punishment. You didn’t want to cut yourself open, though. That would be too generous, too easy.

You didn’t want something smooth, something to leave pretty and even stripes in delicate skin, like guiding lines on an empty notebook sheet. No, you didn’t want to cut yourself deep. This was visceral, personal. You wanted to rip yourself apart.

From the top shelf, you grabbed the old and rusty scissors that you had left in the bathroom for your spur-of-the-moment haircuts and for cutting tags off of new clothes. They were dull and awkward and hardly able to cut warm butter at this point, which is exactly what you were going for.

Stop. Being. Stupid.

You didn’t know if it made you feel better or made you feel worse, but it made you feel. Digging the blade into your skin, jabbing the open edge into your thigh after pulling parallel strokes on your forearms, it made you feel more in-control than you had all day. It was intoxicating. It was all-consuming. Before you knew it, you had fallen into a trance of sorts and the repetition was only halted by the realization that you had to breathe eventually.

A sharp breath in. Pain. A slow, shaky exhale. Stupid. A stifled cough, a desperate sucking in of air. Useless. A wheezing huff, like a deflating balloon.

Tired.

The blade slipped away from your hand and clattered unenthusiastically onto the floor. There wasn’t nearly as much blood as there could have been. Your teeth chattered, and now, despite having barely grazed dinner, you feared that you might up-chuck. A low groan tumbled out of your lungs as you crouched over the toilet bowl, thick red streams trickling down to the creases of your skin. You heaved once, then twice, then the vague remnants of your dinner were out of your stomach and the pressure against your chest forced a cry from your lips.

You sighed, flushed, and slumped into a weak puddle on the tile. There was a knock at the door.

“Darling?”

No. No. No no no nononono. What did I do? Your mind was racing and your heart had re-started its blunt assault on the inside of your ribs, but your limbs were like jello. Your tongue was like sand. He can’t see me like this!

“You sound like you’re sick. Was it the dinner, love? Let me hold your hair back, at least.”

He can’t see me like this. I can’t do that to him. But you couldn’t move, either. You could barely keep your eyes open. You tried to yell at him to go away, but your lungs were too heavy to muster more than a hoarse whisper. That was if you could even get your lips to part.

Guilty.

You could hear Steven’s breath rattle on the other side of the door. “You’re worrying me. I’m going to open the door now, yeah? Don’t mean to pry, of course, but sure as I don’t, you’ll have hit your head on the sink or something and be out cold—”

He’d turned the knob on the bathroom door—the stupid old thing never did lock correctly, you’d been meaning to get that fixed—and pushed his way inside, only to stop dead in his tracks the moment he saw you.

Your pale and shaking hands clenched your knees, blood lazily tricking into your elbow’s crease and tapping the floor in a steady drip. It wasn’t nearly an amount of blood loss to be worried about, but that didn’t matter to him. There was blood dripping onto the floor, and it was coming from you. Steven’s color drained from his face as he watched the forming puddle for a moment. He didn’t move, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, and his hand still lingering on the doorknob. After a few seconds, he gathered a shaky breath and broke his gaze away.

“What happened?”

His voice was whining, panicky. You could see sweat beading on his forehead as he knelt across from you. He trailed his hand up your arm, looking for the incisions that were causing the flow. His fingers were careful not to touch the long, parallel slits that ran up toward your wrists. You heard a breathless whimper leave his lips as he pulled your arms up, revealing the jagged, shallow puncture wounds in your thighs that looked just as bad.

“Darling, what happened?” He was more urgent now, his voice louder and demanding. “Are you hearing me?”

He grabbed the nearest towel from the shelf under the sink, wrapping it around the wrist closest to him and pressing the other one underneath. Steven’s breathing was shallow and his eyes danced rapidly between your forearms, your thighs, and your face. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes focused on him. It was all that you could do to keep them open at all. He continued pleading with you, but his voice was distant in your head.

Tired.

“What have you done?” You didn’t know if his intention was for you to answer. “Why did you—what did you do to yourself? I don’t understand. I don’t… I don’t…”

His breath was quickening. You tried to pull your head together, to ignore the pounding in your skull and force your eyes to work. Weakly, you wiggled your fingers. If they could move, perhaps the rest of you could as well. Your tongue was as heavy as lead in your mouth, but you forced it up anyway. The wheezing breath you drew caught his attention immediately.

“I’m sorry.” The tears that had welled in his eyes began spilling over, painting his cheeks as he tried desperately to blink them out of the way. Steven wrung a towel under the sink as you drew another gasp. “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Why?” He scoffed and you shook your head. The dull thump in your head was winning out. Words were failing you. Apparently they were failing him to, as he couldn’t muster much more than “I don’t understand.”

You had done this enough to know it would take a few minutes for the bleeding to stop. Nothing was deep enough for stitches, though the divots on your legs would threaten to scar for sure. Steven grew more distressed, though, as the seconds ticked forward and the wounds refused to wipe clean. Firm and steady pressure seemed to be too slow a solution and panic was painted plainly on his face.

You felt the need to explain to him. You had to make him understand.

“I had to do it.” He held his breath as you began to speak. Steven looked terrified. “I deserve this. It feels… right. I had to. I had to.”

“No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You don’t deserve this. Why would you deserve this? Is it because of the laundry? You can’t have done this because of a load of clothes…”

“Not the laundry,” You breathed, interjecting. “It’s everything. I’m not good enough. I can’t do anything right. I’m a waste of space. I have to stop taking up space. Your space.”

“You're not.” He uttered immediately. Steven seemed to be choking on his next words. He stared at the blood soaking through your bandages. “You’re not… you’re…”

He pressed his eyes shut and your voice was loud in your head as you let your own heavy eyelids flutter closed. He’s finally getting it, isn’t he? I’m no good for him. This is the final straw.

More trouble than I’m worth.

Stop wasting space.

You resigned yourself to the damage you’d done to him. The three of them were better off without you here. You’d leave them alone now. They’d kick you out and you’d move back in with your mother. At least she was used to being disappointed by you. You could handle her disdain, but not theirs.

So fucking tired.

“You’re not a waste of space.” His voice broke you away from the deep crevice in your mind that you’d sank into. “Mi Tesoro, how could you ever think that about yourself? You are plenty good enough.”

Jake unwrapped the wounds that Steven had dressed so haphazardly. If medical training was a contest between the three of them, Steven was certainly in line for the bronze, while Jake could perform surgery with kitchen utensils if prompted to. They had finally stopped bleeding, but the cuts needed a layer of antibiotics if they had any chance of healing right. Especially considering the rust on that gross pair of scissors.

“I scared him.” You didn’t need to elaborate. The absolute mess that you’d made of yourself had thrown Steven into a panic, sending him so far back in the headspace that Jake Lockley was forced to come out to take the reins.

“Yes, you did. But he’ll be alright.” Jake’s voice was steady and smooth, and he was finished with your bandages before you even realized it. “You’ll be alright, too. Just try not to mess with these.”

“You’re never going to look at me the same. Any of you.”

“Maybe that’s true,” he admitted, “but that doesn’t matter. You can’t scare us away that easily.”

He lifted you by your shoulders, helping you stand against the bathroom wall. The floor was riddled with blood and towels and bandages, and your shirt and pants were far from clean. Jake was careful not to put pressure on your wounds as he supported your weight. You started toward the living room.

“I would guess that you’ve done this before.” He guided you step by step to the couch. You say gently against the cushion, curling back into a ball as your eyelids gave up altogether on staying open. “But not since I’ve met you. Why did you start this again tonight?”

“I deserved it,” you repeated. There was no other way to explain it, or rather, no explanation you had the energy for. “I needed it.”

“We’re going to talk about this later.” He knew that you didn’t have the energy for a conversation right now. That didn’t mean that he’d save his ultimatum, though. Just because you couldn’t talk didn’t mean he couldn’t. He placed a blanket over you, leaving for a few moments to grab some water and painkillers. Plus, a package of crackers that he would force you to nibble on later.

“You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it. There’s nothing you could ever do to make you worthy of something like that. I can’t speak for the other two, but I’ve never met someone so loving, so wonderful. Eres la mejor persona que he conocido. There’s nothing you’d ever do to make you deserve that.”

Silent tears slipped down your face as he continued, and his voice wavered as he spoke. You assumed, though your eyes wouldn’t open, that we was fighting tears as well.

“You really scared us, but we’re not angry at you. We’re not scared of you. We just can’t bear to see you hurt yourself. You know that you can’t be in pain without us hurting, too. We’re scared because we don’t know how to help. You have to tell us what’s wrong, so we can make sure you don’t hurt anymore.”

“But I need to.” I need to hurt. How else am I going to stay in control?

“No, chica, you don’t.” The cushion shifted underneath you, indicating that he’d sat down beside you. “You need help. Not this. Nothing good comes from this. We don’t want to see you like this. Not ever again.”

How else am I supposed to stay in control?

“Please promise me you’ll talk to me about this, alright? I want to hear all of it. I want to know why this is happening.”

“I don’t want to bother you.” Sleep was weighing on you by now. Thoughts drifted out of your lips without restraint, but they threatened to cease altogether as your limbs grew heavy.

“You won’t bother me. This bothers me. Nothing that you could say would bother me. I want to hear about everything. Every thought that leads to this, you say it to me first.”

There was a pause that almost let you drift off completely.

“That goes for the others as well. We all want you to talk to us. No matter when, no matter where. Okay?”

I can’t put this burden on them—

“Promise me!”

You pried your eyes open one last time. Jake’s gaze was pleading and tears were streaming down his face. He looked plenty burdened already. He was right. Nothing could be worse than this. You couldn’t ever hurt them more than this. And now that the urge had come and passed, the dull ache in your arms and the stinging in your thighs was a sore reminder of how little it was worth it. Not to mention the pain in your head.

“I promise.”

Sometimes, when you say something out loud, you realize how ridiculous it sounds. It helps to keep you in check, and it keeps you from being your own worst enemy. If nothing else, it gives you perspective and keeps you from forgetting your voice. And before you ask, no. I’m not okay, but I am in therapy and on medication. Take it or leave it.

p.s. I started this fic obviously in a bad mood, and then I wrote most of it when I was no longer in a bad mood. For that reason, it may be gibberish. Don’t think of the reader as yourself. That’s probably unhealthy. Thank you to my beta readers, @moonmoonboys and @rmoonstoner

#moon knight #moon boys #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight angst #angst #masterlist

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loot-loottee · 3 months

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Unwinding Adventures: My Semestral Break

February 07 2024, by: Charlotte Jean Almazan

This is my sembreak journey. The semestral break provides a priceless chance for students to rejuvenate their fatigued bodies and brains. Students frequently experience exhaustion due to the unrelenting demands of their studies, exams, and extracurricular activities. But, students can take advantage of this time off from school to relax and get much-needed rest. The semestral break enables people to refill their exhausted energy levels, ensuring they return to their studies refreshed and revitalized. This might involve anything from relaxing with a good book to traveling to exotic locales.

During my sembreak, I discovered a lot of things, and spent my quality time with my friends and family. I personally enjoyed every small time I spent with someone I adore. Sharing the stories I had experienced, making friendship bracelets together, learning skills I wanted to learn like: playing a guitar, drawing and writing. I enjoyed a lot during my sembreak by committing the things I love to do, especially wandering! Travelling is like therapy for me because I can discover a lot of things by exploring. I went to the Bambanti festival Ilagan not just once but twice. Every light I see there is very colorful, the fragrance of the foods, the circumstances happening there, and watching the fireworks exploding noisily up in the high sky. The happiness I've felt was over the roof. I personally watched some pageants where different municipalities came from, watched different band concerts like Sunkissed Lola etc. I also tried new foods, and took pictures while exploring the area.

In addition, I personally tried to challenge myself by cooking various dishes, this experience didn't just make me feel happy and enthusiastic but also improved my cooking skills.Another skill I learned when my sister taught me how to crochet and sew. We made crochet plushies together. I will not forget all the moments I've spent my time with my family or someone I adore. It's really the happiest moment. I have ever experienced visited my friends to have a bonding or reunion. We went for a movie marathon, went to Amusement park, rode some rides like, ferris wheel, vikings, etc. After the fun we had in the Amusement park, we went to the famous cafe called "Apayao Brew". We talked about how we have been doing at school and even interesting stories. After all the traveling around Ilagan, we rested for a few hours at home and after which, we decided to go to Camp Samal Viewdeck near my school. We stayed there for a few hours and also took pictures. I really cherish all the things happening in my life. I could never forget. It's the most important thing in myself. Another thing I did during the break, was attending a mass to connect and communicate with God. I prayed all the things I did bad. After the mass we went for a Jollibee. I really love it when little moments are already precious to me, it makes me; feel joy and fulfilled. In addition, I've also read a lot of romance books, and sweet romance books. I really love reading books because it can make my vocabulary knowledge bigger and have big imaginations, sweet romance books like: Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez and more. I and my cousins and friends also went biking, it was really tiring but it's a good exercise for me. There's also the time when me and my grandparents went to the farm along with my best friend, we went on star gazing, it's honestly so beautiful and It's like a galaxy or milky way, stars shining so so bright I could break my neck just to stare at it. My friends and I also made "Do It Yourself" (DIY) paper flowers, paper stars, paper rings, and even decorations. I love the way it turned out because it's so so cute. My best friend visited me and helped me reorganize my room and it was unexpected to have that much trash. After we reorganized my room, I asked him to play board games and video games with me like chess, monopoly and genshin impact. It was honestly so fun.

#semester break #blog #writing #english #life #family bonding

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hissterical-nyaan · 2 years

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Hey, I've been in a hostel and I know how shitty it is especially in first year. I got depression in first year and got better with a lot of support plus mild meds. First year of college is the WORST year of our lives. Period.

Also, reading your last posts I think you could benefit from getting a therapist. My best friend had a queer-affirming therapist who had video call sessions with her, and she benefited a whole lot within just a month of sessions. (Google doc of therapists that she sent me). Email a queer-affirming therapist, mention that you're a student and ask for a sliding scale and they will probably give you a decent discount.

If writing an email is scary I'll send you an outline so you can just fill in what you're looking for and how much you want to share with them.

P.S. I know I'm talking as if it's easy/simple when it really isn't. But I just figured it was better than doing nothing.

Hey thank you so much 💕💕 this means a lot to me, more than you could ever imagine

I'm feeling better after hearing first year is hard for a lot of people and it will get easier, cause my hopes were I'll be able to get out of this depression once the entrance exam ends....stupid me lmao

My college gives free service of quite a few therapists (all queer affirmative) so I'm gonna contact them once I'm more mentally ready. I'm still not sure if i tell my mom about therapy cause she doesn't believe in it.... But thank you so much for the resources regardless 💖

I'm taking a day off tomorrow to recharge and relax alone for a bit, hopefully it helps. Today really was a breaking point of sorts. Dealing with my mental health issues + my identity has never been so difficult. I'm not sure who to reach out to in my peer circle, who'll accept me with least assumptions but let's see how it goes :D

Thanks again <3

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welltumlbrforgotme · 24 days

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It was 2021. I’m fourteen.

I didn’t go to the school for the last months, five or four. I lost contact with two people that I labeled as very close friends. We didn’t go to the same school, but the same course. They were close to each other, but apparently not close to me as i thought. They never texted me again. I found their instagrams, send a follow request to one of them. She didn’t reply. Or i didn’t text anything. but i was really hurt that i lost them, i had felt like i was opening up after years of being so quiet, so upset with everything. for reasons i still don’t know.

i didn’t do at the exam —it’s something about graduating from eighth grade and taking an exam to determine what high school you’ll be going— and the ninth grade is basically through a tablet. i sleep through most of them, sometimes have breakfast during first classes, and get so scared of the french lessons.

i still end up going to the school. for a few times. barely. there’s this girl at the back of class. we were sit individually and in list order —we have school numbers, that kind of a list— she sits on the middle desks, but at the very behind. i’m on the wall side, two desks behind the last. i’m on the end of the list. it’s fine.

we both take the train back home —it’s not a train, it’s smaller, almost like a bus, but slimmer, i don’t know what it’s called— we start to chat. she’s nice. she looks like the friend from middle school, they went to the same school too. i ask her for the history notes. the teacher is annoying. she sends them to me. we chat. i send her chinese songs, she likes them. i tell her it’s a man singing, we laugh.

tenth grade. 2022.

I’m early. the class slowly gets crowded. she arrives, late. she looks for a spot, i point to the empty chair next to me. we’re desk mates for the year.

then there’s another girl. we talk to her, a bit. she has her own friends, and goes back to them later on. however, then there is another another girl. we chat. i invite her to lunch with us. we’re friends.

it’s summer. i go to therapy, finally. i had major depression. it’s better now, but it’s there.

eleventh grade. we slipped apart.

we chose different majors. i’m literature-math, so is the first friend, and the last friend is english major. we are in different classes, but we have the forty minute lunch break to three of us. it’s nice.

twelfth grade. 2023-4.

it’s close to ending. we’re still together. we still chat, laugh, eat together.

then, she starts to get closer with her classmates. she doesn’t study math anymore, she gets worse grades. we as a group are kind of communication at the moment.

she chooses them to go together at home together, she doesn’t wait for to walk together.

i make excuses to my friend. that she has her issues, has trouble standing for herself, saying no. my friend rolls her eyes, and I’m dangerously close to do too.

I invite her to lunch, to talk, to clear up stuff. she says alright, i’ll try to. it’s lunchtime, and she says, the girls mixed up the food, i’ll eat then be with you two right away. she won’t, i know. and i’m proven right. I’m angry, so upset. i don’t talk to her anymore.

i want to write to the yearbook about her: may the only accomplishment you have be your never ending smile. it looks cute, at first, but then it means i wish that she doesn’t succeed at anything else.

i don’t write for yearbook, and she doesn’t either.

i’m with my friend and she’s with hers.

it’s been months, and I’m still not over it like i tell myself. i wish i am. for all the things i’m mature at, why not this?

I’m forgetting her voice, i can’t admit i miss it, because i still despise it for the pain it left in my chest and the emotions i had to burn to be the bigger person.

#personal

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wanderinglotus7 · 5 months

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POET IN PROGRESS

November and December brought me the peace I needed to wrap up 2023 on a high note and walk into 2024 with a new mindset. God gave me a taste of what the "slow life" really entails. I appreciate all the small moments I can get just to enjoy the simple pleasures life has to offer. That saying, I've been thinking a lot about my life. Yet, this isn't new to me. With my vision board in sight, I began asking myself some questions...WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?

Loaded question. Really, what am I doing with my life. It could be the change of the seasons or God gracing me a break from work, but I began asking myself where is life directing me. I'm 27 now, and opening a new chapter in my life. I'm leaving the grief & anxiety behind me (hopefully they wont become a major distraction in my life again). Singlehood has taught me to place myself first. To love myself again! I'm not in a rush to level-up in my career. I still have another year and a couple more clinical hours to rack-up before i can sit down for the LICSW exam (ugh). (I'm still 50/50 on this decision). I'm blessed to be with Adelante for almost 2 years come June. Call me a career woman LOL!

My health & mental health are pretty stable. I've reconnected with some old friends as well as reconnected with some new ones. I'm still capable of providing for myself. Therapy helped with asserting my boundaries. I'm able to focus on my hobbies. So, what's missing...?

I guess I'm still adjusting to my new life. Finding that perfect work/life balance will be a constant theme in my life. As long as I can address my needs early before compassion fatigue & burn-out take over, I should be fine. Then the aspect of school popped into my head. Not too long ago, I just completed 6 years worth of college, and I have the student loans to prove it. Why am I thinking about returning to school. In reality, I don't have the time to enroll in college again. Not even for a part-time program. Anyway, what would I study. I don't need to take any classes related to social work or psychology. My current work experiences is giving me all the lessons I need to better understand the world better. Then there's my vision board.

God was sending me a message via my vision board. God is telling me that this season is my time to invest in my passion. That passion is writing. If money wasn't an issue, your girl would be spending her time travelling and reading good books. If money wasn't an issue, I would be working in a bookstore. As an alternative, I can visualize myself as a travel blogger. I don't technically want to become a professional author/writer full time because my intentions behind writing isn't motivated by money. Plus, my inspiration doesn't work like that. It comes and goes like the ocean waves. I WRITE BECAUSE I HAVE SO MANY STORIES TO SHARE.

GOD BLESSED ME WITH A POWER FOR WORDS. My pencil is my sword. My words give me voice.

"Your life is already artful-waiting, just waiting to make it art."- Toni Morrison

Thank you liberal art colleges for pushing your students out of their comfort zones. I'm glad I took a few English courses at Bridgewater College before I graduated. The English department was my gateway into the world of poetry. Ever since then, its been one notebook after another. Ding! Why not go back to school for creative writing. PROBLEM: Time & Money. God always makes a way out of no way. Starting in June, I'm going back to school. I'm taking 3 six week online workshop classes to improve my skills & knowledge around poetry. And I entered my first chapbook, Mariposa, into a recent poetry chapbook contest. Fingers-crossed.

#poetry #follow your passion #writer's life #writers and poets #ambition

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bella-studyblr · 3 years

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Task Management:

Creating + Maintaining a Schoolwork Schedule

Key elements

Your schedule suits your individual time/task management preferences.

It is flexible enough to accommodate sudden changes, plus fluctuating energy levels, states of concentration, symptoms and moods.

Daily tasks are not over-whelming; they are small enough that they are achievable.

You do not get “burned out.”

It allows you to be consistent.

Steps to create your schedule

Decide if you want your planner to be paper or digital

Find an “order” that’s logical and achievable for you (more on this later)

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all the assignments, tests and other events taking place that week/month (and their due-dates).

Then break these down, assigning tasks to each day of the week (more on this later).

Break down your tasks even further (more on this later).

Decide if you want to follow a simple daily to-do list or a timed schedule (more on this later).

Find your “order(s)”

Mandatory: Schedule assignments around other commitments (work, social, hobbies, etc.).

Do the hardest task first to get it out of the way (so that the rest of your tasks are less daunting, and because your smaller tasks require less energy therefore can be done even after completing the hard task).

Do the easiest task first to build momentum (give yourself a feeling of accomplishment which will motivate you to continue, and boost your self-confidence early in the day to establish a positive mindset for the rest of the day).

Do the task that’s due first to minimize deadline stress, and so your assignments don’t fall through the cracks (causing you to get discouraged and lose momentum).

Plan according to your energy level throughout the day and week: Do you have Pilates once a week? Maybe you can reserve that day for easier assignments. If you know you’re going to be tired for whatever reason, account for that in your planning.

Consider your state of concentration: If you know you’re too groggy or spaced out for the first hour of your day, you can either schedule easy tasks in that time, or none at all. If you take a medication in the afternoon/evening that makes you tired, schedule easier tasks or none, and get harder tasks done earlier/later in the day. If you have ADHD and crowded places mess with your concentration, but you like studying at a café, go when it’s not busy.

Be mindful of your emotions and symptoms: If you have depression, or are prone to depressive episodes, you’ll need to consider that when scheduling. You might have to rework your entire schedule when you get into a depressive episode (like adding lots of breaks). If suddenly you’re going through a big life event (like a breakup), you need to account for that when scheduling. For instance, if you can’t stand to be alone, maybe you can go out instead of staying in, and if your motivation is low, you may need to up your reward-system or break down your tasks even more.

Break down this week/month’s tasks

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all your due dates for the time period you’re scheduling for.

Based on due dates, outside commitments, predictions of energy/mood/symptoms, assign assignments to the days of the week/month that make most sense for you.

Break down daily tasks into sub-tasks

You can do this (in advance) for your full week/month’s assignments, or do it every morning/evening.

Generally, your assignments will follow a variation of this formula: brainstorm, create an outline, research, write rough draft, edit and revise. Test/exam prep will look something like: check to see what the test is based on, pinpoint important sections, review to see how well you know the material, create a list of items to study, rewrite select notes, make flash cards, study topic 1, study topic 2, etc.

What are the individual components of these steps? Here are some examples. Brainstorm: what should my topic be, what should my thesis be, what points can support my thesis, what do I need to research, what questions do I need to ask my prof? Outline: topic, thesis, points, conclusion. Research: write down all the important parts from each source (separately), then sift through to sort into Supporting Point 1, Supporting Point 2, etc. Rough draft: opening statement(s), intro, point 1, point 2, etc., conclusion, closing statement(s). Edit/revise: read and check for grammar only, then read again and check for spelling only, read again and check for cohesiveness only, etc. Topic 1: Part A, Part B, etc.

Each of these small components can be individual items on your to-do list. Big tasks like, “write essay” are too big for most people. Even “write rough draft” is daunting. If you start with something specific and small like brainstorming, and work your way up, it’s a lot easier to approach. Plus, being able to check off tasks more often and more easily will boost your confidence and your sense of competence, thus building momentum.

Here is a sample to-do list: Research X for Point 1 of Literary Essay, create outline for History Essay, Edit/Revise Assignment 1, study Topic 1 and Topic 2 for Test 1.

To-do list or time-based schedule?

To do list: Write down all your assignments for the day. Put them in the order you want to do them, or go through them intuitively (based on what you feel like doing, or what’s most practical at the time/place you’re at).

Timed-based: Write down all your assignments, then write down the time you’re going to do each of them. You could set reminders or alarms if you want, or simply refer to the list. There’s an awesome app I recommend if this is your thing. It’s called Structured (iOS only).

Curate your study environment for maximum focus

Eliminate distractions such as uncomfortable clothing, sounds (or silence), phone and computer notifications, clutter in the room and on your desk, people who may try to talk to you (shut your door and/or inform them that you’re busy).

Designate a space to doing homework only and avoid spaces that you associate with other things (do not study in bed, as you will want to relax or sleep, and/or you will mess with your sleep by weakening the bed’s association with sleep).

Build associations: Incorporate other events and items into your study/homework routine that you only use while doing that, so that you associate those things with studying/homework (examples: specific playlists, pencils/pens, cups/bottles, scents, rituals, decor, etc.).

Ensure good lighting (preferably including daylight).

Get dressed in clothes that make you feel good about yourself. They don’t have to be “professional” and they should definitely be comfortable. Do not stay in your pyjamas. Believe me, I know this can be hard, and I love PJ’s. But they are not good for productivity.

Don’t “multi-task.” It may feel like you’re getting more done this way, but by splitting your focus, not only do tasks take longer, they also diminish in quality. Commit to the task you’re doing.

Meditate: You can even meditate for just 1-5 mins right before studying, homework and/or classes.

Practice self care (daily!)

Sleep (enough, well, and regularly).

Daylight: Get outside, work by windows, use a light therapy box. These can help regulate your sleep, improve and maintain mental health, and boost energy.

Fresh air: Getting outside even for a couple minutes can help you refresh and reset, and feel good about yourself and your life. Fresh oxygen can help you wake up and is great for your health. Even just opening your window can do a lot for your mood, energy and motivation.

Movement: Try to move at least once per day. The benefits of exercise are numerous and immense.

Healthy and consistent eating: Avoid spikes in insulin levels by eating regularly so you don’t have extreme dips in your energy level. Also, brain power uses calories too, so make sure you’re eating consistently, and try to eat healthy. There are so many other reasons eating consistently is good for your health (and by extension, your productivity).

Relaxation and leisure: Make time for fun and socializing, as well as intentional relaxation. Hobbies, movies/tv, time with friends/family, meditation, baths, progressive muscle relaxation, etc.

Therapy: Your therapy sessions are not daily, but you can do 5 minutes of inner-work per day based on what you and your therapist are currently working on. Working with a therapist is a great way to stay on track with your goals, and develop the skills and positive mindset required for success in school.

Reward yourself

Track progress: Reflect on all the assignments you’ve completed and your grades to remind yourself that you’re capable!

Completing to-do lists daily maintains a sense of accomplishment which keeps your momentum going. Check those items off! Or give yourself gold stars! ⭐️

Treat yourself with non-food rewards: Tie completed school work with fun tasks like video games, or take yourself out for coffee, or some other small (non-food) outing. What I’m trying to do right now is not do my leisure activities until my daily tasks are done.

Develop a positive mindset

Take promises you make to yourself seriously. The more you break promises to yourself, the easier it will get to continue breaking promises. You will lose respect for yourself which lowers motivation, and you will lose trust in yourself which can become debilitating as well. The more you keep promises, the easier it will get, the more motivated you’ll become, and the more you’ll trust and respect yourself. Your confidence will improve, and you’ll feel better about yourself. Productivity is choosing yourself. Discipline is choosing what’s best for you instead of what you feel like doing in the moment. Discipline is a muscle, and like any muscle, it can be strengthened, and it can atrophy.

Remember your “why.” What is the end goal of being in school? What’s your career path, and why did you choose it? What will your life be like when you have that career? What would your life be like if you gave up and didn’t make it to your goal? Aiming for your dream while running from your nightmare is a great strategy for maintaining motivation. Lighting a fire under your *** can be a huge motivator.

Remember how good you feel when you get schoolwork done, and let this motivate you to stay consistent. You can also remember how you feel when you don’t get work done, but definitely focus more on the positive!

Go to therapy and/or hire a coach. There are SO many benefits to therapy and I’d honestly need a whole other post to get into it. You don’t need to be depressed or mentally ill at all in order to benefit from talking to a therapist. They can even help you with time management, procrastination, motivation and more! If you can afford it, please do it. It’s such a worthwhile investment.

Be consistent

No “zero days.” Do at least a bit of homework or studying every day so you don’t slip into vacation mode. Make schoolwork a daily part of your life, so it just becomes the norm.

Build productivity momentum (track progress, check items off your to-do list daily, treat yourself, keep promises to yourself, remember your “why,” remember how success feels).

Stay on top of projects. Your assignments are made up of smaller tasks you assign yourself across time. “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.” - Robert Collier

Avoid burnout (more on this later).

Keep it interesting (more on this later).

Avoid burnout

Self-care: shower and/or bathe regularly, maintain proper sleep habits, stay hydrated, take care of your skin, do relaxation activities like meditation and reading, do fun activities, pamper yourself every now and then with face masks or foot baths, take your meds as prescribed, eat well and regularly, get outside often, move daily, etc.

Break up study/homework sessions into small, manageable chunks of time, with constructive (refreshing) breaks in between.

Break assignments down into even smaller tasks so that you aren’t over-working yourself during the course of a day, and so that you don’t overwhelm yourself (the stress can lead to burnout).

School-life balance: Keep up with your social life as best as you can, make time for your hobbies, maintain self-care, say no to things that don’t serve you, etc. Try to follow through with scheduled schoolwork 100% of the time, but know that you won’t. Sometimes you’ll need to prioritize mental health over schoolwork (be careful though, this is a very fine line, and a slippery slope). Sometimes things will come up and it’ll be out of your control. But more than anything else, there will be times when you just decide to prioritize something else like fun and socializing over schoolwork. This is why your schedule needs to be flexible: to accommodate sudden invites to hang out and random decisions to skip a homework/study session, but more importantly, flexibility will reduce the odds that you’ll skip in the first place. If your schedule includes hobbies and socializing, and anything else that’s important to you, then you won’t feel deprived. If you have school-life balance, you’ll have more of yourself to devote to schoolwork when it’s time to.

Keep it interesting

Romanticize your life by putting effort into making all of your daily tasks a special occasion.

Make meals and drinks special by using your favourite dinnerware and cutlery. Perhaps even incorporate extra elements such as: a beautiful tablecloth, napkins, candles and/or dim lighting, music, wearing your favourite clothing, etc.

Pretend you’re the main character in a movie about a successful, productive student (because you are the main character in your life).

Make games out of studying if this is something that interests you (the Forest app comes to mind).

Use lots of colours in your notes and buy colourful stationary! 🌈

Vary your approach/methods if needed to avoid boredom.

Study with friends (online or in person).

Reward yourself often.

Remember your “why.”

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1inghuai3n · 3 years

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genshin men - headcanons

yo! it’s 怀恩! i’ve recently did my exams so i was very inactive during that period, sorry for anyone waiting. i’ve gotten some requests and i’m currently working on them so please be patient, they will be out soon, okay? thank you for waiting everyone!

i’m going to write about the genshin men’s, one from each region, headcanons. it’s been inspired by another user whom i forgotten the name so please do leave in the comments if you know the user, thank you!

(leah, you don’t like me just stay quiet, WHY HAVE TO EMAIL TO MY COMPANY (tell my mom) TO MAKE ME LOSE MY JOB?!!?!?!? CCB)

genre: smut(?)

characters used: thoma, childe, zhongli, kaeya x gn!reader (modern au)

childe i have skyward harp please come home

minors do not interact! 18+ content. nsfw

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thoma (托马）

general: thoma is a friendly and intelligent guy, and he’ll probably be the housekeeper of the relationship, putting his skills to good use. he has the senses of an asian tiger mum, knowing when’s the next sale gonna be, waking up from a deep sleep cause he knows you are sneaking around in the kitchen eating all the junk food and is probably an expert bargainer. (basically he’s my grandma but male and hotter)

love language: acts of service. making the most delicious dinner a human ever served that even gordon ramsey would be put to shame just for you to eat. would probably grow flowers in the garden, cut a few heads off and tie them into a bouquet and give them to you and will not hesitate to cut off his homies if they even say a bad word about you, because he’s as loyal as a dog.

kinks and thoughts about sex: i have a slight feeling he likes being the sub. put him in a dog collar and degrade him as he tries to get up on you. i feel that he would like it. grab on his nuts and squeeze them as tight as you can as you lick his sticky tip. he’s the most submissive and breedable person in genshin after all.

childe （公子）

general: also malewife but a bit more powerhungry and aggressive. he’ll cook you a delectable breakfast of fluffy pancakes drenched in maple syrup, topped with berries and cream. but he would force feed you if you don’t finish saying how hard he worked to make it for you. another example is probably tucking you into bed and telling you stories about his war crimes and telling you to go to sleep if not he will do exactly the things he said to you in those stories if you don’t (he doesn’t mean it). overall, he’s not the brightest guy but he’s definitely a superb husband.

love language: gifts. he’s probably not gonna see you all the time due to his job so to make up for his absence, gifts are often his go-to. want that $1,000,000 necklace? alright. that new jacket that just came out one minute ago from chanel? okay. a pair of sunglasses that kkw wore and now it’s super popular? that’s fine! you get the drill, he’ll spoil you rotten ＿|￣|○

kinks and thoughts about sex: a tease and flirt in bed, would call you silly names as he breaks your back. he’s not one to be submissive but if you really want him to do it, he’ll become a bottom in the scene ONCE in a while.. but lemme just point it out he has the body of a white dilf. im not lying, im mihoyo.

zhongli （钟离）

general: 2nd geo daddy (no. 1 is itto obviously..). he’s broke and probably a pain to be with since every time you guys go on a date, your bank would call you asking if your credit card has been stolen because the amount of money inside has more than halved. but he’s hot and intelligent so it’s not THAT much of a pain. he’s knowledgeable and knows the history behind many things, but he’s definitely the one who believes in the saying ignorance is bliss, because of… well, something.

love language: quality time. shopping, talking (therapy sessions), eating, walking, etc. he would do anything to spend more time with you, just to kinda remember. he misses you the moment you stay two metres away from him. but you can’t really blame him, he just knows the moment you go on, he still wants to dwell on the once joyous moments you guys had together. (i’m making zhongli’s headcanons sad, sorry)

kinks and thoughts about sex: (maybe) breeding kink but we aren’t elaborating on that. another kink i think he might have is a servant kink, where his significant other acts like a little servant to him and he feels in power. he not one to say he likes being the dom but in his time as an archon, i don’t think he would become so subservient so quickly.

kaeya (凯亚)

general: he’s like childe but 10x on the romance. he’s probably not very good at cooking or cleaning, but is in romantic gestures and expressing his feelings for you. he is a pretty flirty guy with an openness for endless conversations with you but he’s one to make you feel distant without him realising, since he keeps his past well locked away from even the closest people he knows.

love language: words of affirmation. kaeya is probably one who has flirted with the entirety of teyvat, but he promises that you are the only one he truly loves. hearing those words coming from he himself would probably give you and him both reassurance to the relationship.

kinks and thoughts about sex: can i say he’s a sex god without saying he is a sex god? it’s obvious he has done it numerous times with many different people, but this time would be the only time he’s ever done it with passion and true love. he probably loves it when your body spasms at his every touch and he probably has an overstimulation kink. he loves it when he sees you shocked out of pleasure, with sticky white liquid pouring out of your slutty little hole.

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HI IM SO SORRY!! i’ve recently been neglecting this acc and the people following and requesting for new stories due to exams and my recent spine surgery. i hope you guys aren’t mad 😭 im so sorry thank for being patient with me!!!

~ 怀恩(^｡^)

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struggling-with-time · 3 years

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How to spiral out of control [Simpbur x reader]

Pairing: c!Wilbur Soot x fem!reader (Simpbur x reader)

Summary: How simpbur became simpbur. And how you grew up and lived with him.

Warnings: Obsession, unhealthy obsession, stalking, murder, drugging, unhealthy relationship, and Simpbur being a creep.

Words: 5K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: Listen I had brainrot. And I don't know how to defend this. (Also requests are still open! Click here!) And it's unedited for now it's 5:12 am here I will edit later today

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Wilbur was a pretty insignificant child. The death of his mother being one of the most interesting things about his childhood. While he claimed not to blame his youngest brother for the loss of his mother. He certainly had a funny way of showing his youngest brother affection.

Wilbur is the middle child of three. A charming but quiet and well accomplished older brother, who seems to never have to end to his dedication neither success. And his youngest brother, a loud ball of sunshine that just seems to make everyone in a good mood. Truly good with people, something Wilbur never seemed to grasp.

His whole childhood tainted by that fact. Always living in the shadow of his brothers, the clear favourites of everyone who came near the family of four.

So his grades was just average, never good enough to get acknowledged, never bad enough to need extra attention. Just average, like the rest of him. He grew up lanky, not athletic neither unable to run. Wilbur was grey in a family of golden people. His father raised them alone for most of Wilbur’s life. His father that despite never saying it out loud had clear favourites in his brothers. It was always, oh and Wilbur too!

Never him, never just him.

So, Wilbur spent most of his childhood lonely, disregarded and weird. A pitiful child. A pathetic child.

The thing is there was one thing, that made Wilbur worth anyone’s time. One person. You.

His childhood best friend.

Well, that’s what anyone who only knew Wilbur would say. Because you were the only friend he had. However, it was different for you, although the two of you were good friends, you wouldn’t call him your best friend for years. That didn’t happen till you became teenagers.

You had always tried your best to include the weird kid in playdates, birthday parties, and playground games. But nobody else seemed to find him worth their time, with his weird and morbid comments. But you persisted that he wasn’t that weird, besides his older brother was really cool.

So, you stick around, you stick around as playdates become hangouts, as dolls become makeup, and homework goes from learning to read to writing essays.

While you had many friends, both come and go and stay, Wilbur had been there for as long as you could remember. A playground proposal documented on home video. And a remake of it on the day of your school dance. You had played along, but it was known to everyone that your childhood friend wanted to be more than friends. But you stayed, smiled for the camera and laughed it off.

Then the school dance was over, and the last exam had been taken. That’s when you moved a country over, and slowly you lost contact with the people you used to call friends, but Wilbur stayed. Wilbur always stayed.

He finally got the spot as the best friend in your mind too. A definite win in his book.

Wilbur had always been odd, a bit to the left of normal. But now, with distance and screens in between you, he only started to act more concerning. This was around the time he started talking about feeling depressed and useless.

Of course, you always told him you didn’t believe that, what else were you supposed to say? Your friendship turning more and more into therapy sessions once a week for Wilbur on your end. While for him it was the highlight of his week.

Clicking the call button beside your profile picture, an anime girl from one he had recommended to you himself. One he had stayed up an entire night to shift through different animes to find the perfect one to send your way. One he was guaranteed you would watch.

“Wilbur, I should really get off.”

“C’mon stay on just a bit later, please.”

The silence deafening over the video call, he watches you intensely as you pull your legs into your chest, your shitty webcam standing beside you on your bed.

Wilbur reached out for the energy drink beside him, a new habit he has picked up. The more hours spent on the computer, the more he seemed to consume.

“Fine, just half an hour more. But then it’s the last half hour.”

Wilbur smiles at that, you choosing him over everything else in the world. He likes that, he likes that a lot. You valuing him. Spending time with him, and only him. Your attention is his.

“We could always fall asleep on call, then we could keep talking.”

“Another day Wilbur, another day.”

That. That sentence he on the other hand didn’t like. Not one bit. A promise never kept. A promise left unspoken and unpromised from your side, but a broken and abandoned promise on his side.

Then there was the wall incident.

Wilbur wouldn’t have told you if it weren’t for you noticing the hole in his wall. One that matched his fist quite neatly. His father had taken his PS4 in punishment for Wilbur using so much the WiFi plan to call you. At least that’s what he told you.

In reality, he had gotten into a fight with his older brother, his brother had asked about you, how you were doing, and if he could say hi during a call. There was something about the words that had irked Wilbur, something that set him off, something about him that made his brother seem dangerous to Wilbur. So, he had decked his older brother in the face. Causing a blackeye to occur.

In return, Wilbur now sported a big black and blue spot from where he hit the floor. His brother having immediately tackled him.

And to Wilbur that had confirmed his thoughts. Other guys are dangerous, he’s the only one you should rely on.

The wall had taken the brunt of his rage that night, a screaming match with his dad that ended with his little brother getting sent to his friends' house, and his PS4 getting confiscated until Wilbur had gotten a job and was able to pay back the damages.

And he did get a job, much to your surprise. But you had encouraged him throughout it all. A dead-end cashier job that only seemed to make his world staler and more bothersome than before.

A time where he searched for every distraction possible, gaming, music, you.

You were proud of him when he got the hole in his wall fixed, and even more when he kept his job. And Wilbur doesn’t remember you ever giving him more praise than the day he told you he was starting to investigate going to university.

Naturally, you helped him, and along the way, Wilbur picked up a guitar. A new asset to his den of depression that his room had become, decked in led lights, and overpriced RGB gaming stuff.

The university acceptance came rather quick, and suddenly Wilbur was packing up his life and heading to university. Boxes filled with stuff he barely remembered owning, and kitchen appliances that would never see the light of the day.

And he can feel you starting to drift, already busy with your own life. But he clings to you.

He stays, Wilbur always stays in your life. Even when you drift.

Wilbur knows it’s affecting him. It’s not hidden from anyone. The longer that goes between the two of you talking, the sourer his mood gets. The longer you don’t respond to him, the more messages he sends. The more information he craves to know.

Who are you talking to?

Who are you seeing?

Who is so much more important than him?

Hadn’t he always been there for you?

Hadn’t he always stayed?

You owe him.

Wilbur grows bitter and resentful. But not to you, never to you. But for everyone around you. His biggest joys in life now coming from the ungodly amount of caffeine he drinks, and whenever you reach out first.

This is why the day you call him asking for help is forever a day that will bring him joy.

“Hey Will, you’re really good with tech, and I was wondering if you wanted to help me start streaming.”

He chokes on the energy drink. He chokes on his words. He chokes on the air. He drowns.

His heart aching. His anger festering. His-

“Sure.”

He hears himself respond before he can even process the thought.

It takes him 2 days of absence from university, and what feels like 2 even longer nights, before he’s an expert on how to stream. He reads everything he can find, he watched everything that gets suggested.

You asked him for help, so he will help.

But Wilbur, spends these hours conflicted. You want his help, not someone else’s, someone lesser than him. Him.

But at the same time. His mind keeps wandering, isn’t he enough any longer? Isn’t he good enough for you? Why isn’t he good enough for you? Why? Why?

And thus, he learns you how to use the software, and beings alongside you. He finds comfort in knowing most of your streams whenever possible is spent with him on a call with you.

Although that happens after hours of pestering, that doesn’t matter. He gets to talk to you, while the rest is limited to a measly chat.

You seem to find yourself comfortably in the gaming category, slowly growing. Slowly rising.

Wilbur’s own streams, on the other hand, feels more like incoherent rants interrupted by his guitar plays. And once in a blue moon, you are on call with him.

It doesn’t take long before he gives up, watching you grow. Finding more comfort in watching you, instead of being the watched. Not that anyone really did watch him besides for you.

Wilbur stays out of a camera, as you only seem to grow more comfortable being in front of one.

The first time you have someone on a call with you on stream, who isn’t Wilbur. He just can’t help but break his bedside lamp. It’s a guy nonetheless. A guy from the internet. The type of guy Wilbur has never been shy to tell you horror stories about.

And this is where another bad habit of his started to emerge. He just can’t help himself. But you’re laughing with someone else. You’re smiling for someone else. You’re his. Not anyone else’s. His. His. His.

Wilbur is quick to find the donating button he had helped you set up himself. At that time it had only been used a couple of times. Nothing big. But Wilbur wants big. He wants attention. He wants you.

He fumbles with his credit card as he keys in the numbers, he’s a bit too familiarised with them. Because anything he can get from the internet will be delivered that way.

And then the notification pops up on your screen. A donation number you had never expected. And you start crying. Right there. Right on stream. And Wilbur sucks it up. He sucks it right up that you’re crying for him, whiling praising him, and only him.

The match you were playing ruined, and Wilburs smile only grows as he hears the familiar tone of discord receiving a call.

That night. You had ditched the fellow streamer to thank Wilbur and hang out with him.

Something you never thought you would regret.

But oh, how you did. How you did.

It takes Wilbur around 2 months to get used to a large sum of money means special attention to him, and only him. For everyone to see.

And he can feel you pulling away, so each time he donates, it’s bigger. Larger. Grander.

He’s never on your stream without a donation anymore. Never on call for free. But Wilbur doesn’t mind, because everyone gets to see you’re his.

And he keeps increasing the amount as you keep growing until he hits a stalemate. He’s using half of his paycheck on you, while he doesn’t mind going hungry a couple of days. His bills won’t wait for him. And he has been living away from home for far too long to ever think about calling up his father and ask for money.

Not to mention his oldest brother would never. Then neither will Wilbur. Because Wilbur is better. Better than all of them.

The larger your stream grows, the closer graduation arrives, and then Wilbur is sitting in another apartment. Another dead-end job. Another grey life.

Another dull life passing him by. Your voice constantly on loop his apartment. Constantly filling his life. As it always has. But to you, Wilbur is barely a part of your everyday. Only really showing up when a donation comes in. As you once again tell him not to spend money on you.

But he seems to stay. Wilbur always stays.

He’s the first to like anything you post on social media. Always online never off. Always lurking. Never missing. Never absent. He’s always there.

Wilbur never misses a stream; he schedules his life around yours. Even if you’re a country away.

And then one day you’re not. You’re not a country away, you’re moving back. You’re moving closer. And suddenly you live an hour away by car. Instead of an airplane ride, and shitty trains.

Suddenly Wilbur can see himself get a foot in the door. No longer grasping onto his parasitic parasocial friendship with you. He can see himself being more than the childhood friend who has always been there. He can see himself as the partner that always is there.

Wilbur is giddy the entire car ride. He’s giddy as he feels his bag burn on his shoulder. And he’s giddy until the second you embrace him in a hug and welcome him into your new apartment.

It’s bigger than the one you’ve had since university.

And then his future crumbles. You start talking about a guy named Jared. Fucking Jared. Why did even his name have to leave a sour taste in his mouth? A guy you met over the internet. Not just any guy. No specifically the fucker from the first time Wilbur had donated.

Apparently, he wasn’t a streamer, but a friend you had made during your 2 years you lived at university but never told Wilbur about. Not a single mention of him, and suddenly he’s all you’re talking about.

How could Wilbur have known? You hadn’t even mentioned him on stream. Wilbur always listened so carefully, writing down everyone you mentioned. You had called him attentive once, and he would never want to disappoint you. Maybe if he was attentive enough you would look his way.

Instead, here you are talking about this Jared guy. And Wilbur knows what he has to do. A thought he has been toying with for around 3 years now. Ever since you went to Disneyland together. A trip he paid for, and a trip that was streamed, so everyone could see you were his. You were always his.

That was easily his favourite video.

In the week up to the vacation, Wilbur had done everything he could to learn about cameras so he could help you, and do the most for you. He had even helped you sort through some of the non-streamed videos he filmed too for a YouTube video for you.

Which is where he found the clip of you changing.

The camera had been resting on your hotel bed, the video having a clear Dutch angle, leaving the hotel room slandered. But there you were, right square and centre still. Changing. It takes you a minute to finish before you turn around and pick the camera up again. Mumbling something as you turn it to show off your hotel room, and then the clip cuts to black.

He never told you about it, instead just saving that specific clip on a USB stick. A piece of tech he valued more than his life. Not that his life had ever been worth much in comparison to his.

Wilbur rips his bag open, careful not to make a lot of noise. He removed his clothes, and then the fake bottom. And underneath it reveals small security cameras.

Wilbur has never been more thankful for you being a heavy sleeper and letting him sleep on a mattress on the floor of your bedroom. He quietly sets up two in your bedroom, before moving into the rest of your house. One in your office that has been converted to a streaming room. His own personal angle to your public life.

Two more in the living room, he skips the kitchen and hesitates at the door of your bathroom. For the first time, he hesitates. His hand hovers over the doorknob, the other holding the camera.

“Wilbur?”

You’re standing in the hallway, sleep evident on your face.

“Will why are you making so much noise?”

“No reason darling, go back to bed, just needed some water.”

His breath is stuck in his throat until he hears you close the bedroom door again.

That was the first time he hesitated. And his last. He couldn’t afford it. He couldn’t afford to lose you further.

The rest of the trip passes Wilbur by as you introduce him to Jared. The douchebag himself. The asshole. The guy who dares take away what is Wilbur’s. Even on the ride home. All Wilbur can see is Jared’s image etched into his mind. His god-awful fashion sense. The way everything, he wore around you, just seemed to be a size too small. Nobody wants to see that fuckers’ muscles. Wilbur’s knuckles turn white, as he grips the steering wheel.

Jared has to go.

He’s ruining everything. He’s not part of the dream you told Wilbur you had. Jared has never been part of that. Wilbur was supposed to be part of that. Even if the dream changed through the year. Even if the one you’re living now is the unimaginable future the two of you imagined up at seventeen. But one thing was sure. Jared wasn’t part of that. Wilbur was.

Wilbur easily finds himself a new normal at home. The trip giving him a refreshed sense of hope. A plan in the making. His daily routine now including watching you all hours of the day. Not just your streams any longer. Every single second he can wrench out of those cameras.

And suddenly his friendship seems to improve with you too. Because now he can see when you’re sad and in need of a friend. He reaches out at the perfect time. Abusing your vulnerable state. Because it’s the best to do. It’s for the betterment of your future.

The more Wilbur is there for you, the more he resents Jared. He deserved to be in your bed, not that asshole. He deserves to reap the rewards of his hard labour. He is the one that has always been there because Wilbur has always stayed.

A simple click is all it takes for Wilbur and the item has been placed in a cart. Mere keystrokes and it has been paid. A single click and Wilbur has truly gone insane, as a packet is shipped off. A packet containing a bottle of sleeping pills.

The next time you invite Wilbur down, you barely recognise him as you open the door. Eyebags so deep you’ve never seen before. His entire body slightly twitching, and that manic smile on his lips. Wilbur brushes your concerns off, claiming that’s just what happens in real workplaces. Not that you would know anything about that.

Wilbur hates the feeling of insulting you, but you had barely responded the entire week. You deserved to suffer for a moment. Before he caves and apologises for being rude. That’s the moment you can see the resembles of his normal being as he hangs his shoulders.

Jared comes over that night. Just as Wilbur had planned. And this time he won’t hesitate. He even bought a bigger car for this.

Wilbur offers to mix the drinks, claiming to have learnt a new recipe. Which isn’t a lie, he has learned how to perfect just the right cocktail thick enough that covers the chalky residue of the pills. And sweet enough to make the bitter taste disappear.

He serves them, keeping a watchful eye as the night drags on, and Jared never seems to shut up. But Wilbur can deal with it for one night. Just for one. And then he won’t ever have to worry about Jared again.

He serves another.

And then another drink.

And finally. Finally. You’re starting to get tired. Slowly leaning against Wilbur. And he takes pride in that. Great pride. You didn’t choose to lean against Jared, you’re leaning against Wilbur.

Wilbur sits still until Jared too is starting to fall asleep. Wilbur is ecstatic.

He gets up slowly, gently laying you down, a pillow underneath your face. A blanket over you. He kisses your forehead and smells your hair. Taking in the shampoo scent still lingering.

Then Wilbur gets moving, he has stuff to do. Plans to execute after all.

He does his best to get Jared’s left arm over his shoulders. But their awkward height difference makes it difficult, but he can make it work. It has to work. He only gets one shot.

Wilbur gets the front door open before he realises a fatal flaw in his plan. He has to drag Jared down 3 floors worth of stairs. He realises he can’t do it the way he is now. He has to drag him down by his armpits instead.

It takes him the first flight of stairs to realise Jared shoes are making too much noise. He has to abandon them, Wilbur awkwardly gets Jared leaned against the wall before he removes Jared’s polished black shoes. Wilbur leaves them there, making a mental note to remember them when he comes back.

The rest of the stairs, while difficult and definitely breathtaking for someone who has no muscle strength. He makes it work. Wilbur actually makes it work.

He made it work. It worked. Oh god. It’s working.

Wilbur repositions Jared once more, his arm once again over Wilbur’s shoulders. The night sky greeting him as he steps out of the apartment complex. With great difficulty, Wilbur gets the two of them over to his car, where he throws open the trunk. In the proceed shaking the car, setting off the car alarm. Wilbur is quick to drop Jared as he fumbles after his car keys. It takes him nearly a full minute to turn off the car alarm.

Wilbur curses under his breath.

Annoyed with the time loss. He finally gets the knocked-out Jared into his trunk, and he shuts it again. Just as a front door in the apartment complex opens. A man steps out. He raises a hand to Wilbur, before pulling out a smoke.

Wilbur shuffles on his feet before raising a hand. And then awkwardly gets into his car.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

He has a body in his trunk. Now he just has to get to the harbour. Wilbur starts the car and starts the ride to the harbour a town over.

Half an hour has gone past when Wilbur is pulling the handbrake, and taking the keys out. He’s quick to get out, and even quicker to get to Jared. Wilbur keeps thinking about you. Your smile. Your kindness. Your voice. Your beauty. Your grace. As his hands are securing zip ties around the wrists and ankles of an unconscious man.

He has to go.

Wilbur reminds himself.

A cloth is tied around Jared’s filthy mouth, and then Wilbur is back to dragging him. It’s both easier and harder. Easier before he’s just dragging him across the pebbles and over to the brink of the harbour. Both of his arms are under both of Jared’s.

But it’s harder because if someone sees him it’s going to get difficult to explain. But nobody does. As far as Wilbur is aware.

So a splash is made by a body, and Jared is unceremoniously sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Wilbur takes one more breath of fresh air. Before turning around and getting back into his new car.

He’s quick to arrive at your apartment complex. The man was no longer there. Wilbur goes to grip the front door. It doesn’t bulge.

Oh yeah, it’s locked.

He fishes the copy he made of your house key from his keychain and lets himself into the building he doesn’t live in. An invited guest, that has turned out to be an uninvited one.

He can feel the tiredness setting in his bones, as he ascends the stairs. And the realisation that he just killed someone hasn’t dawned on him yet. Instead, all his muscles are aching, and his eyes barely staying open.

He stumbles into your apartment. Another kiss gets left on your forehead as he goes for your bed. The smell is so nice. It’s so obvious to him this is where you sleep. And he’s soaking in each moment until his eyes are giving out.

His night remaining dreamless, instead, he gets awoken rather rudely around noon. You’ve pulled the comforter off him and told him to get up, so the two of you can spend some timeacting together. and Wilbur happily does that.

Not at all acing like a man who purposely took another person’s life mere hours ago. You rush him to get into his clothes. As you have something planned for rest of the day out of the apartment. You’re talking his ears off as you descend the first flight stairs your personal puppy in tow.

When you stop dead in your tracks. Wilbur nearly stumbles into you.

“Will, is that Jared’s shoes?”

And right there is in fact Jared’s shoes. The pair Wilbur had forgotten all about. The pair he had left unintentionally.

“Are you sure about that? Thought he already left.” Wilbur lies, he may be awkward, but he has gotten pretty good at lying to you through the years.

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. Why would he leave his shoes?”

The question gets left unanswered, and the tension is thick until you get outside, and the sun is shining. It seems it knows too of how good this day is for Wilbur, a dawn of a new era. Where you will finally acknowledge him as the perfect one for you.

The man from the nightstand once again with a smoke and raises his hand to greet Wilbur, once again Wilbur shuffles on his feet before he raises a hand back. You look at him weirdly, and Wilbur shrugs it off.

The rest of the day happening without any mishaps or other incidents. But the shoes just can’t seem to leave your mind, despite how hard Wilbur is trying to distract you.

And then the afternoon passes, and the night, and the car ride, and Wilbur is once again home. And as soon as the door closes. He crumbles down on the floor.

Oh god.

He did it.

He actually fucking did it.

He isn’t useless.

He’s fucking Wilbur, and Wilbur stays in your life. Even when you make such stupid mistakes as falling for another person. There’s only one person for you and that’s him.

You’re actually the first one to call him this time, and the smile never leaves his lips. Even if the call is about Jared. And how worried you are about not having heard from him. Wilbur just tells you; you should have listened to him. Guys on the internet are just like that. And that you deserve better. Someone like him.

You laugh at this and thank him for calming you down.

Wilbur suddenly loves phone calls.

This bliss is perfect for Wilbur you’re talking to him more and more. And he watches, god he watches you. Every step you take in that apartment is filmed logged on his computer.

However, all good things must come to an end, and Wilbur has barely pulled off his tie after work when a group of loud knocks sounds at his door. He isn’t expecting guests.

A group of men in blue uniforms greets him.

“Wilbur Soot, you’re under the arrest for the Murder of Jared Yarrow.”

Wilbur barely registers what’s going on, before he’s in a holding cell. A psych evaluation under his belt. A phone call to his father asking him to help him out.

The days bleed together in the unchanging environment, and suddenly a defender is telling him to plead for insanity.

Then the defender comes back again days later with a court date, and all Wilbur can do is count the seconds.

Time for the first time since arriving slows down when the doors to the court open and Wilbur is lead into the courtroom. And there you are, looking beautiful as ever. Tears and despair clearly written on your face. You look away from him, and it makes him stumble for a moment. A quick look to the other side, confirms his fear. His father is here. Alongside his brothers.

The trial goes over what happened that night, the evidence, the sleeping medication, the car. Everything. Yet even when his sentence is received, even when he is told he won’t see the sun again for a long time. There is only one thing on his mind.

They never found the cameras.

And he just can’t help but smile at that as he’s getting lead away to rot.

Because Wilbur has always stayed by your side, Wilbur always stays. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

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