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unproduciblesmackdown · 1 year

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truly thinking of like Just Being Yourself as a supposed matter of being More spontaneous and not being caught up in your own head about it or whatever, but then the nd perspective (and really potentially anyone who’s Being Themself isn’t sufficiently of the “normal”) wherein it’s like, the more everyday / usual approach is of course to filter oneself / mask, but you don’t even know that until you learn of it and then like, think through it re: yourself, and then doing Less of that and figuring out what you do when you’re not masking Is like, added effort and a conscious process. and how things can involve not just tamping down xyz but adding in various behaviors for others’ sake, or just that like, things you haven’t Yet tamped down at all b/c you think they’re things you’re doing Right or Have To Do / i.e. would be covered under masking anyways if you didn’t do them “enough” already, but then it’s like, maybe this is generally a waste of my energy at best if not also effectively punished lmao and even if i’d “naturally” do it, again it can be matter of consciously Choosing not to, not b/c it’s not being yourself, but just b/c of using that awareness to like, i’m not going to do that in the majority of situations but i know it’s because of other people’s nonsense. that’s me and like, [talking] lately lol

and certainly it’s like. oh haven’t found yourself in time for college, better go to a house party or something elevated and conveniently more interesting to look at than a scene in a high school hallway, y.a. protagonist, and follow your increasing rate of impulsive decisions to the core of Your Truth like a geiger counter lmao, quick....i mean not like anyone has to have their life figured out by eighteen b/c that’s just not how it works anyways, or like you either have your secret realest self under lock and key to just be let out eventually here or like yeah better find it on one especial occasion, and that occasion should be about cutting loose & shit, like oh well if you just max out the volume on everything you’re feeling by elevating it all enough you’ll overhear your realest self and everyone who matters will be like oh hell yeah, in recognition of the authenticity of that drama lol....like oh believe me my Real Self has spontaneity and vivacity and passion and elevation, of the kind nt people will like, only ascribe and relate to a context of romance or some shit, like that’s a wednesday maybe b/c of having fun with xyz, couldn’t be me but i guess have fun with when like, people just like don’t have the humor or theatricality (or ability to have exchanges with other people that aren’t competitions / an issued challenge or threat) where it’s like oh someone could only be being fun or playful or energetic if they’re a bit fucked up actually, i.e. drunk surely. like well no that can just be personality & choices, including being what you think is a bit fucked up b/c being nd is surely incorrect & certainly abnormal, which is incorrect, so same difference....but anyways it can be its own choice all the time to actually share all those supposedly properly Elevated [being oneself] properties around anyone else, and even then of course it’s like, results vary with who likes it vs thinks it’s clearly doing too much / nobody doing that could Really be being themself, bring out that normaller you who must exist, or it can maybe be entertaining so long as you just do it on your own and nobody has to figure out how to have an interaction about it b/c [the concept of how to interact w/other ppl on their terms???]

honorary addendum for truly how “performative” might generally be used in some negative context but it’s like, we are all performing every day lol, congrats to the people who again think oh i’m Just being Normal, you just learned that particular performance and don’t have to be conscious about what you might be doing wrong or how to act differently b/c it wasn’t relevant for you to Have to....its being like more genuine than anything to of course be consciously performing in some way / to some degree while other people in turn consciously recognize this, vs when people think they’re being Genuine / Acting Natural but it’s just a particular performance they learned that they can’t even switch out of b/c they don’t know it’s a performance and/or can’t/won’t acknowledge there’s other modes of expression/communication that are no less real, performance has its purposes and it’s not all like well people are just trying to Trick you into thinking that’s how they really are / the only way they can be; how can anyone Really act like that, any affectation should be dropped, can’t believe everyone isn’t Just Being Normal as hard as i am, b/c i get to encounter all these other people who Get Me and/or i sure don’t encounter obstacles / pushback over what seems to be nothing / my just behaving naturally and neutrally, so i must be the expert on the rightest way to be, f for everyone who’s clearly like being too weird or rude or thoughtless and etc

#the difference too between like. using whatever Emotional / Elevated Impulse as handy momentum to do what you already know you'd want to #vs. to just be like well this is for doing what i'd just never even choose / intend to do otherwise....dunno about that one lol #not that anyone has to submit like either Peak Elevation / Passion or else Peak Stoicism / Sobriety as the Truest Way Guiding Light either #but engaging in whatever various modes / approaches across the spectrum of experiences and routes can sure be Conscious either way....#when it comes to taking some approach and/or to just keeping tabs on how it's going along the way / afterwards...#Just Being Yourself as this very like cerebral(tm) conscious deliberate process when as soon as you first ever tried that it's been rejected #so eventually after getting a lot of information and turning it over for eons you probably have to push Against emotional reflexes to like #be more yourself / be more unfiltered/not attuned to what other people might want or tbh accept without more rejection / punishment #and of course just that like. probably your Realer Self just isn't something everyone should get to interact with #b/c it goes right back to the original problem of like that social rejection / punishment having started immediately and not stopped #so that it's difficult to go ''oh maybe i'm nd'' rather than just having it internalized that smthing's wrong w/you / you just suck or smthg #like well it's still gonna continue even as you're in the process of being more conscious of everything going on there / not blaming oneself #like i love to talk actually and i will continue to v rarely talk b/c that's really just a For My Own Sake choice lol

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misty1111 · 3 months

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Content warning: relapse, sobriety, weed

I’m trying to quit smoking weed. After a long history of use. I was sober today until 6pmish then I chose to smoke weed again, breaking my sobriety streak.

Now I sit here and type this with the loaded pipe in my hand and I’m trying to decipher how I feel but clarity is eluding me like trying to catch mist.

I feel embarrassed and self conscious about my relapse but I’m fighting my impulse to silence myself by daring to talk about it in this post. I’ve been silenced so much of my life. I refuse to silence myself out of fear.

Authenticity is so important to me but sometimes it feels so scary to actually do the thing.

#sobriety journey #weed #quitting #relapse #authenticity #I choose to be authentic

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boyczar · 4 months

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#different perceptual realities can coexist #when we merge them together and accept and embrace all experiences and feelings it expands Source conciousness #we can get easily trapped in our own suffering & despair & shame & victimhood (which could all have very real roots)#but when we deny ourselves the gift of elevating out of it through radical acknowledgment and acceptance #then we hold ourselves down. we drown ourselves. often for the ‘#often for the ‘comfort’ of others #self sacrifice is the most self centered thing you can choose in this life. acting in your own best interest is the best for everyone #we are all one #2024 is the time to get serious #the veil is thinning & the divide is growing starker. please make sure you choose the highest path for yourself #i see sobriety & positive mental change & clarity & responsibility & breaking free from negative cycles #i know that you see the Truth shining through #i know that you always have. i know you are DONE with sacrificing yourself. it’s time to get to actually know yourself & your emotions #i am proud of you. i will see you on the other side. i can’t wait.#mine #the feeling for 2024 #kumeyaay #kumeyaay art

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mardmeehanabadi · 5 months

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I've had a lovely four days off work. I don't really want to go back tomorrow, but the idea isn't intolerable. I finished reading a book, started a new show, had a few really good meals, did a bunch of online shopping, caught up on sleep, painted my nails, went to the lake, went on a few good walks, and stayed sober through it all

#i am so bored of sobriety #i want weed #and alcohol #and hookah #next year when im not sober anymore I can start doing these things with my new step dad and do it responsibly #instead of binge drinking and spending too much money on weed every week #it's something i genuinely look forward to #my brother moved out with an attitude this week #well he got kicked out really #mostly because he smokes so much weed he's lost all lister for life and won't job hunt or anything #so now he's living off meager savings in some motel situation #i feel bad for him but it's not like my mom had a choice after all these years of giving him every chance under the sun #she's like I think he has depression #well no shit #mostly I can't believe he's choosing weed over a free place to live

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underclerysclock · 2 years

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I'm gunna ask if the naltrexone is making me depressed as fuck. Cause I know that can be a side effect.

#flood warning #i hate bipolar so much the fact like anything and everything can affect it #why do i have to choose between sobriety and not feeling hopeless all the time

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for-the-ninth · 2 years

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I miss her more than I can say. I keep trying to type a post about it, but I just keep typing, backspacing, typing again, and it still doesn't come out how I want it too. Maybe I don't need a lot of words right now. I just miss her skin against mine.

#sorry boys but its sad posts hour #i saw her today and it'll be the last time i see her until she starts choosing sobriety #and idk how long that'll take #this is so hard

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soapskneebrace · 8 months

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a wake-up call

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: References to masturbation. References to sexual fantasy. More than likely far too many references to eye contact. Author’s Notes: I'm slowly recovering. This story will continue. Please enjoy. MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

Three knocks on your front door wake you up.

The sound feels at first like the thump of your own throbbing brain against the inside of your skull. Awareness comes back to you slowly, in gradiated shades of stiff joints and greasy skin. You shift, and find you’re still on your couch, still in your clothes from last night. Your eyes are filmy, sticky with dehydration—you blink several times to clear them, to little effect.

The knocking, a three-beat staccato, comes again.

“One second,” you croak irritably, cupping your forehead with your hand. Your skull might come apart, you think, if you move too much.

Your entire body feels like it is suspended from loose, tangled marionette strings as you struggle to sit up on the couch, and you wobble to that effect as you stand. Somehow, your flat has tilted at thirty degree angle, likely sometime in your sleep. You make it to the door at an oblique, having to lean on the jamb as you open it, and to add insult to injury John is standing on your doorstep like a clean, shining beacon of sobriety.

He’s in a dark shirt and jeans. His hair is casually neat, as if he’d styled it with his fingers. He looks fresh-faced, as if he’s been awake for hours already.

“That’s not fair,” you groan.

His brows draw together over cool blue eyes. “Jesus, love,” he says, looking you up and down.

You think you should say something back. But your head is too full of ache and interrupted sleep—and the bright shock of his presence—to produce anything intelligent.

“John,” is all you say, and you sound absolutely pathetic.

“Was gonna accuse you of standing me up,” he says ruefully, “but I see that’s not the case.”

“No,” you say dumbly. The fact that he’s come to seek you out gets tangled up in the strings. “Um.”

It is so far out of the ordinary as to be dreamlike. John’s knocking belongs on the other side of your wall, not your door. His boots belong on his own doorstep, making room for your house slippers at the time of your choosing, not his.

“Am I still drunk?” you wonder aloud.

John gives that little huff-laugh of his. “I doubt it.”

You rub your face. “Have I overslept?”

“Just a bit,” he replies. “I’ll admit, when I didn’t hear you move around this morning, I got worried.”

“I fell asleep on the couch,” you confess. You put a hand to your forehead as your brain throbs again. “Oh, I shouldn’t have drank that much.”

“Love,” says John, gentle and soft, “why don’t you let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast?”

You blink, and you’re sure now that you’re still drunk.

John. In your flat. Cooking?

“I’m not fancy in the kitchen, but I manage alright,” he suggests further. His gaze is warm on yours, brows lifted encouragingly.

“…Sure,” you say, and shuffle to the side to let him in. If this morning is determined to be strange, you might as well not get in its way.

He gives you a small smile and crosses the threshold.

Your flat shifts again; as he enters your living room, it seems to shrink, or maybe it’s just that John fills your home in a way no one ever has. His body, his presence, casts new light on the interior that throws its existence into unfamiliar repose. Details—the softness of your furniture, the cozy clutter of books and knickknacks spread across every available flat surface—offer unmeasured insight into who you are, more than you might ever have intended to reveal to John.

It’s only when he’s halfway to your kitchen that you realize one detail—the bright fucking pink of your vibrator, still on your coffee table—is glowing like a neon sign.

And your previous night’s activities come flooding back.

Your body, draped over his. The scrape of his beard on your hand, your face.

The furious grind of your mons against that toy as you pictured him taking you, drenched in hot shower water and pressed bare to the tile wall.

You are fully, painfully awake now. You stare, frozen in shocked terror, waiting for him to catch sight of it, but his head does not turn in its direction. He passes by it with no indication that he even noticed.

You dart over and snatch it behind his back, shoving it deep into your dress pocket, and grab up the empty water glass for an excuse. Then you have to put a hand to your head as your vision swims from the sudden movement.

“Have eggs?” John asks over his shoulder. He enters your kitchen. “I can make ‘em any way you like. Fried, over easy, sunny side…”

“Um,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, “scrambled.”

You follow after him, and lean against the wall to watch as he opens your fridge. His hand engulfs more of its handle than yours ever has; the musculature of his powerful body visibly shifts beneath his clothes as he has to bend down to root around the shelves.

He is broad in your kitchen. As broad as he’d been between your legs, in memory and in fantasy.

You don’t realize you’re staring until he straightens and puts the eggs, butter, and milk on the counter. Your breath hangs suspended in the shallows of your lungs when he catches your gaze.

His brows crease again. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Um,” you say, again, because it’s the only sound your brain will reliably supply.

To your horror, he comes to you, and—oh, god—takes your face in both hands.

“You’re warm,” he says. “Do you feel sick, love?”

Your brain supplies nothing now. It is so unfair, how good he looks the morning after drinking nearly half a bottle of scotch. His features are velvet-soft, so easy and wonderful to look at that you stop feeling your headache entirely.

“I really think I might still be drunk,” you admit, sounding pathetic.

His thumbs rub into your temples as he smiles at you. “Hell of a hangover, then.”

The pressure of his fingers is an incredible relief, and you close your eyes as you give into it. You feel, if your knees suddenly gave out, that he would easily be able to hold you up like this, as if you weighed nothing. His hands are a little cool from rooting around in your fridge, and the rest of him is warm, standing close enough that his body heat reaches out to you with the freshness of a recent shower. You want to fall into that warmth, bury your face in his chest…

Your eyes fly open. You hear your own voice again—I wanted to touch you, and I wanted you to hold me. You feel, again, the echo of his body between your thighs. Your heart starts beating wildly in your chest as embarrassment, hot and acidic, pumps through you.

“I think I need to sit down,” you whisper.

He strokes your temples, and surveys your face with a gentle gaze. “Sure, love. Go ahead.”

And then he releases you, and you try to remember how to walk as you return to your living room. There is no relief to be found as you sit down on your couch, which is indented by the dissatisfied night.

“How’d you sleep?” John asks from the counter. You hear him crack a few eggs into a bowl. This is the first time cooking has happened in your kitchen with you outside of it, and the cognitive dissonance of it does not help to steady you.

“Like the dead,” you say, rubbing your sore neck. Then, you decide to lie to him. “I—I think I passed out before the door even closed last night.”

John looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles. The vibrator sits cold in your pocket. Are you imagining that glimmer in his eyes? “Wouldn’t be surprised. You were pretty out of it.”

“I didn’t end up drinking the whole bottle, did I?”

A chuckle. “Not quite.”

“Didn’t you drink as much as me?” You try to recall, and think you can remember him matching you glass for glass. “Why aren’t you out of commission?”

“The army never cares if you’re hungover, I’ve found,” says John. “Guess I learned to stop caring too.”

You hear the sizzle of whisked eggs spreading over a hot pan, and for a while there’s only the sound of John moving a spatula around.

You watch him in your kitchen, his back to you as he stands at the stove. His long-sleeved shirt clings to the breadth of his shoulders, planes of shifting muscle underneath casting shadows through the soft cotton. The collar hangs a little low down his neck, leaving enough room for the dark hair at his nape to curl as it dries.

It makes something in your stomach twist, twinning your nervous hunger with unstable desire. It’s something that wants to walk back into the kitchen and wrap your arms around his trim waist, press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Want anything else?” John asks. “Could make some toast.”

“Eggs are fine!” you say too quickly.

The spatula scrapes softly against the pan again. As he turns to open your fridge, you swear you see him grinning.

Heat blooms across your face. SAS. Of course he could feel you looking at him.

It does not take him very long to finish cooking. Space bends once again as he leaves your kitchen, as he comes to you with a plate balanced on one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. You feel smaller than you ever have as he approaches, and sets the meal in front of you on the coffee table.

“Hope it tastes alright,” he says, sitting down beside you. He sinks into your couch cushions, far more dense than you are, and looks quite comfortable doing so. “I made ‘em how I like ‘em, but no guarantee you’ll feel the same.”

You look from him to the eggs, which are golden yellow and steaming pleasantly. “You didn’t make yourself anything?”

There is a softness in his eyes when you look back to him. You’ve seen it before—it’s there every time you hand him a new book. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. Just eat.”

You can’t protest when he’s looking at you like that, so you obey, suddenly ravenous once a forkful is between your teeth. The eggs are whipped to a wonderfully soft fluff, salted perfectly, and you think you can taste the barest hint of butter. You can’t help shutting your eyes to savor the taste.

“Good?” John asks. “I’ll admit, I’m not much of a cook, but I think I’m all right at eggs.”

Usually you like to add things when you make the same dish—potato chips, broken up into little crumbs, or a dollop of sour cream and salsa. For once though, right now you’d be disappointed by all that.

They wouldn’t be the eggs John made for you.

The thought makes your stomach twist again. “Delicious,” you say. “Thank you.”

He watches you eat, and you try not to feel self-conscious. He seems almost—satisfied by this, by feeding you, more than you would expect him to be. But then, this has always been the case with John. You have never understood why the smallest of things you do have such an impact on him, but they do nonetheless.

“John,” you say. “About last night…I wanted to apologize.”

Dark brows crease as you set the empty plate down. “What for?”

“I got so drunk,” you say. You won’t look at him, face heating, strangling your own fingers in your lap. “You—you had to carry me home, and I’m so embarrassed by the things I said, I was so inconsiderate.”

“That’s not—”

“You must have felt so uncomfortable,” you continue, “you were so nice to take me out, and there I was acting like a lush with no self-control—”

“Darling, it’s fine—”

“And then after, the way I—I pawed at you—”

He says your name—fully and clearly, firmly—and it catches you so off guard that your words halt in your throat. You finally meet his gaze.

John’s eyes have always been windows. Portals into the truth of him, freely offered, without hesitance or fear. You think John knows himself in ways few men do—knows every corner, every crack and crevice, and refuses to hide any of it from himself or anyone else. As if he is not afraid of being seen for what and who he is; as if he has seen it all already, and cannot be daunted by it.

What you see now is undisguised. Untempered. John Price wants you. And he has no fear that you can see it.

“Did you mean any of it?” he asks, voice low and deep in his chest.

The question catches you off guard, throwing you with its directness. The only thing keeping you upright is his gaze, the steady certainty of its own intention. Strong even under the weight of suspense.

You swallow, and take a shaky breath. “John,” you say, “I was so drunk...”

His eyes flash. John moves, leans forward, and you are speared, held in place much the same way you had been at dinner, by his presence alone. “I know. But did you mean it?”

The breath trapped in your lungs calcifies, solidifies into hard, pressing nodules of catalyzed fear and desire that trap the seeds of any response in your chest. You tear your gaze away from him, finally, stare at the empty plate on your table. He does not touch you, but you feel the phantom weight of his hand on your knee. The warmth of his body against yours.

“We hardly know each other,” you whisper shakily. It is a flimsy scrap of an excuse, even to you. “We—we barely know each other at all.”

“Love,” John says, low and soft. You turn to look at him again. His lips part—

Your phone rings.

You exhale hard, strings suddenly cut. John closes his eyes, breathes out, and then leans back again.

You retrieve your phone from where you’d flung your purse last night, off the couch and to the opposite wall where it lays on the floor. When you see the caller ID, you want to throw the phone back across the room, but you take a deep breath and answer anyway.

“Ben,” you sigh, and to your furious embarrassment it comes out as a croak.

“Hey, sweets, Liv is—wait. You sound awful,” comes your coworker—and ex-boyfriend’s—voice through the earpiece.

“Rough night,” you say, closing your eyes against sweets. You then look at John. His gaze is fixed on you.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben says. “Anything I can do?”

He could have not called. “Tell me about Liv,” you prompt him.

“Right! She’s out. Flu.”

“Oh.” You blink, and watch John retrieve your plate and glass. He takes them to the kitchen and runs the faucet low, so the sound won’t interfere with your call.

You’re not sure how you know that that’s his intention, but you do.

“That’s awful.”

“And inconvenient. We need another instructor for the trip.”

Can John hear what Ben is saying? He looks up from the sink, lifts one brow when you meet his eyes. There’s humor there, a kind of rueful empathy for dealing with the nonsense of coworkers.

You want to hang up. You want to answer his question right then and there.

“When?” you ask.

“Two hours. I know! I know it’s short notice,” he says, animatedly contrite. “Sorry. But we’d love to have you, it’ll be fun! I can even pick you up, if you like.”

“No, that’s alright,” you sigh. “But okay, I’ll start packing. Just send me the details, yeah?”

“Sure, sweets,” Ben replies, “can’t wait to see you! I’ve missed hanging out, you know? Even after…everything.”

The gravitational force of John’s presence—the shift and bend of your flat around him—snaps in half. Reality asserts itself like a recurring headache.

Suddenly you’re in your flat, phone to your ear, unshowered from last night and coated in a layer of grease. The vibrator is a useless weight in your pocket. You are a useless girl hungover in day-old clothes.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say noncommittally, and hang up.

John gazes at you expectantly from over the sink.

“Work trip,” you say, and you wonder if you sound as dazed as you feel. “Last minute, I…I need to get ready.”

John blinks, and then grins, amused. Crow’s feet gather in the corners of his eyes. “You know, I’m usually the one in that situation.”

Suddenly he is too much to look at. You tear your gaze away, look at your phone in your hands. You feel very exposed, ashamed somehow. “I’m sorry,” you say.

You hear the easy drum of John’s boots out of your kitchen, across the room, and then he’s in front of you. His hands are in his pockets, arms slung loose at his sides. “What for?”

“For…”

He steps closer to you. Your heart leaps in your chest, and you have to look up at him, unable to resist the pull he has on you.

The line of his mouth is gentle, and you stare too long at the divot of his Cupid’s bow. Beneath the soft lines of his brows, his gaze is soft, fond. More so than you deserve.

“I don’t really know.”

The long muscle in his neck shifts as he tilts his head. You swallow, unconsciously mirroring the gesture.

“John…I…”

His gaze drops—rests on your lips, and returns to yours.

“Love,” he murmurs, low and humming. “Did you mean it?”

His voice slides across you like physical touch, and every hair feels like it’s standing on end.

Yes. Yes, of course you meant it, every word. It feels so obvious to you, so blatant, and the shame of it holds you by the throat. You are not important enough to inflict upon John Price. You are trembling, meek, afraid of stepping outside your own door sometimes. What is that in comparison to him? Him, who comes home shaking off the dust of places you’ve only ever heard of. Him, who you’ve learned can swear in six different languages. Him, who has stuffed more life than you thought possible into only a handful more years of living than yours.

Of course you want him. Moths are always drawn toward flame. How could you not?

“John,” you say in your smallest voice. You hate the way it sounds—like an admission of guilt. “What if I did?”

He doesn’t move, but you see the shift in him anyway. A coiling, almost, energy banking as he studies you, searches your face. His hands remain in his pockets. He watches you for a long moment, and you can’t possibly imagine what he might like in what he sees.

“Ball’s in your court, then,” he finally says, soft and low in his chest. “Whatever you want from me, love, you can have.”

You want too much. You can’t give enough back.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you say on a shallow breath. “Our—us. What we already have.”

He steps closer to you. Close enough that his shirt brushes the front of your dress. Close enough that his clean, soft warmth near-envelops you, the exact same way you’d been wishing for earlier. He does not reach out, like he did when he thought you were sick. You cannot decide if this disappoints you or not. You feel shaky without his hands on you, feverish and embarrassed, and you fear desperately that he can see that as he holds your gaze, that you are completely open to him in a way that leaves no space for the truth to hide.

“You won’t,” he says, steady and solid.

You take a trembling breath, swallow to clear your throat. “I…”

He withdraws one hand from his pocket, slowly, and brings it upward. Feather-light, he curls his index finger under your chin, caressing his thumb so terribly gently beneath your bottom lip. You cannot help flinching, anticipatory want recoiling from the very thing it was aching for in surprise, and for a split second you are newly scared that he’ll take his touch away.

But he doesn’t. The windows of John’s eyes stay open, and there is nothing but intent behind them. You realize he knows. He knows that you’re reluctant, that you’re unsure, that you are pulled to him like a falling star to earth and also terrified of burning up in the process.

He understands.

“I’m a patient man, love,” he purrs, and you realize too that he is excited by this, by you. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

PSA: For my own sanity this will be the last chapter I utilize the taglist. If you would like to know when this story is updated you may follow me, turn on my post notifications, or subscribe to the series on ao3. Thank you.

Taglist: @yeyinde @guyfieriii @aduckinpain @jaimiespn @aconstructofamind @trashy-panda777 @lich1 @smoggyfogbottom @antigonusyuki @bubble-dream-inc @itsthetiredstudent @misshoneypaper @wasteland-babe @jxvipike @deadbranch @yes-music-is-my-religion @hailstrum18 @ramadiiiisme @glassgulls @wiserebelpartypie @stripeycatt @staymetalmacie @capt-soaps-bbg @rdeville @diorstarr

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feetinthewaves · 4 months

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Don't breathe, that will disturb the sound - Vivianne Miedema

Summary :

You get annoyed with Vivianne because you can't tell her how you feel, little do you know the blonde feels the same.

Warnings :

Angst(?) with fluff towards the end. This has also not been proofread, I apologise 😔 🤞

Viv and Beth obviously aren't together for the sake of this fic.

Again, I am new to writing like this so feedback is appreciated and actually encouraged !! Thank you, happy reading !!

It was your birthday, and the girls had gone all out planning a party for you, hosting it at your house because it was "easy access for the birthday girl" but in reality you knew they just didn't want to have to deal with it at any of their houses. The party started at 8pm, given it was currently 6.30pm, you and Vivianne, your roommate, began getting yourselves and the house ready. The kitchen table was full of drinks and food for people to eat, a karaoke machine on display in the corner for Beth and Steph, just dance on the tv for Kyra and Leah, and most of the furniture pushed to the side to make room so no matter the state of sobriety, Jonas wasn't going to have to worry about injury.

You watched as Vivianne emerged from her room, sporting a white turtleneck, with black jeans. You couldn't help but stare at your best mate.

You and Viv had been friends ever since she joined arsenal in 2017, and over those 7 years your feelings for yoru best friend slowly began to evolve. And there. was nothing you could do to stop it.

"You're staring schatje," Her voice finally bringing you back around.

"Sorry," You apologised, barely above a whisper, so quiet the blonde hardly caught it at all. Either way the way you had been staring at her had left deep burgundy blush adoring her cheeks, but you were too caught up in your own embarrassment to notice.

You already gotten changed, opting for just a black skirt, tights, and a white button down. Everyone that night would notice the way Viv's eyes stayed glued to you, everyone but you.

The party was in full swing, music blaring over the speakers in your house, you'd had your fair share of dancing with the girls and decided to go and pour yourself another drink in the kitchen.

Thats when you saw her.

Viv.

Talking to some girl you recognised from the Man United squad, 'One of Lessi's friends' you thought to yourself, choosing to ignore them. Before you noticed the way Vivianne was laughing with her.

You broke.

Her laugh was like music to your ears, brightening the room, along with your mood when ever you heard it.

You wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that, the only one to make her laugh like that.

Viv noticed you, as you finally turned away and began making yourself another drink. Back turned to her, what she failed to notice where the tears slipping down your cheeks. You weren't even entirely sure why, but you were sure that you had to avoid Viv for the rest of the night, scared if you even looked into her eyes for 2 seconds you'd tell her everything about how you feel. As you hear her call out your name, you straighten your shoulders, turn around towards her, and walk straight past her.

The blonde grows upset.

Concerned.

Angry.

Of course she does.

She knows that you had heard her shout your name, and she can't quite understand why you had ignored her. Thats when she becomes conscious of the brunette next to hers hand on her thigh, pushing it off, wishing it was you. She begins her journey to find you through the crowd of people.

There you were, sat outside by yourself on the balcony, 'were you crying?' she thought. She was right, now noticing the tear tracks staining your face, removing the concealer from underneath your eyes. Her heart broke.

She'd done this.

And she didn't even understand how.

"Y/n?" she tried quietly, not wanting to startle you, "Y/n, what's wrong?"

You didn't answer her, you wanted to, you really did, but you knew you couldn't. You could waste 7 years of friendship over a silly little crush. But it wasn't a crush. No. You loved her. You really did. Could you tell her that? 'No.' you thought to yourself. She can't know.

"Y/n?" she quietly asked again, "please talk to me,"

Still no answer.

"Schatje?" she tried,

Finally, you looked up at her, straight into her blue eyes, instantly apologising.

"Sorry, god I am so sorry-" you manage to croak out before bursting into tears, the blonde instantly at your side holding you.

"Schatje, what's going on, please tell me, I can't fix this unless you tell me what I've done" she asked, a sense of pleading evident in her voice.

You began to cry harder, and she began to apologise, making you cry harder, she wasn't in the wrong, it was you.

"I'm sorry y/n. I promise, I didn't mean to ruin your evening, especially not on your birthday." panic filling her voice,

"You didn't ruin anything, you made this so much better, just by being here, I'm the one who should be sorry." you manage to sniffle out between tears, hiccuping as you do so, making the two of you find laughter even in a moment like this.

"Schatje, I'm not sure I quite understand, what's going on?" she pressed, annoyance prevalent in her voice this time, showing she wanted an answer and not for you to just start blaming yourself again.

"God Viv, don't you get it?" You began to shout, distancing yourself from the dutch girl by standing up. The atmosphere shifting suddenly, "I hated watching her, that girl, all over you, making you laugh." You're crying again now, you must look pathetic you think to yourself, "I want to be the one to make you laugh Viv. Me. I want that, to be, me. Is that too much to ask?" Your shouting by this point, certain everyone inside can hear you but you're past caring at this point, just wanting Viv to finally understand how you feel.

"Y/n/n?" she asks smirking, "What are you saying?" She knows full well what you mean, but she can't seem to believe that the girl she loves, would ever, feel the same way about her.

"I love you Viv I have done for years. And seeing you flirt with other girls and never notice me hurts okay. God Viv I get that you might not feel the same but wipe that smirk off your face because I thought you'd atleast have enough decency to not make fun of me-" She cuts you off. Kissing you. Your shocked at first, but you soon begin to kiss her back. Its slow and sweet, everything you'd ever imagined.

"Sorry, you wouldn't shut up and I couldn't have you thinking I was laughing at you." she explains after seeing the shock on your face. Shock is an understatement. You are completely dumbfounded at what just happened, Viv notices quite quickly, pulling you into her side with a giggle.

"Y/n/n. Schatje. Ik houd van je." she says quietly, her head dipping into your neck, whispering against your hair.

At that moment then, you are content, in the arms of the girl you love, the girl who loves you back. Your best friend and person.

#woso one shot #vivianne miedema x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #vivianne miedema #woso imagines

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icaruspendragon · 11 months

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yeah yeah i question the romanticization of every little thing as much as the next cynically-inclined gal but like. there really is beauty everywhere. it is kinda refreshing to let bitches be whimsical. to let yourself be a bitch with a penchant for whimsy. because sometimes the only thing that eases the heaviness put in my stomach by the abject horrors is when my friends come over on tuesdays and i get to make them dinner. when i’m drinking a glass of wine and making pasta and dancing to bluegrass in my kitchen and i hear laughter from the other room. like it really is okay to let the little things warm you.

and i know i have a reputation of goodness and kindness and resilience and whatever so i’m sure you’re thinking “that’s so easy for you to say!” but i had to work for that shit. i had to fight for a sunny disposition.

my dad was never around, always choosing women and booze over me and my brother. i was the weird kid people bullied practically my entire time in school. i’m an addict who was forced kicking and screaming into sobriety. i was assaulted in college and the university didn’t believe me. i’ve got depression and insomnia and severe anxiety and panic disorder. i’ve been on 23 different antidepressants/anxiety meds/mood stabilizers over the past 15 years and none of them have worked and sometimes i’m afraid that i’m meant to be sad forever. sometimes i worry that i’ve never actually been happy. my brother died from suicide on my 25th birthday and there wasn’t even a note. i’m well aware of how awful the world can be. of how terrible shit can get.

and i know it’s not life changing or revolutionary, but damnit, i’m going to get excited when i’m reading a fanfic and the two characters finally kiss. i’m going to laugh when my brother tells me a dumb joke. i’m going to let my heart swell while i’m wearing my flour covered apron, when i’m leaning against the doorway to my dining room, holding my glass of wine curled close to my chest while my friends are eating happily and i’ve finally perfected my gnocchi recipe and all the people i love are happy and safe and full of food i prepared with my own two hands as they sit around my table.

the world has not been kind to me but i’ll be damned if i let it continue to make me hard. i deserve softness. i deserve sweetness. i deserve gentle moments. and if the world won’t give them to me? fine. i’ll make them myself.

so yeah, i often wanna scoff when i see someone stop to smell the roses. but i don’t. because the world is so fucking hard. and i don’t see the point in making it harder on ourselves. it’s so much easier to be numb. to be jaded and bitter. to think of my heart as a wretched organ trapped by a terrible vise of a bone. but then i see sunlight filtering through leaves and it makes me smile and i feel my heart beating and i remember i may be small and i may be fleeting, but i’m alive. and my heart, that wretched organ, beats defiant and persistent in my chest. and the sunlight tells me courage, poor stupid heart of stone, and it makes me brave in a world that makes me ache.

so i will be whimsical and silly and happy despite it all, because if i don’t have that, what the hell do i have?

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pink-amethyst-tarot · 4 months

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💌A Message From The Universe💌

P I L E 1 ~ P I L E 2 ~ P I L E 3

How to pick: Take a deep breath and choose between the three images above. It corelates with the message that is meant for you. Trust your intuiton; only you know what is truly best for you.

P I L E 1 ♡ ~ A New Perspective

Ten of Wands, The High Priestess, The Emperor, The Moon, Eight of Swords (Reversed)

You feel burdened. You feel disconnected from yourself and your intuition. I feel that the man problem, is that you don't trust yourself or your inner voice. Let that voice guide you. Listen to yourself because you know what is best for you. You don't have to listen to everyone who thinks they know what is best for you. With it being the holiday season and Christmas is days away, you may be around family that isn't all that supportive of you and what you want with your life. They have put you down since you were a kid but know that you are not that kid anymore. You are capable of standing on your own two feet and it's time to stop making excuses for their bad behavior. You don't have to keep that kind of negative energy in your life, even if they are your relatives. Just because they are blood related, doesn't mean you have to call them family. For a lot of you, this person is a father figure in your life, but they haven't treated you the way that a father should. You were a kid and you deserved better then, and you deserve better now. Your anxiety around this is very loud but you know what you want to do more than anything. You know what path you want to take, and you know what people you want to cut off. Let yourself be happy. Go into this new year prioritizing your wants, needs, desires, hopes and dreams. It's time someone chose you and who better than yourself. Open up your heart and your mind to new possibilities; a world where you can have what you want. It's time for a new perspective.

Channeled Song: I'm Tired by Labrinth ft. Zendaya

now the tide is rollin' in // I don't wanna win // let it take me, let it take me // I'll be on my way // how long can I stay // in a place that can't contain me // hey Lord, you know, I'm tired // hey, Lord, you know I'm tired //

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If you want a more personal reading, you can see how to book a reading here

P I L E 2 ♡

King of Pentacles, Seven of Cups (Reversed), Four of Wands (Reversed), Nine of Wands, Ace of Pentacles

You have been doing some spring cleaning around your life. You have been making changes that you saw needed to be made and it has really brought you back to reality; almost like you are sobering up. You could also be on a sobriety journey and if you are, know that I am very proud of you and I'm rooting for you. If no one else is in your corner, know that I am. You have been doing a lot of hard work and you should be celebrating yourself but, for some reason, you aren't. You may have this mindset of believing that you can't celebrate because there is so much more work to do. That may be true; we are all works in progress. That doesn't mean you shouldn't celebrate and be proud of how far you have come! I'm so very proud of how far you have come. You're looking at all that you still have to do, but you aren't paying attention to what you have done. You can rest, relax and bask in your victories. Take a break because you have earned it. You are meant to be prosperous, and you have new opportunities coming in and you should be confident in taking them because you worked hard to get them. Again, I am so proud of you and all that you have done. Keep going and do not give up.

Channled Song: A Brand New Day by The Wiz Cast

everybody, be glad // because our fear and dread is gone // freedom, you see, has got our hearts singing so joyfully // just look about // you out it to yourself to check it out // can you feel a brand new day? // can you feel a brand new day? //

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P I L E 3 ♡

The Star (Reversed), Two of Pentacles, Four of Swords, The High Priestess, Ace of Pentacles

Your head is not in the right place, right now. You are too focused on the negative and it seems that you have lost hope. You're working to balance things on your own and that is only making things harder for you. You may feel like you're at sea and the boat going up and down with the harsh waves. Let go of the things that you don't need and ask for help with the things that you cannot. I'm getting that you are very overwhelmed at this time. I'm seeing juggling and everyone keeps adding more and more balls, making it so hard to keep up. You don't have to take it. You are allowed to rest and to have some peace and quiet. You may be feeling like you can't take a break right now because, if you don't do it who will? I'll counter that with, why was it set up for you to be the only one who is able to handle things? Why is it you or nobody? Why can't people do it themselves? Sometimes, you just have to say, "if I have to do it, it's not going to get done," and that's that on that. You know that these people are capable and able. They just know they can rely on you to always do it. Stop being reliable. They need to learn to do things on their own and without you because you are not going to always be there.

I don't have a specific channeled song, but I am seeing vacations, beaches and just relaxing, which you deserve, so if you can get that, I suggest that you do.

if you feel called to tip, you can on c@sh@pp at $oddlycozycottage and on p@yp@l at @oddlycozycottage

If you want a more personal reading, you can see how to book a reading here

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

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ithaquasbbg · 4 months

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I have requests in my inbox.. but instead of focusing on those like I should.. I am writing a little bit of self indulgent stuff today (I’ll do reqs soon)

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Joseph desaulnier | Photographer general relationship Headcanons

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Tw : very brief mentions of Claude’s death

Extra : I love this man so much, he’s my favorite grandpa

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

|🩷| Joseph is a person with a large amount of attachment issues due to his childhood. He finds himself growing more attached to people than he should, and doesn’t take loss well. This is apparent in your relationship at Least at the beginning. He will constantly need reassurance that you won’t leave him.

|🩷| He loves giving gifts, something that he can see you wearing preferably. The way your face lights up when he gives you gifts is something that never fails to put butterflies in his stomach.

|🩷| When it comes to receiving, words of affirmation make him fall even harder than he already has. Things as small as “I love you” will cause him to blush.

|🩷| When he’s intoxicated, which happens quite often, he’s much more easily flustered than normal. He’s unable to play it cool when he’s in a state like that, and will often end up silent with a dumb little smile on his face.

|🩷| He loves giving you pet names! Things like “Cherie”, or other French words of endearment are typically his go to. Occasionally, he’ll slip in a “dear” or two as well.

|🩷| If you were to give Joseph pet names, he’d act like he hates it up front, but the silly little smile on his face definitely tells you otherwise. Calling him things like “pretty boy”, “darling”, or other endearing terms are the ones that evoke the biggest reaction.

|🩷| Joseph’s not a fan of heavy pda. He prefers to keep things “classy” like how he was raised. Things like hand holding are fine, but kissing (like mouth to mouth.. cheek kisses are fine) is pushing it a little too far.

|🩷| In private, he’s among one of the more affectionate people in the manor, especially when drunk. Joseph longs the embrace of another person, as it fills the hole in his heart that was left after his brothers death. Depending on who you are as a person, he may or may not be the one initiating this.

|🩷| In terms of big spoon and little spoon.. Joseph can swing either way, which does like many other things depend on his level of sobriety and emotions.

|🩷| When he’s big spoon, you can bet that he’s going to have you held as close to him as he possibly can, though he tries his best not to crush you. Sometimes you’ll catch him playing with your hair absently. If you bring it up, he’d be flustered and may stop doing it for a while.. so choose wisely.

|🩷| When Joseph is the little spoon, he loves being held tight as he holds you sometimes. You’ll often find him with his head resting on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat.

|🩷| You can borrow some of his clothing, but Joseph would much rather have some clothing custom made so they can fit you better. He has the money to spoil you, so why shouldn’t he?

|🩷| That in mind.. Joseph probably borrows lots of your clothing if he can fit into it. Even though he can make some of the most expensive clothing out of anyone in the manor, he finds himself feeling much safer when in your clothing

|🩷| Despite being as charming as he is, Joseph doesn’t have much romantic experience, and likely doesn’t know quite what to say or do yet in terms of dates.

|🩷| If you asked him though, Joseph would say his favorite place to go on a date would be the gardens. He loves flowers, and loves you even more.

If only he could get a photo of you amongst them.

#idv fandom #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv x reader #idv scenarios #idv matchup #joseph idv #idv joseph #identity v joseph #idv photographer #identity v photographer #photographer idv #joseph desaulnier

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sat0-get0 · 1 year

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・❥ 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡 - 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐫

ꕥ 𝙘𝙬 : 𝙬𝙘: 2.9𝙠 (𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙮 𝙖𝙨𝙛𝙛), 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙜𝙚 𝙖𝙪, 𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩, 𝙨𝙪𝙗 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 (𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙨𝙮 𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝, 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝), 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙭, 𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩 (𝙣𝙤 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 ???), 𝙥𝙚𝙩 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 (𝙢𝙖𝙢𝙖 𝙭100, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙘𝙚), 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 & 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩, 𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙛 𝙞 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤 | 𝙢𝙙𝙣𝙞

✎ 𝘢𝘯 : 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘰𝘵, 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘧 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰. 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 100 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘤 𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 3𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 ༄

You were always so different from Eren, even during your childhood. He'd always play outside as a kid, barging into your home covered in dirt and bruises and you'd always be there to help him out. Even as time flew, you'd help him out in other ways. With his homework, with any exams, lying to his parents, etc etc. You'd only separated once in your life and that was when you both made it into high school but it didn't stop you two from hanging out.

Always on facetime, coming over to his house that still happened to be nearby, and hanging out on weekends. Those 4 years didn't matter much anyway seeing as you both got into the same college. The thing is, growing up with somebody always means random moments where it dawns on you that y'all are really growing up.

Sometimes Eren would come over to your college dorm smelling like weed, eyes red and lidded as he plopped down into your bed carelessly. Or you'd go to his dorm and see bottles of alcohol that he's clearly doing a shitty job at concealing and you question how he's even gotten this far without getting caught. You've stuck to your old ways and he's stuck to his just in other aspects. He shows up stressed for an exam, you help him study. He's drunk from a party, you give him water to sober him up.

One day, however, it's like you and him did a 180. You were absolutely tired of college and the disappointing party you just left early from did nothing to help. You stand in front of Eren's dorm, heels held in one hand by the straps as you give your signature knocks that lets him know that its you. He opens the door almost instantly, looking you up and down.

"It's 2 am." he says but he opens the door wider anyway, watching as you stumble in. His room is lit by the lamp on his nightstand, keeping the mood low and mellow. "Yeah and I'm not fucked up enough." you sigh, dragging your feet as you walk further inside. You hear the click of the door behind you and make move to take off your bra, doing it all while still keeping your dress on and throwing it somewhere you won't remember.

"Are you drunk?" he asks, sitting beside you on his bed. You turn to look at him, meeting his eyes with yours that are lidded from being tired of everyone's shit. "Do I look drunk?" Eren examines your features for a second before replying, "Yes."

You weren't that drunk. Tipsy at most. You weren't content to being that close to sobriety though and another drink didn't sound too bad right about now. But you know Eren wasn't much of a liquor person these days, choosing to roll up a joint instead of swallowing anything he knew would give his tastebuds an unpleasant feel. It appears you'd have to settle.

"Let's smoke." you tell him and he raises a brow at you. "Smoke what?" He's unsure but at the same time he knows exactly what you're talking about. "Don't play dumb, 'ren." you say as you let yourself fall back on his bed with a soft thud. "You don't smoke weed." he throws the obvious out there, still puzzled. "Well, now I want to."

Eren simply shrugs, getting up and moving to his nightstand. He opens up the drawer and pulls out a small bag that pops with color. He also grabs a rolling tray and places a few more items on it. "You sure you wanna do this? You have liquor in your system." he says with his back turned, grabbing a towel and placing it down so that it covers the small area that his dorm door doesn't cover.

"Yeah, been curious for a while now." you confess, looking up at him from your spot as he walks back over to you. You sit back up as he sits beside you, placing the rolling tray on his lap. You watch as he pulls out rolling paper from a small packet and places it on the tray. "If you start tweakin', I'm giving you water and you're going to bed." he mutters, pulling a bud of weed out of the small baggie and placing it into his grinder.

You've seen people smoke weed all the time but you've never really seen the process. That's why you're staring intently at what he's doing, trying to push back the fuzzy feeling in your head from the alcohol. "I'm not gonna act any different, Eren." you tell him unknowingly. He simply dead pans at you as he twists his grinder, crushing up the weed. "I'm just 'posed to feel like I'm on cloud 9, right?" you ask and he opens his mouth as if he was gonna say something else but only let's out a 'sure'.

Eren takes the lid off the grinder, revealing to you the now crushed up weed. You watch at he spreads it in a line along the rolling paper, making sure the line is straight. He picks up the paper carefully before toying with it a bit, folding it in a way that you can now recognize it as a joint. He brings it up to his lips before licking it carefully and pressing it down so that it's sealed.

"Are you done now?" you ask, tone coming off as impatient without you meaning it to. "Basically, yeah." He pats both of his pockets before reaching into his left one, pulling out a red lighter. Your eyes stare at the way he holds the joint between his fingertips, lighting up the end until the joint lights.

"You might cough." he tells you before bringing the joint up to his lips, inhaling and releasing smoke before inhaling again. You can already smell the weed much more than before as the smoke dances around you. "I don't cough or choke." you reply. It's true. Anything you've smoked such as hookah, a cigarette once, you didn't cough. You didn't even choke or cough the first time you gave a guy head.

Eren gestures the joint towards you and you take it between your fingers, pretty nails making the moment pinterest worthy. You bring it up to your lips and breathe in n' out first before inhaling the weed. He was almost right about his statement earlier, the smoke hitting the back of your throat. You don't let it get to you though, taking a deep breath before exhaling and clearing your throat.

"That shit tastes horrible, what the fuck." you mutter, face scrunched up in disgust. Eren shrugs before taking the joint back and taking his couple of puffs. He gives it back to you, letting you do your thing as he goes into his fridge, pulling out 4 waterbottles. You try again, inhaling and ghosting the smoke this time before exhaling it. The taste wasn't any better even after your third inhale but you already felt different.

"How you feel?" he asks lowly, placing 2 of the waterbottles on the nightstand before handing you one and keeping one for himself. You look at him with a small smile before telling him the first feeling that comes to mind. "Calm." You hand Eren the joint before cracking open your water bottle, suddenly feeling parched.

"Yeah?" he asks, taking a hit himself. You nod and move your tongue around in your mouth, feeling like the water you just drank evaporated instead of being swallowed. "You look smacked as fuck." he tells you and you whip out your phone camera to get a good look at yourself. Your eyes are already pinkish and you can't seem to widen them for more than 2 seconds. You toss your phone aside before shrugging. "You look normal." you tell him.

He takes his last hit before handing you the joint that's become significantly smaller. "You can take the last hits." he offers and you do, reducing the size of the joint even more before putting it out on the rolling tray. Eren places the tray along with everything else on top of it back into his nightstand before laying beside you.

"Eren, my mouth is dry." you say, continuing to move it around in your mouth. "Drink water." he says simply. "Tried that, didn't work." You turn to look at him and he does the same a second after. "Is your mouth dry?" you ask him and he shakes his head. "Not really." You bring your head up by propping it up on your hand supported by your elbow and forearm. "You should like, share your saliva with me." you say without thinking yet you don't question why you do.

"How?" he asks you as if considering. "Like.." you move closer to him, nose nudging against him as you smile. "You could kiss me right now." You're definitely high, maybe a little cross faded. You and Eren have definitely had your moments growing up. As the both of you got older, he'd notice the changes in your body and you'd notice his. He'd watch your small body grow up to have curves and you'd watch his prepubescent body form into abs and muscles as his facial hair grew. Of course there'd be tension and it made pushing feelings aside difficult on both ends.

"Don't play with me." he huffs out, trying to mask his emotions behind a small laugh. You pout, bringing a hand to Eren's chest. "'m not playing with you, 'ren." you tell him, gaze lingering on his lips for for a little too long before meeting his eyes. "Swear?" he asks you and you nod. That's enough for him to bring his head closer, letting his lips envelope yours.

He maneuvers you on top of him, one hand settling on your waist and the other on your plush ass. Your dress rises up as you straddle him and he can't help but lift it up just a tad more, smoothing his hand over your lace panties. You groan softly as he bites your lower lip, licking into your mouth. You reciprocate the energy, tugging his bottom lip with your teeth, giving it a gentle suck. You giggle against his lips before sitting up on top of him, feeling his bulge press against you.

"Shit.." he mumbles under his breath, hands smoothing over your thighs that drive him wild. You fake a pout, hands going underneath his tanktop and feeling up his abs. "What's wrong, baby?" you ask him with a sweet tone. His eyes look at you with a dangerous lust, hands squeezing your thighs. "Don't play, mama. I'll fuck you 'til you cry." he mutters lowly, the bass in his voice making you shiver. "What if I want you to fuck me?" you reply and grin at the way he moves his hips up slightly, pressing his dick against you.

He moves the both of you back, scooting backwards until he's sitting up against his headboard. "Take that fucking dress off." he groans, throwing off his tanktop. You move your dress upwards and off your body, giggling at the way Eren gazes at your tits. You lean forward, placing teasing pecks on his lips until he brings you forward with a tense grip on your hips, giving you a proper make out session.

You feel his hand go down into your panties and keen against his lips, letting him rub at your awaiting clit. You grind your hips down onto his hand, already dampening his finger tips as the digits prod at your entrance. You feel him plunge 2 fingers deep in your pussy and throw your head back, moaning louder than either of you expected.

You quickly place your lips back on his, breathing heavier than before as he fucks you on his fingers. His thick long fingers reach spots yours never could and you have to suckle on his tongue to keep your mind about you. You were right, kissing was most definitely the answer to quenching the thirst the weed left you with. You can't help but drape your arms around him, letting him finger you as you let your head rest in the crook of your neck.

"Feels good, mama?" he asks and you nod, letting out small whimpers into his ears. You distract yourself by kissing his neck, hoping to ignore your orgasm that tempts to take over your body. He doesn't let you get to that point anyway, removing his fingers from your hole and grinning at your disappointed whine.

"Shh, 'm gonna fuck you." he reassures you, sliding his sweats and boxers down enough to free his dick. He uses your slick to pump himself with his fist, his precum helping him out as well. You look down and your eyes finally widen without you having to do so forcefully, looking at his threatening size. "It don't bite." he tells you, laughing at your reaction. "It look like it do." you pout but your face changes quickly as he lifts your hips for you, pulling your panties to the side as he nudges his tip against your entrance.

You gasp as the head of his dick pops inside you, spreading your pussy already. You dig your nails into his shoulders, crying out a series of swears the more you go down on his dick. You huff out a forceful sigh once you've gotten him all the way inside, your ass meeting his thighs. "You good?" he asks, looking into your eyes and you try your best to deadpan at him. "Yeah, 'ren. A big dick splitting me in half feels like nothing." He laughs at your dramatic display before bending his knees and placing his hands firm on your waist.

You whine as he thrusts up into your pussy, his hips moving upwards towards yours. You have no choice but to sit there and take it, his hands keeping you down on his dick. You let him piston in n' out of your pussy, hitting the sweetest of spots deep inside you. The weed and the remaining alcohol in your body had you feeling fuzzy all over but none of it compared to the feeling his thrusts were giving you. Eren made you see stars, he made you feel things no other guy could make you feel.

You would've never imagined actually managing to fuck your childhood best friend. Of course you'd imagine him fucking you intimately from time to time but you never thought the day would come. Now here you are, on top of him and letting him pound your pussy like it's his. And it is his, has always been his.

He lets his grip on your hips loosen a bit as he cranes his neck downwards, spitting onto your clit. You whine as he moves his dick deeper inside you and attempt to lift your hips but the strong grip is back, keeping you grounded against him. "Don't run from this dick, mama." he mutters, looking up into your red eyes with his own. "Gotta make you cum on it first."

He lets his legs lay flat against the bed and gives you a new rhythm. Moving your hips against him in a way that makes you grind on him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis. Your breath hitches as he moves your hips in quick motions, grinding your pearl against him with more force. The sight above him is beautiful, watching the way your eyes squeeze shut as your mouth hangs open as you cry out sinful things.

"Gonna make me cum, 'ren." you whine, assisting him by doing some of the work yourself. You place your hands on his chest, grinding back and forth against him like your life depended on it, squeezing his dick tightly. He lets his hands rest loosely on your hips now that you no longer need his help, taking matters into your own hands.

"Cum on my dick, then." he tells you, letting you use him as your own fuck toy. Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry as you suddenly come to a halt above him, your slick seeping out quickly and coating his thighs. You ride out your orgasm with a few slow grinds before collapsing on top of Eren, not even having the energy to move anymore.

He bends his knees once more, going back to drilling up inside you to chase his own orgasm. You whine at the overstimulation as he pounds your sweet pussy, the sound of your ass slapping against his thighs echoing throughout the room. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." he grits out against clenched teeth, fucking into you with more vigor. Your whimpers turn to pants as he pulls out of you, cumming all over your pelvis and a bit spurting onto his own. He joins you in your fit of pants, letting you lay against him despite the sticky feeling between your bodies.

Your breathing calms down along with your heart, the thumps of your heart beat aligning with his. You appear to have clocked out instantly after his orgasm, head laying lazily on his shoulder as you breathe softly against him. The only thing on his mind now is having to clean up this sinful mess and the fact that he just fucked the shit out of his best friend.

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ✩

#eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren aot #eren jeager smut #eren jaeger smut #how tf do you spell this mfs last name is it jaeger? jeager? yaeger?? idfk #shingeki no kyojin #eren aot smut #black writers

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