#its shit like THIS that makes me TERRIFIED to bring shit up to my therapist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lynnlovesthestars · 5 months

Text

Serendipity.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Lynn, changeling.)

Genre: fluff? idk not gonna lie..

Warnings: blood sucking, messy kisses?, my messy writing is a warning by itself.. honestly not much..

wc: 1.7k? fairly short but it was a blurb i accidentally wrote at 3 am.

summary: astarion was supposed to have a meal and ended up catching feelings- or something like that.

AN: as i said its messy, maybe i should have sent it to someone to beta read it but also my therapist told me to not give a shit n post.. anyways i hope it was somewhat good cause im low on motivation lately ahah!\

Taglist: @spacebarbarianweird @sessils

Masterlist

Taglist requests

Kofi

Lynn and Astarion had built a small feeding routine over the few weeks they had started traveling together, where the changeling would offer him blood a few times a week when he didn’t get injured.

The changeling didn't expect to be so affected by their little plan. It was supposed to be easy: feeding and leaving, nothing more and nothing less. So how did he end up in a weird tangle of emotions?

Lynn had forbidden himself from feeling anything but anger, yet he couldn't stop his heart from going batshit crazy whenever the two Were close.

That day Lynn had been feeling cold, as the lack of sun in the underdark would expect, the reason why, when Astarion looked for him that night, he had found the changeling in a cocoon of blankets reading a book.

“I hope you’ll share that novel with me.” He chuckled as he stepped closer, crouching next to the bundle of blankets that was Lynn.

The changeling had not heard him as he sneaked in, and it became obvious when he had jolted up. “Gods you scared me” He held a hand to his chest as he heavily panted.

“Sorry, my precious” He smiled.

Lynn didn't like to admit how Astarion’s sweet names affected him, they had been growing closer though he wished for more.

Anyway, it was in these moments, when silence would dawn on the two, that Astarion would feel the ghost of his heart fluttering, jumping to his throat as he noticed those little details about Lynn.

In that moment it was the faint line of a cut on his neck, as if he had been decapitated and sewn back together. He wanted to lean in, trace that scar and press his lips to it. Astarion mentally cursed himself at the thought, he had been so drawn to the changeling, that whenever he was in his mind he couldn’t help but derail to thoughts he was terrified of.

Nevertheless Lynn was the one that moved forward this silence.

“‘Starion, you are here for your dinner, right?” He asked softly as he eased down under the warmth of the blanket again.

“Uh, yeah” He rubbed the back of his head. “But if you don’t feel like it tonight we can-”

“No please, come in here..” He invited him under the blanket with a soft smile, a smile Lynn had not wasted for many before, lifting the bulde just enough he could slide in without dispersing too much heat. “It’s cold tonight, like this we will be warm” He murmured tenderly.

The elf swore he felt like everything faded away from around him as he was engulfed by the comfort of the duvet and Lynn’s closeness. It was so much and not enough at the same time.

“There you go” The changeling laid on his side to make more room for Astarion as he moved his hair to the side to expose the raw pinpricks on his neck.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to ruin your blanket accidentally” Astarion murmured as he gently traced the hollows where his fangs last bit.

Lynn couldn’t hide the goosebumps that settled on his skin as he nodded and as his usual he wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist, helping Astarion relax in the intimacy of the moment.

Neither of them knew how they did it, how the simple act of wrapping one’s arms around someone to bring them close, could ease any uncomfortable feeling that could go through them.

Lynn felt his throat suddenly going dry, as Astarion grazed Lynn’s neck with his lips, his face warmed up with a flush, and for a moment he was glad Astarion could not notice the blush.

It felt as if he wanted to leave a kiss against the pale skin, but just the remote thought would make him run.

It didn’t matter how many times he’d be cradled in his arms and felt the sting of the bite pierce through his body, Lynn would always feel his heart race when Astarion’s lips would cup the wound and would start draining him of his blood.

In that moment, he felt like everything was amplified tenfolds, the way Astarion delicately held his head and clutched to his hip, or the hushed sounds he’d let out as he fed. The blanket, he blamed the blanket for the heat that rushed through his body, for the incessant thrumming of his heart.

He felt his body go through so much: he would feel heavy while simultaneously feeling lightheaded, he would feel soft while feeling rough, he’d feel like he was finally breathing while also being breathless.

Astarion wanted to be slow, tender, let the sweetness of the changeling’s blood rush slowly against his tongue, and get lost in the intrinsically private moment.

His arms kept the body from slipping away, as if he was terrified Lynn would walk away from the embrace. Not from the feeding, but from Astarion’s soft clutch, afraid of him.

Lynn hummed as Astarion tongue quickly lapped at the wound, collecting the blood that was still spilling out.

The two were breathless, forehead pressed against each other, still dazed by the exchange. They wanted to blame the closeness or the blanket that was shielding them, but that would have been lying to themselves.

Astarion’s fingers were still laced in Lynn’s hair, while Lynn’s hands now rested on Astarion’s cheeks, gently caressing the skin of the elf.

Of all the times they laid like that, this moment was when he realized how soft Lynn’s hair were, or how warm and calming his breath against his cold skin felt, or how delicate the touch of the changeling could be. He could feel his breath still affected by the softness of each other’s touch.

It was one of those moments where one would hope they would be sane enough to read each other’s eyes, to catch that feeling that was juggling between them, or they could read each other’s mind, cause they wondered if their lips would taste just like how they imagined.

They didn’t even speak, it was astounding how the two didn’t want to let go of the other.

Lynn had been the one to find the courage, he gently pulled him closer, tangling his fingers in his curls as he crashed their lips together.

On his lips he tasted what divinity felt like, as Astarion's grip became ironclad on his waist.

Their kiss was breathless, desperate as they couldn't let go of each other. When one would take a moment to breathe, the other would itch to close the distance again, lingering close until their lips were not tangled again.

If the whole camp would have been silent, the only sound that would have reverberated would have been their breathy pleas.

“Don't go” Lynn begged as he lingered close, earning another kiss.

This time Astarion was tender, he caressed Lynn’s cheek as he eased. His usually taught body became nothing more than gelatin as he pressed himself against him.

“Not going anywhere” He murmured as he kissed him again. Their lips teased, sucked, clasped as they desperately clung to each other. They became one as the night swayed between sighs and caresses. Their clothes were long forgotten as they laid forehead to forehead, cradled against each other as they let their tongues do the talking for them.

52 notes · View notes

cult-of-the-eye · 7 months

Text

Mag 81 A Guest for Mr Spider

FUCK FORMER HEAD ARCHIVIST

Wait I need to check the timelines - this was 2 days after leitner's death

New spooky music???

My man is so fucking dramatic I love him so much "grand of sand behind my eye" love the way he speaks

Yeah FUCK JURGEN LEITNER

Omg the greying hair is canon??

Child in the 90s makes him at most 27 GOD DAMN. I was imagining like mid 30s...can you imagine a fucking 27 yr old using words like "ilk" when talking to you

Oh shit he's an orphan poor guy

Yeah ok a lot of his personality seems to make sense if you realise he was raised by his grandma

You know those memes that are like people raised by their grandparents are exceptionally polite but in a brisk way, talk fancy and are super posh? Yeah that's him.

Getting such neurodivergent vibes

Yeah he sounds like a main character from the start Jesus Christ he's such a kid who got traumatised and then grows up to be a horror protagonist vibes

My First Leitner lol like kids had to be introduced to them at a young age like those my first toys

He's so funny I can just imagine him as an 8 yr old getting super like affronted at this like how dare my grandma think I am of subpar intelligence he's such a little bitch from the start

"The eponymous Mr spider" even talking about his childhood trauma he's busting out the vocabulary

Fuck that story actually kinda rattled me I had my hand over my mouth in shock for most of it

I think it was the bit where the horsefly brought his son and they were both crying that got me, I could definitely imagine it scaring an 8 yr old

The way it drags out as well, with the pages of the same scene it really heightens the suspense

Is his childhood bully someone we should keep track of?? Love how he says Michael probably cause he sees him as a bully lol

It's interesting how despite him bullying him (quite badly seeing as though he beat him up) he's still like yeah but he saved my life and that means he deserves to be remembered

My bro didn't save your life on purpose, he was just trying to make it worse and happened to come to a terrible fate cause of that

I guess underneath it all he was still a kid who watched someone die, knowing they'd get eaten by a fucking spider, he still held him in some regard

The way he specified the guy was his bully even after he was being eaten though lol

He was desperate to get the book back? That's a leitner thing I guess, the book makes you want to keep it so it can finish whatever it wanted to do to you

On my relisten (which I will do once I've finished the series I'm sure of it), I'll have to look out for any reaction of leitners name

I wonder why Jon didn't react more to Carlos vittery's statement, like it must've terrified him? I saw a post a while back explaining Jon's thoughts and IT WAS GENIUS it was like of course he doesn't react, he must be terrified that someone knew about his experience and somehow did this to mess with him or it was a joke and he can't let anyone know that the Head Archivist is not Good at This ugh it's so good I'll tag it if I can find it

AHHHHH HE REGRETS DISMISSING THE OTHER STATEMENTS AHHHHHH

HE FINALLY ADMITS THAT HE NEEDS HELP WE LOVE THIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT YES YOU FUCKING DO BITCH.

yeah at least he's right about Elias killing leitner

GEORGIE THE EX GIRLFIEND

ITS SO WEIRD TO SEE HIM ACTUALLY NICE TO SOMEONE WOW HIS VOICE CHANGES SLIGHTLY AS WELL HES LESS ACADEMIC

THE ADMIRAL

Awwww he's so cute with georgie

GHOST PODCAST GHOST PODCAST

THE WHAT THE GHOST T SHIRT IS CANON???? AHH THATS SO CUTE

Can he not go back to his own flat?? Did he bring all his clothes to the archive and then subsequently leave them there? Does he even have a flat??

God Georgie is so nice I would kill for her

It's so funny that an apparent supernatural cynic dated a ghost podcaster

WOW SEASON 3 OFF TO AN AMAZING START I CANT WAIT TO KEEP LISTENING IM GONNA TELL MY THERAPIST ABOUT THIS TOMORROW!!!

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #jarchivist #a guest for mr spider #the web #tma season 3 #georgie barker #tma georgie #jurgen leitner #what the ghost #the admiral

118 notes · View notes

secret-sturniolo · 6 months

Text

just a long vent. read (or dont) idc

not that anyone really cares, but i just have some things i need to get off my chest because im currently alone in my room crying in the dark.

let me preface this by saying i dont have any friends. i literally do not have a single person i can talk to. i dont even have a therapist because she just quit. the last friend group i had, i found out they had a secret group chat where they were shit talking and making fun of me. so, the closest thing to friends i have are my 151 followers and the people in this fandom. when i log on here and i see that people have interacted with me or like my works, thats literally the highlight of my day. so to anyone who has talked to me or shown me support, i truly thank you and i love you.

if you met my family, you would think we have it all. my parents own a successful business, they (appear) happily married, and my brother and i have everything we could ever want or need. but heres the truth:

my parents are alcoholics. every night its the same thing. they get drunk, they fight and yell and say nasty things about each other until one of them goes to bed and they sleep in different rooms. im the one who has to mediate things. im the one who has to send my little brother to bed so he doesnt have to hear them. im the one who cleans up the spilled drinks. im the one who drove us to the hotel when my dad was being verbally abusive. and when my mom almost died in the ICU a month ago as a direct result of drinking, i was the one visiting her multiple times a day. i was the one at home doing all of the dishes, all of the laundry, all of the cleaning, and bringing my brother to and from school ON TOP OF my own schoolwork and going to work every evening all because my dad is lazy and doesnt get out of bed until 1pm.

they swore to me that they were done drinking. and when they lasted 3 days and got drunk again, i didnt shame them. i didnt say anything at all. in fact, i showed them support.

wanna guess what i get in return for all of that?

i get told that im the one whos tearing our family apart, that if they get divorced its my fault. that maybe if i was nicer we would have less problems.

and god forbid that i have a bad day sometimes like a normal human being, because then i get accused of not taking my medications.

they also like to act like my mental health problems are harder on them than they are on me as if they didnt literally play a role in me developing them. a year ago i had to go to another state to receive inpatient and residential treatment because i was anorexic and suicidal. let me tell you, thats not a vacation. i have clinically diagnosed ptsd from things i witnessed there. all those times they had to take me to the hospital? yeah, not fun for me either. i promise you, nobody has tubes shoved up their nose just for shits and giggles.

you guys, im only 17. i havent even graduated high school yet. if this is what life is like now, im terrified to be an adult.

i mean it when i say that this fandom keeps me going. it makes me feel appreciated, even just a little. so if you made it to the end of this, thanks for caring enough to read this absolute dumpster fire of a post.

love you all <3

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #secret sturniolo

24 notes · View notes

sugaredrhubarb · 7 months

Text

15 questions, 15 mutuals

tagged by @woodswit 💌

whose blog ive been lurking on for a bit now and whose book is near the top of my tbr so i will hopefully get to talk about soon!

1. are you named after anyone?

first name not really (tis a common noun so kinda?), but middle name is feminized version of my mum's dad

2. when was the last time you cried?

the other day from a book i think?

out of the crying everyday phase now that we're a couple weeks out from breakup so thats a yay

3. do you have kids?

i'm pretty young so no. but, i have always wanted them (got called maternal from a very young age, we don't have to talk about what that did to my psyche)

4. what sports do you play/have played?

did very minimal karate, ballet, gymnastics as a kid and then played soccer into highschool until i was too concussed <3

5. do you use sarcasm?

actually something im trying to lean on less - i try to be a kind person and find i lean on sarcasm as a defense mechanism even when its not how i want to be interacting with people

6. what's the first thing you notice about people?

probably something cliché like eyes but also the energy they are giving off and if they have humour about them, if that makes sense? not sure how to explain it other than some people are just heavier or lighter beings

7. what’s your eye colour?

dark brown, i used to not really like them but got this insane text from a guy friend™️ once so there's that

8. scary movies or happy endings?

firmly happy endings, im an absolute p*ssy with a pension for nightmares so keep scary shit away from me

9. any talents?

I'm a good talker, always could improv a speech or articulate my point well which has come in pretty handy in academic writing

i also can solo the shit out of a canoe so

10. where were you born?

born and raised in the same canadian city

i like to leave breadcrumbs of mystery

11. what are your hobbies?

reading and talking about books generally, watch quite a few sports with varying degrees of intensity (love hockey but have had a harder time with it over the past few years with how bad the culture is), a lot of time looking at/talking about politics but thats also my degree

also not sure if it counts but i really do love being a part of fandom/internet spaces

12. do you have any pets?

a family dog back home with my parents!

13. how tall are you?

about 5'9 which i think is pretty tall and i am very self conscious about

14. favourite subject in school?

oo it shifted a lot over time. i loved math early on because i picked it up really easily but that was a really hard subject to maintain when i was in and out of school for health reasons. so it moved to the humanities/lib arts

always enjoyed english and I'm a Politics, Philosophy, and Economics(bleh) major so do with that information what you will

15. dream job?

aha thinking about the future is terrifying. i'd really like to teach in the polisci field just because i have so many thoughts about the importance of education there but every now and then i consider being a librarian

or the younger wife of a rich man who wants to give me his money for books and philanthropy would work too

absolutely zero pressure tags of those i love and/or would love to get to know better: @chai-isms @ceilidho @ohbo-ohno @heatherdewhoney @ghosts-cyphera @winterrose527 @thegoodbutter @bluemoonjeans

and anyone else who would like to but im shy and terrified of annoying people (ill bring it up to my therapist)

#tag games!#guy friends amiright #i find learning about the little people in my phone's majors or degrees so interesting #like yes slay the queens with crazy stem backgrounds who also have time to write incredible smut #i am a humble social science girly in awe of you

11 notes · View notes

colorcodedbeanies · 1 year

Text

S2E1-"Seven Thirty-Seven"

Season 2 let's fucking goooo. Said out loud "Jesse kill him" in this moment

TW: Sexual violence, addiction, police abuse, racism

So I mentioned in the last post that Tuco very much matches a white middle class Idea of what a criminal is. Violent, unpredictable, and indulgent, with a massive temper and hang-ups about respect. At the risk of poor meow-meowing him a little I think its interesting that this is complicated in this episode. Tuco PANICS when he realizes No-Doze is seizing, enough to turn the car around and seek out the closest help he has access to. When No-Doze dies, he gets angry, striking him again. This matches what we'll learn in future episodes (and in BCS). Tuco isn't necessarily violent for the hell of it. Rather, using makes him unstable, and that instability often manifests in actions he regrets later. To be clear: Tuco has definitely killed before and likely would have again had he not encountered Hank. He's certainly not taking any steps to protect himself or the people around him. No-Doze's death is really no one's fault but his own. The Salamancas in general tend to manifest their psychological issues and insecurities into violence directed at a lot of indiscriminate bystanders. But to me, even that capacity for regret and lack of control complicates that "stone cold killer" image that Walt and Jesse have of him. Gonzo is also complicated, worrying that shoving No-Doze's corpse under a stack of a cars "[isn't] very Christian", but I'll dig more into that closer to the end.

So we've got another pairing of eroticism and criminality, but this time its manifesting as explicitly sexual violence. Walt assaults his wife. There's no other way to describe it. She is telling him to back off and until she screams "stop it" he continues to ignore her objections. To me, there's two ways to read this scene. One, Walt is unexpectedly aroused by what happened. Something about the distress of the situation, (or very possibly, being yelled at and degraded by a bigger, younger man) created a sexual reaction in him. And/or, Walt is attempting to imitate Tuco as a way to cope with the fear of that situation. Tuco beats the shit out of No-Doze, Walt attempts to act out his fear and frustration on Skyler's body (including shoving her forcefully against the fridge). Skyler even explicitly attributes it to fear, though she believes it stems from his cancer anxieties. Regardless, this isn't going to be the last time Walt attempts to imitate brown men who humiliate him/terrify him in a desperate attempt to defend his own masculinity. Bringing my inevitable cuckoldry discussion ever closer (threatening).

I think its important to give some due credit: Hank is legitimately making an empathetic attempt at helping Marie with her issues. He doesn't always say or do the right things with the situation (clearly being more comfortable tossing her at a therapist than having honest conversations with his wife). But the thing with dealing with addiction is that there's rarely a concrete right solution. He does his best (for now) to not lay blame at her feet, provides her with multiple support mechanisms, and is resolutely in her corner for dealing with this. Which would be very sweet to see if it weren't also likely some tactics he would make fun of a meth addict's family for employing. Its hard not to connect Marie's issues and Hank's work when the show takes pains to show Hank smacking a prisoner's cell bars after a frustrating interaction with her. Hank may be frequently disrespectful and callous to Marie, but he clearly views her as worth investing in, worth coaching through this, and is clearly conscious that she can't be held meaningfully accountable for what she does unless she has the proper help in place too. An attitude that does NOT apply to anyone who isn't his rich white wife.

It is notable, though, that the Schraders have clearly left this all as a secret in order to save face and keep up appearances. I went after Skyler pretty hard for how she responds to her in the moment, but I want it on record: Hank very much ambushes her with information about her kleptomania, and then immediately asks for support without a word of apology for either her distress or for keeping this from her. What Skyler says isn't kind. It isn't nice and it isn't empathetic to her sister. But she's also not wrong that she's being asked to just box up her feelings at a point when she's already under an immense amount of strain, which no one has really bothered to reach out to her for. They really are Jesse and Jake aged up, both vying to be taken seriously while also being mortally afraid of admitting to weakness in their day to day life.

Walt doesn't nail down the lie about the meth, writing off Jesse's concerns. Specifically what he says is "How much salesmanship do we really need? That degenerate snorts anything he gets his hands on." This is going to bite him in the ass next episode, but is pretty telling of how Walt views addicts. Unthinking, ravenous, almost animalistic, and importantly, with no sense of self-preservation.

Gonzo is my final note: he dies doing something innately human. He dies going back to rebury his friend, another gangster that polite society doesn't give a shit about, because its the respectful, Christian thing to do. He dies slowly and in pain, bleeding out alone. This is all extremely funny to the DEA, who pose for selfies with his corpse and cackle about the idiot criminal.

#breaking bad #brba #walter white #skyler white #tuco salamanca #hank schrader #marie schrader #analysis tag #long post #brba s2 e1

24 notes · View notes

climaxbattles · 5 months

Text

vent dont read (unless the curiousity consumes you i guess. if you know me personally it might suck)

i havent been able to leave the house since may and it seems like every day i get worse and worse

i just cant deal with anything i dont know why

i dont go outside, i cant be alone, i cant even eat too fast/slow or i just like completely freak out

i started therapy and this is the first time ive ever been hopeful about interacting with a therapist but i still kind of dread it every week. im not even sure its helping like maybe shorter sessions would be better but i use so much energy just getting through the day i cant communicate until its too late

i dont even understand what made this happen my only guess is that one of the medications i tried really messed me up (or i have a brain tumor or thyroid problem or something) because a few of them had really really terrible side effects and i almost had to go back to the hospital for the 3rd time in a year, but i dont get why im not getting better when i dont do anything and im not on those meds anymore.

and if it is physical i cant leave the house without panicking like. i dont know how else i would go anywhere to get it checked out unless it got so bad i had to call an ambulance again so they could lie me down and give me oxygen and turn all the lights off and hold my hand again but that also was like very traumatic so im afraid i would just completely break

my friend is over visiting and i havent seen her in forever bc she moved 4 hours away and i cant even bring myself to hang out with her because she brought her boyfriend and i already have problems talking to anyone but her even though i fucking live with her family and leech off them. so im just hiding in my room

i dont really talk to anyone much anymore and i dont even know if its Because i want to be left alone or if its something making me lonely/im upset about. it also kind of seems like people r moving on from me but that could be like entirely self inflicted bc one on one conversation terrified me even before and now i like have panic attacks if a breathe wrong let alone attempt something thats always scared me

i think like some of them maybe also have a seperate discord server i wasnt invited to. this happened literally months ago where i accidentally found out and its not really my business i guess. and i dont even rly know if its true or even used anymore

it just feels bad because i lost a friend of like 7 years and a friend i really related to but didnt know long because i took their side in multiple arguments and i dont regret the 2nd one but the first one kind of still sucks. the people i lost had a lot of their own problems that made them unpleasant but idk. the first person was kind of always open to talking to me even though we r both fucked up and wouldnt ignore me even when i sometimes would bc of my own problems

and then if there Is a second server thats kind of why the second person lost their shit. so its like Maybe they were right in a small way (they were completely fucked though they would like suicidebait randomly and ive never had any other friend do that so its still for the best i think)

it seems like i keep losing or pushing away good friends kind of. or maybe im bad at all friends idk. ive never enjoyed socializing so it seems like my fault probably

i honestly just wish i could get on food stamps and/or disability on top of medicaid but i think people are still insisting i can go back to the way i was before. idk if thats possible. i just want to be able to stop taking As much Directly from other people and maybe like. buy legos or a 3d printer or something. i dont have much to do in the house 24/7 and my computer is getting old. and i think the internet is making this all worse but thats like my only activity

im so tired

#sorry if u know me and think this might be about you #not trying to like vaguepost abt them though i just dont even know if its worth bringing up. and i cant even rly communicate #i forget if my irl friend has a tumblr #its not your fault i feel like this though if anyone does read this #i just feel like i keep saying the same things in vents to friends and i want to stop bothering tgem

2 notes · View notes

comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Text

Sensate Focus

A bitch takes one Human Sexuality class and gets stuck on the fucking Sensate Focus bullshit then has to write a fic about it. Its me. I’m the bitch. 😂

Warnings: Geralt is self depriciating-whats new, insecure jask, insecure geralt, overwhelmed by touch, big vulnerability, they’re in couple’s therapy, so like, its a rocky relationship, we got some connection building and cuteness in the end too, its not all bad, mentions of sex, nudity but like not in a smutty way, for once I dont think i used a single swear word? I had big feels while writing it i really hope they translated lmao.

I am but a humble psych major, not an actual therapist, so plz don’t come at me if shit isn’t accurate. I tried my best.

Also this is under a cut for a reason, not just length. If you are easily triggered by touch starved type fics this is not for you. It gets emotionally heavy plz read with caution.

____________________________

“You want us to what?”

“Come on, Geralt. You said you’d try.”

“I- no. Just- why? What’s the point?”

Both Geralt and Jaskier turned to their therapist, each equally confused and a little scared.

The tiny woman kept her face completely impassive and answered his question, “The exercise helps people get out of their heads and reacquaint themselves with, not only being open with their partner, but also slowing down and enjoying touch for touch sake. Without being so focused on the end goal of sex or pleasing a partner, people can begin to refocus on the connection attachment theorists claim is the underlying motivation for sex without reproduction in the first place.”

Geralt swallowed hard. This was for him and he knew it. He’d said it himself, he was fucking terrified of failure and rejection and that absolutely extended to Jaskier. His husband. Of five years. Who’d been with him for ten. Logically it made no fucking sense, but the woman with the PhD had told him this was rather normal for a child of divorce as if he’d said he didn’t like horseradish sauce. He didn’t see how being scared of your spouse secretly hating you was normal in the slightest.

He glanced over at Jaskier who sat at the other end of the black leather sofa picking at his nails. When they’d gotten married they’d laze around all day just holding each other and talking. It was safe and sweet and Geralt couldn’t for the life of him remember how it was tainted.

“Alright,” he grunted, “What’re the rules again?”

The next afternoon they’d carved out an hour and a half with no distractions, no phones, not even any music to Jaskier’s dismay. Apparently that was against the ‘guidelines - not rules’.

They stood in their bedroom, lights dimmed and curtains drawn, as much for the ambiance as for the privacy. Geralt felt his stomach flip flop as he stepped out of his clothes, feeling a bit ridiculous. It’s not as if this was the first time they’d seen each other naked, but it was the first time they were to spend ‘as much time as necessary’ -whatever that meant- touching each other, one at a time.

Jaskier dropped his clothes in the laundry bin and stood with his arms crossed, almost like he was hiding, “Right. So… Do you want to go first? Maybe go over things again?”

“Do you want to go first?” Geralt asked, immediately drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at the peeling skin.

“I just want to know why you look so scared, to be honest,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here, “Not scared. Just nervous.”

“Rules then?”

Geralt nodded, “No talking. No, uh, erogenous zones. No sex. No kissing. If you don’t like something or it’s a big turn on or it tickles, move the other person’s hand.” the weight in his chest lessened a little bit, this really was simple. Just touching Jask. Something he’d done a million times. Hell he might not even get anything out of it. He didn’t need to be so damned worried about things going wrong.

“If you get overwhelmed think about temperature and texture and how it feels. Don’t think about what the other person is thinking or feeling. The only bit that matters is moving their hand,” Jaskier added, his posture relaxing ever so slightly as he rocked up on his toes and back down.

Geralt stepped a little closer, holding out his pinky finger, “We don’t stay still if we don’t like something.” He said it more to reassure Jaskier than anything.

Jask hooked his pinky around Geralt’s and smiled, “No barreling through,” he agreed.

“Can I, uhm… go first?” Geralt kept their pinkies hooked together as he let their hands hang between them.

Jaskier looked surprised, but nodded fervently, “Of course!”

“Okay,” Geralt pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair before stepping a bit closer, hovering both of his hands over jaskier’s shoulders, “So I just-?”

Jaskier nodded and whispered, “No talking, love.”

Geralt let out an amused huff, the irony of the words bringing a soft smile to his face. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he placed his hands over Jaskier’s arms.

Sensations. He could do this. He was doing this.

Jaskier’s arms were soft, both in texture and in feel, giving way to Geralt’s fingers ever so slightly when he squeezed. He trailed his hands down over Jaskier’s elbows, noting the patches of dry skin over the joints that Jask had been scandalized by in college. His forearms had more hair, but it was softer than Geralt’s, silky even, and nice to touch. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s wrist and back up, watching as the little hairs stood on end but seemed to stick to the pads of his fingers as he moved past them. When he noticed the goosebumps he glanced up to Jaskier with mild panic in his eyes, worried he’d already fucked it up and made him uncomfortable. But his husband just nodded, a light smile on his lips.

Temperature. Back to task.

Geralt picked up Jaskier’s hand, holding it in one of his as he skimmed his fingers over his knuckles and calluses. His palms were warmer than the back of his hand and it seemed every spot where his skin had built up from use was just a tad colder than the thinner skin next to it.

He gently guided Jaskier’s hand back down and trailed his hand up his arm, ghosting his fingers over his collar bone. He thought about how much softer this skin was, and how it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild as he moved back and forth over the spot a few times. He liked the pleasant little pitfall of his stomach, not arousal but not unlike it, just a little higher in his abdomen and lighter. He moved his other hand to mirror his movement’s on Jaskier’s other shoulder, palms soon coming to rest over his chest almost on their own.

Geralt was so aware of his hands they almost felt numb. It made him think of one of those motor skills brain maps where it showed how much of your brain was devoted to moving which part of your body. Those huge chunks devoted to his hands must have been screaming.

Jaskier gasped as a bit of his chest hair got caught in Geralt’s ring as he swept his hands downward. Geralt gave him an apologetic look but just got a grin and slight shake of his head in return instead of the shock he expected.

Geralt continued, moving his hands in slow circles over Jaskier’s abdomen and hips and flanks, marveling at the warmth he felt not only under his hands but spreading through his chest. He let his hands rest above Jaskier’s hips, just at the bottom of his ribs and watched as his hands slowly moved apart and back together in time with Jaskier’s breath. It looked like such a small movement, but when he closed his eyes he felt like he was throwing his arms wide open. He tried matching his breathing to Jaskier’s, but that was close to overwhelming, so he moved on, refocusing on the texture and thickness of his chest hair as he moved up to his neck.

One of his hands stayed resting on Jaskier’s chest as his other brushed up the side of his neck with the backs of his fingers. Even with such light pressure he could feel the thick ropes of muscle and tendons under his skin. It was warmer over his pulse point and Geralt’s breath hitched when he felt the little thump of a heartbeat under his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, surprised to find himself taking a deep breath, not out of fear or frustration, but to sink into the feeling as much as he could. He counted the beats, making a note of how comforting the feeling was. The longer he held his fingers in place, the softer the beats became, until they leveled out to a soft and steady thrum.

When Geralt opened his eyes the beats picked up, matching the strange look on Jaskier’s face. Geralt moved his hand over his jaw and back a few times. He could almost hear the ridges of his fingerprints catching on Jaskier’s stubble as he traced over his upper lip.

He felt a soothing sense of familiarity when his fingers grazed along the outline of Jaskier’s lips. His body latched onto the feeling and he found himself starting to get watery eyes as he reacquainted himself with the thin pink skin. He remembered their first kiss and how much it scared him even though he craved it so completely. He remembered kissing Jaskier over and over and over when they’d finally said ‘i love you’ and dropped the casual pretense. He remembered their kiss at their wedding, soft, firm, and a little wet with happy tears.

An annoying voice that sounded an awful lot like their therapist sounded off in his head, “This is what I was trying to tell you, asshat. Focus on the positive.”

Geralt smiled despite the sharp tug behind his eyes that told him he might cry, and brushed his fingers up over the thin skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, careful not to press hard enough to catch and pull at the blueish skin. He traced his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and hollows, his chin, and his cupid’s bow, all with that same surprisingly pleasant near-tears feeling in his chest. He watched Jaskier’s eyes watching him as he carded one hand through his hair.

That was what did it, what made the tears start to dribble down his cheeks as his hands continued to gently comb through his husband’s hair. The look of wonder and relief he was met with was overwhelming. He felt a bit of guilt, sure. Guilt for letting things get as bad as they’d been, but he was overwhelmed by how much love he felt. It permeated his whole body and the air around him. He hadn’t even felt this in the beginning; this was a settled and sure feeling, not the frantic need he’d felt before.

Geralt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending a fresh wave of tears over his cheeks as he brushed his hands over Jaskier’s back. He traced his spine, counted every rib, and outlined his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers.

Their fronts were pressed together, but technically it wasn’t against any rule, so neither of them moved back. Geralt’s hands moved to the dip in Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushing over the place where his skin creased when he sat and Jaskier wrapped his hands around his wrists. A warm puff of air washed over Geralt’s face as Jaskier breathed a small laugh and moved his hands up. Surprisingly enough, Geralt was only amused by being moved, filing the information away for later as he settled for measuring Jaskier’s breaths again, now leaning into the full body tingle he felt when they both exhaled.

He wanted to stay right there for hours, but he suddenly wanted Jaskier to touch him. More than that, he wanted Jaskier to feel like him. He gave his sides a gentle squeeze as he straightened up and rocked back a bit, making the smallest bit of space between them.

“Switch,” he whispered, the soft sound coming out like crunching gravel in the charged silence.

He let his hands fall to his sides as he opened his eyes, a little relieved to see he wasn’t the only one crying.

Jaskier immediately reached up to cup Geralt’s cheeks and brush the tears away. It was odd, having to stay still when Jask was right there, when he could still feel the echoes of the sensations in his hands. But he stayed put, if for nothing else than the look of cautious excitement Jaskier was wearing.

He wanted to tell him there was no need, that he would gladly spend the rest of the day standing in the dim light of their bedroom, silently taking turns softly caressing each other. But rules were rules.

Jaskier drew his hands a little closer together over his cheeks, making sure all the tears were smudged away with his thumbs as Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of his hands was soothing, especially when Jaskier slowly brushed his thumbs over Geralt’s eyelids. As Jaskier dragged his fingers over Geralt’s chin and brushed the backs of his fingers back up and over his cheeks, Geralt almost started to feel dizzy. He forced his eyes open and focused on watching Jaskier’s face.

His tongue stuck out between his lips as his hands fluttered down his nose and to his lips. A wistful smile graced his features as he brushed over the chapped skin, pulling his bottom lip down just enough so when he let go it popped when it jumped back up to meet his top lip. Geralt tried not to smile, wanting him to do it again, but raised an eyebrow. Jaskier openly grinned and popped his lip a few more times before smoothing his thumb over it. He tucked some hair behind Geralt’s ear and cupped his hands around the base of his neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles.

A shiver ran down Geralt’s back as Jaskier brushed his hands out and over his shoulders, thumbing circles over the points where muscle just barely covered bone. Geralt watched his eyes, watched the little crows feet get deeper when he smiled and watched his brows lift up and together.

It occurred to him then that Jaskier might have been just as lonely as he was, that the exuberant extrovert he’d married wanted this as badly as he did. It truly never crossed his mind until he saw it written plain as day on Jaskier’s face; he wasn’t the only one with insecurities in their relationship.

Every bone in his body wanted to pick Jaskier up and crush him to his chest. The trails of goosebumps his fingers left over his skin made it even harder not to, but Jask was enjoying this. He’d even go so far as to say he was lost in it. Rules be damned, Geralt couldn’t take this away from him if he’d wanted to.

When Jaskier’s hands ghosted over his navel he shivered and let his eyes flutter closed. If he wasn’t going to break and move he should at least lean into it.

However, being held without expectations, without needing, or even being allowed, to do or say anything in return was beginning to seem overwhelming. How had Jaskier just stood there and watched him? How could anyone just stand and constantly be told with the light brush of someone else’s knuckles over their cheek that they were desired and cherished? When the hands pressed to his chest told him over and over that he was loved, what kind of escape was there?

One of Jaskier’s hands once again brushed his tears away and he leaned into it, lip trembling as he looked up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. Jaskier would have none of it, gently tilting his head down until their noses brushed and he was forced to look into his watery blue eyes.

He needed this. Geralt was terrified but Jaskier’s expression spoke of a yearning that ran so deep even he probably couldn’t put a name to it. Geralt licked his lips and offered a watery smile, feeling warm relief when Jaskier smiled back and ran his hands down his arms to rest behind his elbows. He squeezed the meat behind his arms, the tops of his forearms, the tendons in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily curl. Geralt didn’t move, he barely breathed, as Jaskier watched his own hands roam over Geralt’s like he’d never seen anything like it.

When he stopped trying to run the sensation faded to a dull roar. Jaskier’s hands were warm and his breath across his skin was gentle. Geralt might even admit he felt a little bit worthy of the adoration in his husband’s eyes after a few minutes.

Jaskier’s touches were light in some places, firm and grounding in others. Like when he circled his arms around Geralt and pressed his palms into the small of his back, resting his forehead where his collar bones met. Geralt had no idea how something so simple could make him feel so weak. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the only thing holding him up was Jaskier’s touch. When he rocked back, even if it was only an inch or so, Geralt had to fight not to follow him.

Jaskier rested his hands over his ribs, just above his elbows, and stared into his eyes.

They’d agreed to say ‘end’ with their therapist. That’s what Geralt was waiting for. So when Jaskier whispered ‘enough’ and gave him a gentle squeeze it was all he could do to bite down on his lip and keep quiet. Of course he would say enough. The one word Geralt had struggled with from day one. Being enough always felt impossible, but he could begin to think of it as a bit more attainable standing in their dim bedroom without a sound in the world other than their breathing.

He nodded and they both picked up their notepads and scribbled down the notes they were supposed to. Geralt’s was just a list of words but he didn’t care, he filled most of the page and chucked it on the bedside table before tugging on his sweats.

When he looked up for Jaskier he found him staring at him, worry on his brow and pen hovering over what looked like a second nearly full page.

“Do you, maybe want some tea while you write?”

He licked his lips and nodded, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before going back to frantically scratching words onto his page.

Geralt gently closed the door after him and took a deep shaky breath as he padded into their bright kitchen, running his hands through his hair. The kettle seemed to take forever with how fast his mind was racing, replaying every bit he could to lodge it in his memory.

Jaskier was just closing his notebook and setting it on top of his laptop when he opened the door with his foot, careful not to spill any hot liquid on the carpet.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, taking his cup and sitting at the foot of the bed.

Geralt joined him and draped an arm over his blanket wrapped shoulders, “Of course.”

They slurped at their mugs in silence until Geralt was able to take a full sip without scalding the roof of his mouth.

Jaskier’s voice was soft as he spoke, the air from his words interrupting the steam drifting up from his mug, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” Geralt leaned in just a hair.

“Why did you look up?” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as he asked and it took Geralt a moment to remember he was supposed to answer.

“I…” he took a deep breath to pull his words together before he mis-stepped, “You stood still and watched me, and looked happy… and I wanted to do that for you… but I started crying again and I-hm. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be there-here. Wherever.”

One of Jaskier’s hands drifted from his mug to Geralt’s thigh, “I was just worried.”

“Didn’t translate, huh?” Geralt asked, giving him a light squeeze.

“Not quite,” Jaskier chirped, almost giggling.

Geralt hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Now I know.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Geralt chuckled, “I didn’t realize your hips were so ticklish.”

Jaskier snorted, an attempt at sipping his tea absolutely aborted to save a spill, “I’ve never been ticklish, Geralt.”

Geralt set his tea on his knee and tilted Jaskier’s chin up to look at him, suddenly concerned, “What didn’t you like about me touching your hips?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile turned a little sly, “Absolutely nothing. In fact,” he started, taking both their half finished teas and setting them on the window sill before turning to envelop Geralt in the blanket with him, pulling him down onto the bed, “I liked it a bit too much.”

459 notes · View notes

malfoysstilinski · 4 years

Text

can’t even | JJ MAYBANK (smut)

MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

PAIRINGS: JJ Maybank x Reader, Rafe Cameron x Reader (slight)

SUMMARY: based on ‘can’t even’ by the neighbourhood. y/n is dating rafe cameron who is too busy snorting lines and hooking up with other girls to pay attention to her. she thinks sleeping with the enemy might even the playing field.

WARNINGS: smut, cheating, public sex, choking, hair pulling, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk

A/N: just to clarify, i do not condone cheating.

You were well aware that Rafe Cameron was not a good person. It had been nearly five months since you had started going out with him, knowing fully well that he had an addiction to thin white lines. Looking back, you thought you were more than stupid to get with Rafe with the mindset of being the one that could change him.

There was no such thing as changing someone.

Rafe would only change when he wanted to change; falling in love with a girl wouldn’t save him. At least, he told you he loved you. When he was sober, he promised you the world-- he set up dates and apologised for whatever fucked up thing he had said the night before, for whatever touron he had kissed or even slept with.

And you were weak-- so you kept accepting his apologies. Today felt different though. Rafe had sobbed to you the day before, promising you a date on the beach and said he would turn up sober and the two of you would be like a normal couple for once.

An hour later and you stood pathetically by yourself at the edge of the sea, kicking about a rather large stone. You sighed, guessing that if you got stood up again, at least you were stood up on a beach.

The evening air felt amazing on your skin; it woke you up and stopped you feeling so depressed. Instead, you felt angry. Angry at Rafe and angry at yourself for putting up with his bullshit. You weren’t his mother or his babysitter or his therapist-- you were supposed to be his girlfriend.

He would rather snort lines than meet you at the beach.

You sat down on the sand, your head in your hands as you shook your head. The dress that you wore had been bought specially for Rafe to admire-- it was his favourite colour and revealed more than you’d usually show, but you knew he would have liked it, so you bought it anyway.

"And what is a girl like you doing on the beach by yourself so late at night?” Those words coming from nearly anybody else by JJ Maybank would have sounded creepy, but you knew it was just him being his usual fuckboy-ish self.

As you glance up from your hands, JJ’s blue eyes widen and he’s taken aback to discover that it was you sat on the beach and not some lonely touron. He glances around, as if looking for Rafe or another Kook.

“It’s just me,” you grumble. “No need to shit your pants.”

JJ scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if I would ever be scared of Rafe Cameron. Bastard needs a plus one to even do any damage.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips at his comment. To be fair, JJ was completely right. Whenever Rafe got into fights, he always played dirty. He could never fight one on one-- he was too scared and dependent. Dependent on his friends... dependent on drugs.

The reminder makes you frown again and you look down at your hands, wondering how the hell you ended up on the beach tonight with JJ Maybank rather than your own boyfriend.

“Rafe stood you up?” JJ assumes, taking a seat beside you on the sand-- much to your surprise.

You and JJ were supposed to be on opposite teams. You were a Kook, he was a Pogue. You were complete opposites, or so you thought.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

“He’s a dick,” JJ insists quietly, shaking his head as he stares out at the ocean and the waves crashing near their feet.

You turn to face him, studying his side profile. JJ is handsome. Like, really, really handsome. He’s got shaggy blond hair he usually hides behind a snapback and a strong jaw, not to mention he’s built like he lives in a gym or something. Your eyes don’t peel away even when he turns to look at you.

“See something you like?” JJ smirks, blue eyes flickering down to yours lips.

For some reason, maybe its the constant emptiness and worthlessness that you feel, that’s all it takes for you to surge forwards and press your lips to his. JJ hadn’t been expecting it, his body nearly falling back a second.

It takes him less than a second to clock what’s happening and JJ kisses back even more eagerly, hand moving from behind him to grab your face. He takes the lead immediately, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip and with it swiping away any dominance you’d had before, leaving you to surrender to him.

Your mouth opens as you gasp, reaching back and holding onto his neck, fingers ruffling up the hair sticking out beneath the red snapback he wore. His large hand starts to move down from your face to your shoulder, smoothing down the soft skin of your arm and finding your waist. He pulls you even closer to him, chests pressing against one another.

“JJ,” you pant, reaching forward and grabbing the bottom of his loose tee, yanking it over his head.

JJ smirks against your lips and grabs your waist with his other hand, pulling you up off of the ground to sit on his lap, one leg either side. You straddle him and can feel the bulge in the shorts that he’s wearing, making you whimper. His hands guide you as you grind against it, watching JJ clench his jaw and hiss out in pleasure.

“Can I?” His slender fingers are tugging at the bottom of your dress that’s risen since you climbed on top of him.

“Obviously,” you whisper, leaning down to attach your mouth to his neck.

JJ groans as you begin to pepper kisses down his skin. You frown a little when you see a couple of bruises wrapped around his neck. You know his father can get angry with him sometimes, but by the looks of it, it’s more than occasionally like you had thought.

You press a gentle kiss above it, feeling JJ still beneath you. You continue to leave sloppy kisses in the spot beneath his ear, feeling him groan against your ear. The breathy sound makes you feel even more aroused and you shiver as your dress is pulled off of you.

“So fucking hot,” JJ mutters, calloused fingers trailing up all the way from your stomach to your breasts.

He bends down and kisses along your soft flesh, sucking purple marks on top of your breasts. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer, involuntarily grinding your hips harder. JJ lifts his head up and wraps a hand loosely around your neck, bringing you down to kiss him hard on the lips.

You kiss back hard, moving to kneel on your knees, feeling JJ shift underneath you to lay down.

“Sit on my face,” JJ orders.

Suddenly it dawns on you that you’re in a public place. Sure, you’re in your bran and panties and he’s still in his shorts, normal attire for the beach, but it doesn’t explain what you’re about to do. The thought is arousing but also quite terrifying.

JJ seems to realise what you’re thinking. “Nobody comes down here,” JJ says and you trust him, knowing he knows the beach better than you. “Well, nobody but you and I, I guess.”

“Okay,” you breathe and move to obey his order from before.

You’re burning with arousal as you shift your way up his body, eventually coming to kneel above his head. You shift and slip your panties off of your body, chucking them over on top of your dress nearby. JJ grins and practically licks your lips as he grabs your thighs, bringing you down closer to his mouth.

As soon as you feel his tongue on your dripping pussy it’s a relief. You release a long moan, one that would make a porn star jealous, and it only makes JJ want to do better. He eagerly laps up your arousal, his nose nudging your clit and making your eyes roll into the back of your head.

You lean down and grab his hair, tugging slightly. You feel like you’re floating on cloud nine as JJ’s mouth covers your pussy and he sucks, licking up and down your folds before he encloses his lips around your clit. You gasp, whining in pleasure and throwing your head back.

JJ’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs and attempts to keep you still as he sucks and nibbles at your clit, lapping up your arousal every time you grew wetter and wetter. His mouth was so talented, working you closer and closer to your ending.

JJ shakes his head against you, his nose buried in your clit as his tongue pokes at your entrance. He dives it in and out a few times, groaning at your sweet taste as his hands smooth you up and down. Eventually, his mouth finds your clit again and he does small, fast licks at it.

“JJ, JJ, JJ!” You whine and you’re cumming before you can even process it.

It feels like you’re breaking down on top of him as he licks you through your high, grip on you tightening in an almost bruising way. The coil in your stomach snaps and you pant, nearly crying at the pleasure of it all. When you come down, JJ continues to lick you until you force your shaking legs off of him.

JJ grins at you as you collapse on the sand beside him. His face is glistening with your slick and arousal and he licks his lips and swipes at his face with the back of his and.

“You taste so good, baby,” he murmurs, leaning forward and connecting his lips with yours as if it to give you a taste.

“Need more,” you pant as you pull away and JJ is more than happy to find that you’re already reaching for the buttons of his shorts.

He looks down as you undo the button, hissing and throwing his head back when you purposefully press the zipper into his erection whilst you drag it down. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head in amusement, unable to comprehend how an idiot like Rafe Cameron got so lucky to be with a girl like you.

You’re pulling his shorts and his underwear down next, allowing his cock to spring free. JJ hisses at the evening air on his reddened tip, biting his lip as he watches you grab his cock with your hand, swiping off the precum with your thumb as you slowly jack him up and down.

You look up into his eyes and he can’t help snatching your lips up in his again. Before you can tear your lips from his to repay him for your first orgasm, JJ shakes his head and slowly pushes you back so you’re lying in the sand.

“No, wanna be inside you,”JJ says, kicking his shorts off and leaning so that he was propped in between your legs. “Is that okay?”

You nod, hands moving up to hold his shoulders as he grabs his cock and shifts. He moves so its against your entrance. You bite your lip when you feel him nudge his tip against your clit, teasing you. JJ collects some of your arousal before he lines himself up with your hole and slowly pushes in.

You barely stifle your moan as inch by inch JJ moves inside of you. JJ can’t help it as he throws his head down, resting in the nook of your neck and shoulder until he’s all the way in. You feel so full and stretched whilst he feels like he’s been clamped down on, your tight walls hugging him and nearly making him cum right there and then.

“You’re so big,” you breathe, rolling your head back as he leaves sloppy kisses against your neck, slowly rocking against you so you got used to his side.

JJ smirks. “Bigger than Rafe?”

The sudden reminder of your boyfriend should have made you feel bad, but instead you found yourself quickly nodding in agreement, boosting JJ’s ego and making him thrust into you harder.

“So much bigger,” you pant against him, wanting him to go faster.

It works. JJ seems to bathe in the praise, lifting up higher onto his elbows and thrusting harder and harder, experimenting with the angles he was hitting, waiting to see which one made you moan the loudest.

When he hit the right spot you nearly screeched, your hands clawing at his back. JJ grins and bites down on his lip as he works to thrust his cock in and out of you faster.

“Does Rafe make you moan like this?” JJ groans. “Does Rafe fuck you like this where anybody can see?”

“No,” you shake your head, fighting back the moans as you feel yourself pulse around him.

He grabs you and slides out of you. You whine at the emptiness you feel but grow more excited when JJ flips you around so that you’re on your hands and knees. His hand smoothes down your back before he slaps your ass, leaving a red hand print. He squeezes it as he slides back into your slick heat.

“JJ,” you whimper.

He reaches forward and bunches your hair up as he slams into you, the sounds of your bodies hitting against each other mixing with the crashing of the waves. He tugs you up roughly so your back is pressed against his chest.

“Who makes you moan like this?” JJ demands, hissing against your ear as his other hand reaches around to grab you by the neck. “Who fucks you this good?”

“You do, you do,” you cry, tears leaking down your face as you come closer and closer to your high. “JJ. JJ!”

“Cum for me, darlin’,” JJ grits his teeth as he pounds into you from behind, his hand moving from your hair to rub at your clit harshly.

“Fuck,” you sob as you cum, your walls clenching around him.

The orgasm is easily the best one you’ve ever had-- truly better than anything Rafe’s ever given you. You hear JJ’s breathy moans from behind you and feel his thrusts grow sloppier and less even.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warns you.

“In me, in me,” you plead. “Cum inside me, JJ.”

Your voice saying that is possibly the hottest thing that JJ’s ever heard and he find himself obeying. He shudders against you, his hips snapping frantically to chase his high before his cock shoots spurts of cum deep inside you, the hot liquid filling you up and covering your walls.

You both moan at the feeling, JJ remaining deep inside you until he has nothing more to give. He pulls out after a moment and the two of you collapse down onto the sand, your head next to his. You can feel your releases spilling from your pussy and dripping down your legs.

“Oh my God,” the sudden realisation of what you just did creeps up on you and you’re scrambling for your underwear and your dress.

JJ watches, disappointed to see you leave so quick. He thought for a split second that maybe you would have laid with him for a bit-- not that he was usually one for aftercare. Normally, he was the first to leave.

“I have to go,” you blurt. “Please don’t mention this to Rafe...”

JJ pulls up his underwear and frowns as he watches you grab your bag and straighten your dress up.

“I’m sorry,” you run your hand through your messed up hair. “This should have never happened.”

But as you rush away, most likely to go find your drug addict of a boyfriend himself, JJ can’t help but disagree. It happened for a reason.

Maybe I will do a part two where Rafe finds out?

PART TWO

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks imagine #outerbanks imagine #obx imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj imagine #jj maybank x reader

599 notes · View notes

4x4girl · 2 years

Text

Hurt feelings..

Sometimes I’m reminded that I’m still growing as a person and learning how I treat people may not always be taken the way I mean, or its just not the kindest way to treat someone and my sarcastic side has come out too strongly…I do my best to treat others with respect and care. Sometimes I do great and others I fail in a way that always catches me off guard. No matter how self aware I try to be or how observant I am of others and their tale tells they give me, I will always have room to grow and be better.

Doing this.. being mindful and trying to be positive In A shit storm of a world.. I am reminded of people like Robin Williams, Anthony Bourdain, Tim Bergling, aka Avicii.. all people that brought joy to so many in the form of laughter, adventure, and music etc. I’m reminded of people that despite their efforts to bring happiness to others have found happiness elusive at best for themselves for one reason or another. It breaks my heart to think about the pain they must have been in. How alone and at rock bottom. These people are known as strong people to the world around them. Their outsides made of stone and inside everything was crumbling…

I can’t say I’m suicidal. But I can say I feel I can relate to them… I feel that loneliness and sadness. I feel that pain. So many other people do too. I want to hug them all and tell them it will all be ok. Even though inside I’m screaming as it feels I’m walking on the edge of a cliff and the slightest misstep and I could just fall. But I do have some solid footing, but not consistent enough for me to depend on completely. Did I mention I’m terrified of heights as well? The anxiety, the over compensating, the constant of always never feeling wanted or enough. To feel replaceable and temporary. Those are the things I feel so often anymore. Singular or collective they are the missteps.

Today

My feelings were hurt. Someone I care about and love said something that hurt. It wasn’t anything more then a sarcastic comment. Not meant to be taken as seriously as I felt it. The comment was followed by an interaction between them and someone else. Which further hurt as they were talking about hanging out in a couple days. I haven’t been able to get any time spent with this person. Times I’ve needed this person and shared some hard things I was dealing with I was disregarded so the conversation could turn to whatever it was they wanted to talk about. I understand this person isn’t a good friend. I just was hoping they knew me enough to know when I needed my friend. I always would defend them saying “they’re not a good friend with the day to day. But always there for you when ever you really need it.”. I needed them and they weren’t there.. and continually make me feel as though I’m just not important enough.

I truly don’t know what the purpose of this post was going to be. It’s 4/20/22 and im stoned and in my feelings. Struggling with depression and a serious lack of a support team in many aspects of my life these days. Im going to just keep smoking… it’ll all fade away soon enough and I’ll lay in bed, snuggling my fur kids and listening to music. Tomorrow is another day.

To anyone struggling with any of the things I mentioned.. first off im so sorry you’re having to go through that. And also, I understand it’s hard. I want to encourage you if you’re able, to talk to someone. A counselor or therapist. Even if it just means having another empathetic human to hear you when you speak and share. But if not, read, research, find ways to help yourself, never stop striving to be better, even if that means getting out of bed and taking a shower is better then laying in bed all day is a step for you. It’s little victories that add up. I try to tell myself that allll the time.

Though today is a bad day.. I look to tomorrow and tell myself Ive survived today.

#me #personal #struggle #depression #friendship #friend #hurt #lonely

5 notes · View notes

shattered-catalyst · 3 years

Text

OCD Subtypes for the RPC

Part 1 is here

Well well well, we are back for Part 2 of the Roleplayer’s Guide to OCD.

Fellow Ocd Folks, I see you in those tags and I'm going to do my best to ensure those obsessions are represented here- BUT understand that physically it is not going to be possible to list every single one because I am one person. Regardless its incredibly brave of you all to rb and add things in the tags, I know its hard to talk about this shit and I see you. I see you.

Resultantly I typed this out and posted it in formatting to assist with accessibility in mind; if you cannot read it still ( I tried Im sorry!) i recommend the copy and paste method or getting the chrome extension bee-line reader.

There will be grammatical and spelling mistakes. Im sure spacing is odd some places, but you have to understand doing this is extremely anxiety provoking for me so Im just getting it done when I can.

Remember to use your critical thinking; not everyone has the same symptoms/compulsions/triggers and all that.

OCD is fluid. Its like liquid mercury. One day its a handful of subtypes another day its another different serving.

If you are in general squicked about certain topics even by mention read ahead with your own judgement. Remember us folks that have OCD have many disturbing and distressing experiences so if you are writing a character who has OCD and you can’t read about it just don’t give them that obsessive thought/ compulsion. Make sure writing is still a safe and enjoyable hobby for yourself first and foremost.

But ethically and morally I cannot and will not leave out the more disturbing bits. You have the ability to scroll by, I and many others do not get the chance to escape triggering content that our own mind creates.

So read ahead with your best judgement or at least skip around the squicky parts and educate yourself on what OCD is so people quite using it as a Obsessive Christmas/Corgi/Cat Disorder thing. Alright? Cool beans.

Okay so you made it passed post 1 and got under the read more. Give yourself a gold star for diving into this monster of a document.

Below is a crash course it is not meant to replace actual psychoeducation, personal research, or google. Honestly most of us do our research extensively but because OCD is treated so horribly by social media, media, and society in general.

I wasn’t sure where to throw these together because the education tools to learn fully about OCD are very specialized and thus very restricted. I found that many people DO have these experiences with OCD though so I will represent them throughout. I’ll also sprinkle some of my own experiences so you can get a good reference of a person who has the disorder and not just a randomly generated person.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

So OCD is made up of Obsessions, Trigger, Intrusive thought, Misinterpretation/feared consequence,Somatic and Psychological Anxiety, and Compulsions/Rituals.

Your character may not be able to list all of these. In fact if they aren't in ERP therapy they may not be able to puzzle these things out. But YOU as the writer should know them. Your character won’t be walking around talking to just ANYONE that they have OCD. Remember a huge aspect of OCD is it’s Shame. The disorder makes us feel intense shame regarding our intrusive thoughts, as a result OCD goes undiagnosed for years especially if it has pediatric onset.

We won’t tell anyone what we are experiencing or why we are doing x y or z. We act like nothing is wrong because to emotionally react is to admit to yourself- and therefore the world- that you have had this intrusive thought and are therefore by virtue a horrible person.[For further information I would suggest also researching PANDAS].

It may be noticeable if your character has an intrusive thought. They may wince or grimace or roll their eyes certainly, but they won’t open up to Joe at the cafe about how their brain is constantly torturing them. I apparently have a very noticeable eye twitch.

Depending on the nature of the intrusive thought it will get more or less of a reaction out of me. Its usually dependent on how distressing the intrusive thought is and/or if its a new one.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You see OCD doesn’t sit still. It never looks the same. You’ll have your long haul intrusive thoughts that are with you for years but then you’ll have weird ass ones that just appear and demand their voice be heard yelling about cars hitting people or squirrels getting eaten.

Some people have similar ones! So while everyone is different there will always be someone out there with an intrusive thought similar to yours.

For instance; I bonded emotionally with a lady on reddit because we both have intrusive thoughts during storms that animals and the homeless are dying. We were both horribly relieved to find another person and also distressed that every snow or rain storm brings horrible images and whispers to your mind that while you are warm and snug in bed someone is freezing to death. And its all your fault.

Some days are better than others. As with all mental illnesses it isn’t CONSTANT ALARM BELLS. Some days it will be all alarms and other days it will be like a gentle whisper on the breeze. You can almost not notice it. Almost.

Obsessive thoughts run the gauntlet from ‘i will/could have/may/may accidentally harm etc’ something that you hold of value. This is any obsessive thought that you have: you think about repeatedly and not by choice, it is very anxiety provoking, it is unwanted, and unwelcome.

Mine run the scale from ‘squirrel will be murdered’ to ‘being responsible for harm’.

Compulsions or ‘rituals’ are any behavior done to alleviate the anxiety from the intrusive thought and trigger object. In short, compulsions and rituals are not fun. they are absolutely not logical, and we know they are not logical but we are forced to do them. Thats why its a disorder.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To emphasize from post 1: magical thinking and the faulty link between thoughts and actions are hallmarks of OCD. Magical thinking can be anything from contamination to if I turn around three times or stare really hard at something the bad thing wont happen. Sounds weird and is weird and we know it is thats why its a disorder and not a delusion.

The faulty belief that thought=action is the biggest hurdle it is incredibly difficult to grasp, at least for me maybe some of you that have done further ERP can attest, that the mere concept of a thought not being the same as an action is completely and totally mind blowing.

Free will? Yeah thats terrifying. IDK about anyone else but free will is absolutely terrifying; what do you mean i could do anything i wanted?

Thats how you face OCD(WITH A TRAINED THERAPIST). You give in to ambiguity and the unknown. Its breaking that link between thought and action. Its incredibly difficult and draining. A five minute exposure leaves me in shatters for a week and two five minute ones had me ripping my nails past the nail beds with anxiety.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just a reminder: Do not have your character expose themself or expose folks with OCD to a trigger to “ help us get over with”. That is literally forcing someone with a mental illness into a break down and is not helpful. In fact its worse because a person knows about this intrusive thought and they tried to make it real. More shame and some trauma.

If you have OCD, more likely than not a family member or significant other has tried this with the purest of intentions. But it never works like that. Theres a reason that therapists get special training for this. If people want a post on ERP I can make one at some point.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Actually let’s drag me with the squirrel thing as the example- fellow OCD Folks get out a pen and paper and try breaking down one of yours;

Obsession:Squirrel will be murdered

Trigger: seeing a squirrel

Intrusive thought: Graphic images of a squirrel being murdered by a hawk/ impaling depending on the day

Misinterpretation/feared consequence: Squirrel will be killed and its all my fault

Somatic and Psychological Anxiety:intense anxiety, palms sweating, heart racing,

Compulsions/Rituals: Must stare at the squirrel to prevent bad things from happening,

Now imagine if that is every time you see a fucking squirrel. You have somehow become completely and totally transfixed on a squirrel and nothing is going to pull your attention away or the squirrel dies- which your mind is giving you lovely images of btw.

Cute right?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Below are the subtypes with general information/example thoughts/ and how some of these have impacted me socially because apparently some people dont understand that mental illnesses impact their social lives?? yall...

Social: This can range from ‘ i am constantly thinking i did something wrong so i have to ask for reassurance that we are still friends’ to completely unrealistic worries. Maybe its an intrusive thought that ‘ your voice is annoying them’ . There’s reassurance seeking, internal and external checking.

It makes friendships extremely difficult and exhausting. You’re not trying to get to know someone with an annoying frat boy egging on anxiety in your brain. This can also manifest as having strict rules for yourself and ethical codes.

My therapist likes to say she could give us (folks with OCD) a pile of hundred dollar bills and come back and they’d all be returned. Because OCD makes you so strict and morally confined. Which ISNT fun. Like I dont get pleasure over having to memorize the entire Code of Conduct!

Social Media: Its the bane of human existence some days and a lifeline the next. But what if everytime your follower count was an odd/even number it sent you into a panic attack. What if you spent all your time with intrusive thoughts that somehow someone misinterpreted a post or that someone is going to be harmed by a post you made about tapirs.

You may be forced to block people to get your number down or keep pornbots on your blog to keep your number what you like (see there is a use for them! We sacrifice those before actual users!) You may be refreshing your page every second because ‘what if you miss a message’. It's going to look a lot like ‘check check check check reassure yourself double check your posts check check check reassure check check FALSE MEMORY check your post etc’

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Clothing/Body Image: When its not Body Dysmorphia it can be OCD. Sometimes this looks like I obsess about a body part and therefore I choose my clothes/hairstyles to hide those. Some personal examples: as a kid I was sure that mind readers exist ( THIS IS AN OCD THING TOO I was so relieved to find that out) and that if i didnt wear a particular hat they would see all these horrible thoughts and it would be revealed what an awful person I was. So I wore the same dumb ass bucket hat for a year (or more I cannot remember but it was a long ass time).

I was once so fixated on being given a compliment on my eye color that I wore sunglasses (even at night) to a summer camp. And if any of those teen girls in that cabin that stood up and mocked me in a crowded lunch hall by singing ‘i wear my sunglasses at night’ you all owe me 40$.

Even younger still I had intrusive thoughts. Like say, if anyone noticed I was female that i would be kidnapped so I chopped my hair very short. I altered my appearance to be very androgynous and even switched to walking more masculine. Because omg if your hips move someones going to kill you thats just how it works. ( It doesnt help I later figured out I was a lesbian)

Your wardrobe may be impacted by OCD and yes so can your body image.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Also yes the fear of mind readers is also a thing; i always thought I was somehow faking OCD because yes that is also a…..

Faking: Do you value telling the truth? Do you detest lying ? Boy Howdy do I have some news for you. OCD is going to try and convince you that YOU LIED. Whether it was on a chastity pledge to get a free sandwich or in a conversation you just HAD. This links a lot with false memory OCD.

Another aspect is OCD makes us doubt we have OCD and tries to convince us we have any other diagnosis under the sun and we are obviously faking our OCD.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sexual Orientation OCD; It is as it is called. Sexual Orientation OCD is what happens when your brain goes ‘hold on what if you’re not this orientation what if you are THAT’. It doesn’t matter where on the LGBT umbrella you fall you will have OCD trying to convince you otherwise. From compulsive staring at members of the same/opposite gender to compulsively reassuring or checking with yourself to ensure that ‘ no no you are in fact THIS orientation.’

This can range in behavior from binge watching porn, staring compulsively to check that there is OR is NOT attraction,self checking past experiences and memories, analyzing your clothing and your lifestyle in painful and intricate methods.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

False Memory OCD; False memory OCD is basically your brain sitting you in a noir interrogation room, handcuffing you to a chair grilling you. It demands that you did *insert bad thing here*. This can range from anything from something Harm based to pretty much *anything* from other OCD subtypes. Which is quite delightful really.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sensorimotor OCD; Sensorimotor OCD is obsessive body responses. These can be ‘ I have to cough really hard and really feel it right in my chest and if I can’t get it right I have to cough until I do’. This can be counting your heartbeats. Trying to check yourself that you in fact have a heart and checking and reassuring that it is still beating. It can be hyper-awareness of swallowing or even swallowing repeatedly. It is anything with selective attention; ie its an automated process but your OCD is forcing you to be aware of it.

Your OCD makes you aware of the sensation of, say, breathing, and then it convinces you that if you stop paying attention to it you will stop breathing. So now you’re horribly aware and focused solely on breathing and breathing alone. It keeps me up most nights with the pounding anxiety fueled by the pressure of ‘if you stop focusing on breathing you will stop breathing completely’ or waiting to feel that last heartbeat in your chest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Existential OCD; You ever feel existential ? Existential OCD is like having a very aggressive existential crisis that turns you into NEEDING answers IMMEDIATELY. This can look anything from hours panic scrolling the net to panic inducing anxiety because you don't know what happens after death. The thoughts are like foghorns on a misty sea.

This sounds basic and the only example i can give is as a teeny tiny 7 year old I had a panic attack in bed screaming that ‘ what if im a dinosaur and im asleep and i wake up and my whole family is GONE’.

To be fair I did like dinosaurs a lot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harm OCD; This is pretty self explanatory but I will give more details. Harm OCD is OCD demanding that you will/could/can/may have/might harmed yourself/others/any living creature and that you alone are responsible.

This means anything from getting anxious driving over crosswalks because ‘what if you dont see one and hit someone and its all your fault and you hit someone go back and make sure you havent hit anyone’ to ‘im holding a knife so im going to accidentally stab someone’ to ‘ i didnt see my cat this morning and now im at work and think she must be dead and i am responsible for her demise.’

It can be as simple as ‘if i use a pencil i will stab myself in the eye’ or as complex as ‘ i may accidentally say a slur’/ ‘ i am going to say this horrible thing out loud if i cannot control myself.’ It can also be images of terror or racist/sexist/ableist jokes in your mind that repeat like a broken record.

(Please note from section 1 that this is extremely anxiety provoking and not something you would do. OCD preys on what we respect the most.)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

pOCD; Tumblr listen the fuck up because I am tired of seeing people get called shit on this website for having this mental illness. People who experience pOCD are not pedophiles, they do not get any pleasure or benefit. The thoughts and images are meant to induce harm to the person experiencing them. Children are normally the trigger for this and the resulting images can be very graphic. Again you aren’t attracted to children- thoughts of them getting harmed hurt you so your OCD makes you see them.

Know this so you can advocate for folks with pOCD in real life. Remember we are here. We are suffering and we are terrified of your children.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Poisoning others/or in your food; Life isn’t medieval anymore but sometimes OCD demands we have a food taster or that we obsessively worry that we may kill someone with our cooking. Personally I struggle with colorblindness so I am constantly fretful over cooking any sort of meat so it’s difficult for me to cook it.

However this also comes as; obsessive horrible thoughts of your cooking kill someone or that you have somehow/accidentally poisoned someone’s food (even if you haven’t touched it or been within a foot of it ) or that someone has poisoned YOUR food even if no one has touched it except you. You’re going to be picking apart your food or unable to eat out at all.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emotional Contamination: It’s similar to magical thinking and this terrifying prospect of mind readers. Emotional contamination can manifest as anything from intense worry over somehow gaining someone else’s negative personality traits.

Or that somehow by interacting with any role of someone horrible will make YOU somehow also responsible for the horribleness. There is usually a person or a type of person that is a trigger, but it can also be location based.

This is one subtype where magical thinking and superstition are apparent.

For instance; as a teen if a male was in my space or had physical contact;like shaking hands,giving a high five, being in my room etc. I would have to go around and physically touch all the objects that I perceive they may have also touched as a way to cancel out their presence.

This includes wiping off myself to negate even the touch of family members. It really hurts peoples feelings, my father was especially hurt by this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Physical Contamination: This goes beyond physical dirt and grime. Most of us dont have spotless homes because if you’re having a fist fight with your brain everyday cleaning falls by the wayside just like it would for anyone else. Physical contamination holds 2 things: physical contamination obsessions AND compulsive cleaning behaviors/rituals. We believe that a small amount of a contaminate can cover large surfaces.

Oh, and did I mention its not JUST dirt/germs/viruses. The list is expansive but heres a mixed bag of what they can be: sticky substances,dead animals,glitter (FUCKING GLITTER),negative words or language,colors, numbers, surfaces in general, food, people, and activities. There is also a hyper responsibility to protect yourself and others from ‘contamination’.

Strangely there is a magical separation between the contaminated world and the ‘clean’ one. Spaces designated as clean would be a bedroom/bathroom/workspace where you are most active. That space is where the compulsions and intrusive thoughts occur. Its not I MUST CLEAN EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. Otherwise I would be working cleaning houses because why the hell not amiright?

A real world example from a colleague would be a young man with physical contamination OCD is struck with such intrusive thoughts about cleaning that they refuse to allow anyone in their room or any animals in their home. But they are not able to even flush the toilet, take out the trash, wash dishes, or do garbage because of their intrusive thoughts.

The most famous would be compulsive hand washing but I feel it is important to also note OTHER aspects of physical contamination because everyone sees the hand scrubbing stereotype.

Other compulsions include intricate rituals, not touching the floor (i played X-treme the floor is lava during college. I couldnt let my feet touch the floor because it was ‘dirty’),excessive showering (2-8+ hour showers guys, 8 hour showers. Thats what we’re talking about.)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Relationship OCD: This comes as no surprise that yes you will have intrusive thoughts that you are somehow harming/ will harm/ may accidentally harm your significant other. Whether that be by physical or emotional means. It can look like ‘ I may have lied to her about how much I love her’, ‘ i may not actually love her and I may be leading her on’, and ‘ I must be corrupting her’. These can extend to certain physical activities with false memory OCD as a cherry on top. A great finishing garnish to leave you feeling absolutely dismayed and unable to trust your own perception.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Scrupulosity: Religion! Whatever that may be! Its a thing with OCD. With Scrupulosity obsessive thoughts run all over the board from; you committed a sin and forgot about it you monster to having to pray continuously/ a certain time/ until its right. What is right?Ask OCD that’s the only person who knows.

We are fairly certain my grandfather had OCD because he went to church for every single Catholic Mass. Every single day. Every. Single. Day. That’s not a healthy amount of attendance(I'm calling you out posthumously because I care Robert!). This can also look like: praying a certain amount of times. Praying until you do it ‘right’. Confessing every single potential sin. Cataloguing and dwelling over ‘sinful’ things.

----------------------------------------------------------

Symmetry or Just Right OCD: Symmetry OCD is the runner up for ‘most likely recognized on tv shows’ award.

Symmetry OCD convinces you that if *insert thing here* isnt symmetrical or ‘just right’ (a magical position or number of objects that makes 0 logical sense) that something bad will happen.

This can range from the known; rearranging things. But it also looks like buying more objects until you reach the right amount and even throwing out objects if theres ‘too many’.

It can range from ‘the walls are percievably not straight so now i avoid that room at all costs otherwise i will be trapped traveling the edges of the wall with my eyes otherwise it will fall in and murder us ALL.’ to ‘ this historical bust is one inch off to the left and now all i see is visions of it breaking against the ground.’

So that is what I have time for. 9 pages on subtypes and basic information. If you find yourself wanting me information all of this is easily accessible online. So go, be free and dont ever compare people to Monk again. Write Batman and Scott Summers with OCD. Give us ACTUAL representation and not throw away joke lines. We are here. Our suffering isnt funny. We deserve representation too.

#OCD #writing help #OCD resources.#*drops 10 pages onto your dash* whoops

42 notes · View notes

peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

clear the clouds (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: after weeks of bucky feels down, natasha knows exactly who to call to make him feel better

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

words: 2,030

trigger warnings: sickening fluff, also - please don’t take kitten rearing advice from fanfiction

notes: this is a birthday present for the effervescent @m00nlightdelights, who asked for bucky barnes interacting with kittens. happy birthday babe!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha was the one who called you – asking something many dream for but very few get to experience. It’s hard to transport that many tiny, wriggling animals across town and very few are willing to pay the exorbitant, arbitrary amount of money you had made some intern put on the website after the twentieth call asking about the particular service.

People, apparently, really want to rent a bunch of kittens for several different types of events – finals weeks at universities and rich high schools, bat and bar mitzvahs, once even a wedding. Why those event coordinators can’t rent service animals is beyond you, and why they always expect you to do these things for free is also a mystery.

No matter why those people wanted your kittens, you closed the service except for incredibly rare cases.

One of those incredibly rare cases, per the usual path of your life, involved Natasha Romanoff.

You owed her a favor from a few years back, when she made sure an ex-boyfriend of yours…well, for legal purposes you can’t talk about it, but Natasha made sure he never bothered you or your friends ever again.

Natasha’s got enough tact not to bring the year-long ordeal up – just said she wanted to “cash in” on your side of the bargain. You sighed into the office landline when she told you she was calling for her favor, the exhale so deep it was still audible despite the barking and scratching and the menagerie of other noises.

It takes you a second to collect yourself, to shove the memories back into that little box your therapist had you build and then tuck into the back of your brain.

Despite not being able to see her face, you can tell she’s frowning and has furrowed her brow. “You good?”

You nodded, then remembered how phones work. “Yeah,” you let out a small sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. You want the kittens at Avengers Towers this weekend for a few hours to help that friend of yours-“

“Bucky,” Natasha interrupts you. “His name is Bucky. And you should go out with him.”

Despite still knowing how phone works, you roll your eyes. “Didn’t you just say he spent the last week bedridden because of depression. It doesn’t exactly sound like he’s in the right state of mind for a relationship.”

Your friend scoffs into the phone, shutting what you think is a thick book for dramatic audial effect. “And you spend fifteen hours a day at your shelter because it gives you an excuse not to see people. I don’t need you to marry him, I’m saying maybe a coffee date would be good for you.”

There’s a pause where you search for a sarcastic response, but Natasha beats you to it.

“Actually, no,” she says, voice dripping with a lovable dryness you can’t help but admire. “It will be good for both of you.”

Another pause while you recalculate your sarcastic response cortex. After a deeply silent thirty seconds, you give up.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “But you and Wanda are helping me and you’re buying me lunch for that day and you’re helping me during adoption day at the museum next month.”

Somehow, you can hear Natasha’s wide and triumphant smile. “You got it, kid.”

And with that, you hang up before falling back in your office chair. You swear, that woman could convince you to do anything.

Fucking spies, you think before putting the event in the shelter’s e-calendar.

The day arrives both too quickly and not quickly enough – your brain caught between something akin to “existential dread” and “oh my God my friend is trying to set me up with her friend and what if it doesn’t work but what if it does” the entire week before the planned event. During the night before you down quadruple your normal dose of melatonin to fall asleep after spending three entire hours trying on all your clothes to plan the right outfit (in the end, you chose an unusually nice pair of leggings and a plan sweater along with boots cute enough to fool a man into thinking they’re fancy while still protecting your feet from the end-stage winter air outside.

(Also, the leggings and sweater are the easiest things to lint roll kitten fur off of you for, say, a date at an upscale coffee shop you normally wouldn’t even think of going to, but that’s nobody’s business and you totally one hundred percent did not think about that when trying the outfit on.)

You meet Natasha and Wanda at the shelter the next morning, you getting there before them to gather the necessary supplies from the back. Despite them promising to help you load your car with kittens and kitten-adjacent items, you still didn’t want either of them messing with the precious organization system you’d spent years perfecting (and years training interns and vet techs how to abide by it).

Luckily, with your precautions and time management – and despite Wanda’s need to kiss every kitten (yes, every kitten) as they were loaded into crates – you arrive at the infamous Stark Tower right on time.

Set up of the whole thing doesn’t take long, Natasha successfully leading the way through the maze of which is the expansive building. You pass a few people you recognize from Natasha’s stories and the news, and a few others who you don’t but still smile as they pass (whether they were just being nice or smiling at the kittens in the crates you were holding, you refused to decide).

It takes a few elevator rides, but eventually you get to the desires floor and room – Wanda knocking on the door after setting her Ikea bag of playpen supplies on the carpeted floor.

A response is nearly immediate. “Go away!” a gruff voice calls, muffled by the thick walls.

Natasha and Wanda both roll their eyes. “Shut up and open the door!” the former replies.

There’s no verbal response, but you do hear shuffling before the door opens to reveal a figure more brick house than man. His hair is messy, sweatshirt a size too large and solid black but with jeans that fit perfectly. His boots – much thicker and blacker than yours – are dirty.

“What do you want?” he grumbles.

Natasha remains unphased by the man’s demeanor. “We have kittens. Now move out of my way so we can set all this shit up and you can pet some cute animals.”

Bucky gives her a look and rolls his eyes, but steps asides and holds the door open for the three of you nonetheless.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky found in the middle of the four-foot wide pen, bewildered. He’s done a lot of things in his life, many of which would be impossible for (nearly) anyone else to accomplish. He speaks thirty languages (plus Morse code and ten variations of sign language), he’s hunted bears with his bare hands, he’s survived Russian winters and summers in the Amazon rainforest.

Yet, somehow, the thing that stunts him beyond reproach is a small play pen filled with about forty tiny, six-week old kittens that are all their own form of chaotic. Bucky doesn’t know where to look, let alone how to grab the ones that catch his eye. He’s terrified of crushing them like bug caught under a hardcover book, of breaking their tiny ribs or tiny legs or tiny necks.

He watched you intensely when you and Natasha and Wanda pulled them out of their crates, watching how you held them and which one allowed you to give them kisses and which one chased after the strands in Natasha’s ponytail. He noticed which ones curled up in small spheres in the corners of the pen, which ones immediately bopped about, which ones immediately sought out the bottle of formula you’d prepared and which ones nibbled at the liquidy wet food that had been scooped into a neon blue bowl.

Each tiny animal was different, and it amazed him.

There was this one cat, a fluffy little white one with one ear and splotches of buttery yellow seems the boldest, eyeing Bucky as if the man was this small cat’s Everest. The floral collar (one of those break-away ones, you had told him, meant to keep the kittens from getting hurt but allowing the rescuers to identify them by name and rescue identification number) has a small nameplate – a gold one – with “Squirt” etched into the metal.

“Squirt,” Bucky repeats under his breath. “Nice to meet you, little guy.”

The cat gives him a small, pterodactyl-like scream in response, as if the small animal is too young to speak in any other tone but “loud.”

“HELLO LARGE CAT,” he imagines the cat saying. “HELLO, I AM A SMALLER CAT. DO YOU WISH TO BE CLIMBED?”

Bucky smiles at the imagined conversation, allowing the brave creature to dig its tiny claws into the leg of his jeans just above his socked feet (he took off his boots when he arrived in the room, as per your request), the start to his magnificent journey.

“I do not mind being climbed,” the man answers out loud. For once, he doesn’t take in the entire room’s emotions and reactions before he says something – he just talks, even if that freedom from paranoia is only allowing him to speak to someone (or thing) that can’t talk back.

Squirt gets to Bucky’s knee before screeching once more, just as tenacious as when he was on the floor. “THIS IS MUCH HARDER THAN I EXPECTED,” is all Squirt says.

Bucky laughs, ignoring the several other kittens who are trying to claw up Bucky’s metal arm – each unsuccessful but determined to continue to try. “I’m a lot bigger than you realized, huh?”

Squirt takes a few more wobbly steps, tail high in the air, before looking to Bucky for guidance as the tiny creature stands on his thigh. “I WOULD LIKE SOME HELP, PLEASE,” Bucky interprets from the screeches.

He laughs, not moving. Another kitten, this time an equally tiny short-haired black cat named “Foosball” attempts to follow in Squirt’s literal and metaphorical footsteps, but gives up when she gets to Bucky’s knees. This, too, makes him let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re doing just fine.”

You watch Bucky’s interactions with the kittens intensely – telling yourself you just need to make sure he doesn’t hurt them accidentally. In truth, he was handling them the best you’d seen anyone outside your shelter in a long time – gentle, firm, attentive. His pseudo-conversations warm your heart, and the only thing that breaks your concentration is one of the larger kittens walking up to the barrier of the pen to scream at you from inside her prison that she was hungry. Natasha and Wanda had long left, citing some bureaucratic problem that was probably bullshit but, regardless of accuracy, left you and Bucky alone.

“What does she want?” the man asks, body still frozen as Squirt climbs his chest.

“Butterfly wants to eat,” you reply while you grab one of the syringes with formula.

“Why can’t she eat from the bowl of food?” he asks. It’s not accusatory, just curious. It’s sweet, extremely so, and makes you realize that Natasha was right – this is good for him.

“At six weeks, most kittens are weened from their mothers or,” you pick Butterfly up and hold her against you as she suckles at the plastic nozzle. “In this case, syringes. But sometimes it just takes a little longer.”

Bucky hmms, turning his attention back to the kittens before he speaks again. “Do you want to get coffee?”

You swallow, looking at him look at Squirt. “Like…with you?”

Bucky nods as he sits up, the brave kitten now on his shoulder and several others vying for his attention. “I, uh,” he swallows. “Yeah. Coffee. With me. Like a, uh, a date. With me. Where we get coffee.”

You giggle a little, both at his flustered speech and at Butterfly’s post-feeding tiredness. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” is all Bucky replies, the both of you now focused back on the kittens.

Dammit, you think. Natasha was right again.

#bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fluff #maya tag #lukis writes stuff

280 notes · View notes

floatingpetals · 4 years

Text

What Have I Done? || Epilogue

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past traumas, fluff(Is that really a warning tho?)

Word Count: 3900+

Summary: A bad break up between Bucky and his ex leads to a new friendship with the quiet tech he never had the chance to get to know. Relationships grow, feelings are caught, and boundaries are explored. Bucky thought he found his happy ending, but old memories haunt his future. He knows what he’s doing wrong, dangerous even, but he can’t help it. Can he fix the wrongs he’s done? -a requested story for @iheartsebastianstan

**THIS IS AN 18+ STORY, SO PLEASE NO MINORS!

A/N: And I oop-. This has been a long time coming, huh? Thank you for everyone being so incredibly patient with me. I hated how long I’ve been fighting this, don’t know why it was so hard to finish either. I hope you all enjoy the last bit of their story! Let me know what you think and enjoy!!

Gif is not mine, credit to the creator. text dividers credit: @writeyourmindaway

Chapter 12 | Epilogue | Series Masterlist

Six months later:

“Come on Wolf!”

Bucky chuckled at the shout from outside the little oasis he’d been living in the past six months and zipped up his bag with the last of his things. Even though he was excited, there was the bubbling apprehension that was festering in the pit of his stomach. Today was the day. The day he was given clearance from his therapists to go back to the compound and restart his life.

“The jets not going to wait forever for you!”

Bucky fondly rolled his eyes and threw the bag over his shoulder before he shot one last look over the room. Sighing softly, he headed towards the door.

“I’m coming. Chill.” He shouted back.

Shuri leaned against a fence post outside, flipping through her holographic messages. When Bucky opened the door, she glanced up and swiped the message clear. She beamed and pushed off the post.

“Finally. I thought I was going to have drag you out by your ear.” She smirked.

“Hey, the only person who can do that is my mother or sister, and I’m pretty sure you’re neither.” Bucky shook his head and brushed passed her. Shuri giggled and skipped alongside him, her arms clasped behind her back with her trademark smirk.

“I would say I’m a little offended you don’t see me as your little sister after all we’ve been through. You keep coming back no matter how many times I scare you off.” Shuri teased, nudging Bucky’s side with her elbow.

Bucky laughed and shook his head. Over the past six months, Bucky had grown closer to Shuri than he had been before. He’d spend hours at her lab, letting her tinker on his arm between his trips to therapy sessions and helping the farmers in the fields. Her cheer and sarcastic attitude was something he didn’t know he needed. She helped make things easier dealing with the separation from the people he loved back home and dealing with the trauma he’d gone through. It was like she was his own personal cheerleader who was willing to smack him in the back of the head when he’d go too deep in his dark thoughts. She didn’t let him get away with much. Anything, really.

Therapy itself was exhausting but also life-altering. There wasn’t one second where he doubted his decision to come here. He needed this. If he hadn’t gotten help when he did, Bucky feared to know where he would have been. There was no doubt in his mind things would have gotten worse and everything he loved, even the woman he cherished, would have abandoned him without a backward glance.

Now though, he knew what went wrong. He knew he wasn’t anything Vivian said to him. He was important, he did mean something to several people. And he still tangled occasionally with this, he acknowledged he isn’t a monster. He never was and now he could finally breathe easier. The little voices in the back of his head weren’t gone, of course, the therapist told him they’d never truly be gone, but now he knew how to separate them from the truth.

Their only goal was to bring him down, to tear him and all his hard work to pieces. And now he had the tools to fight back. He’d still have therapy once a week, Bucky wasn’t completely ready to give that up yet, but they could easily be done over the phone or by video call now. He no longer needed to be here.

“Are you excited about going back?” Shuri asked, pulling Bucky back to the present. He hummed and nodded, despite the butterflies in his stomach. Shuri narrowed her eyes at him, catching the hesitancy in his lackluster reply. “That’s not a very convincing answer, Sargent.”

Bucky exhaled loudly and ran his metal hand through his hair. He knew what she really meant; he just didn’t want to answer it. Truthfully, he was terrified. A long time had passed since he left. Things have changed, and he hadn’t left on a positive note. There was a high chance Y/N took his words to heart and moved on. Bucky wouldn’t blame her. He treated her like she was nothing more than a possession. Y/N deserved better than that. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from hoping she might give him another chance.

“Bucky.” Shuri stopped in front of him, her face serious. Bucky blinked. “You don’t have to go so soon if you need more time. You were just cleared today. We would understand if you needed to stay and you’re always welcomed here.”

Warmth bubbled in Bucky’s chest, a tiny smile spreading on his lips. It felt nice to be welcomed somewhere. Everyone here greeted him with open arms. This was his second home and as much as he would love to stay, he needed to go home to his first. He couldn’t hide forever.

Inhaling deeply, Bucky let out a steady breath and smiled widely. For the first time in forever, Bucky felt light and free. Yes, he was ready and optimistic about whatever the future held.

“Yeah.” Bucky beamed, his happiness shining in his eyes. “I’m ready to go home.”

“Requesting clearance for landing.”

Bucky buckled in his seat, inhaling nervously through his nose as Okoye made her decent. There was a frustrated grumble on the intercom that brought an amused smirk to his face.

“Oh for the- Just land the damn jet.” Tony huffed through the speaker. Bucky shot a curious glance over to where Okoye sat at the helm. She had an amused smirk on her face and winked at Bucky when she caught him staring. Bucky laughed, realizing it wasn’t because she was going by the book, not in the slightest. Apparently, not even she was above riling up Tony.

As the jet began its descent, Bucky felt the nerves in the pit of his stomach increase with each passing second. There was no turning back now, he couldn’t run away if he wanted to. Besides, Okoye wouldn’t hesitate to drag him by the back of his neck if he tried to bolt. Not that he would.

After a smooth landing, Bucky shakily stood to go to his bag. He’s been on missions where he might never return home from, faced villains that would turn anyone’s blood cold, but this- seeing everyone after how he left things. This was terrifying. He tried to tamp down his nerves and push aside the bubble of uncertainty that rose in his throat.

“I hope you don’t mind. Peter and his friends have invited me out to go see a movie.” He heard Shuri say to her brother. T’challa hummed and walked to the ramp as it lowered.

“I expected you to leave. Take Okoye.” He replied. Bucky slung his bag over his shoulder, grinning wide at the whine from Shuri and the frustrated scoff that came Okoye.

“I’m sorry. Would I be a buzzkill, your majesty?” Okoye asked tartly. Bucky walked up behind them to follow down the ramp, his grip tight on the handles to his bag. Shuri rolled her eyes and sent the older woman an annoyed glare.

“I’m not a child.” Shuri argued. “I don’t need a baby sister.”

“And yet, you were the one that filled the throne room with the chickens that took half the staff and me the entire day collecting.” T’challa replied simply, completely unfazed. Bucky snickered. He might have helped with a few chickens. “Consider this payback for the chicken shit we were covered in.”

Bucky turned to the laugh at the bottom of the ramp, spotting three faces he worried seeing and quickly looked at his feet. Tony stood at the bottom of the ramp, hearing the argument and smirked at the two siblings. Beside him stood Steve and Natasha, both looking excited and happy to see everyone. Bucky couldn’t meet any of their eyes, still too nervous that they harbored some resentment from him.

He hadn’t spoken to any of them since he left, both he and the others agreeing that contact would be nonexistent until he was given the okay. T’challa would occasionally let them know how Bucky was doing, but it wasn’t often. He was supposed to tell them he was coming home, but he couldn’t even find the courage to pick up the phone. Instead, he sent a short email of the news and left it at that. An email, he scoffed to himself. I couldn’t even send them a text.

T’challa stepped away from his sister and greeted Tony with a wide smile and clasped the man’s offered hand in a shake. Bucky heard them say their hellos, a few snips between siblings thrown in here and there. Hesitantly, he raised his eyes to look them over and noticed there wasn’t the one person he hoped would be there. His heart dropped. Y/N was nowhere to be found. T’challa walked off with Tony and Natasha, his sister and Okoye following close behind, leaving Bucky alone with Steve.

Steve waited for Bucky, his hands tucked in his pocket and a gentle smile on his face. Bucky stopped at the bottom of the ramp, his feet refusing to take the last step off.

“How ya doin’ pal?” Steve asked, his voice void of malice and resentment. In fact, he sounded happy to see him. It surprised Bucky. Of all people he expected to hold the grudge, he expected Steve to keep a firm grip on that. Blinking, Bucky swallowed and nodded.

“I’m doing better.” He mumbled. “A lot, actually.”

Steve didn’t say anything. His eyes traced over Bucky, searching for something in his friend. He must have liked what he saw, his smile stretched across his face. Wordlessly, Steve opened his arms and closed the distance, pulling Bucky into a tight hug. All the fear and anxiety left Bucky in an instant, his shoulder sagging in relief. He returned the hug full-heartedly, squeezing Steve in a way to convey his relief.

“We missed you, Buck.” Steve said genuinely as he pulled away. Bucky’s breath hitched and he stared in disbelief at Steve with wide eyes. Steve chuckled and jerked his chin to the hangers' door. “Come on.”

Steve led Bucky through the familiar halls, asking any and all questions pertaining to his time away. Bucky found it easy to slip back into joking with his friend, and the realization that in the last few months before going to Wakanda, Bucky had shut himself away from Steve. From everyone for that matter. He missed his friend.

Bucky knew what Steve meant when he missed him. It was a big topic the therapists worked on in their sessions Steve didn’t mean he just missed him while he was gone, he meant he missed him period. Bucky might have found a lot in Y/N, but he quickly understood he lost a lot of himself along the way by listening to the voices that told him otherwise. Now, he was going to do everything he could to keep from falling on old habits. He had to. There was no way he could put anyone else through this again.

Steve stopped outside the living room, standing off to the side a wide crooked smile.

“We figured you’d want some time to yourselves. Everyone’s going to the lake house Tony bought a few weeks ago for the afternoon. We’ll be back around seven for dinner.” Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder and took the bag Bucky still held. “I’ll go put this in your room. And good luck.”

Bucky frowned at how obscure his friend was being. He watched Steve disappear around the corner before shaking his head. Stepping into the living room, Bucky froze when he saw who was sitting on the couch.

Y/N looked up when she heard him walk in, her heart in her throat. She sucked in air sharply at the sight of Bucky standing in front of her. Her eyes raked over his form, taking in his appearance. He looked good. His skin was bronzed from no doubt being out in the African sun, his hair was pulled back into his signature bun. But his eyes, his eyes were what made her heart soar. No longer did he have the dark bags under his eyes, or the glossed over appearance in his blues. They were crystal clear and staring right back at her with an expression of longing. Y/N’s face burned, and she willed herself to shake off the astonishment and smile.

“Hi.” She said.

“Hi.”

The two didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know where to start. There was a lot that needed to be said, a lot of pain that was between them. Bucky counted to three before inhaling deeply. He waved to the empty spot beside her on the couch.

“Is it oaky for me to sit?” He asked. Y/N nodded and moved over to make more room, tucking her leg to her side and angled to face him. Bucky settled onto the familiar couch, his own matching smile on his face. Y/N knew she missed him when he was gone, but she never realized just how much until he was right there, within reaching distance. She could count his eyelashes, could see the health pink in his cheeks. She missed him so much.

Bucky rubbed a sweaty palm on his jeans and exhaled loudly.

“I uh… I missed you.” He winced at the lame start of a conversation. Thankfully, Y/N didn’t mind. She tilted her head to the side and giggled softly.

“I missed you too.”

Bucky forgot how much he loved her voice. His heart did a funny flip in his chest and it took him all his willpower not to melt into the couch.

“I guess it’s time to address the elephant in the room.” Bucky began. Y/N sat a little straighter, her face dropping to a serious expression. There was no beating around the bush for this one. “There’s nothing I can say to ever express how sorry I am for the horrible way I treated you.”

“Bucky-.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, his tone firm but gentle. “We can sit here and argue till we’re blue in the face, but I did. I treated you like an object that was mine to keep and hold. I didn’t give you the respect you needed or deserved. I let my fears and insecurities rule my emotions. I thought if I beat them to punch before they could be proven right that I’d win somehow. In the end all it did was hurt the woman I love. And God, I’m so sorry I ever did. You were my rock. You helped me bring me out of my lowest point and I essentially spat in your face.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She glanced down at her hands, listening intently at what Bucky was saying. Bucky, however, was trying to keep his voice from breaking. No amount of therapy could have ever prepared him for difficult this conversation was. It needed to be done, but god if it didn’t sting.

“I don’t know if you could ever forgive me, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you decided you never wanted to speak with me again.” Bucky finally said after a moment of silence. Y/N’s head snapped up and her eyes went wide. “I just want you to know, I will never, ever allow myself to become what I was ever again. I can’t say I’m fully healed, don’t think I ever will be, but I can damn well promise you that I will do everything I can to keep from going back. I can’t go back. Not to what I had become.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the tears that swelled to her eyes, the conviction and determination he spoke with shook her to the core. She hadn’t seen him in months, seeing him was overwhelming as it was, but this brought the flood of emotions she’d been keeping inside since the day he left.

He wasn’t the only one who went to therapy. Tony and Steve both agreed, that while Bucky might not have been intentionally abusive, he had toed the line rather closely. Of course, both agreed after a day or two to cool their heads that Bucky never meant her any harm. At least not knowingly. Nevertheless, they wanted to make sure Y/N was okay, that she could talk with someone who knew what they were doing about what she went through. Much like Bucky, Y/N found a little bit of determination to not let things go back to the way they were when he would come back home.

She knew her limits and had control of the voice she was finding in herself when she was with him. Her therapist helped her realized that yes, Bucky did hurt her, but he wasn’t bad. This wasn’t him. He was sick and was getting help. Help he willingly went for. She talked through whatever hidden resentment she had and it helped her see things in a new light. She wasn’t the shy quiet woman from six months ago who was too scared to speak up. Now she found a strength she didn’t know she had and Bucky inadvertently helped her find it.

Even at the end of the day, after talking through everything and working past the hurt, Y/N knew one thing. She still loved him. Fully and completely, she was head over heels in love with the man. If anything, this made her realize just how much she missed and cared about it. How seeing him in pain brought her more agony than she could have ever described. Having him here, in front of her pouring out his heart only made that awareness even stronger.

Reaching to take his hand in hers, Y/N scooted closer so that her side was against his. Bucky held his breath, stunned at how easily she moved against him. He expected her to recoil, to tell him she heard enough and had already decided that this, what they had was history. Yet, when she tilted her head back to stare at him, her eyes shown with love and understanding that Bucky never thought he’d ever deserved. He took in a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering shut when he took her smell. Warm as honey and sweet with a hint of citrus. She smelt like what home was to him.

“Bucky,” Y/N whispered, leaned forward to press her forehead against his. Bucky hummed and opened his eyes. “You weren’t in your right state of mind, the trauma you went through in your past was still fresh and then when you threw in Vivian and her treatment to you? It was only a matter of time before you snapped. I know that deep down you never would have hurt me, but we didn’t have the tools you need- that we needed to get you through this.”

“I still hurt you though.” Bucky interjected. Y/N sighed softly and nodded, sitting back to see Bucky’s face better.

“You did.” She didn’t argue. Bucky’s shoulders dropped and he turned away. Y/N cupped his cheek, bringing his face back to hers with a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “And I forgave you a long time ago. I could never hold something like this against you. We’ve all had those demons in our heads that do nothing but tell us lies and lead us to become worse than what we really are. I only wish we could have helped you sooner before it turned into what it had.”

“How can you just forgive me so easily?” Bucky asked astonished. Y/N tilted her head to the side the smile stretching across her lips at the shocked look on his face. He really didn’t know.

“It’s simple.” She shrugged. “Because I love you.”

Bucky swore his heart exploded in his chest. The hope he had suppressed sparked to life and began to spread. His therapists told him he was still too hard on himself. It’s not that he didn’t believe them, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up only for them to crash and burn when she’d tell him to leave and never talk to him again. He knew his girl was different, but he really hadn’t thought she was ready to forgive him so soon. The shock hit him, and it was written across his forehead in big bold letters.

“You-.” He stammered, swallowing thickly. “You do?”

“Of course I do.” Y/N laughed and snuggled closer against him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and tugged at his neck so she could press her forehead against his. Bucky’s melted in her hold; his eyes fluttering shut on instinct. No matter how long they’ve been apart, his body never forgot how safe he felt when he was around her. When she started to scratch the spot on his neck behind his ear with her nails, Bucky felt a rumble build in his chest and a blissful grin spreading across his lips.

“I’m not saying I’m willing to just jump back into where we were.” Y/N began softly. Bucky tensed, his eyes fluttering open. “Things have to be different if you want us to stay together. And I’m more than willing to work out anything we need to work out to make that happen. I do love you, and I’m sorry if this sounds a little selfish, but I’m not willing to let you go.”

Bucky let out a breathless laugh, gobsmacked. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to his sit on his lap. Y/N’s laugh echoed his, a sound he missed hearing the most, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He stared up at her, a light in his eyes that Y/N hadn’t seen in months. She was right of course; this wasn’t going to be swept under the rug and ignored. They had done that for too long before and look where they ended up. He would do whatever he could to show her that there was no going back to six months ago. That Bucky was a thing of the past. Things were going to be different and for the better.

“To be completely honest, I wasn’t willing to let you go either,” Bucky whispered softly. “But I sure as hell wasn’t going to force you to stay with me if you decided you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Oh really?” Y/N smirked. “Just like that? You’d walk away and that be that?”

“Yeah.” Bucky answered truthfully. “If you told me right now you wanted absolutely nothing to do with me, that you wanted me to get out of your life, I’d leave. No questions asked.”

“What? Really?” Y/N inhaled sharply.

“Yeah. I mean, it would hurt like hell, but I wouldn’t want to be the reason for your discomfort. Not anymore.”

Y/N stared down at him, the tears starting to well in her eyes for the second time that night. Bucky frowned, cupping her cheek and brushing the stray tear with his thumb.

“I mean it.” Bucky murmured softly. “You mean everything to me. If you give me another chance, I swear, I will make up for all the shit I put you through and then some.”

Y/N’s stared intently, a little crease starting to form between her brows. Slowly, a smile stretched on her face and she chuckled softly. Leaning forward, Y/N brushed her nose against him and tightened her arms around his neck. Bucky’s breath hitched and his grip around her waist tightened while his smile grew to match her own.

“Then I guess you better start making up Barnes. Cause I’m not letting you go.” Y/N whispered breathlessly against his lips before closing the gap. Fireworks exploded and a rush of euphoria swept over Bucky. He returned the kiss with equal vigor, savoring the taste and feel of his girl against him.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this, a woman who loved him despite all his faults and sins, but he wasn’t going to mess this up. Not ever again.

What Have I Done Tag List: (CLOSED)

@slender–spirit / @lilypalmer1987 / @dennnnny-just-wants-friends / @barricade15 / @sarahblueheaven / @aveatquevale- / @starkxpotts / @runnyperson / @neireav / @sgtbookybarnes / @swtwtrgin / @wearemightyghosts / @blushybryan / @alex–awesome–22 / @rebelfleur22 / @joannie95 / @sarcasmoverlordxo / @consumedbyfanfics / @huburtle / @farfromjustordinary / @badassbaker / @shynara51 / @imagine–trash / @robfangirl / @buckywhoops / @sonarsyndor / @ughofcourse / @heartssick / @itsmysticalmystery / @meowchickameow / @ambivalence-is-me / @marvelellie / @lkcarts / @littlephoenix-fire / @heartssick / @xxkimmilyxx / @crist1216 / @sideeffectsofyou / @slender–spirit / @phoenixwintersolo / @misplacedorphan / @diinofayce / @anamcg317 / @kimpun / @darkangeldesignstudio / @misplacedorphan / @otaku-dess / @sarcasmoverlordxo / @thegothicdancer / @withinthewallsofmybrain / @polar-bear-pjs / @scarletsoldierrr / @awesome-hoch-3 / @catsandbooksinafarawayplace / @wishingforahome / @lokissoul / @xxkimmilyxx / @shirukitsune / @hennessy0274-blog /

Let me know if I missed you, the strike means I can’t tag you for some reason.)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #reader insert #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel #fanfic #winter soldier #What have i done epilogue #ya'll this has been a long time coming #lord have mercy

234 notes · View notes

angiethewitch · 3 years

Note

hi cani ask if you have tip for intrusive thoughts and delusion(??) i am having not a goodtime at he moment thankyou regardless

hey love, im sorry youre having a bad time. I can only give you advice based on what helps me, it might not help you, but I hope it does.

okay, so. intrusive thoughts. theyre shit, aren't they?

remember you are not your thoughts. whatever horrible thing you're thinking, it doesn't mean you're a bad person. I promise, you're not.

the way I think of intrusive thoughts is a lot like how I think of my hallucinations. theyre a part of me. theyre like the self sabotaging part of me, trying to ruin my day so nobody else can. so try and extend a hand of kindness to yourself. tell that side of you that you understand why they feel they must do this, and that its okay. theres no point in beating yourself up over them, because then you're just being cruel to yourself twice. so tell that part of you that you understand, you don't have to like it, but you get that theyre just trying to help you.

try to express how you feel. write it down, draw it, it doesn't matter. it feels better once you can get it out of your head. just angrily scribble on a piece of paper if you want.

try to ground yourself. Close your eyes. put your hands on your lap. feel the weight of your hands, feel where your feet are touching the floor. feel your body moving. where is that feeling of horror coming from? mine is in my chest. describe how it feels to yourself. now think about what you can smell and hear. try and identify it. when you feel ready, open your eyes and bring yourself into the present. describe the room to yourself.

you can rant to me how you feel, you can go on anonymous and I won't publish it. just tell me how you feel if you want to. a problem shared is a problem halved.

I said it before, but it's not your fault, whatever you're thinking. your thoughts don't make you a bad person. intrusive thoughts are actually what you dread.

delusions:

im afraid I don't have many tips for this as I'm still learning to deal myself.

but try the grounding exercise we talked about above. if you find yourself getting lost in your head, bring yourself into the present.

try and look for evidence of what you believe. if you can tell someone else, ask them to help. for example, I get paranoid delusions of people following and gathering information on me. so what can I do to prove that to myself? you'll probably find there's no evidence. and that's okay.

I just kinda...let it flow. I try not to get stuck in the delusion. just carry on how you would anyway.

the fact you know it's a delusion is good. remind yourself of that. tell yourself "I know this is a delusion, it's still scary, but I know it's not real". be confident.

try harm reduction. so a big recurring delusion of mine is cameras in screw holes in the walls. I cover the holes up with stickers. don't encourage your delusion, just do things you know will lessen the fear.

if you can tell someone irl what you're feeling, please do. talk to your therapist or doctor if you can, or a parent, a room mate, a friend, a S/O.

acknowledge how scary it is. it's okay to be afraid. your mind, in it's own twisted way, is trying to look out for you. my therapist brought this idea up to me and its revolutionised my thinking. youre not stupid for feeling the way you do.

I know how terrifying this is, and im proud of you for reaching out. keep yourself safe. please don't hesitate to chat more if you want to. I won't judge you, I won't think youre crazy or stupid. this is always a safe place, and a judgement free zone. I got your back.

I hope you find something in here to help. I love you ♥️

#anonymous

12 notes · View notes

angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 34

34. it’s time we danced with the truth

Summary: lola and the band go to rehab, and lola has to confront her past, her fears, and her reality.

Warnings: discussions of drug and alcohol abuse and rehab, also angst

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky @lovehelpmewrite @marvelismylifffe @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @dramatique-moi @calspixie @aryssav @catsoo12 @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22 @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion @sighsophiia @fruitinthebottom @misscharlottelee @local-troubled-writer @redlipscrystalskies14 @kaitieskidmore1 @the-specific-oceans

{ MASTERLIST }

"I want you to picture your addiction sitting in that empty chair across from you."

Lola, who'd just come out of a week long detox, and had finally stopped feeling like death warmed up, stared at the empty chair in the unbareably beige office of the rehabilitation center's therapist.

"Can I get some water?" Lola rasped, craving a cigarette and knowing she wouldn't get one. The therapist, an aging woman a kind smile and a clinical stare, obligingly passed her a bottle of water. Lola really did want to take this whole thing seriously, but picturing her addiction as a person sitting across from her made her feel like an idiot. There was no-one there. No-one else had made her do any of this, why should she try and blame someone who doesn't even exist.

"At least you've acknowledged that this is self-driven, that's good, that's very good; self awareness is key. You are in control of you life, Lola," the therapist's voice is sweet, and Lola can't help but scoff.

"I wish I was less aware of myself, that's why I do all this shit," she snorted, and it's meant as a joke, but it's too honest by half, and the therapist frowns.

"Is that why you don't want to picture your addiction? Are you afraid to picture yourself?"

Lola knows she's not in the best shape, currently eight weeks pregnant and terrified of what to make of it, dead sober - pun intended - for the second time in six months, painfully aware of every terrible decision that has lead her to this exact seat.

"What do you see in that seat, Lola?"

"Nothing," Lola says flatly, and takes a long sip of water. The therapist sighs deeply, and Lola scrunches her eyes closed for a moment, forcing herself to play along, "I see myself."

"What does she look like?"

"Like me," with an implied eyeroll and obviously, Lola sits a little lower in her chair, trying desperately to ignore her growing nausea. She takes another drink.

"Like you now, or does she look like a different version of you?" The therapist asks, and Lola hears the scratch of a pen against paper. Lola takes a deep breath, another drink, and stares at the empty chair. If Nikki were here, he'd roll his eyes and make some sort of snide comment, and Lola would laugh, and her discomfort would ease. Maybe that's why they're in seperate facilities.

Except when she looks, when she really tries to see something, she can't see just one version of herself. She sees the night she was drugged while out with Vince and Razzle, sees herself that night, weak and crying to Nikki, making a vow to try and get better but not sticking to it. She sees herself chain smoking in Tommy's dressing room the night she tells him she loves him, so afraid of the pyrotechnics in the show that she tries to escape it by drinking, by letting herself focus on anything else. She sees herself, fully dressed in a hotel swimming pool, unsure of how she got there, halfway through a bottle of vodka, hoping she'll forget how and why she's telling Mick about her scars.

She sees a kid in a Queen crop top, asking for her first taste of alcohol instead of explaining, when Nadine looks at the scars on her back with concern.

"Younger me, I guess," Lola's voice is soft.

It had been escapism without having to go anywhere, because Lola was never using to escape her reality as much as she was escaping herself.

"What's she saying to you?"

"That it's easy," Lola doesn't realise there's tears in her eyes until they start to spill. She's looking at herself, laying on the pavement in her own sick, and blood from her broken nose, as the paramedics are hauling her into an ambulance, and she can't remember how she got there, which kind of makes it worth it, even if she's dying. In her memory, she's smiling, "it's easier than anything else in the world." Lola's voice cracks.

"Why are you here, Lola?" The therapist asks gently, and Lola's lip trembles.

"I keep hurting the people I love," she admits. Her voice catches in her throat and she has to look away from the chair. She thinks she's going to be sick, and its mostly the pregnancy induced nausea, but part of it is the painful self-awareness.

"I need to go-"

"Lola -!"

"Or I'm going to throw up on your nice carpet," Lola snaps, getting to her feet, stumbling from the chair, from the room, out to the nearest bathroom. The therapist calls to her again, but at least she doesn't try and stop her. Lola hates it here.

The facility is somewhere in Washington state, with more medical equipment than a rehab center is usually known for, but the patients here need extra medical attention, like Lola and her pregnancy. They take care of her, give her everything she needs, make sure she's eating healthy and drinking enough water and exercising, with daily therapy sessions, and weekly group therapy that she's kind of coming to dread.

One of the girls in the facility, another one of the patients, remembers Lola, but Lola doesn't remember her. She'd spent the night with Lola and Tommy in New York, and she won't stop apologising, even when Lola tells her she has nothing to apologise for.

"It was one night, it's okay, it happens to the best of us -" Lola brushes her off, but the woman is still apologising, almost crying.

"I smashed a bottle over your head, I tried, oh Lola, I think I tried to glass you, I was in such a bad place, I'm so sorry -"

Lola doesn't even vaugely remember what she's aluding to, but it also definitely sounds like something that would happen to her. All she can do is say that it's okay, and pretend like she cares. She's doing that a lot lately, pretending like she feels remorse. She'd probably need to feel guilt over the things she's done to feel remorse, but seeing as how she barely remembers her worst offenses, she can't bring herself to feel remorse for them. But her therapist ends up catching on.

"You told me you're here because you keep hurting the people you love," the therapist says with a level patience, "so if you're not sorry for the things you've done to the people you don't remember, would you change to stop hurting the people you love?"

"For them, I would," Lola agrees easily, which surprises her therapist with it's certainty. And then, unprompted, "but if they don't want me when we're all sober, that's - dude that's the nightmare scenario." She laughs, but it's devoid of humour, and her gaze is glassy as she contemplates. There's a lot of fears that Lola had been running from, that she's terrified to voice, and it's all she can do nowadays to distract herself from the reality of her biggest fear growing inside of her.

"Do you love them because of the drugs and alcohol?"

Lola falters, shaking her head quickly.

"And Nikki, you've told me you've loved him since..." the therapist checks her notes, "since you were fifteen; was it because of addiction back then?" Again, Lola shakes her head, and the therapist asks, "then why do you love him?"

It takes Lola a long time to finally find the words for her feelings, the things she's known for years but never been able to voice.

"He never gives up; he's never given up on me, and I love him for that, but it's... it's more than that, of course it's more than that. He's the most talented man I've ever known, and I mean no disrespect to the rest of the band, but Nikki... his mind is unparrallelled, and I'm always in awe of him. I really mean that; the music that lives in his head, the ideas and stories and everything, I've never in my life heard anything like it."

"I didn't ask what you love about him, I asked why," the therapist says quietly, and Lola's eyes go wide and uncertain, and she falls into a contemplative silence. When she finally speaks, it's hesitant, it's quiet, it's so unlike herself.

"Because..." she pauses, looking at her hands, "because he's the only person in the world who understands me, honestly, like really understands me," she fidgets, pushing back her cuticles with her nails, "I miss him," she adds, a quiet aside, and bites her lip, but the therapist knows to keep quiet, that Lola's not done, "I love him because he's the soft place I land when I fall, every time," she hesitates, a smirk tugging at the edge of her lips, "which I know is sappy as fuck, but despite everything, he still loves me, he still catches me. He's my home, you know?" She nods, bringing her hand to her mouth to chew on her thumb nail, finally looking at the therapist, "he's my home."

"Will those feelings change when you're both together and sober, do you think?"

"My feelings won't change," Lola says, specifically, and the therapist gives a gentle smile.

"I'm going to play you something," she says, and Lola watches as she pulls a cassette tape out of her desk drawer, along with a small cassette player, "you're aware that I record all of our sessions," the therapist reminds her, and Lola nods, chewing her thumb nail, intrigued, "well I recieved this from the facility that's been treating the band -"

"They're together?" Lola asks, eyes wide, incredulous, as if almost relieved, "are they okay?" And the therapist seems pleased that that's her first reaction, her first question, and reassures Lola that they're fine.

"I'm worried about her, of course I'm worried about her, I miss the fuck out of her, the rest of us are here, she should be too -" Nikki's voice comes filtering out of the cassette player, and Lola almost bursts into tears at the sound of it. The unfamiliar voice that joins his must be his therapist.

"She's in a medically-focused facility that's giving her special care and attention -"

"Because of the baby," Nikki sounds like he suddenly understands, and there's a sudden knife-twist of guilt in Lola's chest, but she stays silent, "I just don't want her to be alone through that, family's always kind of terrified us, so I don't want her going through that shit alone." Tears are welling in Lola's eyes, only made worse when Nikki admits; "I'm just kind of fucked, because what happens when we both get out of here and she realises I'm just the piece of shit who ruined her life -"

"You didn't," Lola sniffles, cutting in even though she knows he can't hear her, but thankfully, the therapist gently tells him that he didn't. Nikki tries to protest, but the therapist cuts him off quickly, won't let him dwell in that sort of negativity, and instead asks why he loves Lola, just like her therapist had asked her only minutes ago.

Nikki is quiet.

"Like, the real answer?" He sounds hesitant, too honest and too raw, and the therapist prompts him with gentle affirmation, "I could say anything; you wouldn't know if I was makin' shit up."

"Why would you lie? Who would that help?"

"The real answer... I don't like talking about that shit with people I barely know. That's my shit."

"Nikki, you don't have to say anything you don't want to."

Nikki's silent for a very long time, and there's the sound of shifting, like he's trying to get more comfortable, and then he clears his throat.

"She puts up with our shit better than anyone else," but his heart's not in it, "even after all these years, she still loves all of us bastards, and..." he sighs, but his voice turns soft and gentle, "and she makes me feel safe, okay?" Finally, he sounds honest, and sounds like he's mad about being so honest, "when I'm with her, I feel safe being myself, no bullshit, no stunts, no fear, just... it's just us, and nothing else matters. And I'm fucked if she doesn't want me after everything, but I wouldn't blame her, fuck, after everything she's gone through I wouldn't blame her one bit."

"You're his home too," the therapist tells Lola, who's covering her mouth with one hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Does he... does he know I'm hearing this?" She asks, choking on the words. The therapist nods.

"Once he'd said it, and his own therapist suggested sending the tape for you to hear, he seemed more than accommodating -"

"I need him to hear what I said too, I need him to know- I need him to know," she was sobbing, though the guilt from his earlier words, and she hears herself babbling, "but there's - oh fuck - there's only one problem, and you can't - you can not - send this part, please. Turn the recorder off, please." And the therapist sits up straight, on alert as she hesitantly turns off the recording device on her desk, and Lola's trembling hands find her stomach.

"Lola, what's wrong?"

"I love Nikki so much," Lola's adament, "but the baby's not his."

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x oc #the dirt #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the dirt imagine #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee #the angry lizard writes

35 notes · View notes