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2baddiesfanfics · 4 months ago

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Beat the Heat

Pairing: Eula x Amber

Tags: Improper Use of Pyro (Genshin Impact), Improper Use of Visions (Genshin Impact), Temperature Play, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex

Summary:

Being a captain in the Knights of Favonius has its perks, but Eula's favorite is undoubtedly her private dorm. As summer nights in Mondstadt grow unbearably hot, she hatches a plan to cool things down and offer relief to Amber.

Read on Ao3

There were a few perks to being of captain rank in the Knights of Favonius. Yes, respect and admiration were among them, but perhaps the privilege of having a private dorm was Eula’s favorite. As head of the Reconnaissance Company, she’d had many opportunities to bring honor back to the Lawrence family name. But that mission had become far less important to her after meeting Amber.

The outrider had been the first to welcome her with open arms. She didn’t care about her background or less-than-savory family history - she only wanted her to feel comfortable and safe since they’d be working together in the wilds of Mondstadt. It would be vital for them to have each other’s backs, and it was clear Amber took this seriously. As the two women had gotten to know each other, their camaraderie had morphed into something deeper than just being coworkers…which brought her back to why she was so thankful her room was separate from the knights of lower rank.

Eula felt her now-girlfriend twitch in her sleep at her side. The summer night air was as humid and unpleasant as usual, and it was causing Amber to have issues getting comfortable. It was weather like this that made her thankful her vision was of the cryo variety. A mischievous grin spread across her face as a plan to help her cool down formulated in her mind.

The Spindrift Knight’s eyes traveled down Amber’s body. Her choice of bedtime attire never failed to impress. Since they didn’t have to fear anyone walking in on them, the outrider usually opted for a skin-tight red tank top that clung to all the right places and nothing but a flimsy pair of panties.

“Mmmm…Eula? Are you still awake? What’s up?” She mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion. The two had spent most of the day ensuring the known hilichurl camps in the area were causing no trouble.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were awake, baby. You just seemed a little uncomfortable,” she explained as she wiped away a bead of sweat that had started to form on the girl’s forehead.

“Ah, it’s just so damn hot lately. I can’t stay asleep,” she pouted.

“I see. Well, I may be able to help with that, if you’re up for it,” Eula answered, lust evident in the tone of her words. Immediately, Amber caught on to her intent.

“If you’re not too sleepy yourself…then yes please,” she whispered in response. Although Amber was her junior in many ways, she certainly knew the power she held over Eula and used it accordingly.

The Reconnaissance Captain nearly growled she was so eager. “Let me know if things get too chilly, ok?” She moved to hover above her and stopped to admire the way Amber’s cheeks flushed. Unable to tell whether it was from the heat, embarrassment, or both, Eula didn’t care - it only added to the allure of tending to both their needs.

After years of practice fighting with her vision, she’d learned how to use its power in other convenient and creative ways. Concentrating for a moment, she felt the familiar thrum course through her body. Dipping her head lower, Amber let out a quiet shriek of surprise. Eula’s lips met her neck and it felt as if she’d pressed an ice cube against her.

“Ah! Eula…”

“Hey, you asked for it. I’m just giving you what you wanted…a little relief, right?” She murmured seductively. Eula could already feel Amber’s nipples harden through the barely-there fabric of her top. The girl squirmed beneath her as her mouth traveled across her sweat-dampened skin.

Her chilled tongue tasted the tang of salt as the outrider sighed. Eula’s now frigid fingers trailed down her flesh as she pulled the top of Amber’s shirt down, baring her chest to the cold enamel of her teeth as she nipped. The pads of her thumb and pointer fingers teased the nipple of one breast while she worked the other with her lips.

Amber felt both relieved and frustrated at the same time. She certainly enjoyed the cool feeling of Eula’s skills being put to good use, but she wasn’t moving fast enough for her liking. The Reconnaissance Captain was clearly deriving pleasure watching her writhe under her touch.

“Something wrong, dear?” Eula asked, her voice muffled by Amber’s chest.

“N-no. I’m f-fine…ahhhhh!” She cried out as Eula bit down just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Oh, really? You certainly don’t sound it…” She could already feel Amber clenching her thighs together beneath her in desperate need of relief. The fabric that separated skin from skin wasn’t anywhere near thick enough to hide the fact the outrider was soaking wet.

The power of cryo was now coursing full-throttle through Eula’s body, her breath crystallizing as she spoke. “I can tell you’re quite eager. At least I’m helping you take your mind off the heat. Don’t get greedy, now…”

Amber whined at the provocation. “Please…Eula…”

“Please what, my little outrider?” she taunted while slithering further down her body.

The girl’s face was as red as her usual uniform. “Ohhhh, Eula…don’t make me say it…”

“Hm. I suppose you must be feeling just fine, then…” she said nonchalantly as she began to sit up. Amber quickly grabbed her by the wrist.

“W-wait! Eula…please…fuck me?” The way her earnest eyes went wide with need nearly made her moan in response. Instead, she kept her composure.

“That’s better. Lay back down for me.” Once she had gotten comfortable, Eula hooked her fingers in the sides of Amber’s panties and pulled them down and off. Her broad shoulders forced the girl’s thighs to widen, causing her to throw an arm over her face. Eula couldn’t deny the innocence she displayed despite having plenty of experience turned her on so much that it took an immense amount of self-control to not devour her whole.

The Spindrift Knight’s chilled breath tickled her inner thigh causing her to sigh with pleasure. Eula could feel Amber shiver as she brought her mouth closer to where she desired it. She prodded her opening with a single icy finger and heard her exhale hard. As she slid inside her, her tongue stroked her clit in time.

“Eula! Fuck! That’s col-aghhhhhh!” The sheets tightened under her grip as she sought something to ground herself.

“Is that…any way for…a Knight of Favonius…to speak?” she replied between licks. Another of her fingers worked its way to join the other. The outrider whimpered in response, encouraging Eula to continue.

“Where are your manners, dear girl? I better hear a thank you, or I’ll stop right now.”

“Eula…”

“I’m waiting…”

“Agh! Thank you for making me com-OH ARCHONSsssss!”

With a few practiced sharp thrusts, she accomplished what she had set out to do.

“Cool enough?” Eula asked, her teeth starting to chatter.

“Hmmm, very much so. Thank you. The heat’s been unbearable lately.” Amber smiled sweetly up at her as she snuggled in closer.

The girl noticed Eula was shivering, goosebumps trailing her body.

“Oh, Eula! You’re freezing…”

“Y-yes, an unfortunate side effect of using my cryo vision. It takes a while for my body temperature to stabilize. It’s not a big deal, I assure you. To ensure you’re not overheated, it’s worth the discomfort,” Eula muttered through clenched teeth.

“You know I can’t just sit here and let you freeze like this. I won’t be able to rest knowing you’re cold at my expense.” Amber shifted to sit atop her, running her hands up and down her body, heat radiating from her palms.

“Mmmm…that feels nice,” Eula purred as she felt the comforting warmth of her girlfriend’s pyro vision being put to good use.

The outrider moved her hands to stroke her breasts, Eula’s nipples still hard from the chill running through her. Leaning down to capture the Reconnaissance Captain’s lips in a searing kiss, the combination of elemental power caused the mingling of their breath to leak steam out of their mouths.

“Haaaa…A-amber, is this not going to…overheat you again?” Eula asked.

“Just the opposite, I think. I believe it’ll even us both out. Don’t worry, captain,” Amber reassured her.

The soft warmth tickled Eula’s chest as the outrider’s hand slid between her legs. She moaned as the girl urged her to open further. Taking her time to ensure every inch of her skin was warm enough, she traveled down her body until her mouth met the hem of her panties. Tugging them down with her teeth, Eula let out a loud whimper.

Not so tough now are we, Ms. Spindrift Knight? Amber thought cheekily. It was rare she got the opportunity to be in control, so she relished every chance she got to have her at her mercy. Once her legs were free, the outrider got into position.

Eula’s hips arched off the bed as she felt the heat of Amber’s tongue on her clit. She cried out as she felt a finger slip into her. The outrider sucked gently on the bud and inserted a second finger, which she welcomed if her movements driving her deeper were any indication.

The Reconnaissance Captain’s body started to shake with the quickening pace of Amber’s fingers and mouth. A splash of Eula’s essence coated her tongue when the woman cried out as she came.

Once again, they were both thankful for the privacy of Eula’s dorm as neither woman was known for being silent. Amber sat up and wiped the remaining slick from her chin as the Spindrift Knight caught her breath.

“Whoever said fire and ice don’t mix has clearly never met us,” she said with a playful giggle. Crawling back up the bed, she burrowed into her girlfriend’s side once more.

Eula chuckled in response as she kissed her forehead. “I can think of no better way to beat the heat.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic #wlw #genshin #genshin impact #hoyoverse #mihoyo #eulamber #eula lawrence #eula #amber #eulaxamber #amberxeula #amber x eula #eula x amber #knights of favonius #temperature play #visions

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emmanuellececchi · 1 year ago

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First few paragraphs of my modern romance.

A few days ago, one of you, very kindly, asked if I wanted to post an excerpt from my novel. I said yes but wasn't sure what.

I will post here the first few paragraphs of the first chapter. Remember it's still a work in progress so many things will change. The tone and the vocabulary might change as well. As English is not my first language, I will ask someone fluent to correct me and my formulation.

The novel is set in our world. This is the summary I have in mind for the moment: Two gamers who played together lose sight of each other after a terrible accident. When they meet again, nothing is going as expected. After all, they never met before.

"Let's play together" (temporary title) - text after the cut.

Danica was fighting with her keys. Again. She hated this door and the way it was opening. Each time she was back with her grocery, it was a fight as, most of the time, she was alone. Finally, she successfully opened and pushed gingerly the door, putting one of her grocery bags to stop it from closing again. With a sigh, she put her keys in her pocket, not losing them again, and began pushing with her feet the bags while taking the others in her hands. It wasn’t easy but after a few moments, she finally got all her grocery in the building hall. She sighed again. Now she had to take the stairs. Because the elevator was, once again, out of order. This was when she noticed the tall, blond man looking at her. She was surprised and wondered in irritation if he had been there all this time, and not helping her. He was really thin, and, in a bout of pettiness, she thought it might be why he hadn’t help her. Not the arms to help her with the bags. She sighed, once again. She didn’t even know this guy. He was still looking at her and she realized he hadn’t gone down the staircase… Was he waiting for her to move away? Or just watching her struggle? “Hi! I’m Danica Wilkinson. I’m the tenant of the 6 B.” She smiled because what else could she do but the man said nothing. He looked up, where her apartment was and then down again. With exasperation she took all the bags she could and began the ascension. “You might want to go down if you don’t me bumping into you.” She said it with another smile but her tone was less and less patient. He was making her uncomfortable. The man seemed to realized he was standing awkwardly in the stairs for he made a strange face and, finally, moved. He went down the stairs and looked at the bags left on the ground. “Don’t worry, I’ll come and take them once I have put those up… Unless you want to give me a hand?” She smiled innocently. The man seemed uncertain. Then, pushing slowly the bags with his foot, he got out of the building and closed the door behind him without another look. Danica didn’t know if she should be insulted or worried. What kind of asshole was this guy? Finally, she shrugged. She had enough things to think about and things to do… And maybe he was just not speaking the same language… she didn’t know and she didn’t care. The chance was, she wasn’t going to see him again. With yet another sigh, she went on climbing the stairs with her bags, hoping no one would leave with the rest of her food.

#novel writing #modern romance #excerpt #romance #love story #emma's writing

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fixfoxnox · 2 years ago

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Something In The Orange - Part 20

Description: Roach is out of the hospital and back on base

Warnings: Mental Health discussions, guilt/self hatred, discussion of dubious consent/SA

Note: I am also posting this to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there

Word Count: 7.9k

"I swear I've known you from another time

And I caught you down the line, but I couldn't stop you moving

And when I found you by the riverside

It's waters wild and wide, you left me again"

"After Many Miles" - The Ghost of Paul Revere

“How are you feeling today?”

Roach shifted uncomfortably in his seat, letting his hands rub nervously over the fabric of the couch underneath him as he tried to formulate a response. “Fine,” he settled on after a moment. “Ready to get this over with.”

The woman across from him gave a small, comforting smile, “I know this is hard,” she folded her hands in front of her patiently, “Most people who I see struggle through these sessions. That’s okay. You should know that.” Roach didn’t respond, he only shifted nervously again before giving her a nod. “How was your time off?”

Roach almost gave a snort at the question, his mind calling back to the past month and a half of his life, all spent at home with his family. “Tiring,” he said after a moment, “I’m not used to spending so much time at home.”

“I guess your family spent a lot of time doting on you?”

“If by doting on me,” Roach shook his head fondly, “You mean watching my every move like a hawk. Then yes, they spent quite a bit of time doting on me.” His mind called back to the way his mother had refused to let him do anything for himself the first week or so after he’d been released from the hospital. The way his brothers had come by almost every day to check up on him.

The time at home had been refreshing to him. Sure, it was a little annoying to be home, only able to talk to the other members of the 141 over the phone as the team was forced back to work much sooner than him. And sure, it was a little overwhelming to spend so much time at home after years of coming back for only a week or so at a time. But it was also wonderful, so unbelievably wonderful.

He hadn’t ever spent so much time around his nieces and nephews. He’d seen them so often that he found it easy to understand why his brothers had decided to have so many of them. Spending time with his brothers again was a blessing. For the first time in this life, he was really able to appreciate the two men, really able to appreciate how much they cared about him. It made him mourn his childhood a bit, sad that he’d been so wrapped up in his own grief that he’d missed so much time with them.

Then there were his parents. He knew that they were happy to have him home, but he’d thought that he would be more nervous to spend so much time around them. He thought that those memories of his parents in his first life would begin to haunt him again. Instead, he found that he was grateful and so happy. He found that his mother's gentleness and his father's care in this life were enough to drive the fears that his parents in his first life had instilled in him away. There was still work to be done, still, things he was trying to readjust his mind to, but he’d found it had become easier to accept his life. He found that his first life didn’t seem to plague his mind so much.

He knew now, knew that he didn’t fit into his first life anymore. It had been something he’d been trying not to accept for some time. Something he’d been pushing down for what had to be years. He’d put his first life on a pedestal, held it in such high regard in his mind, he’d let it rule his current life. Not anymore. He really wanted to live, without those memories plaguing everything that he did. It was a sad realization, that he no longer fit in his first life, but there was happiness too. Happiness that he could finally let go.

Of course, nothing could ever be so simple for him, and, with the acceptance that he didn’t fit in his first life anymore came a new question, a new concern that plagued his mind. He didn’t fit in his first life anymore, but did he fit in this life?

He shook himself out of his thoughts, anxiety rising in his chest as his mind ventured into that rabbit hole. He focused himself back on the woman in front of him, forcing a small smile on his face, “It was nice being home, though.”

The woman watched him closely, it was like she knew what he’d just been thinking, like she knew his mind had taken a quick spiral before he’d come back to himself. She tilted her head at him, “How did your family handle your decision to return to the military?”

Roach winced at the question, he was sure it let her know that she’d landed on a sensitive subject with the question. “As well as they could.”

“I understand your mother isn’t a big fan of the military?”

“She isn’t a big fan of me being in danger,” Roach responded, his hands clenching at his sides, “She’s worried is all. She means well, but,” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

He’d made things worse when he told them, he knew that, It was, primarily, because he’d attempted to avoid telling them. There were papers that were sent over, things he had to sign. An agreement that he wouldn’t be put back into the field until it had been signed off by a therapist. An agreement that he’d still get to be on base, still get to train with the 141 while he waited to be allowed back into the field. There were other things too, papers about his injuries, and statements that needed to be made about his time with Makarov. Reports took up most of the papers.

He’d intended to finish them up, sign them fully, and send them back before telling his family, ensuring that there was no way that they could try to talk him out of it. He was trying to avoid another incident like when he’d first enlisted. Another round of his family trying to talk him out of going back. He knew they would be more serious about it this time.

He’d messed up though. “But?” The woman asked kindly, “She didn’t take it well, I assume?”

“I messed up,” Roach said lowly, gripping the fabric of his pants tightly. His fingers were still ruined, he’d still been picking and chewing at the skin there. “I was going to sign all the papers, and confirm everything before I told them.”

The woman nodded, her eyes soft, “I’m assuming they found them?”

“Yes,” Roach responded, “I went outside with some of my nieces and nephews. I guess my mom went into my room to change the sheets or something, she saw the papers.” Roach took in a breath, trying to calm himself. There were tears that threatened to form in his eyes, he could feel them in the way that his nose began to twitch and sting. “She didn’t tell me at first. Told everyone else. Had my brother and his wife take me out to dinner, when we got back, the whole family was there.”

The woman across from him scribbled something down against the clipboard she had in her hands, her face serious. “They ambushed you?”

“An intervention is what my mother said,” Roach tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling in hopes that it would help keep tears from falling down his face. It was nice to have someone confirm what he’d been thinking though, that it was an ambush. “I told them I didn’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t their decision, it was mine. Told them I was going back. Mom didn’t like that.” He brought his head back down, and brought his thumb to his mouth so he could tear at the skin there, his mind was a bit foggy with the memory, “We argued. Everyone just kinda let my mom speak for them, so it was really just me and her. She said she couldn’t understand why I would go back, why I wouldn’t just stay home with them. And I,” He cut himself off, biting against the skin of his thumb harder. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“It’s alright,” The woman said comfortingly, “I’m not here to judge you.”

“I got frustrated. I just started yelling. I told them I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stay home for too long. Told them I went crazy if I was around them for too long. Told them I could,” tears fell from his eyes then, his breathing becoming shaky, “told them I could see the way they looked at me. Told them I knew they still thought I was crazy.”

“Your childhood,” the woman reached out, grabbing a box of tissues from the small coffee table between them and handing it over to Roach, he took it nervously. “In your file, it mentioned that you’d been to psychologists when you were younger. Said that they’d wanted to diagnose you with PTSD, but that the head doctor would never sign off on it.” She looked down at her papers, “Forgive my language, but I do think that doctor was a piece of shit.”

The words pulled a snort from Roach, laughter wracking his system for a few minutes. He was sure he looked crazy as he laughed, tears falling from his face that he tried to wipe away quickly, there was no judgment though, only a small smile sent his way. “That’s what my mom said,” he responded, “When I was younger. Our town was small though, no other place to go. But she held a grudge for years. Used to bake stuff for the entire building and add a little sign to it that said anyone but he could have some.”

“She sounds like she was very protective of you. Still is it seems.” Roach nodded, fondness flooding his system as he remembered his normally calm mother spitting out curses at the man because he’d refused to sign off on the diagnoses simply because there was no “identifying incident.” She’d nearly punched the man on several other occasions, something that had amused Roach, even when he was stuck in the body of a child. “I’ve amended your papers,” the woman gave him a nod, “With the information I have, it seems obvious to me that you were suffering from PTSD as a child. It’s understandable that being home for too long would bring up memories of your childhood for both you and your parents.” She tilted her head at him, watching him closely for a moment, “How did your family handle what you said?”

“It hurt them,” he shook his head at himself, guilt clawing its way up his throat from where it had been sitting neatly in his chest since he’d woken up in the hospital, “Mom just kinda went silent. Sat down. She just looked…empty?” He bit his lip, “I just felt so guilty after I said it. I left for a few hours and walked around the woods, and through town. My brother came after me. He picked me up about three hours later, drove me back home, didn’t say a word to me the entire time. I apologized to mom the next morning, she did too.”

“So you made up? That seems good.”

“I don’t know,” Roach shrugged his shoulders, biting at his fingers again, “I still feel so guilty for what happened, for what I said.”

“Did your mother seem to linger over it?”

“She was careful with me,” He noted, “Didn’t mention anything else about me coming back, though I could tell it still bothered her a bit. Other than that, it was like she just went back to normal,” he shifted in his seat again, trying hard not to consider that his mother had been more upset than she let on.

“It seems to me,” the woman started carefully, “That perhaps your outburst was a bit of a wake-up call for her. Maybe it made her realize that she’d still been treating you like she had when you were younger. Like she still needed to protect you.” She watched him for a moment, as though reading the twisted expression that had taken over his face, “You shouldn’t linger over things that you don’t know. If your mother seemed like she was okay, like she wasn’t angry, then she probably wasn’t.”

The words took Roach by surprise and he jerked back slightly. It was as though the woman in front of him had opened up his mind and peered directly at his thoughts. It was both impressive and scary how well she’d been able to read him. He took a calming breath, trying to keep from showing how her words had affected him. “Right,” he gave a nod, “It’s just hard not to linger over it, not to worry that I hurt her.”

“I understand,” she gave him a small smile, “But you can’t linger on things you can’t control. It isn’t healthy to fixate on what-ifs.” She leaned forward slightly, “We should try to challenge those thoughts, remind ourselves that some things are out of our control. I know it can be difficult, but it’s a good tool to help us practice some of that self-love in a simple way. We’ll have to train our brains to do that. Do you understand?”

Roach nodded hesitantly. What the woman was suggesting seemed much harder than she made it out to be, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Silence fell over the small room for a moment and Roach shifted uncomfortably once again. After another moment, he cleared his throat, looking around the room. She was watching him carefully, it was making him more nervous than he wanted to admit.

After a moment, he opened his mouth to speak, “So,” he started, rubbing his hands against his pants to try to comfort himself, “Is that it then? I get to go back on duty because I talked about my mommy issues?”

The woman’s mouth quirked up slightly and she pulled her wrist up to check her watch. “With the rest of our time today,” she spoke softly as she started to flip through a few things on her clipboard, “I’d like to go over what you experienced during your time with Vladimir Makarov.”

The words made Roach freeze. This was the last thing that he wanted to talk about. “I don’t,” he started, “I don’t think that’s necessary.” His leg started bouncing up and down quickly, he forced himself to stop when he noticed the woman’s eyes shoot to the movement, watching closely.

“Nothing specific for now,” the woman assured him, “I just want to get a general idea of the things that we’ll be working through in our future sessions. You can just give me an overview and then we’ll move on to whatever you want to for the rest of the session or,” she gave him a small smile, “We’ll even cut the session short for the day so you can go get some rest.”

There was silence around the room as Roach tried to come up with some excuse or some reason why he didn’t need to talk about his time with Makarov. He really didn’t want to go through it with the woman. He hadn’t even been able to talk about what had happened with Soap and Ghost, he certainly didn’t think he’d be able to talk about it with a woman he hardly knew.

There was another part of him. A part that commented that, since he didn’t know this woman well, she would be the perfect person to tell. That part of him had been screaming to be let out for the past month. That part of him wanted and needed nothing more than to tell someone about what had happened, to have someone tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done wrong. That he hadn’t betrayed his team. That he hadn’t betrayed Soap and Ghost.

That part of him often got buried.

“I don’t know what there is to say,” Roach shook his head, “I mentioned most of it in my reports.”

The woman tilted her head, “Yes,” she said, there was a slight note to her voice that told Roach that something else was coming, “Most of it.” She agreed. Her eyes caught his, “But there is a lot left out here isn’t there? Your report doesn’t mention the incident in Finland, the one mentioned in Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant MacTavish, and Sergeant Garrick’s reports from the incident.”

Roach froze slightly. He didn’t know quite how to respond to the woman in front of him, or the knowledge that she definitely knew that he’d left out that and likely far more information in his report. He just hadn’t been able to write everything down, so he’d settled on writing the bare bones of what he could stomach. “It,” he started slowly, “it must have slipped my mind.”

“I’m sure,” the woman’s voice wasn’t accusing as she added, “Just like the source of that stab wound you had must have slipped your memory. Or the broken nose. Or how exactly you got those wounds that Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley found you with.” She tilted her head at him, her eyes serious, but kind, “I’m here to help you, Sergeant Sanderson. In order to do that, I need to know what happened.”

Roach ran a hand over his face, his nerves shooting back up. He started tapping his heel again, he didn’t try to stop himself this time. One of his hands came up to his mouth so that he could bite at his nails and the skin around his fingers. He wrapped an arm around his middle, his eyes locked on to the rug on the floor rather than the woman in front of him. He took in a deep, shaky breath. The room felt hot. The room felt like it was closing in on him.

“I,” he finally managed to get out, his voice shaky, “It’s a lot.”

“I understand,” Her voice and the lack of judgment on her face calmed him just a bit. He felt like he could breathe a bit clearer, “We’ll start off abstract. On just vague general things. We don’t have to talk about anything in particular until you’re ready.”

Roach glanced at her hesitantly. Maybe it would be okay if he kept things vague. “I don’t have to…give detail?”

“Not until you’re ready,” the woman assured. “We’re going to work at your pace.”

“My pace,” Roach repeated to himself. There was a dizzying feeling that threatened to take over his mind if he continued speaking, but he didn’t care. He needed to talk. That part of his mind that he’d been shoving into a box needed some pressure released from it. “Okay,” he finally said, “Okay I think I can do that.”

The woman gave him a soft nod, “That’s good. Whatever you feel comfortable telling me, okay? I may ask some questions at the end, but all you’ll have to do is say yes or no.”

Roach nodded and he took a deep breath in. It was almost hard to force the words out, but once he began speaking, he found that they came easily, “After pretending to kill Price, Makarov sent men to find me. One of them stabbed me. Makarov killed him because of it. I passed out and woke back up in Russia.” He took another deep breath, “Makarov told me about the bracelet. He wanted me to kill someone for him. I,” he hesitated, but with a quick glance at the non-judgemental face that the woman wore he continued speaking, “I did it. He had me kill more people. He brought me to Finland to make me kill someone in front of the team. I attacked him after we left. He won.” He grit his teeth slightly.

His mind recalled what had happened next. His realization of what Makarov wanted. His words. The way he’d batted his lashes at the man and lured him in, playing into his fantasies. He nearly felt sick as he recalled the man’s hands against his skin, his mouth against his own. His mind went to Soap and Ghost again. They didn’t know. They didn’t know what he’d done. They couldn’t know. He skipped that bit and continued, “Within the next few days the team showed up, I went to try and stop Makarov, but he caught me off guard. He planned to take me with him again.”

He stopped then, swallowing hard as he listened to the woman across from him write something down in her notes. “I’m just going to ask a few questions,” she said softly, “The man who stabbed you, did you see Makarov kill him?” Roach nodded his head in response, sickness creeping up his throat once again as he remembered the sickening crack of bones echoing around the church. “There were several days between your injuries and when the teams raided Makarov’s compound?”

Roach was taken aback by the question, his body thrumming with nerves, “Yes.” He begged whatever God was out there that she didn’t ask him what had happened during that time. What he’d done during that time.

She paused for a moment, looking up at him in silence for several seconds, as though considering her words. Roach knew then that she was going to ask, in some form or another she was going to ask. “Captain Price and Agent Laswell mentioned that Makarov’s interest in you might not have been strictly for the use of getting to the 141.”

Roach took in a deep breath, “He seemed to think that I understood him. That we were the same in some way.”

The woman nodded slowly, “And his…interest in you, it never went further than that?”

Roach clenched his hands, his throat feeling tight. “He was obsessive,” he said simply.

“Yes,” the woman nodded, “But how far did that obsession go?”

Roach couldn’t stand the way that she was skirting around the question, trying hard to ask without actually asking. It drove him crazy. He took a deep breath before leveling her with a serious stare, “Ask what you want to ask.”

She tilted her head at him, as though considering if he could handle it. Finally, after a moment, she nodded, “Sergeant Sanderson, did you have a romantic relationship with Vladimir Makarov? Consensual or otherwise.”

Roach didn’t run from the room, but it was certainly close. His heart was pounding, his throat felt tight, and he was sure that his eyes were rimmed red. All of his plans of getting back to the norm of missions were flushed down the drain with several questions asked to him by a woman in a blazer. It was a bit annoying.

He barely watched where he was going as he marched down the hallways of the base, letting muscle memory guide him back to the room where he’d spent all of his nights since arriving at the new base. He hardly even knew where his own room was, but he had the path to this one memorized like the back of his hand.

During his month of leave, the team had been moved to a more permanent base in England. The area was unfamiliar to Roach, and the plane ride with his things had been hell, but he found that he actually quite liked their new base. At the very least, the rooms that they were given to use if they didn’t have a place off base were quite nice. Roach was almost upset that they hadn’t been at the base sooner. Almost.

He approached the door to the room, not even bothering to knock before swinging it open, stepping inside, and closing it with a little more force than he meant to behind him. The noise gained the attention of the other two men in the room. He was given a raised brow by Simon. He was on the other side of the room, slipping on his jacket and his fingerless gloves. His mask wasn’t on, but it was set off to the side.

Similarly, Soap was slipping his shirt over his head when Roach had barged in, his head turning to give him a smile in greeting. They were both getting dressed. Roach didn’t understand. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

“Well hi, to you too, Bug,” Soap gave a laugh.

Roach winced, guilt tugging at his chest as he realized how snippy his voice had sounded, “Sorry,” he gave the two an apologetic smile, his hands raising just enough that he could join them together and begin picking at the skin around his fingers again. Not even the warning stings of pain in his hands could stop him. “Just wasn’t expecting to find the two of you up and getting ready.”

“We have a team meeting,” Simon raised an eyebrow at him, “Didn’t Price tell you? You’re still allowed to sit in on meetings right?”

Roach shook his head. Captain Price had not informed him about any meeting. His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile as he replied, “I must have missed it in my email, you guys know i’m shit at checking it.”

There was a hum from Simon, his eyes watching him closely for several moments. “How did your session go?”

Roach gave a huff, making his way toward them all so that he could throw himself face down onto the bed with a groan. It pulled a chuckle from both of the men, a sound that had Roach feeling warm. “Terrible. I hate psychiatrists.”

In a moment, someone was sitting next to him on the bed and there was a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Soap, he could identify the man by touch at this point. “I know it sucks, Bug, but it’s good for you.”

Roach gave a huff. “I just want to get back to normal. You know, missions and coming back to base to hold you guys' hands and shit,” he whined, pulling another laugh from Soap.

“You’ve been holding our hands,” that was Simon, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Not enough,” Roach responded, peeking up at him from the sheets.

“Well, good news,” he turned his head so that he could look at Soap, “You can hold our hands on the walk to the meeting room. I’ll even let you walk in the middle this time,” his last few words were said with an overexaggerated huff that pulled a grin from Roach.

Roach popped up from the bed, moving closer to Soap with a grin, “Yeah? With no complaints?”

“No complaints,” Soap held a hand up, “Scout's honor.” Soap leaned closer to him, his hand coming up to stroke his cheek gently. Roach leaned into the movement for a moment, a happy hum leaving his mouth as, for a brief second, his mind went pleasantly blank. That brief second ended when he closed his eyes happily, flashes of Makarov’s hands on his face making him pull back from Soap quickly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled away from Soap, or Ghost for that matter. It was never their touches that had him pulling away. Never their kisses that made him separate from them. It wasn’t the reminder of what he’d done that had him moving. It was the guilt.

He wasn’t haunted by Makarov’s touches. Not in the way that others might have been. He didn’t dream of the man haunting his every move. He didn’t dream of those hands against his skin. Sure, when he thought about what he’d done he felt sick, but that wasn’t because of the memories. It was because of the guilt.

How could he let Soap and Ghost touch him? How could he let them love him the way that they do? How could he take that so easily when he knew that he’d betrayed them? How could he let that happen when he’d played into what Makarov wanted? How could he let that happen when he’d let another touch him with no complaint?

He didn’t think he was worthy of the love that they showed him. That open affection that they so easily gave to him. He’d been treading the line, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for them to learn what he’d done. Waiting for them to feel just as disgusted with him as he felt with himself.

He recognized the confusion on Soap’s face as he pulled away. He could see the look that Simon was giving him. He knew that they knew that something was going on. He was just hoping to hold on to them for a bit longer. For his own, selfish, reasons.

He popped up from the bed, pretending not to see the looks on their faces as he stretched his arms into the air, taking in a deep breath as he moved. “What time is the meeting?” He asked as he turned back to face the two.

Simon watched him for a moment before tilting his eyes down to check his watch, “Fifteen minutes. We should probably start moving if we don’t want to be late.”

“You mean if we want to be early,” Soap said with a roll of his eyes. He stood from the bed and made his way over to his shoes, slipping them on his feet quickly. “No way we’re going to be late when the meeting doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. It’s not even a five-minute walk over there.”

Roach leaned against the wall by the door, listening to Soap and Simon debate back and forth on what was early and what was late. He picked idly at his thumb, biting his lip as he watched them, a sad sort of affection blooming in his chest. He loved to just watch the two at times, listen to them talk. He was glad to say that he was past the days of feeling like a third wheel in these moments. Past the days of his mind calling something in his first life to the forefront just to remind him of what he’d lost. Sure he’d lost, but look at what he’d gained. Even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

It was a few more moments before Simon was slipping on his mask and he and Soap were joining Roach by the door. Just as Soap had promised, when the three stepped out of the room, Ghost shutting and locking it behind him, he allowed Roach to stand in the center of their little group. One of his hands was taken first by Soap, the man pulling him closer to his side with a grin. A moment later and his other hand was gently taken by Simon, a small, comforting squeeze given to the limb. Roach pulled them both closer to him, practically squished between the two as they all made their way toward the conference room.

Roach could tell by the look on Captain Price’s face when he walked into the room that the man hadn’t told him about the meeting on purpose. He wasn’t mad at him. He knew why he hadn’t wanted to tell him.

Still, it did nothing to stop him from abandoning Soap and Ghost’s side as they went to take their seats, all to march up to Captain Price and glare him down. “You didn’t tell me about this meeting!” He hissed in a low voice. He didn’t need the rest of the team hearing his conversation with the man.

“I’m sorry, lad,” Price responded, his voice genuine, “I just thought, after your session, you might have wanted a day. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to come.”

Roach reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a small sigh of frustration leaving his throat, “I appreciate that, Price, I really do.” He stopped to look at the man fully, “But really? If you’re worried about that then just tell me if I’m not feeling up to it that I don’t have to come.”

“I’m sorry,” Price responded.

“Just,” Roach shook his head, “Please don’t do it again. It’s really frustrating to only find out there’s a meeting because of Soap and Ghost. Doesn’t really make me feel like you guys see me as a valid part of the team.” His eyes widened slightly at the confession.

It wasn’t one he’d meant to make. His mouth was running faster than his brain could follow and filter. It was the truth though. He’d been terribly worried that after over a month away from the team and now the time that he would be off for his mandated therapy sessions, the team would grow comfortable without him there. That they’d realize that they didn’t need him anymore.

It was a stupid thing to worry about. But it didn’t stop his mind from whispering those words to him. It had taken to doing that more and more often now. What if they don’t need you anymore? What if they’re still angry? What if you’re fucked up for good? What if, what if, what if. It just kept going.

He thought back to his therapist's words from earlier, about trying to stop those what-if phrases from taking hold in his brain. It was much easier said than done, still, he tried. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that those were just scenarios. Unlikely scenarios. Not the reality. It seemed to help a bit, that pressure in his chest relieving itself slightly.

Price reached out to him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, lad. It won’t happen again.” He paused, as though hesitant, before adding, “You are a valued and valid member of this team Roach. Please remember that.”

Roach let out a small breath, the words calming those feelings in his chest even further. Though he was embarrassed by his words, it was nice to have someone else there to validate his feelings and give him some reassurance. “Thank you, Captain.” He gave Price a small, flashed smile before turning around and making his way to where Soap and Ghost were, an open seat between them saved for him. It made his heart ache with joy for a brief moment. That feeling disappeared from his chest.

The group waited several more minutes until Gaz finally stumbled into the room, his eyes locked onto his phone as he typed several things out rapidly. From the grin on his face, Roach knew that he was likely messaging Jackson. He couldn’t help but grin at Gaz, happy that two of his friends seemed to have found happiness together. He had to admit, they made a far better pairing than he’d expected.

Price cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention and prompting Gaz to put his phone face down on the table. “Boys,” he started with a small smile, “As you all know, we’ve been tracking one of Makarov’s would-be successors,” his eyes shot to Roach at the mention of Makarov.

“Any news?” Gaz asked, leaning forward against the table.

“He seems to have found his foothold in the party,” Price crossed his arms, tugging slightly at his beard, “Laswell’s been monitoring his activity. He went off of the grid four days ago. Popped back up in Brazil.”

“He’s taking over Makarov’s weapons deals in the area,” Roach guessed, “Rojas?”

“Still locked up tight,” Price nodded, “Seems like he’s got someone else. Some new partner in the area.”

Soap gave a low whistle, an annoyed look painted onto his face, “Weapons dealers. Always popping up somewhere. Take one out and two more come from the shadows.”

“Any idea on the new partner?” Simon was the one who asked, leaning back in his seat to cross his arms.

“We didn’t have any leads on them, that was until about a day ago.” He tapped a few buttons on his computer before spinning it around to show the group a picture of a woman, “Francisca Costa, apparently she’s stolen nearly all of Rojas’ clients while he’s been in custody, including the ultranationalists.”

“How’d we figure this out?” Roach asked, squinting at the picture. Often times it was hard to follow when terrorists switched up who their shipments were from. Most of the time it took months to establish enough of a pattern.

“Because,” Price took in a deep breath, “It seems that Francisca was being monitored closely by another team.”

“Another team?”

“PMC,” Price responded, “Group called KorTac. They got in contact with us a few days ago, apparently heard that we were watching out for Makarov’s replacement, said that they had some information that could help us bring him down before he gets started.”

“That’s rather nice of them,” Ghost commented with narrowed eyes, “What do they want in return?”

Price took a moment, rolling his neck before he leaned down to place his hands on the table, “Joint operation to take out both Francisca and our target.”

“Absolutely not,” Soap responded immediately, pushing himself away from the table, Roach turned to look at him watching as his face twisted into anger, “I’m not working with a PMC again.”

“This isn’t like last time,” Price assured him, “It won’t be like last time.”

“How do you know that?” Ghost asked, “How do you know we won’t get fucked over again?”

Price shook his head at him, “I won’t let it happen. And,” he nodded, “Their group is smaller. Much smaller than Shadow Company. They won’t want something like that on their record for clients.”

There was a tense pause, silence hanging over the room for several moments. He’d never dealt with the Shadow Company of this life, but he understood the team’s hesitation to work with another PMC. He still felt the sting of betrayal from the Shadow Company of his first life, but he couldn’t say that.

Still, there was no reason that they had not to, at the very least, work with this new group. If it allowed them to cut off another head of the ultranationalist party before they could really get started, keep them scrambling for long enough for the loyalists to fully turn the tides, it would do wonders for them.

He leaned forward in his seat, fiddling with his fingers as he glanced at Ghost then Soap with a sense of anxiety laying over his shoulders. “How, uh,” he cleared his throat, feeling all of the attention in the room turn to him, “How many men do they want us to work with?” He looked around the group, “If it’s a larger number of people, that seems a bit suspicious.”

“KorTac isn’t a large group on its own,” Price started slowly, “They have thirteen operators in total, they want us to work with four of them. To match our numbers,” his eyes shot to Roach for a moment before he corrected, “our current numbers.”

“That seems reasonable,” Gaz crossed his arms, “What’s our timeline? How much time are we going to have to get to know these people before we have to trust them not to shoot us in the back?”

Price shot him a scolding look before responding, “They want to send them in ahead of time. Sometime within the next few days. They’re hoping that we can train together before the mission. Get to know each other and maybe even teach their people something.”

Roach nodded. The request sounded reasonable. If they were a PMC, they’d want a chance for their people to learn from other teams, and pick up new skills that they could market. The entire thing sounded reasonable, as much as it pained him to admit it. That arrangement would also allow the team the chance to get to know the people that they were working with, and scope them out ahead of time to ensure that they could trust them.

He pushed himself back in his seat and took a deep breath, “I say we do it.” He looked around the group, “I know I won’t get to go on the mission with you guys, but I can help in training. We can scope them out, make sure they aren’t suspicious.”

“Bug,” Soap commented quietly, “We can’t trust them.”

“After finding out Makarov had an informant who was working with us,” Roach responded, turning to him, “How do we know if we can trust anyone?” He looked around at the group, “I know I wasn’t with you guys during the situation with Shadow Company, but if you go around thinking you can’t work with people because you can’t trust them, we’ll never get anything done.”

Quiet fell over the room again, Soap’s face twisted into something sour. Roach felt bad, he understood his anger, but they couldn’t miss the opportunity they were given. Not when they could get ahead of the ultranationalists and even have the chance to help wipe them out for good.

Finally, after several moments, Ghost’s voice rang out, “Alright, but if they so much as breath wrong on one of us, that’s it.”

Price nodded to him, “Thank you, Simon.”

After another moment, Gaz nodded, “Alright, I guess.”

The group turned to Soap. He still seemed to be troubled. Like he didn’t want to agree with their words. He looked around at them all for several moments before he finally seemed to deflate a bit and respond, “Alright, but like Ghost said, if they breathe wrong. That’s it.”

It’s the middle of the night. He’s awake again. He should have known he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not after his session. Not after the memories.

He slowly peeled himself away from where he’d been draped over Soap’s back and slid out from under the covers, scooting himself until he was able to pull himself from the bed and stumble toward the bathroom. He didn’t bother turning on the light in the room, he just stripped off his clothes and turned the shower on.

The water was cold when he stepped in, not given a proper amount of time to warm up. He didn’t have the patience to wait. It was practically freezing on his skin, pulling a startled gasp from him as his body tried to recoil away from the cold. After a moment, the water warmed up and he was finally able to relax under the almost stinging heat it provided.

He let himself lean back against the shower wall, closing his eyes with a sigh. Images flashed across the back of his eyelids, nothing more than nightmares. Scenarios his mind had created for itself, terrible terrible scenarios.

He took in a breath through the water splashing across his face, reminding himself carefully that they were dreams. They weren’t the reality. They hadn’t happened.

They will, his mind whispered back. Maybe Makarov is dead. Maybe he can’t hurt you physically anymore. But what you’ve done? What you did while with him? That won’t go away so easily.

Images flashed again. Hands on him. He invited them, fluttered his lashes and spoke low words. Low, careful words. He’d drawn memories from his time with Simon, and he’d used them with Makarov. He’d let the man touch him. Let the man kiss him. Let the man think that he’d given in.

He’d done it to survive. He knew that. It didn’t change what he’d done. It didn’t change how he felt. It didn’t change the sickness that crept up his throat. The guilt clogged his arteries and threatened to burst his heart.

His dreams reminded him of that. His dreams reminded him of what was to come. Of the looks of disgust that he’d be soon to see from Soap and Ghost. Johnny and Simon. The men he loved. They’d never want to touch him again, never want to see him again, they’d never trust him again.

He’d lose them. Just like he lost the Soap and Ghost of his first life. Just like he’d lost everything else. Just like he’d continue to lose. Anything and everything he cared about.

The water of the shower hid his tears, hid the evidence of his tears. He allowed the water to run, allowed himself to cry. He didn’t move, not even when the water of the shower began to run cold again, stinging his skin and pulling a shiver from deep in his bones.

Finally, when he didn’t think he would cry anymore, when he felt that he could control his emotions, he leaned forward to turn the water of the shower off. He was shaking as he stepped out, both from the cold and his own emotions. He let the water from his body drip to the floor, only grabbing a towel after a few moments of blankly staring.

He wrapped the material around his shoulders, using it more as a blanket than a towel. He stopped in front of the mirror in the small bathroom, taking in his appearance for several moments, trying to be sure that he didn’t look like he’d just spent an unknown amount of time crying his eyes out as his mind tore itself apart.

He traced his eyes over his body, stopping at the skin at his side that was still healing. He’d been warned by the doctors that it was likely going to leave a terrible scar because of how often it had been torn open. How violently it had been ripped apart. He brought his wrists up so that he could examine them. His left was slightly smaller than the right, still building back up muscle from the cast that had laid over it. His right had scar tissue already forming over it in a line from where Makarov had carefully cut it open. In time, it was sure to be nothing more than a line on his skin.

He took in another deep breath, lowering his wrists to his side as he did so. He gave himself another few minutes, calming the rapid beating of his heart, before lifting the towel and beginning the process of drying himself off. He wrapped the material around his waist before leaving the safety of the bathroom to step back out into the room where Ghost and Soap were still sleeping.

He kept his footsteps quiet, creeping across the room to retrieve a new pair of pajamas for himself and slip into them. He took his time with the movements, knowing that he would have to inevitably go back to bed and try to sleep. He had another session the next morning and there was no doubt in his mind that his therapist would be able to see if he hadn’t slept.

The team was going to have a busy few weeks ahead of them. With the members from KorTac arriving in several days and the preparation for their mission, Roach was sure that he was going to be busier and that Soap and Ghost would be busier as well. He only hoped that it wouldn’t impact how much he would get to see them.

He carefully stepped back toward the bed, lowering himself to the mattress carefully before scooting close enough that he could once again tuck himself close to Soap. He wrapped himself under the covers and pressed his face into the man’s back, taking in a deep breath and trying to appreciate the warmth of the other man.

Slipping back into sleep didn’t come easy. He expected it. His dreams weren’t pleasant. He wasn’t surprised.

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tryst-art-archive · 2 years ago

Text

Nov. 2012: "ThirdEssayD1_ScrapForParts.doc"

An unfinished start of an essay for my nonfiction class.

--------Essay------>

I have a poor memory where my own life is concerned. My mind tends to be overactive, busily poring over every moment, every word, of my present and past, constantly revising and editing them down to their barest parts, turning them into legendary events instead of actual moments of time. The end result is that, when asked about my life and its formative events, I provide not so much an accurate account but a ritualized and carefully formulated myth that, while wholly based in fact and actual happenings, cannot be definitively confirmed, much less by me. This same process watches everything I do and say, commenting upon my actions and then commenting again upon the thought about the actions and so forth and so on down the line; the space in my head is a babble of thoughts, and I am at my most functional when they are a rumbling background noise from which only an occasional impression emerges. Conversely, when my mental rumble solidifies into a single, articulate stream of thought, into actual words, I become utterly dysfunctional, suddenly clumsily failing to accurate complete tasks that were second nature a moment ago, whether that means printing a flyer to fit an letter-sized sheet of paper or simply breathing in a normal fashion. (I forget how to breathe three to five times a day, usually when I’m on the train, and often because I can’t hear my breathing over my headphones and some other passenger looked at me askance like I’ve committed a social faux pas at which point my mind erupts into tangible thought to ask, “Oh god am I breathing loudly?!” causing me to think about how breathing works.) About two to three times per week, walking eludes me, usually when I remember previous compliments from past sexual partners on either my rump or my consistent and daily ability to walk in high heels, and I spend the rest of the day chanting “Heel toe! Heel toe!” in my mind, occasionally skipping a couple of feet because my rhythm might be off, visually. I sometimes forget how my facial muscles work as well, smiling longer than I’m used to—which admittedly isn’t very long; years of cultivating invisibility have provided me with a default facial expression that is at best morose and at worst downright unfriendly—and then, suddenly strained by the fatigue of holding my cheeks and mouth and eyebrows in an upright position, I have to roll my features around in an effort to relocate normal.

Verbal thinking decimates me, emotionally as well, ultimately destroying my ability to feign normalcy until, through chance, I sink back into my comfortable state of floating buzz. I often don’t remember the things I write, especially if I or others wind up liking the results, and back in the days when I was visually artistically inclined, the same was true of my sketches and digital drawings. In the summer before my senior year of college I took on a graphic design internship at a magazine company which began with a panicked me constantly thinking verbally about every little design decision and whether or not my new, temporary coworkers would approve. The results were atrocious, worse than work I’d made for classes the semester before that had landed me this internship in the first place, worse than poorly Photoshopped posters I’d made for my high school’s literary magazine or indeed the pathetic attempts at InDesign use I’d managed for that very magazine. It wasn’t until despair at every being able to feel even remotely comfortable or accepted at the internship in question set in that I relaxed at all and my verbal monologue moved away from my design choices and to how ridiculous it was that my current coworkers were handcrafting Caesar salads for lunch while I hid behind my uncomfortable Mac eating Lunchables that I began to turn out any designs that were worthwhile at all. Of course, by then I’d managed to quietly break and then repair the computer I’d been loaned by first unintentionally loading over thirty thousand fonts onto its hard drive and then hand-deleting them until I could open InDesign without the computer crashing; the quality of my free advertisements and newsletters were the least of my worries. In fact, as the internship went on and I became less and less interested and invested in it and more and more certain that I was utterly useless and had damned myself forever in the eyes of my coworkers simply by existing, the better my work became, eventually becoming portfolio-worthy. I’d seen the same effect in my photography as well; a shot carefully constructed and planned out inevitably had a car passing by at the worst moment or an obvious light stand at the edge of the frame or my thumb in the corner, but if I sketched a quick thumbnail of an idea for a shot, gathered up a model or a prop and vaguely threw myself at taking that photograph and simply seeing what rolled off of it otherwise, I wound up with solid images that I could feel a little proud of. And why? Because my mind was barely involved, or at least I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing; I was merely doing it.

When I write well, if I write well, I typically start out consciously aware of my words, selecting them and putting them down, for any number of pages, until eventually I stop knowing. I enter what I can only call a trance state in which words fall onto the page via my fingers and keyboard, and I do not know that they are happening. I effectively black out, and when I come up out of writing I breathe like a surfacing swimmer—to abuse a simile—and do not remember what I have written. I generally know the gist of it, have some sense for what occurred, but I absolutely never remember the actual words. Most of them are familiar, but when I have done well, I find a gem or two, a sentence here or a word choice there that strikes home and that I simply cannot remember having ever put down, as if someone else put it there. Yet I am the only one here, and so I must have done it.

It is the same phenomenon that allows me to breathe properly one moment but not the next; my mind’s involvement, or rather my mind’s lack of involvement, is directly tied to my level of success in any matter. Writing is merely the most extreme form of that phenomenon. I suppose I could be experiencing a sampling bias in this matter—I am one of those infuriating people who has never had to try to succeed, and while that’s mighty convenient in most academic settings, it turns out it’s a violently debilitating factor in the real world in much the same way that growing up without any hardship whatsoever tends to generate entitled brats instead of well-adjusted, useful citizens, to put what is probably going to be an unpopular opinion out there—but it is at least what I perceive to be true.

For most of my life I’ve had a hard time distinguishing between reality and fantasy. This isn’t to say that I have spent many years in a state of delusion or that I ran around believing dragons were real long past their expiration date; it’s much more subtle than that. I typically have very bizarre dreams that, usually, either mimic video game logic or actually feature a stereotypical video game user interface with health bars and ammo trackers and mini-maps and scores overlaid onto the dream proper. On the occasions when I have realistic or, at least, believable dreams, I spend anywhere from three days to three months believing that they have happened. The illusion is only ever broken—if it’s ever broken—by something missing. For example, I once dreamt that my high school drama club director gave me an important role in an upcoming play and that she had given me a certificate to prove it. Perhaps the certificate and the inclusion of a tub of goo in the dream should have tipped me off to the unreal nature of the dream, but the school’s auditorium looked exactly like the school’s auditorium and the drama director was entirely herself, physically and mentally, and so I missed the obvious. It wasn’t until we were a month into rehearsals for the play that it dawned on me that I had a bit part—one that I had been rehearsing and practicing for a month—and that the dream-memory had never, in fact, happened. Within my memories and on an emotional level, the dream’s truth trumped a month’s worth of factual actuality.

That was probably the last time, that I can recall anyway, that I had such an extreme reality break. My disassociation from reality was worse back then; I’ve become more and more fixated in the actual moment as I’ve aged and begun to manage my own affairs and therefore my own survival. The disassociation has hardly disappeared entirely, however. Typically, I simply don’t feel myself, the things around me whether people, places, or things, or events occurring in my life to be real. It’s all just a hazy, unending fog. I can distinctly recall one occasion on which the fog lifted.

The moment occurred in high school as well, on a weekday afternoon like any other. I was home alone, my parents being at work, and I was at the familial computer, my home and my refuge since the tender age of thirteen, when all at once I felt the facts of my existence. It manifested as a crushing weight which I visualized as a series of tombstones stacking up on my back, ascending past the ceiling as a morbid skyscraper. I felt the absolute certainty of my impending and, relative to the universe, quickly approaching death; I had the complete knowledge that in a blink of an eye I would be wholly responsible for myself and that, really, I already was, that everything I existed as and everything I had ever done and everything I had ever felt was, one way or another, directly my fault, and that my unending and overwhelming unhappiness was entirely my own construction and mine to dismantle. I knew that life as it existed at that moment would disappear, that my cats and family and friends would all die and that all of those things were impermanent even without the threat of death, and I froze, stymied by the sudden knowledge that everything that was happening was real. That thought echoed in my mind, leaving my paralyzed and horrified, completely at a loss.

All of this occurred within a second, and the moment passed as immediately and inexplicably as it had come, and my dreamlike fog settled on me again, though thinner than before, and it was some days before the afterimage of the grave on my spine fully dissipated.

When I was five or seven—pardon my fallible memory—I spent most of my nights trying to imagine death. I was raised a Roman Catholic and attended CCD and church, but the idea of heaven was, even then, completely implausible to me. They told me there was a benevolent and loving God, but if that was true then everyone should be happy, but they weren’t. They told me that God always listened but on the one or two occasions I prayed to him to ask for something—on both occasions it was for No School Tomorrow—the prayers went unanswered which seemed unfair because it wasn’t like I asked for things all that often, and all things considered I was a pretty good kid. These things contributed to my skepticism, but the clincher on my early aethieism was the day they told me that animals didn’t go to heaven. I never voiced my doubts, but they went something like this: Heaven is paradise, i.e., the place where everything is happy all the time forever. In order for me to be happy, my cats must be with me. Animals don’t go to heaven which means cats don’t go to heaven which means that when I go to heaven, I will be unhappy. Which means it isn’t heaven because I’d be stuck there without my cats forever. From there I got to wondering about what happened to the families of “bad people”? When the Bad People got sent to hell, didn’t that mean their families were miserable in heaven, like I would inevitably be? Or was it that the Bad People went up to heaven so that their Good People families would be happy? But then wouldn’t that mean that everybody was in heaven? So then hell was pointless? I couldn’t reconcile the ideas and, in the end, was forced to conclude that the whole Catholicism thing was a sham. (Over the years I went from aethiest to agnostic to aethiest to agnostic and now finally I just don’t give any kind of damn at all, though I still abhor organized religion as a concept.)

Well, if heaven and hell didn’t exist, then that meant there was no afterlife, and that, of course, meant simply not existing after death. It made the most sense, and I still hold to that opinion: Just Dead. So, as a child, recently convinced within her own mind of the fallacy of the after life, I spent most of my bed time, before I fell asleep, trying to imagine being dead.

I would lie very still, like a plank, and close my eyes, and try to breathe as little as possible, holding stillness within myself. I would then will my entire personality away and try to embody someone who does not exist. This is very hard to do, and I’d frequently get caught up in thinking of how dark or cold it was, being dead and not existing, and then I’d realize that dead, nonexistent people don’t think or feel so I wouldn’t notice the dark or the cold and I wouldn’t be thinking about it so stop doing that. And I’d try to still everything within me again, and eventually thoughts would bubble up again, and I’d quell them again, and so on until I fell asleep.

Later, when puberty set in and brought with it a pile of depression, I repeated this same exercise as an effort to will myself to death. Willing oneself to death, it turns out, is also very tricky.

My first memory is of a dream. In the dream, there is a baby that I instinctively know is me. I am not in her perspective; I am floating outside of her, looking at her glare at her surroundings and wave her piggy arms and legs that I loathe, quietly. She’s in a car seat—it’s white with primary colored polka dots gathered together like the Wonderbread logo—that is set on a long, folding table of plastic and fake wood paneling. I have confirmed with my parents that they owned this car seat, and I did, in fact, sit in it as a child. I know the table existed because I saw it many times throughout my childhood and adolescence; the table both in dream and in reality were in a dim marbled function hall of linoleum tiling, ugly striped wallpaper with white wood paneling, and fake, electric candle sconces. This was the function hall at the Knights of Columbus in [...] (which recently declared bankruptcy, a relic of my childhood gone), a place my dad bartended at for many years and which I spent many post-elementary school afternoons roaming about.

In the dream, I remain focused on baby me, somewhat elevated above her, aware of the table and the car seat and the speckled linoleum floor and the dim wall sconces. There are shadows all around her, falling onto her curled fists, and there is the hubbub of laughing and talking relatives—my relatives. The shadows belong to my maternal grandmother and my great-aunts. They are laughing and chatting and drinking wine, and this is some kind of party for me, about me, to do with this baby on the table who is me but who I am outside of, staring down, disliking. I do not know if this party happened in actuality, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it did.

I wake up from the dream at age five, in a room painted Strawberry Fields pink with an ugly salmon carpet and fake wooden door. I do not know who I am. My mind is utterly blank. There is nothing but absence within it, a feeling that I should know this place, should know myself, should remember something, but I do not and I stare at the far wall, bolt upright in my tiny twin bed with its glow-in-the-dark dinosaur sheets and Barbie princess pillowcase, clutching those fossils in two upraised fists.

It seems a long time that I sit like this, but it must have been only a few seconds. Facts begin to pour back into me. My name: R[...] R[...] M[...], just like that, as you’d write it at the top of a test on handwriting; then my phone number and my address, just as you’d recite them to a police officer if you were lost. My spreadsheet filtered back into me, and as it did so I got out of bed and walked slowly, stunned, to the door. It opened out into the kitchen, and that felt familiar and new at the same time, and at the wooden kitchen table there was a woman with dark brown hair like mine and a sad mouth like mine and deeper, blacker eyes than mine, and she was reading a small novel, and she looked up at me as I walked out, and almost smiled, but seemed to see something wrong so that the smile became concern and she asked something or said something with a question mark—something like “Good morning, honey...?”—and still dazed I did not answer but sat in the chair next to her and curled up and I thought to myself in the clear, slow language of one in a haze who tries to define what is inexplicable before them, “This Is MOM.”

I don’t remember anything after that, but I know she was younger then.

I want desperately to live the world through someone else’s mind. I crave knowledge of experience besides my own. I want to know what it’s like to be a man and have a penis—my friends and I have joked for a long time that I have worse penis envy than my transgendered roommate who is currently preparing for surgery to remove his breasts—and I want to know what it’s like to be a social person who goes out and has fun and parties and knows so many people and does drugs and all of the rest of that lifestyle. (Logically I know I could do these things, but it isn’t in me; that isn’t who I am and the prospect of half of them is a terror. It took me until I was twenty to even accept the idea of alcohol and people drinking it; before that, I conceived of non-adults who drank as Bad People.) I want to understand the world through the eyes of the certifiably mentally diseased and through the certifiably healthy so that I can determine both where I fall on that spectrum and whether or not there’s as much difference as there appears to be. I want to live life as a cat and a fox and then a deer or a bird and a jellyfish and a shark or maybe an amoebae or a virus and thus understand the world and whether animals and humans are all that different because logically, biologically, we shouldn’t be. I want to be a plant and learn if they feel. I want to be a rock and then I want to be a cloud and then I want to go back to humans, complex as they are, and be a baby but remember this time and be an old geezer and not lose all the rest of these memories and I’d like to be President for a little while and a garbage man for a little while and a heroin addict for a little while and every single person I know or have ever met and I want to understand everything. I have always felt trapped inside here—not in my body, in my mind. It’s like a cage; there’s so much world out there, and I can only perceive a tiny sliver, and I am physically or, in some cases, emotionally incapable of exploring it fully, and I so want to know it, and I’m endlessly frustrated by my inability to step out of my head and simply be someone or something else.

But, you know, more often than that, I fantasize about not existing. Not dying, per se, just disappearing out of the world like a ghost fading with the dawn, and when I indulge in these fantasies I lie rigid in my bed with my eyes closed, trying to be still, right down to the breathing I don’t always remember how to do, and I find some way to disappear, like a character exiting a novel, and the perspective shifts and suddenly I am my friends, and I watch them live out their lives, and I know it all, and that is contentment.

#old writing #writing archive #prose #nonfiction #personal essay #ADHD #depression #mortality #suicide #early memory #suicidal ideation #mental health #introspection #10s #2012 #Age 21 #assignments #disassociation

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non-electrical-outlet · 1 month ago

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11/29/24 - Convenience and Limitations

I like using Tumblr as my journaling medium, it's convenient due to the UI and nostalgic due to my high-school years. The problem though is that it is still online, and undoubtedly prone to information/data broker nonsense and thus it cannot feel completely private. This is an issue when it comes to matters on which I want to journal AND want to keep private. I had a post, a while back, that was liked by some unknown other tumblr account, and ever since then I've been less inclined to journal regularly on here.

The obvious solution is to have a word document for my more sensitive thoughts and feelings, but then I lose the nice continuity and having all my entries in one place. Of course, as I wrote that sentence, the additional solution of simply making an additional entry here on such days that say "see document" or something would fix that. I think that's what I'll do.

...

I haven't been journaling recently, for the past week at least. It seems that I have less strong emotions that need processing, and so I haven't been feeling the same strong urge to journal based in the discomfort of my emotions. My motivation for writing an entry tonight is that it's a habit I want to work on, and have made it a daily to-do bubble on WaterDo. I've been skating by in life for a while now, for the past year at least. Ever since taking the job with Tyler and taking up my old bad habits, I've been putting in the minimum amount of effort necessary to maintain my progression through nursing school. It's not a moral failing, it's smart really; Why expend more effort than necessary to complete a task?

The problem with that line of thinking, however, is that there's more to my life than just nursing school. Yes, graduating nursing school and getting a job will mean making more money than I ever have before, but there are other areas of my life that need work. I want to be in better physical health (nebulous goal, elaborate), mainly in terms of fatigue and sleep. I've had trouble with sleep for as long as I can remember, and honestly I think it started with my first iPod in middle/high-school, my first screen in bed. From there, between more newer screens and social media, puberty and school schedules, and all the energy drinks, no wonder I've been sleeping like shit and emotionally dysregulated for most of my life. For the first time in memory (marijuana-related impairment notwithstanding), I'm aware of all these things and want to do/be better.

It's important to remember that, though I've been skating by in terms of academics this semester, I've been putting in a LOT of work as far as my personal development and emotional growth. I've even got some peer-reviewed unified protocols from Children's to work on when I've got even more time and bandwidth. I've definitely earned all the lazy time I've spent this week. BUT ALSO I definitely feel uncomfortable with the lazy time.

I have the bandwidth to do more, and the rest of the semester should be a relative cakewalk. I'm ready to do more, to keep working on myself. I'm ready to keep moving forward in life, and take on what new challenges come my way. I'm ready to stop doomscrolling and lamenting the social injustices I care for but cannot do anything about, I'm ready to start thinking about my future in more detail and make plans for the good life I know is within reach.

It's time to start thinking and reflecting deeply on what I want for my life, formulate concrete steps and intermediary objectives to get me where I want to be, and then do them. Build a set of habits that leads me to growth. Do the thing.

I'm already off to a great start.

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fujupro · 2 months ago

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How Arctic Blast Helped Me Find Real Pain Relief (And Fast!)

Introduction

Pain is a part of life, but when it becomes a constant companion, it can hold you back from the activities and simple joys you love.

For months, I struggled with a nagging shoulder pain that made even everyday tasks uncomfortable. I had tried everything—stretching routines, over-the-counter painkillers, heating pads—but nothing provided real, lasting relief. That’s when I found Arctic Blast.

Arctic Blast promised natural, fast-acting pain relief without the need for strong medications or prescriptions, which intrigued me.

I decided to give it a try, hoping it might just take the edge off. Little did I know, Arctic Blast would turn out to be a total game-changer.

Arctic Blast is a natural pain relief product formulated with ingredients designed to provide fast relief from common aches and pains.

Unlike many pain relievers, which may come with side effects or temporary effects, Arctic Blast takes a different approach by using naturally derived ingredients that have long been recognized for their ability to soothe and relieve pain.

Key Ingredients and How They Work

Some of the main ingredients in Arctic Blast include:

Menthol: This ingredient provides a cooling effect, helping to numb sore areas while reducing inflammation.

Camphor: Known for its anti-inflammatory properties, camphor helps reduce swelling and soothe pain.

St. John’s Wort Oil: A natural herb known for its calming, anti-inflammatory effects, supporting a gentle yet effective relief.

This combination creates a blend that can be applied topically, offering immediate relief and helping manage pain without harsh chemicals.

Try Arctic Blast and get back to living pain-free. 🌱

Why Consider Natural Pain Relief?

Pain medications can sometimes come with side effects or wear off quickly, leaving you to either take more or simply endure the discomfort.

Natural pain relief, like Arctic Blast, offers an alternative for those who want relief without relying on pharmaceuticals. With ingredients derived from nature, you can avoid overloading your body with chemicals and still find relief.

My Pain Journey Before Arctic Blast

Before I found Arctic Blast, I’d been dealing with shoulder pain that just wouldn’t quit. I’m not sure if it was from bad posture, an old injury, or just the wear and tear of everyday life. Whatever the cause, the pain was frustrating. I tried heating pads, OTC medications, even some stretching routines, but the pain relief never lasted long enough to make a real difference in my day-to-day life.

Try Arctic Blast and get back to living pain-free. 🌱

Trying Arctic Blast for the First Time

When I first applied Arctic Blast, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I’d tried similar products that promised “quick relief” but barely made a dent in my pain.

With Arctic Blast, though, I immediately felt a soothing, cooling sensation that seemed to sink right into my shoulder. Within minutes, I noticed a level of relief that surprised me—I could move my shoulder without that familiar twinge of discomfort.

And the best part? The relief lasted.

The Lasting Effects of Arctic Blast

With Arctic Blast, I didn’t just experience immediate relief; I found that I could go hours without that nagging pain creeping back.

Unlike other products that seem to fade quickly, the effects of Arctic Blast stuck around, allowing me to go about my day without constantly worrying about when the pain would return.

The sense of freedom and comfort it brought was beyond what I’d expected.

Freedom from Pain and Improved Quality of Life

Thanks to Arctic Blast, I could finally get back to the things I enjoyed.

I wasn’t avoiding simple tasks or hobbies anymore, and my mood improved too—I no longer had that frustration from feeling held back by constant discomfort.

The emotional and mental relief of being pain-free was just as powerful as the physical relief.

Key Ingredients in Arctic Blast and Their Benefits

Each ingredient in Arctic Blast plays a unique role in providing relief. Here’s a closer look:

Menthol: Acts as a numbing agent, quickly cooling the area and dulling the sensation of pain.

Camphor: Offers anti-inflammatory properties, helping to soothe swelling and tension.

St. John’s Wort Oil: Naturally soothes and supports skin and tissue, aiding the body in healing.

The synergy of these ingredients makes Arctic Blast more effective than other natural pain relievers I’ve tried.

How to Use Arctic Blast for Best Results

Using Arctic Blast is simple:

Apply to the Painful Area: Use a few drops on the affected area.

Massage Gently: Rub it in until it’s fully absorbed.

Repeat as Needed: Reapply a few times throughout the day if needed, but I found once or twice a day was enough to maintain relief.

Try Arctic Blast and get back to living pain-free. 🌱

Who Can Benefit from Arctic Blast?

Arctic Blast is ideal for anyone dealing with:

Muscle pain or soreness

Joint discomfort

Arthritis-related pain

Everyday aches from activity or aging

Whether you’re an athlete, a busy parent, or someone who’s just tired of day-to-day pain, Arctic Blast is a natural way to find relief.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: Is Arctic Blast safe for daily use?A: Yes, its natural formula makes it gentle enough for daily use.

Q: Can it be used for all types of pain?A: While it’s designed for joint and muscle pain, many people find it helpful for a variety of aches and pains.

Q: When can I expect to feel results?A: Most users, myself included, experience relief within minutes of application.

Real User Testimonials

After I discovered Arctic Blast, I started hearing about how others were also finding relief with it. Many people shared that it helped them get back to activities they loved without the interruption of pain. One user mentioned they could finally enjoy gardening again without back pain, while another said it helped them recover faster after workouts.

Conclusion

In the end, Arctic Blast has given me back a sense of comfort and freedom I’d been missing. It’s hard to put a price on the peace of mind that comes from knowing pain won’t hold you back anymore. If you’re looking for a way to manage pain naturally and effectively, I can’t recommend Arctic Blast enough.

Call to Action

Ready to find lasting relief? Try Arctic Blast and get back to living pain-free. 🌱

#health & fitness #BrainHealth #MentalClarity #CognitiveFunction #FocusBoost #BrainSupplements #PinealGuardian #Mindfulness #HealthyMind #BrainLongevity

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kurlik42 · 6 days ago

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(I reblogged my previous post to clarify a few things. Again, it's about proship, so I've also put it in "read more".)

Thank you for all the activity on this post! I appreciate your clarifications and patience, now I can see that some of the statements and formulations I've made were wrong. I can see that not everything in that text is comprehensible, so I apologize for my English — it isn't my native language. Since censoring words isn't necessary on this site, I won't use the censorship anymore.

I agree that fiction and reality don't work in the same way and I believe it is fine to explore dark themes in fiction for any reason, as long as it doesn't hurt real people. If certain ships make a person happy and bring them comfort, there's likely no harm in it due to the fact that it's only fiction. It's not always used as a way to cope and it's fine to enjoy fiction due to different reasons, as well as it doesn't necessarily reflect a person's morals and beliefs. Also, as I understood, attraction towards anything doesn't make a person bad, since they can't control the feeling of attraction itself; rather, the actions speak volumes: if they decide to act on the urge and consciously hurt someone real, then they should be held responsible for the illegal act. However, if they decide against it, there's no specific action to judge them for. I believe that these people also deserve help and a safe space, because harassment and oppression never made anyone better, but everyone deserves a chance for a happy life. And of course, any sexual act in reality should be solely performed from consent after every party reached the legal age.

And to answer the question of the user miranova23: although I'm currently not pushed into such beliefs by my close social circle, the topic of proship makes me anxious due to confronting my previous beliefs. I'm not officially diagnosed with moral OCD, however, I'm indeed prone to questioning my morality every so often. So all of the questions I asked are hypothetical — I'm strongly against CSEM and no real child deserves to be hurt (the thought itself makes me uneasy). In case that was the case for concern, the question about monetisation of r34 with underage characters was asked because I wasn't sure whether it's appropriate to gain money from such art despite the depicted characters not being real. But I suppose it's fair to say that it depends on the laws of my country; besides, pixels can't consent, which is why being concerned about this in the first place isn't necessary, so it's better to focus on real victims who should have support and help. Even if so, I'm not going to draw sexualised minors at any point. I'm not judging those who do, since they don't harass real children and, again, just draw pixels, and I definitely will not harass and threaten people over it. I'm only saying that this content makes me uncomfortable and I prefer to skip it respectfully, because your kink is not my kink but your kink is okay. I think that not all kinds of content are for everyone, but it's alright. And yes, I suppose I could use therapy 😅 Perhaps I should learn not to give a fuck about others's business. I hope I answered your questions.

Feel free to correct me if I might be wrong somewhere — I simply would like to have a better perspective on the topic, because I strive to be a better person. Anyway, wish you all a great day!

(It's about proship, so I've put it in "read more" in case someone finds the topic uncomfortable. Take care)

Without negativity, I have a few controversial questions which I'd like to see from some different angles. It's curiosity, but not an accusation by any means — I just question my moral beliefs, so I don't want to cause arguments but a discussion. And you aren't obligated to answer all the questions and aren't obliged to answer at all, of course.

With all due respect, what I'd like to ask is:

Can "proship" be considered a bad coping mechanism? Does the media that one enjoys reflects their morals and beliefs? Also, I'm not sure if that's okay to sexualise and fetishize underage people, even if it's fictional. I understand that it's often a way to cope with trauma, I don't mean to invalidate it in any way and I'm not a doctor, though I can't decide whether it's a healthy way to process it. I once heard an argument that it works in a similar way with gambling and p0rn addiction, as in indulging in fantasies and letting urges control one's behaviour, but I'm not sure if it's really so. Isn't it possible to see ped0phile inclinations in a person through the media they consume and produce? Also, is it okay to monetise drawn child p0rn? Because this content is created specifically with the idea to get turned on by drawn kids, which sounds not so far from getting off on real ones (with the difference that in the first case, it's fictional, so no real kid is technically hurt; however, the attraction is still caused by knowing the drawn person is underage, so the mechanism remains the same).

So all in all, I think there are concerning people on both the proship and antis sides. Which doesn't mean that every person in both communities is inherently bad or good, but I think it's important to acknowledge that there can and will be people who do questionable things from both sides. I also would like to clarify that I'm against threats and bullying over fiction, respect should be always prioritised.

Thank you for your patience, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable or understood something wrong.

#proship safe #proship #proshippers please interact #proship please interact #proshippers against censorship #anti anti

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vaderatemydog · 1 year ago

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I’m the kind of person who when I’m trying to be a friend to someone for the first time or trying to date someone for the first time I want to leave a mark and go to the extreme. Does that make me an extremist? Like if we’re hanging out as friends I’m gonna be the one to prank call someone in your friends list and call them anonymously so we can pretend we’re firing them from their job or if I’m dating someone I want to make them uncomfortable for a brief moment and pick them up and bench press them. It’s not that I’m always trying to be something extra but trying to avoid hitting some walls and just going straight for the home run to make some progress and some laughs. And then people still forget me tho lol i gotta work on my delivery. It doesn’t have to be a competition but just let me do the work of removing the awkwardness by being the awkwardness and that should pave the way for a better time. I’ve always been one to kind of overwhelm someone’s boundaries and take a chance that they open up but I’ve gotten myself in trouble so back to being boring again. From a guys perspective and coming from a place of trying to be vulnerable and while blending with something that’s unique and specially formulated for a special person, you can literally lay it all on the line and open your heart only to be completely rejected. It’s so easy for most women as they’re just supposed to be pretty and at the very least be as single possible while still communicating a bit with a guy you believe in. Someone who’d go to jail for you, cry and be rejected by, burned with choosing other guys and ultimately disliked probably. If a guy can suffer through all that and be resilient enough to find a lane that works, he must be a pretty understanding soul who knows he’s not perfect and makes mistakes. At the end of the day things don’t always come together as planned and theres always tomorrow to work on the puzzle some more. For a guy to still be trying and open to criticism says a lot. It may n out always feel like a guys trying, but if he’s tackling rejection and trying to rebuild himself and has the balls to go at it again, you gotta give us credit. It would be far too easy to just give up completely and just stay single or try with another separate person. But we want what’s familiar, we want to feel as if boundaries have been removed and progress has been made. There’s no perfect transition into someone’s life. There’s always going to be discomfort at some level that needs to be tended to. Again coming from a guy it does feel quite often like the best method for finding a solid partner is to work with a constant and that is change, but at the end of the day, it’s too much work. Life’s too short to do that when you come to a standstill. The amount of people we meet in a lifetime is a lot and the chances of finding that one in that collection is pretty strong. And it’s not always black and white so sometimes that means taking a couple steps back and smelling the flowers, meeting that person wherever you see fit. I’m the rain, mud, library, McDonald’s, wherever as long as you can handle the awkwardness of the past and still don’t hate them, I would say the chances of making things work are strong. I really don’t have too many people of my past that I hate so I would say that’s a pretty good rule to live by. And we all know you never pick a partner just by looks alone cause that shit doesn’t last lol I like the weird, quirky, nerdy, a bit mean, classy type. I’m forgiving so I require the same. Life’s too short to be with someone that holds grudges. Give me that blank slate everyday and I’ll do the same. Anyhow, this was a long ramble. See ya

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rosiewildcard-art · 1 year ago

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Molten Slice Drive

Driving was something that provided a comfort in those early days, when time could be frittered and our time felt loose, aimless, drawn out. Sitting on the cusp of Spring and change. Awaiting bureaucratic news and scheduled momentum incoming. Driving required me to focus, to attune to the conditions, shadow stitched to the tarmac, the white painted line cutting neatly through the flanks. I used to think of the vehicle shaped shadow eating up the road as we pelted down it on long journeys. We ate up a lot of miles within our first month, covering a complete route from North to South covering both motu of our great nation. Strange wanting to put those words into diction after a life-time of disdain at the pomp and cirque of our warmly departed United Kingdom. Great Nation. Wild. Alive. Here the Commonwealth shadows took up inches less each year and the sky grew taller above my head and I stood taller. The austerity laced anvil around my neck began to shrink. I tasted, despite the conceptual mind-advert of New Zealand from afar, that this was a place the pasty colonials could not break and I was to feel its mightiness press all around me. It would push me around, consuming, pushing all of me through a new doorway, stretching and uncomfortably so. But like birth the pain followed by all that peace felt a single drop amongst a storm. I could speak to Aotearoa and feel alive, not lived upon. Free, and on the road. It all relented to be strange for a while though and only now with the passing of time can I see the endurance dug down to gold.

There was a sense of purpose garnered on the road that I knew in the beginning I would be fraught to find anywhere else and so we drove. Something about watching those median lines and cats eyes rise, slip out from under you and out of sight that felt like cashing strings of pennies at the bank. Never enough at once, but something all the same. Paying it up in my own little way. I could count thousands and not be done. Lone riding on the highways, a roving shepherd, responsible for watching the markings and potholes. For knowing the layers of the horizon even in only shadow. Deep dark nights alone. Dark knights alone? The hills around to rise and fall like cloaks that hang long, pooling in waves on horses backs. I am thundering. A long flock to follow and keep watch. Aiming for just a few more miles, until the next big sigh, the impasse, the clearing, the place, to pause. We drove enough for me to know I would never tire of the rays of the moon, to discover true moon-light, to feel a child; new to its glow. To hear the stillness of the whenua, to grasp at something that called deep or far away, I wasn’t sure, but I knew it turned the seasons and made the birdsong, filled with power it did not trouble to pander to me. On the road, I would come.

The road itself afforded me partnership at an early age, its formulation always differing, asking a different question. Moving me along. I was grateful for the movement this time, its self given duty, its scenes anew at each kilometre passed. The dipping sun across the river fragment, wind ripples on forest banks, clouds chasing stars, feeling compacted in the grandeur of the landscape and equally free, wide, fleshed out, for all of you is embodied in the road and your little understanding of it. A few times a little crumb of the past, a street, a snippet, a scene refreshed from brief childhood memories. Reminders that felt like the soft warm that poured in the passenger window. A hopeful circular joy to remember and discover all over again. To be eastbound, then west. To see the sun swallowed by the roto only to be spat out on to a pink dawn another season, not too far from now. Weaving the routes together, peering back at the year past, my four wheels and a hopeful little grin.

(original work, aug 2022 1st draft & refined sept 2023)

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 2 years ago

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The Girl He Left Behind [Part Five]

Fandom: American Actor, RPF, Elvis Presley, Elvis Movie 2022

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Gladys Presley, Vernon Presley, Minnie May ‘Dodger’ Presley, Red West, Sonny West, Gene Smith, Billy Smith, Original Female Characters, Colonel Tom Parker, Billy Smith, Marci Cunningham, Steve Cunningham, Jerry Schilling, Mary Jenkins, Alan Fortas, Marty Lacker, Original Male Characters, Mona Goodwin, Joe Goodwin

Word Count: 3510 // Rating: Mature

Summary: When Elvis returns home to Graceland from the Army he’s followed by the headlines ‘The Girl He Left Behind’ but what the media don’t know is that Priscilla wasn’t the first. No, that title belongs to someone Elvis will never forget.

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Graceland, Poverty, Friends to Lovers, 1950s Elvis, Bad Parenting, Surprise Surprise the Colonel Is a Colossal Prick, Parental Loss, Grief, Fun Fairs, Kissing, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Movie Nights, Arguing, Tension, Denial of Feelings, Age Gap Romance, Underage, Addison is 17 Elvis is 22, Guilt, Betrayal, Extortion, Blackmail, Jealous, Army Elvis, American Draft, US Army, Lying, Time Shift with Elvis moving to Memphis, Flashbacks, Caught

Notes: This is gonna be several parts and its gon be sad so don’t say I didnt warn ya

LINK TO ALL PARTS // AO3 LINK // PINTEREST LINK

TAGS - @girlblogger2002 @sania562

When Addison woke the following day she was glad that she and Elvis had talked. It had been a little uncomfortable, realising she had been so see-through, but it had helped. But he had missed something. In all his evaluating he had failed to realise how much she had come to like him. She hadn’t meant to and at first, she had been determined to just be his friend. However, when she was around him, she couldn’t help but fall a little harder. He was just as she remembered and the feeling of comfort and safety that he brought with him felt the same as it had when they were kids. Except now it didn’t feel just friendly. It confused her at first after all she didn’t know if it was because she had been lacking that for so long, but as time passed she realised it wasn’t just platonic. She supposed it was dumb. She wasn’t the only one who fawned over him. Thousands of girls did but she did feel like she was the only one who saw him for him. The real him. That boy from Memphis. Her neighbour. Her friend.

Except they wouldn’t work. She knew that. He was older than her and sure to be more interested in one of the girls his posse introduced to him. And she had herself to think of. What would she do if they didn’t work out? Her house was now gone and all her worldly possessions, whilst there weren’t many, were crammed into her bedroom or the garage. He wasn’t gonna keep her in the spare room whilst he was romancing someone else. So, she had made the decision to let it be. She was lucky enough to have him in the capacity she had him now. Best not to risk it.

That talk had also brought with it another problem; she had upset one of her closest friends. When she rang Marci the next morning she had been informed that she was out though when she enquired further her brother panicked and told her simply that she didn’t want to see her. After that she didn’t think going over to her house would go down too well so instead, she formulated a plan.

That was why she was loitering by the school’s side gate. Her classes had finished an hour ago, but she hadn’t gone home instead she waited for Marci to finish choir practice. Marci appeared at the side door and spotted Addison almost at once, Addison could tell because her mouth immediately turned into a tight line before she turned her gaze dead ahead and continued walking.

‘Mar,’ Addison said coming to her side, but Marci didn’t slow down, ‘Mar please wait.’ ‘Why should I?’ Marci replied stiffly. ‘Cos you love me even if I am a bit of an ass,’ Addison said coming to a stop. Marci stopped in her tracks and turned to face her. She chewed on her lip looking at her for a moment before she said, ‘go on.’ ‘I’m sorry I called you an airhead,’ Addison said. ‘And?’ ‘And I’m sorry I made you feel like trash for liking Elvis. I don’t get it…well, I kinda do,’ she mumbled. ‘You’re one of the only ones not to,’ Marci said drily. 'I know, I know,’ Addison said, 'I guess I’m just a bit jealous you get to be normal.’ ‘Oh Addie,’ Marci said sympathetically. ‘I know it’s silly,’ Addison said as her friend looped her arm through hers. ‘It’s not,’ Marci said, ‘I guess I forget that you’ve not exactly had time to be listening to the latest tunes…with your dad and all. ‘Yeah not exactly had a chance to be a normal kid lately,’ Addison mumbled. ‘And now you’re passed even that,’ Marci said giggling as Addison looked at her with a confused frown, ‘like it or not honey your days of normality are long over. You might as well enjoy it.’ ‘I thought that’s what you might say. So, I decided to do just that,’ Addison said smiling as Marci’s face contorted into a puzzled look.

They were at the gate now and idling by the kerb was a car, hanging out of it was Jerry and Marci’s younger brother Steve. Addison dragged her friend toward it.

‘What’s going on?’ Marci asked as Jerry shifted from where he was leaning against the door so he could open it and let them in. Addison climbed in as did a hesitant Marci. ‘I’m making amends,’ Addison said. ‘By getting my brother to pick us up from school?’ she questioned. ‘Hey I can always make ya walk,’ Steve said earning a chuckle from Jerry. They’d set off now heading away from the school and towards their destination. ‘No,’ Addison said ignoring the boys, ‘by taking you for milkshakes.’ ‘Oh,’ Marci said, ‘that’s nice. I still don’t know why my idiot brother is included though.’ ‘You needed wheels,’ Steve said. ‘And you don’t do anything out of the goodness of your heart,’ Marci said suspiciously. ‘Let’s just say I’ve got a good incentive,’ Steve said. ‘Yeah,’ Jerry smirked, 'best milkshakes in town.’

Marci eyed them all suspiciously but let it go falling back against her seat and watching Addison quietly. The boys talked a little about school and the upcoming football game, but the girls stayed quiet. Addison in quiet anticipation and Marci in general confusion. Soon enough they pulled onto Main Street which was distinctly busier than a normal Monday afternoon. Cars were parked all down the street but fortunately they managed to get a spot quite close to the diner they were going to. As they climbed out and headed inside Marci noticed there were a few school uniforms around. In fact, several of their fellow class men were in the diner and as they entered Marci saw why. There, sitting in a booth accompanied by a bunch of his friends, was Elvis. Marci looked to Addison who was watching her intently with a wry smile on her face.

‘What is-’ Marci sputtered. ‘Well I figured I could say sorry or I could prove it by giving you something that most girls would die for,’ Addison said giggling as Marci looked continually perplexed, ‘I couldn’t get you alone but I figured a milkshake date with Elvis Presley in front of, oh, say fifty other students might soften your heart enough to forgive me?’ ‘Definitely!’ Marci said with a squeal that seemed to catch Elvis’ attention. He waved at them, and Addison waved back before looking at her friend, ‘ready?’ ‘As ever!’ Marci beamed as the pair of them walked to the table.

It was already pretty packed when they got there. Red was sitting on a chair at the end of the booth whilst Sonny and Marty were facing Elvis. Jerry had tucked into the booth beside him, and Steve was sat on the back of it meaning the owner kept eyeballing them though having Elvis had drummed up so much business Addison supposed he couldn’t say anything.

‘Hey girls,’ Elvis said as they appeared at the table before he nodded at Marty saying, ‘shift over and let ‘em sit down.’ ‘But-’ Marty protested earning himself a stern look. He shuffled out of his side of the booth and pulled up a chair at the end of the table. Marci and Addison slotted in beside Sonny facing Elvis. ‘I take it you two made up?’ Elvis said making Marci blush deep crimson which caused a smirk to dance across his face. ‘Yeah,’ she said after a beat, ‘I’m glad we did.’ ‘Did she tell you I chewed her out for being rude to you?’ Elvis asked giddily. ‘Oh really?’ Marci said quirking an eyebrow. ‘He didn’t need to,’ Addison said, ‘I already felt bad enough.’ ‘I was just making sure,’ Elvis chuckled. ‘Well I’m glad you did because she sure knows how to apologise,’ Marci giggled. ‘Yeah well, I have to, seeing as I don’t have a need to do it that often,’ Addison smirked. ‘Yeah because you’re so stubborn,’ Elvis said. ‘No I’m just never normally in the wrong,’ Addison quipped making Elvis roll his eyes. ‘Well I better make the most of this one then if I’m not gonna see another for a while,’ Marci said. ‘Alright then,’ Elvis said, ‘we best get to ordering.’

They spent a while in the diner. Another couple of friends came down meaning the booth was now congregated more than any others though the diner itself was packed with school kids still wanting to get a look at Elvis. As the milkshakes and then burgers started to flow the group got into a natural rhythm. The girls, Jerry and Steve talked about their days at school. Elvis debated the upcoming football game with them which devolved a little into wider football talk amongst the boys though he steered it back onto a more communal topic as he noticed Addison and Marci had started to withdraw and talk amongst themselves. He wanted to keep her talking.

Since their little talk, he had wanted to test the waters and see if she would try and open up. And the opportunity had presented itself almost immediately. When she’d asked him to be a ‘date’ for Marci he’d agreed. Not that he had any interest in her friend. She was cute sure, but she wasn’t Addison, so he agreed that they could go out with the stipulation that it be a platonic date. When she’d agreed he’d tried to search her face for any flicker of jealousy, but he couldn’t see anything.

That was why he was intrigued to get her in the open. To see if she was still willing to be herself in front of the boys or her own friends. And as they talked and laughed, he started to feel like she was. To any outsider they looked like a normal group of young people, sitting and enjoying a shake after school and he liked that, a lot.

In fact, he’d sort of wished that he hadn’t made Marty swap seats. That he’d had some forethought to get Addison on his side of the booth so that she was next to him. Maybe he could even throw his arm on the back of the booth oh so casually though to the diner it would appear how he wanted it to be . Like she was his girl. As that thought popped into his head, he shook it out. He couldn’t think of things like that. He needed to behave.

But it was hard.

Especially when she was sitting across from him, ignorant of everything, as her pillow-like lips wrapped around her straw trying to get every last drop of her milkshake. She only looked up as Red said something to her.

‘Huh?’ she said not having caught whatever Red was talking about. ‘I said are ya trying to drink that or get all the way to China?’ Red said gesturing to her empty glass. ‘What can I say I get my money’s worth,’ she chuckled, ‘and if you’re gonna do something you might as well do it thoroughly.’ ‘Oh I don’t think there’s any doubt you’ve not given it your all,’ Red chuckled. Elvis chuckled too until he heard someone snigger from beside him, ‘if she’s that good at suckin’ I’ve got a few jobs she can do.’

‘What?’ Elvis said swivelling to look at Marty who looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. All attention fell on him as he turned beet red and sputtered, ‘n-n-nuthin’ EP.’ ‘No, if you’ve got some asinine quip to share by all means,’ Elvis said. ‘EP he was just messin’ around,’ Sonny said trying to diffuse the tension that had arose almost immediately. ‘Yeah it was a joke,’ Red said. ‘Well I don’t like it,’ Elvis spat. ‘It’s fine,’ Addison said quickly. ‘Addie-’ Elvis said looking at her though his heart soothed a little when she smiled at him. ‘Hey, it’s not his fault,’ Addison said, ‘he doesn’t know any better. I mean I assume he calls it a job because he pays all his girls to be there.’

A ripple of laughter ran through the group.

‘Nah he’s never found someone that was willing,’ Sonny joked as the boys continued to tease Marty. Elvis chuckled along feeling his upset ebbing away. However, he couldn’t help but notice the touch on his calf. It was a foot, small and dainty, and gently rubbing against his leg before it disappeared. He didn’t look down, but his eyes wandered across the table. Marci was so enraptured in the boys teasing she wasn’t looking at him, but his gaze met Addison’s who smiled softly at him before she turned her attention back to the conversation. He was sure it was her. She was reassuring him and though he’d longed to get her out in the open he enjoyed the fact that no one had seen her gesture. That her other side, the side only he saw, was not completely locked away like it could have been even if it was slightly out of view for everyone.

Though the conversation had taken off again, not dampened by a slightly crossed word, it didn’t have a chance to go too far as people started having to depart. As the group dwindled, they decided to call it a day. Whilst the boys handled the bill and Elvis signed a few autographs for the fans that still lingered inside the diner the girls went outside so they could say goodbye. It was chillier now as dusk descended on the streets of Memphis forcing neon signs and street lamps to illuminate. Steve hopped inside the car and got the heater running whilst the girls stood beside it.

‘So, am I completely forgiven?’ Addison said watching Marci with a smile. ‘Yeah,’ Marci giggled, ‘but you know you didn’t have to go to this much trouble.’ ‘He was happy to do it,’ Addison said. ‘I mean there was something else you could’ve done first,’ Marci said. ‘Oh? Like what?’ Addison said confused. ‘Oh I don’t know,’ Marci said, ‘maybe come to the Senior Ball?’ ‘Mar,’ Addison sighed. ‘Oh come on Addie,’ Marci sighed, ‘I’m going to be on my own at this rate!’ ‘I told you it’s not my scene,’ Addison sighed. ‘Why not? It could be good,’ Marci said. ‘And it could be horrible,’ Addison said. ‘But-’ ‘Mar please,’ Addison said immediately changing tact as she spotted Elvis approaching with some of the guys, ‘hey, ready to go?’ ‘Yeah,’ Elvis said coming to stand by her, ‘you need a ride, Marci?’ ‘No,’ Marci said with a smile, ‘Steve’s waiting.’ ‘Yeah so quit yappin’,’ Steve said leaning out the window. ‘I suppose I better get goin,’ she said glancing at her brother before she looked back at the pair. ‘Well, don’t be a stranger,’ Elvis said with a smile. Marci nodded and smiled before she looked at Addison and said, ‘think about it?’

Addison nodded and then watched her climb into Steve’s car. Elvis looked at her curiously but stopped as she looked up at him and said, ‘ready to go?’ ‘Yeah,’ Elvis said as they walked down the street to where his car was parked. He unlocked it and then opened the door for her, allowing her to slide inside. He followed her and soon they were headed back to Graceland. She was quieter now, the only sound was the radio and a light drizzle of rain outside. Elvis kept glancing at her, wondering what was going on inside her head. Eventually it became too much and before he could stop himself, he said, ‘so what was that about?’ ‘Huh?’ she asked finally turning to look at him. ‘What Marci said? You thinking’ about something?’ Elvis asked. ‘Oh, that? It’s nothing,’ Addison said shaking her head looking at him when he didn’t say anything. Instead, he merely raised a suspicious eyebrow, ‘honestly.’ ‘Well, what is it?’ Elvis said. ‘It’s not a big deal,’ Addison said. ‘Is that why you won’t tell me what it is?’ Elvis smirked making her glare at him. ‘You’re like a dog with a bone you know that?’ Addison smirked. ‘So you know I ain’t gonna drop it,’ Elvis reasoned. She rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Fine,’ she grumbled, ‘she said I didn’t need to make it up to her this way. I could’ve done something else.’ ‘Well, I’m not gonna pretend that doesn’t sting,’ Elvis joked, ‘but now I gotta know what would trump milkshakes with me.’ ‘A dance,’ Addison said. ‘Oh.’ ‘See why I thought you might be better?’ Addison said. ‘So what’s the problem with this dance?’ Elvis said. ‘There isn’t one,’ Addison said, ‘I’m not going.’ ‘Why not?’ Elvis said. ‘Because I don’t want to,’ Addison replied. ‘Why not?’ Elvis said. ‘Because I don’t,’ Addison shrugged. ‘But-’ ‘Look I don’t want to and I’m not going to go,’ Addison said curtly, ‘if Marci wants to go then she’s more than welcome to.’ ‘But-’ Elvis tried again but she cut him off. ‘Just drop it okay?’ she said looking at him wearily. Elvis glanced at her for a moment and then nodded. They were making good progress he wasn’t going to go and ruin it when it was clear she wasn’t for yielding.

As silence descended between them the wheels were turning in his mind. Why was she so annoyed about a dance? Girls liked that stuff right? Millions of reasons for not wanting to go ran through his mind. Did she not have a date? Or worse did she have a date and not want to tell him? He wasn’t sure he wanted to open that door. So instead he forced himself to get out of his head.

‘So…Marci have fun?’ he asked after a moment. ‘Yeah,’ Addison said quietly. ‘She’s a nice kid,’ Elvis said, ‘I can see why you’re friends.’ ‘Yeah, she’s great,’ Addison said trying to ignore how the word ‘kid’ stung when she heard it. ‘You know I think Jerry might have a bit of a crush on her,’ he said glancing at her and smiling as he watched her face lit up. ‘You think?’ she asked turning to face him. ‘Sure seemed to blush a lot when she spoke to him,’ Elvis said. ‘I’m sure Steve will be thrilled,’ she chuckled.

They laughed and joked about their friends for a little while before the conversation turned back to their time at the diner until finally, they pulled into the driveway. As they got in the front door they found Vernon, Gladys and Dodger sitting in the lounge watching TV.

‘There you are,’ Gladys said as the pair of them stood in the doorway to the lounge. ‘Sorry we’re back late Mama,’ Elvis said. ‘Well it’s no bother,’ Gladys said, ‘Mary made dinner but I assumed you might be in town for the evening. Have you eaten?’ ‘We had something at the diner,’ Elvis said. ‘As long as you’re fed,’ Gladys said. ‘You wanna join us?’ Dodger said looking up from her knitting. Elvis looked to Addison who paused before she said, ‘actually I’m tired. If y’all don’t mind I think I’m gonna go to my room for a bit.’ ‘Sure darlin’,’ Vernon said glancing at her before turning his attention back to the TV. ‘It’s not even seven o’clock,’ Elvis said not wanting her to leave his company. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘I guess it’s just been a longer day than I thought.’ ‘But-’ ‘Night all,’ she said before she scarpered down the hall and out of sight followed by Elvis’ gaze and a calling of ‘goodnights’ from the rest of the Presleys.

Elvis sighed and went to sit down on the couch. His Mama smiled at him for a moment before her attention went back to the TV which he was thankful for. He didn’t need her scrutinising him right now. As the western they were watching played out on the screen in front of him he found himself drifting into his thoughts. Overall it had been a good day. He’d helped two friends make amends and though it was still a long way from what he wished for his relationship with Addison seemed to be improving. She was being herself with him both alone and around people which is what he hoped for. Until the car ride home.

When he’d asked about the dance she’d forced him off-topic and he longed to know why. He was sure that was why she’d gone to bed early too. To avoid him asking her again. She was right. He was like a dog with a bone but it wasn’t because he wanted to upset her, it was because he wanted to know the truth. No matter what it was. Whatever the reason she didn’t want to go to this dance he needed to know. As he sat there and stewed over it he realised something. She might not tell him, but she wasn’t the only person he knew that went to that school.

And he was going to find out what the problem was.

#my writing #the girl he left behind #elvis presley #Elvis #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #Elvis Presley Fic #addison goodwin #elvis fic #Austin!Elvis

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beyondspaceandstars · 4 years ago

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The Sleeping Situation

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: minor mentions of blood, minor (non-descriptive) violence Summary: You finally convince Bucky to sleep with you in the bed, as opposed to the floor, but you find it doesn't exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would, leading to some taunting emotions and revelations. A/N: This one went over pretty well on ao3 so fingers-crossed y’all enjoy too! idk how different audiences are - i just like sharing my work :)

Masterlist

You had finally convinced him. After weeks of hints and attempting, he had finally placed himself beneath the duvet, snuggled up right next to your body.  It was something close to a miracle. Bucky had been sleeping on the floor for as long as you could remember. It had become really something you accepted — like clockwork, after watching a show or movie in the bed, he’d let you doze off then untangle himself to go to the living room.

When you first moved in, he didn’t think you really noticed. He’d always be up before you anyways, nothing seeming out of place but as if you possessed some sixth sense, you could always feel Bucky’s arms leave your waist as he went to retire in the living room.

During attempts at bringing up the bed, Bucky would dismiss it, saying he just hated how soft it was. He couldn’t get comfortable. He wasn’t used to it at all. And while you didn’t doubt this for a second, you still felt something deeper worries had been brewing.

You had decided to start small by having Bucky stay cuddling after your nightly movie viewing. You two would lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, mindlessly talking about whatever was going on with your days. He seemed at peace with this until your eyes started drooping. Within seconds, the grip on your waist would vanish and he was heading out.

It was fine, though, since you had your moment together and he had found some way to relax in the bed. While you never wanted to push him, you wanted him at least content.

The next level was napping. After work, nearly every day, you’d announce you were laying down for a nap and ask Bucky if he was tired. Usually, he’d just shake his head. But one day he looked absolutely spent and wordlessly followed you into the room. A thrown arm around you loosely, he was able to get some shut-eye…for about 15 minutes. Soon he was uncomfortable and placing a kiss on your cheek, following it with a recoil of his touch. Still, you were taking the win and slowly but surely, the time spent napping would go up. Days bast but eventually he was up to an hour in the bed, napping peacefully.

When he finally decided to take the step to join you for a full eight hours in the queen-sized bed, you were quite shocked but easily overwhelmed with joy.

The movie had just ended and you were closing the laptop when Bucky left the bed. You frowned, watching his figure disappear to the bathroom, worried he was already backing out before cuddles and pillow talk. But you didn’t say anything and instead got comfortable on your side (well — the whole thing could’ve been your side at this point).

As you drifted off, a heavy arm snaked its way around you as you felt the other side of the bed dip. Blinking your eyes opened, you looked over your shoulder and was greeted by a nervous-looking Bucky staring back at you.

You turned to face him and asked, "Everything okay, honey?"

He nodded, "I- I’m going to try- try sleeping here if that’s okay."

Your eyes beamed as a smile you couldn’t suppress made its way to your face. "Of course," you said and placed a good night kiss on his lips. "Sleep well."

"You too, doll," Bucky mumbled and placed another kiss on your forehead. You curled up into him, feeling that he got more relaxed and his heartbeat went steady, drifting off to sleep.

***

Shaking. You were disrupted by something…shaking. Violently. Your first thought as you blinked, waking yourself out of your dazed sleep, was that a spontaneous earthquake was happening.

Except once your mind adjusted, it didn’t take very long to realize the mattress was the only thing shaking — and was the result of Bucky twisting and turning in fear next to you, lost in a nightmare. At some point, he must’ve untangled your cuddling bodies but thankfully that allowed you to sit up quickly, not trapped under whatever was happening.

You watched him, quite stunned to see Bucky thrashing around uncontrollably as whatever images and scenarios took over his brain. You didn’t really know what to do. All your brain could focus on was getting him out of his own thought. You needed him to calm down and know he was perfectly safe.

"Bucky?" You mumbled, your voice scratchy from the tears and fears creeping up. He didn’t react, only whispered some words to himself that you didn’t understand.

You hesitantly reached out for him, placing an experimental touch on his shoulder. He didn’t react at first so you called out his name again and tried shaking him. That was apparently not the right move because the next thing you knew, you were being flung off the bed, the side of your face against your bedside table on your way down. You landed ungracefully on your side, groaning at the unexpected pain.

The fall must’ve been loud enough because the next thing you could comprehend was watching the bed and seeing a very confused and dazed Bucky sit up. He was looking around the dark room, sweaty and anxious. When your eyes met, any color left in him faded. You could practically see the gears turning as he realized what he had done. You on the other hand were still quite surprised by the incident, simply choosing to stare at your boyfriend, watching him scramble off the bed and kneel at your side.

"Doll?" Bucky asked right beside you but his voice sounded so far away.

Taking some deep breaths, your shaky hand came up to your cheek as you felt something wet. Looking at your fingers, it was a sad mix of tears and blood.

A hand being placed on your shoulder made you snap back. You jerked away, turning towards your boyfriend. Bucky was practically frozen watching you, hands in the air, as you rushed to put space between you two.

Realizing the consequences of your actions, your heart sunk and you began apologizing. "Sorry, sorry," you mumbled, trying to furiously wipe away the tears and blood. "I- What happened? Are you okay?" You situated yourself to sit criss-cross in front of him.

"Am I okay?" Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "Are you okay? I- I’m sorry. God, I don’t even know how to apologize for this I am- I am so sorry, doll, I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t me, I swear, it- I had a nightmare and I just- I don’t know what happened." He was rambling, body shaking as he didn’t know what to do. Where to begin. How to explain. His mind was torn as a part of him wanted to hold you… And the other part wanted to leave you forever, utterly terrified of himself.

"Yeah, you seemed a bit upset," you mumbled, trying to hold your hand to your scraped cheek. Bucky saw your struggle and darted to the bathroom to get a washcloth, offering all he could as his words were failing. He handed it to you then took his seat again on the floor.

You dabbed your skin, checking the cloth as the bleeding slowed down. You weren’t sure what to say, either.

"I didn’t know what to do," you finally whispered, looking down at the carpet beneath you. "You were shaking and tossing and- and I just wanted you to wake up. To know you were fine. You seemed so scared-,"

"Alright, alright," Bucky mumbled, cutting you off as he saw you beginning to get worked up. Your body was shaking now as you recalled the last few minutes. The pure suddenness and terror that took over the room. He placed an experimental touch on your knee and, thankfully, you didn’t jump away. "You were fine, doll. This isn’t your fault. I- I knew I wasn’t ready to sleep with anyone and I got ahead of myself and now… Look what happened. God, what have I done?"

His jaw clenched as he spat out the words. You jumped slightly.

"Bucky, you didn’t mean to-,"

"But I did it," he said. "I hurt you and now I think maybe this just isn’t…" He faded off, his hand leaving your knee. He turned towards the bed as you tried searching him for anything, any answer.

"James, don’t." You shook your head. Bucky’s head whipped back to you as he heard the anger, the seriousness, in your voice. "Don’t say whatever you’re going to say. Let’s just go back to sleep and we can figure stuff out in the morning."

Bucky bit his tongue. He just nodded at your request, seriously not trusting his words anymore. He had half the mind to walk out, disappear into the world without you, all in the name of keeping you safe. And like the mind-reader you could be, you knew it. You saw it in his entire demeanor. He was practically planning an escape route at that very moment.

You two finally stood up from the floor. After disregarding the washcloth, you found your way back under the duvet. Bucky wordlessly gathered a blanket and left for the living room, knowing very well this bed was going to be the last place he fell asleep for a long time.

"Bucky," you called out as you were turned away from him. He stopped in the doorway. "To talk in the morning you have to actually be here."

He didn’t respond and instead just nodded his head as if you could see it. Then he promptly exited the room.

While the bleeding had stopped, the tears weren’t as you only heard the sound of Bucky walking to the living room.

***

Bucky was there in the morning and you talked — you. Only you could formulate words as difficult as it was while Bucky sat across from you. The guilt, shame, the exhaustion, all of it was painted on his normally sweet face.

You had told him you were fine, were feeling better. You were going to be okay. You understood the bed situation and wouldn’t pressure him into sleeping anywhere he was uncomfortable. You just desperately wanted him to be okay, to feel safe and happy in this space with you. Bucky just nodded along as you began attempting to write out a plan in case that had happened again. Nothing seemed to bring a true conclusion but there was at least the idea that there’d be no more touching of either person in their sleep, at least for the time being. It crushed you both, but neither of you commented.

He didn’t really offer much input besides agreeing with your points. Every other word out of his mouth was "sorry" so much so to the point you had to beg him to stop it.

He mostly just listened which you generally would enjoy from any man but in this case, you knew it gave his brain time to wander. Probably still planning how he would get himself out of his. But you didn’t want him gone. He was practically the perfect significant other in every sense. No one had ever treated you with such kindness and respect. Showered you with romance and kisses. Surprised you with date nights and flowers. You were just at a bump in the road and you didn’t want to get stuck behind it so easily.

Few days had passed and stuff seemed to be edging back towards normal. He had begun even holding your hand again, just a gentle touch to work his way up, reminding you greatly of when you first started dating, but you were welcoming it all with great patience.

You were standing at the kitchen counter cutting up vegetables for dinner when Bucky came home. He had a therapy appointment that day and usually emotions could be all over the place when he came home. Some days were good, some days everything would get under his skin.

Today, though, he seemed just… fine. He came in quietly and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before grabbing a beer from the fridge. He asked if you needed any help and when you shook your head, he went over to sit on the couch, watching whatever reality show you had mindlessly playing.

Moments passed and you had just begun sautéing the cut-up veggies when Bucky spoke, cutting through the silence quite surprisingly.

"I told her what happened," Bucky said softly. You froze, eyes trained on the skillet in front of you. His therapist. He had told her.

"Oh?" You asked, silently cringing at your stupid response. Neither of you had exactly brought up the incident since that morning after. And if anyone was going to resurface it, you had assumed it’d be you, so hear him so casual was making your heart pound.

"Mhm," he hummed. "I told her my first reaction was to leave."

"Bucky-,"

Footsteps started towards you, stopping at the little kitchen bar. You could feel him watching you as you tried focusing on the cooking produce. Your breath started to get caught in your throat, so much worry and concern washing over you.

"She wanted you to come in one session," Bucky tapped his fingers on the counter. "So we can talk."

You frowned and finally turned towards him. Worry was splashed everywhere on his face. Your heart practically sobbed. "Bucky, we did talk about it."

He shook his head profusely. "No, you talked," A beat. "I stood there like a statue, thinking of ways to leave you. Ways to get out of this so I’d never had to see that scared, upset look on your face ever again. So I’d never have to cause you any more pain than I already have. But I’ve come to realize I can’t do that because I love you too much and I- I can’t run away from you or anything. I’m going to try… No, I will make it right."

Your heart sank at his confessions. He loved you — a word he had never explicitly said before. A four-letter word he had never stood there and outwardly said. You let out a light sob and went around the kitchen counter, throwing your arms around his neck. He was shocked at first, maybe even a bit unsure, but you weren’t letting go, he realized, until he held you back.

"I love you, too," you eventually mumbled between the tears. You pulled away slightly, keeping your hands on his arms while his hands rested comfortably at your waist. Just feeling his touch had you melting all over again. "We’re going to be okay, Buck. It’s going to be fine."

He nodded, his eyes searching over your face as the scrape on your cheek was just still barely visible. It was going away fast but he didn’t think he could ever unsee it. "You’re right, doll, we’ll be okay. I’m working on it."

You gave a small smile. "You can’t be perfect, Bucky."

"Maybe not," Bucky shrugged as his hand found its way to your face, caressing your unharmed cheek. "But I at least gotta try to be perfect for you."

You sighed, leaning into the loving touch. Looking in his eyes you could kind of see that it truly was going to be okay. He looked so passionate and dedicated when he stared at you like you were it in the world. The only thing there. It made your soul sing and you hoped he saw it in you, too. "You are, honey. You already are."

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #avengers #mcu #mcu fic #angst #fluff #writing*#one shot

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cacoetheswriting · 4 years ago

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library hours [reimagined] - spencer reid

warnings: age gap, professor / student, maybe a swear word or two, a lil tension, but mainly a fluffy first interaction word count: 1.7k summary: a late night at the university library leads to reader meeting a certain handsome professor.

a/n: this is a reimagined / rewritten version of this fic. for those interested, the original centres around baby!spencer. both fics start off pretty much the same, what differs is the interaction between spencer and reader.

There was something you always enjoyed about the going to the library.

Perhaps it was the way every single person that walked through the threshold had a purpose. A mission to complete. Perhaps it was the quiet. The solace you felt sitting alone in a corner researching various topics, for class and for recreational purposes.

The university library had quickly become your second home. A location you frequented more than your own dorm room. It wasn’t always to study, no. You people watched. Doodled. Even napped there from time to time. The place brought you peace, and by the time you senior year rolled around, you saw the librarians more than your college friends.

The university library was also the place where you first met a certain handsome professor, doctor - which in time became the main reason why you liked it so much.

Lights were slowly being turned off section by section. A vacuum came to life in one of the aisles. People started to scramble from their seats - shoving their things into their backpacks, throwing out empty coffee cups into the overflowing bins, checking out books they might still use that evening.

All signs indicating it was time to go.

Dolly, one of the librarians, ushered towards you. Her jacket draped over her shoulders, her bag in hand. She gave you the usual spiel of how you can stay until the janitor is finished cleaning, to which you politely nodded along. She wished you a pleasant night, and with a “see you tomorrow” she hurried out the door.

Once she was out of sight, you groaned under your breath and ran your fingers through your hair. You had an assignment due tomorrow, one you started hours ago and only managed to formulate three total sentences. Your gut was telling you there was no way you were going to finish now, especially since you had about thirty minutes until you would have to leave.

Leaning back in your chair, you fluttered your eyes closed in an attempt to collect your thoughts. The tranquil feeling didn’t last long however, as you were abruptly brought back to reality by someone loudly clearing their throat. You immediately sat back up and quickly scanned the space for the source of the interruption.

A tall brunette man stood a few tables away, his hands slowly sliding into the pockets of his pants. He was definitely older, by how much you couldn't quite tell. But, you definitely took notice of how handsome he was.

“The library is closed for the night.” He stated, the tone of his voice calm yet stern.

“I have permission to be here.” You retorted with as much confidence as you could muster, but the mysterious man didn't seem impressed with your answer. With an arched brow, he took a firm step in your direction.

“From who?” He challenged, as if he was waiting to catch you in a lie.

You folded your arms across your chest, unwilling to give in to whatever game he was playing. “Dolly, the librarian. I could call her if you don't believe me?”

The brunette didn’t respond. Instead, his lips twirled slightly upwards into a sly smirk and with the way he was now looking at you, you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You only hoped he didn't see the faint pink blush now present on your facial features.

“May I?” The man asked after a brief moment of silence, pointing to to the chair beside yours. You found yourself nodding, before quickly turning your attention away from him, and back to the book in front of you.

While he made himself comfortable, his leg brushed against yours. The sudden close contact sent a jolt down your spine and you shivered. A small act he definitely noticed.

“You’re not some sort of killer, are you? You’re not here to murder me?” You asked, tilting your head to once again look at the man. Shaking his head, he let out a wholehearted chuckle.

“No, I’m definitely not a murder.” He reassured.

“Definitely? That's over selling it, don't you think? It’s exactly the kind of thing a murder would say.” You teased in response, gaining a little bit of your courage back. He didn't reply. The smirk on his face widened just a little and he eyed you silently, as if you were a treasure map he was desperate to solve.

The two of you stared at one another for what felt like eternity. There was something amicable about the seconds that passed as you looked into his hazel eyes. Something harmonious. Friendly. Strong.

When you finally broke contact and proceeded to return to working on your assignment, you could still feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. In any other situation, with any other stranger, the feeling would have made you uncomfortable. Scared even. But there was something quite thrilling about the mysterious brunette sitting beside you.

“I’m a profiler.” He said after another moment of comfortable silence. “I work for the FBI as part of their Behavioral Analysis Unit.” He added as you glanced up at him from your notes, intrigue gracing your facial features. The statement was to make you feel safer in his presence - not that it was needed since you already felt strangely guarded around him.

You smiled, dropping your pen and shifting in your chair to face him completely. “So, agent, what are you doing at a university library on a Thursday night? Did the bad guys take a break?”

“Doctor.” He calmly corrected.

“What?”

“It’s doctor, not agent.” He said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I have PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering.”

The smug look on his face earned him a playful eye roll. “You don’t happen to have a PhD in History under your belt, do you, doctor? Because that would be very helpful right about now.”

“No, but I do have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words per minute.” He declared and you gaped at him in disbelief, mouth parting ever so slightly in shock.

Great, you thought, as if he wasn't intimidating enough.

“You could have just said you were a superhero.” You joked before leaning in towards him ever so slightly. The faint whiff of his cologne caught you off a little off guard, and you took a mental note to never again settle for someone that only used body spray. “Don’t worry, I’m really good with secrets. I won’t tell anyone.” You whispered and gently pressed your index finger to your lips.

The comment caused the handsome doctor to throw his head back in a whole-hearted laugh. He placed a hand on his stomach as you slowly shifted back to your previous position, chewing down on the inside of your cheek down to stop yourself from commenting on how good he looked.

“Am I going to get an answer to my previous question?” You asked once the laughter died down, your assignment long forgotten.

“I teach here.”

The statement earned him another eye roll. “Seriously? Is there anything you don't or can't do?”

It was his turn to lean in. He rested his elbows on his knees and intertwined his fingers together, his hazel eyes never leaving yours. The air hitched in your lungs at his proximity. You felt as if every single cell in your body was shaking.

“Well, us superheroes, we like to stay busy.” He whispered, his cool minty breath hitting you in the process, sending a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat, a timid smile appearing on your face. “There uhm, there’s this diner not far from here. It’s twenty-four hours meaning they won’t kick us out. Would you like to come with me? We can have coffee?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he moved back in his seat and ran a hand through his already ruffled hair. You bit down on your bottom lip, wondering what was going through his mind. Wondering if perhaps you had overstepped some sort of boundary since he was a professor and you were a student.

But, it was just coffee. Nothing more. That wasn't so bad... Right?

“Coffee sounds nice.” He responded with a smile, after what felt like forever.

Outside, there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky making the million stars shine all that brighter. They looked like perfect sugar granules spilled on a dark surface, accompanied by the glowing moonlight.

The breathtaking sight was accompanied by street lamps. They illuminated the path while you walked side by side, almost in sync. Shoulders faintly brushing against one another.

“How long have you been a profiler?” You asked, looking ahead. The wind blew lightly through your hair causing your brunette companion to turn his head and observe you quietly. A smile crept up on his lips.

“I joined when I was twenty-two.” He answered. You glanced up at him for a brief moment - that wasn't much younger than you now. The look in his eyes suggested he knew that’s what you were thinking.

“Do you like it? Or do you prefer teaching?”

He licked his lips, thinking. As he furrowed his brows together, you noticed the unobtrusive age lines defining his handsome features. Each individual crease telling a different story, and you found yourself hoping you would one day be lucky enough to hear them.

“Every job has its pros and cons.” The brunette man stated eventually, lightly shrugging his shoulders.

You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle at his answer. “Okay professor, now you just sound conventional.”

He chuckled, his hands sliding into the front pockets of his pants. “I’ve been called many things in my life, miss. Conventional was never one of them.”

“It’s Y/N. My name, uhm, my name is Y/N.”

You both stopped once you introduced yourself, simultaneously turning in your spots, so that you were facing each other completely.

“Y/N...” He tested your name on his tongue, and a smile embellished your features because for some reason it sounded incredibly striking coming out of his lips.

“It suits you.” He retorted and the blood rushed to your face. Now, he definitely noticed the blush, you thought. He didn’t comment on it however. Instead, he proceeded to introduce himself, “My name is Spencer. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N.”

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @willowrose99

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #professor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #professor reid #prof reid

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spacexcowgirl · 4 years ago

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Hate To Think About You With Somebody Else - F.W.

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Fred and Y/N used to be friends with benefits, but that arrangement ended in heartbreak. Can Fred handle seeing her out with somebody else?

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: 18+ NSFW. MINORS DNI. Mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood, small bit of violence/fight scene (the reader and Fred are not injured), possessive talk, fingering, degradation, bondage, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, a bit angsty with a happy ending. Please let me know if I’ve forgotten anything!

A/N: For @theweasleytwinsgirl who asked for the reader teasing Fred, leading to her being tied up! I added a bit of plot to it, because I cannot help it. Obviously, this fic is lightly inspired by “Somebody Else” by The 1975. I am not very confident in my smut writing abilities, so any feedback would be appreciated! I also feel I should thank @lumosandnoxwriting for giving me advice and reassurance throughout writing this. Pictures are from Pinterest.

I have not included all of my general taglist, because I do not know who is 18+ or who wants to be tagged in smut.

Fred, George, Angelina, and Alicia sat leisurely around the twins’ shared living room, laughing and giggling over drinks. The past few weeks had been hell at the shop, so the boys felt they needed a much deserved night to just relax. Previously, Fred would have liked nothing more than to relieve his tension with Y/N, but unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

“Have you heard about Y/N and Pucey?” Angelina prodded with a giggle, her eyes alit with mischief.

Fred’s jaw immediately clenched at the sound of her name, his grip on his glass tightening. He most certainly hadn’t heard about her in a few weeks, and he hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction at the mere mention of her name. Regaining his composure, he forced himself to relax a bit and quirk a brow, feigning both confusion and interest.

“No? They shagging?” George questioned, sitting forward in his seat.

“Apparently, but I guess it’s becoming a bit more serious than just that.” Angelina shrugged, turning her gaze to Alicia beside her for confirmation. When the second girl nodded, Fred downed another gulp of his drink.

That can’t be right, he thought. It hadn’t even been a month since the last time they had been together, Y/N pinned beneath him as breathy moans escaped her lips. In the dim light of his bedroom, she had whispered to him that her pussy was his, that she was his, and now, apparently, she was with someone else. Some part of him knew that he had no right to be upset, because truthfully, it was his choice to end their little arrangement. But she had left him no choice after breaking their number one rule.

Y/N and Fred had ventured past friendly acquaintanceship about a year before, after a few too many firewhiskys at an infamous Weasley twins’ party. The morning after, they had tiptoed around each other, clearly uncomfortable by the change in dynamic. But it didn’t take long for it to happen again, and again, and again. Before either of them had really realized it, they had become much more than friends but much less than really together, and Fred wanted to keep it that way. He wanted them to remain in that middle ground.

As far as he knew, Y/N was more than fine with where they stood with each other. Until one day, she wasn’t. He remembered clearly how she had bit her lip and gazed at him, only moments after finishing him off with her mouth. He had looked at her curiously, wondering where her usual, joking, post-coital self had gone.

“Have you ever thought of me as more than, you know, just an easy fuck?”

Her words had shocked him, because they certainly weren’t the turn of phrase he would have used. He didn’t think of her as ‘an easy fuck,’ he thought of her as a friend. Someone he cared deeply for. But as he gazed into her desperate eyes, he was struck with the realization that he didn’t care for her the way she hoped. He had swallowed deeply, preparing his words in his mind, before shattering her heart.

Now, he wasn’t sure why he cared. Sure, he had thought about her a lot in the weeks they’d been apart, but he was always so sure that he had made the right choice. Relationships were messy, and he was young, so he had no intention to be tied down so soon. Still, the thought of her with Adrian Pucey made his blood boil, and he wished desperately that he could put an explanation to the feeling.

“Fred?”

The sound of his name tore him from his thoughts of Y/N, and he quickly plastered on his signature goofy grin before sitting forward and re-immersing himself in the conversation. Still, in the back of his mind, images of Y/N and Adrian played on repeat, fueling a fire that he hadn’t realized was a lit within him.

A week later, Fred found himself at a party at Oliver Wood’s flat, celebrating a win for Puddlemere United. There was an array of different people there, ranging from his old Hogwarts team, to groupies, to people who had just showed up at the mention of a party. Fred had planned on getting drunk that night, but after seeing George and Lee sloppily grinding on a few witches in an intoxicated bliss, he decided maybe—for once—he would be the responsible one.

Fred had gone nearly an hour, just barely nursing a glass of firewhisky and chatting with old friends jovially, before his eyes landed on a familiar face entering the party.

Fred was frozen at the eye contact they held, his first time seeing her in weeks. Y/N held the gaze for a moment, before turning to grip Adrian’s wrist behind her and drag him further into the party. If Fred thought he had a strong reaction to hearing about their relationship, it was nothing compared to actually seeing it. Fred slammed his drink down and walked away from the poor girl he had been chatting with without so much as an explanation.

“Let’s get out of here.” Fred clapped a hand down on George’s shoulder the moment he reached him, pulling his attention away from the girl dancing against him.

“Now?” George questioned incredulously, his brows raising. He gestured to the girl in his arms before returning a pleading look to his brother. “Come on, mate. This isn’t a great time.”

Fred knew he could convince his brother to leave if he explained, but his mouth felt entirely too dry. He couldn’t seem to formulate the words as to why he needed to get out of there. So, instead, he sighed and offered his brother a nod before retreating back to the outskirts of the people dancing.

Normally, Fred was the life of the party. By this point in the night, he’d usually be plastered and singing or dancing with no remorse. But seeing Y/N with a bloke like Pucey caused him to have an entire demeanor change, leaving him scowling leaned against the wall.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to find Y/N amongst those dancing, pressed closely to Pucey behind her. She was dancing provocatively, even turning in the man’s grasp every little bit to kiss him sloppily. At first, Fred had been almost certain that she was doing it on purpose. The way she was right in his line of vision, acting completely out of character in her open demeanor, it all felt like too much for him to handle.

Then, she made eye contact with him, and held it, and he just knew. She was doing it on purpose. All of her actions had been a way to get him worked up, to see if he would get jealous, and dammit it was working. Fred chewed on the inside of his cheek, holding her gaze as she grinded her bum against Pucey. She held his gaze as she slowly craned her neck and pulled Adrian into a searing kiss, her eyes back on Fred the moment the two pulled apart.

That was the final straw for Fred. He wasn’t going to stand idly by while she taunted him so openly, showing him everything he was missing. So, he pushed through the crowd of people and found his way to the two of them, ignoring the small smirk that had risen on her face.

“Y/N,” He breathed out, just loud enough for her to hear over the music. Suddenly, he was entirely unsure of his next move, but he desperately wanted to regain control over the situation. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Oi, what the hell, Weasley?” Adrian paused his dancing, although his hands remained gripped on Y/N’s waist. “Can’t you see we’re a little busy here?”

Fred completely ignored the man at first, his eyes never leaving Y/N. He could see by the look on her face that he had played exactly into what she wanted, but with the jealousy coursing through him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. She smirked slightly at Fred before craning her neck to look back at Adrian, almost as if she were challenging him to fight for her further.

“I can see,” Fred seethed, finally looking up at Adrian. “I can see a poor girl not having a very good time. So, I’m offering her a better option. Why don’t you let her decide?”

Adrian scoffed, taking a small step back from Y/N but keeping one hand on her hip. He looked down at her, waiting expectantly for her to deny any desire to go off with Fred. When she simply glanced between the two of them, Adrian’s brows furrowed and a look of offense overtook his features.

“Come on, Y/N.” He pleaded. “Tell him.”

Y/N bit down on her lip, the action only infuriating Adrian further. He looked at her incredulously before scoffing and turning his head away.

“Should’ve known a desperate little slut like you couldn’t be loyal.”

In an instant, Fred pushed Y/N out of the way and landed a hard blow to Adrian’s jaw. Y/N was dazed, everything seeming to move in slow motion as all eyes turned on them. Adrian had faltered only for a moment, cupping his jaw in his hand before straightening up and lunging towards Fred.

Luckily, George and Lee were there after a moment, tearing Adrian away and threatening to pummel him as they marched him towards the door. Y/N knew Fred wouldn’t need their help in a fight, but she was still grateful that a full out brawl hadn’t occurred because of her. Y/N rushed to Fred, cradling his fist in her hand and glancing up at his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, but the music had stopped, so he could hear her.

“‘m fine.” He answered curtly, glancing between the way she held his hand and her eyes. “So, can we get out of here?”

Y/N’s lips formed into a tight line, so as to conceal the smirk that desperately wanted to break through. She offered him a quick nod, and in an instant he was dragging her out the door and apparating her back to his flat.

The moment that they were in Fred’s room and the door shut, his lips were on hers. Her back was pressed up against his door, desperate little moans leaving her mouth as she reveled in the feeling of having him against her once more. Fred took the opportunity to push his tongue into her mouth when her lips parted, taking full control of the situation.

Y/N was more than content to let him take over, having missed him in their time apart more than she would ever like to admit. Of course, the feelings she still held for him lingered strongly, but she tried not to think about that as Fred pressed himself further against her. Adrian had been nothing more than a distraction, a feeble hope that she had held onto as a way to get over the tall red head, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She felt a bit bad, because she knew Adrian cared about her far more deeply than she did him, but she also knew she had made it clear she didn’t want a relationship. The irony was sickening.

“That was quite a show you were putting on tonight.” Fred pulled away from her breathlessly, his eyes tracking up and down her body.

“Yeah?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, I was just having a bit of fun.”

A low growl crawled out of his throat as he pressed his lips to hers once more, using more force than previously. Y/N squeaked at the intensity, but quickly melted into him. His hands trailed up and down her sides as she rested her own around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

Fred’s hands finally made their way to the hem of her shirt, his fingers ghosting over the skin of her stomach and sending a shockwave throughout her. Slowly, he trailed his fingers up, raising her shirt up in his wake. Y/N was quick to oblige, breaking away from him to allow him to tear the garment off completely.

For a moment, Fred’s eyes trailed over her slightly revealed form, drinking in the way she looked half-naked. He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing her like this, and he found that his breath hitched at even the littlest bit of exposure.

As his eyes met her pleading ones, he quickly recovered. Their passion resumed in an instant as he pressed his lips to hers once more, spinning her away from the door and walking her backwards towards his bed. Y/N allowed him to lightly push her back onto it, her heart fluttering at the sudden gentleness of his actions. She’d always loved the dominance he held over her, but something about what was happening between them now felt different. But, as he draped his body over her own, all of her hopes of actual romance melted away and her mind was entirely clouded with just the appeal of him.

Y/N arched herself against Fred, giving him the space to unclasp her bra. He slid the straps down her arms slowly, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck, until he finally met the tops of her breasts. He cast her bra aside, shooting her one last look before taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. Y/N moaned at the contact, her fingers immediately threading themselves through his flaming hair. As his teeth gently grazed her nipple she gave his hair a tug, causing him to moan against her.

Fred continued his trail downward, planting kisses down her torso until he made it to the band of her leggings. Y/N lifted her hips and Fred held eye contact with her as he slowly pulled them down her legs. Y/N realized that he seemed to be drawing all of this out, pushing her to the point of pure desperation to make her pay for teasing him all night. Still, she bit her tongue and held back any thoughts of pleading with him, she couldn’t give in that easy.

When she was left in nothing but her panties, Fred sat back on his knees and leisurely unbuttoned his shirt. Y/N watched him intently, her frustration increasing significantly, until she could no longer contain it. She let out a desperate whine, pleading with the man with her eyes alone.

“Something wrong, love?” Fred cocked his head to the side and smirked.

“Freddie,” Y/N whined, the nickname feeling foreign yet fitting on her tongue.

Fred discarded his shirt before circling his hand around on of her ankles and hitching it up on his shoulder. He placed a soft kiss to the inside of her ankle before slowly trailing kisses back up her leg towards her thigh. Y/N shuttered as his lips ghosted over her clothed pussy, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Please.”

Fred looped one finger under the hem of her lace panties, but made no effort to pull them down. When a low chuckle escaped his lips, Y/N knew she was in trouble. Her eyes flew open once more, immediately meeting his darkened, lust-filled ones.

“Did you really think I’d give in that easy?” Fred mocked, punctuating his question by snapping the band of her underwear. “You tease me all night, putting on a show for me, acting like a desperate little slut.” He paused to wet his lips, drinking in the soft moan that escaped from her lips. “That is what you are, isn’t it?”

“Only for you, Freddie.”

“Really?” Fred scoffed, sitting back up to begin fiddling with his belt. Y/N raised herself up on her forearms, desperation and arousal pooling in her core. “Because it didn’t seem that way tonight.” Fred’s tongue darted out of his mouth, swiping over his bottom lip as he gazed at her hungrily. “Think maybe I might need to remind you whose slut you are. What do you think?”

She whimpered, but managed a feeble nod. In their previous times together, her and Fred were nothing if not adventurous in the bedroom. Still, as he waved his wand and bound her wrists to his headboard, she couldn’t help but gasp and lightly fight against the restraints. Fred held a devilish smirk at her plight as he stood from the bed and sat his wand back down.

Fred crawled back over her, his intense dominance faltering for just a moment as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Still remember the safe word, yeah?”

“Yes, Freddie.” She managed to speak, although it was difficult. Fred leaned back and searched her eyes for a moment before leaning in and placing a soft kiss to her lips. After that, any sense of gentleness faded.

Fred’s lips sucked and bit at her neck hungrily, one of his large hands trailing down to rub her through her panties while the other massaged her breast. Y/N’s thighs clamped around his hand, which quickly earned her a light swat to her hip.

“Stay still, or I’ll have no problem tying your legs up too.” Fred growled against her neck.

Y/N quickly obliged, spreading her legs further open. While previously she may have been more inclined to push Fred a bit, her mind was too clouded with lust to do anything but obey him. After weeks of mediocre sex with Adrian, she was ready to completely give herself over to Fred, and let him have her in anyway he wanted.

Fred’s hand pushed the fabric of her panties aside, allowing one finger to drag through her wet folds. She was already soaking wet for him, despite the fact he’d hardly touched her. Without a warning, he plunged one finger into her, lightly moaning at the way she constricted around him. Y/N’s back arched ever so slightly against him, tugging futilely against her bound wrists. He set a steady pace, thrusting his finger in and out of her before adding another and scissoring the two. He changed pace after a moment, beginning to curl his fingers up into her as his thumb rubbed circles against her waiting clit. The pressure in her core grew quickly from that, and she couldn’t help the way she loudly moaned out.

“Right there, yes, oh god…”

Fred was now smirking as he pulled away from her neck, significantly satisfied with the many markings he’d left as well as how quickly he could bring her to this point. He knew her body like the back of his hand, he knew her signs for when she was close, and it made it so much easier to enact his plan.

Just as Y/N was teetering on the edge, desperate whines and random babbles leaving her lips, Fred pulled his hand away. She let out a frustrated and confused groan, her eyes flying open as she felt the build up slowly slip away. Fred just grinned at her, before getting off the bed and ridding himself of his trousers and boxers. He lazily stroked himself as he took her in, chest heaving and covered in a light sheen of sweat, completely at his mercy. She had stopped her attempts at fighting her restraints, looking at him like she were almost defeated. In her mind, she’d begun to fear the very real possibility that Fred wouldn’t let her cum at all.

“You seem frustrated.” Fred cooed mockingly, coming to lean back over her and gently brush her cheek. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Fred.” Y/N spoke firmly, though her eyes portrayed her fears. “You’ve got to let me finish.”

“Hm.” Fred seemed to ponder that, leaning back to slowly pull her panties down her legs. “I don’t think I have to do anything. In fact, I could just leave you here all tied up and needy.”

“Please,” Y/N whined, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“It’s a start.” Fred tutted, finally discarding her panties aside. He leaned down near her ear once more, his warm breath sending a chill down her spine. “What I’d really like, though, is to hear how much you need me. Wanna hear you say it.”

“Please, Freddie, I need your cock so bad. Need you to ruin me.” Y/N cried out, losing all sense of dignity as her sex-addled brain took over. Fred had intended to tease her much longer, but her desperate pleas were going straight to his cock, and he couldn’t hold out any longer.

“That’s all you had to say, love.”

Fred hitched her leg around his hip, gripping his cock in his free hand. He teased the head through her wet folds, shivering at the moan she let out from just the smallest contact. Then, he pushed his hips forward, not stopping until he was completely buried in her. Their low moans mixed together in the quiet of the room, Fred being careful not to move until he was sure she had adjusted to his size.

“Fuck, I forgot how fucking good you feel.” He groaned, burying his face in her neck.

“Move… Please.”

He needed no further encouragement. Fred pulled out about halfway before snapping his hips back forward, setting a brutal but steady pace. Y/N’s loud moans and Fred’s grunts mixed together, accompanied only by the sound of their skin on skin contact. Y/N could feel her orgasm building again as his dick hit her g-spot with every thrust, and she was almost embarrassed by how quickly he could bring her to this point.

“‘m so close, Freddie.” Y/N breathed out, knowing it would only infuriate him further if she came without his permission.

“Already?” Fred scoffed, although he knew he wasn’t far behind.

Still, he wasn’t ready for things to end so soon, so he pulled out completely, ignoring the desperate whine that left her throat. He pulled both of her legs together and pushed her knees up against her chest, holding her ankles together with one hand before thrusting back into her desperate cunt. The new position allowed him to hit deeper within her as he thrust downward, causing Y/N to scream out. The pain was delicious, it was everything she had longed for in their time apart.

“You really think you deserve to cum?” Fred grunted, landing a particularly hard thrust into her. “After everything you pulled tonight?”

“Please.” Y/N whined. She was so close, she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it if he stole another orgasm from her.

“Answer the question, slut.” Fred demanded, his pace quickening ever so slightly. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A desperate little cum slut.”

“Yes.” Y/N cried out. “But only for you, Freddie. Just a slut for you.”

“That’s right.” Fred’s rhythm had begun to falter, approaching his own orgasm quickly. Still, he was unsure if he’d let her finish or not. “You’re my little slut. Only I get to call you that, right?”

“Yes, Freddie.” Y/N whined, beginning to tug again on her restraints. She wanted nothing more than to scrape her nails down his back, but being completely at his mercy turned her on endlessly.

“Good.” Fred was close, so fucking close, but he had made his decision. So he had to hold off. “Cum for me, then. You’ve earned it.”

That was all the encouragement she needed, and as Fred hit one more thrust into her g-spot she was tumbling over the edge. Electricity seemed to shoot all throughout her body as she loudly moaned out his name. Her legs were shaking and she was certain she’d be sore tomorrow, but she had little time to care about that as he continued to pound into her.

Y/N knew Fred well, just as well as he knew her, so she knew he was close. Her mind felt almost entirely blank and she wasn’t sure she had much energy for anything, but she wanted to bring him to his release badly. So, she clenched around him, a moan leaving her lips when he stuttered and groaned. His thrusts were faltering significantly, and after a few moments he was crying out her name as he finished in her.

Fred pulled out and dropped her legs before crashing down next to her. He knew that he needed to untie her, but they also both just needed a moment to breathe. All that could be heard was the sounds of their mixed pants as they both came down from their highs. Once he was significantly more relaxed, he gripped his wand and swished it lazily, effectively removing the restraints she was held in.

Y/N hands dropped down and she quickly went to rub at her wrists, but Fred was quick to bat her hands away and do it himself. He examined both wrist closely, seeming to want to ensure that they were okay.

“They weren’t too tight, were they?” Fred implored after a moment. His genuine concern made her heart flutter, and she couldn’t help herself as she leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“No, they were perfect—all of it was perfect.” She sighed as she pulled away from him. Her general cognition was beginning to return, and with it her fears of all of the pain she had gone through in the past etched their way through.

Sure, Fred had clearly gotten jealous at the party. Then, he had gotten possessive and claimed her in the bedroom. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he harbored the same feelings for her that she had for him. The fear nearly paralyzed her, and she wasn’t sure if she should quickly redress and flee the room or implore what this all meant. Luckily, he answered her internal questioning before she even had to ask.

“I don’t want to see you out with Pucey.” Fred sighed, his eyes not meeting hers. “Which is a total prat thing to say, but it’s true. I don’t want to see you out with any bloke, really.”

“Fred…” Y/N spoke tentatively, her eyes begging him to speak further.

“I want you, Y/N. Like, really.” Fred finally met her gaze. “Not just in my bed.”

“What, do you want me on the couch too?” Y/N tried to joke, hoping it would cover up her nervous tone. But it didn’t. So, her voice became soft. “Don’t get my hopes up, Freddie.”

“I’m being serious.” He shook his head. “I want to take you out on fancy dates, or watch movies with you on my couch. Bloody hell, I want to bring you to my parent’s house for Sunday dinners. I don’t know, I’m not good at this. Whatever it is that couples do.”

“Fred Weasley,” A small smile had begun to grow on Y/N’s face. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

“Yes.” Fred answered earnestly. “That is, only if you’re going to say yes. Otherwise, this was all just a joke—”

Y/N shut him up by pressing her lips to his, her mouth still curled upwards in a smile. It was impossible to hide the genuine happiness that his words brought her.

“Yes.” She answered softly as she pulled away.

A similar smile began to grow on Fred’s face as he completely registered her words, and he couldn’t help but dive back in for another kiss. Y/N was his, completely. Something he’d probably wanted for so long, but had simply been too daft to realize it. Now, as he held her in his arms, he promised himself he’d never make such a mistake again.

Tagging a few 18+ mutuals from my usual taglist: @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @theweasleysredhair

#fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #Fred Weasley fanfic

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