#and i can barely make myself do things that i enjoy

[jordyn14]

can you write something about joe giving y/n a promise ring please?! I love you’re writing!!!!!

Pairing: joe burrow x first person fem

Words: 2953

Notes: I mixed this with a request for a red headed reader!! This is small and kind of boring, but I still hope you enjoy!! <3

Taglist: @wickedfun9

I reached into my pocket and grabbed my dorm room key as I got closer to my room which I shared with my best friend. Ever since we were kids, we knew we wanted to be roommates since we were inseparable since we first met each other. As a kid, my parents always wanted me to follow my heart and do what I loved and would be happy doing for the rest of my life, and when I told them that I wanted to go to Ohio State for Civil engineering…well, let’s just say they were a little worried.

Don’t get me wrong, I am smart. I was valedictorian at my high school and always worked my ass off for everything, but my dad was an engineer so he knew how hard schooling was. Still, no matter how hard it was, I never gave up, but that seemed like the better option as I opened up the door to my dorm room, physically and mentally exhausted after my first day back from winter break. At least I only had one semester left of this before I could graduate and find my dream job.

Once I walked in and shut the door, I let out a loud groan as I dropped my book bag next to my bed and then practically collapsed onto my bed. “Fuck this.” I said to myself while laughing at how tired I was. For the past few weeks, all I could do was remind myself that it was almost over. All of the hours I spent studying every single day and all of the tears were about to pay off.

In just a few short months, I would get to graduate and move in with my boyfriend who has been by my side through everything. Who is my boyfriend, you may ask? Only the quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals. When we met my freshman year and his sophomore year of college, it was anything but love at first sight. To say we disliked each other was an understatement. I had just gotten my heart broken by what I thought was the love of my life and the person I was supposed to marry, and I was not looking to make any male friends at all for at least a year or two.

When Joe first saw me, he hated me. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he thought I was some stuck up girl who thought she was better than everyone else. Unbeknownst to him at the time was that I didn’t want anything to do with him because I just got my heart broken. We went that whole first semester as ‘enemy’s,’ but we always saw each other since my best friend was dating his best friend at the time, which meant every time there was a party or a study group for a class we all had together, Joe was right there along with them.

We fought most of the time we were together, which really was just us bickering back and forth and making fun of each other for stupid things. Of course his go to was calling me freckles or carrot top because of my red hair and freckles which get crazy in the summer, so my go to for him was bench warmer since he was always riding the bench at Ohio state, which he absolutely hated with a passion. That second semester, though, something changed. My best friend told Joe that I had gone through a rough breakup with a guy I thought I would settle down with-of course I thought that, I was young-and from then on, it was like joe saw me differently. So, those little fights turned into flirty fights and freckles and bench warmer became our little fun nicknames for each other. Then those flirty fights and fun nicknames became Joe asking me on a date. Then those dates turned into Joe finally asking me to be his girlfriend.

What I didn’t think was on the agenda was Joe moving all the way to Louisiana for football. It was hard, but we made it work. It was especially hard since I was always swamped with school work and studying and he was swamped with practices and games, which meant we barely got to see each other. Another hard thing about him not being in the same college as me meant he wasn’t in the study groups I was in, meaning that he couldn’t help me when I struggled with a concept or a new subject since his intelligent ass knew everything.

We made it through long distance and spent about a few weeks together before the draft came around and he found out he was going to the Cincinnati Bengals. It was better than him having to move another state, but it was still kind of long distance since it was hard to spend time together with football and you guessed it, more studying. It felt like when I had some time off from studying, Joe had practice or games, and when Joe had some time off from practice or games, I had to study for a big exam or final that was coming up.

Luckily that will all be over shortly since in a few months I could move into his starter home that he bought in Cincinnati when he got drafted, and I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait until I could graduate and get my dream job, which I knew would be stressful, but at least I could be stressed with Joe again and not have to worry about always FaceTiming each other whenever we wanted to see each other’s faces. I could just walk into another room or visit him at practice if I wanted to see him.

After I laid on my comfy bed for a few minutes, contemplating whether I should take a nap or go to the local coffee shop that has the best wifi and call Joe after their last game of the season, I finally decided on going to the coffee shop. At least there I could wake myself up a little bit and get a little pre dinner snack. Once I sat up in bed, I ran my fingers through my ginger hair which was a lot duller than it is in the summer and then swung my legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle there for a second.

As soon as I faced my little nightstand next to my bed, I saw a my favorite picture of Joe and I that I had framed a little bit ago. It was us after the heisman trophy ceremony when Joe gave his amazing speech that touched so many people. Guaranteed, there were no dry eyes in that entire place during his speech. After the ceremony and after all of the pictures and handshakes with more people than I could count, Joe and I decided to get away from everyone, including his parents. We decided to go up to the tallest building we could find and onto the roof and spend a few hours up there, just the two of us.

While I looked at the picture and started to miss being in Joe’s arms, I looked down to see a black box sitting beside it. My first thought was that maybe my best friend left it on here on accident, but then I noticed that there was a note on the ground that must’ve fallen when I fell onto the bed. Reaching down, I picked up the note and saw that it had my name on it. My heart skipped a beat in my chest at the realization that it was Joe’s handwriting. I quickly set it down on the nightstand next to the box and looked around the room, wondering if Joe was hiding.

After waiting for Joe to magically pop out from under the bed or from the bathroom or closet, I reached over and grabbed the note again. My heart sped up in my chest as I flipped open the card, but I soon laughed at Joe’s failed attempt to draw SpongeBob with a little ring next to it. As soon as I saw that there was a ring in the drawing, I got nervous, thinking that maybe Joe was proposing, but then I read what Joe wrote: ‘a promise ring until you’re ready for a forever ring.’ I stuck out my bottom lip a little as I felt tears prick my eyes and then slowly reached over and grabbed the small black box.

Once I got it in my hands, I carefully opened it up and saw a Cartier ring inside of it. A wave of relief washed over me at the realization that this was in fact not a proposal. Although I love Joe with all my heart and I know he’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, I’m not ready to be engaged, and definitely not married. For one, I’m still in college and cry every time I have an exam. Two, when I do graduate, I still have to go through the process of finding a job here in Cincinnati. Three, even if we are engaged, we will still have to do long distance, meaning I wouldn’t see my fiancé as much as I wanted. And Lastly, in my eyes, I’m too young. From a young age I made a list of the things I wanted to do and accomplish in life, and getting married isn’t for a few years. I want to know that if something does go wrong with our relationship or if the NFL doesn’t pan out like Joe thought it would, I still have a job and can not only provide for myself, but for the both of us.

A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek as I read the inside of the ring which said, ‘I love you, freckles.’ I slipped on the ring and then extended my arm out in front of me so I could admire it. Just as I did this and was about to call Joe who was in Cincinnati to tell him how much I loved him and how amazing this was, I heard the door open from my right. Thinking it was my best friend, I turned my head towards the door, but it wasn’t my best friend. I gasped as soon as I saw Joe’s tall frame standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers. I put my hand over my mouth as Joe took a step into the room after slipping the key into his pocket and shut the door. “No way!” I screamed and ran to him.

As soon as I got to him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and practically body slammed him. When I crashed into Joe, he took one step back at the contact but then wrapped his arms around my waist and held me closely to him. “Hey freckles.” Joe laughed at how excited I was. Leaning back from him, I held the sides of his face and started to laugh. “What are you doing here benchwarmer? You had a game today, Joey. Oh my gosh I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” I said. It’s only been two weeks since I’ve seen him, but it still feels like forever after being with him all winter break. “I know, but I couldn’t wait until this weekend. Plus, surprises are always better.” Joe said with that wild smile that I love so much. The smile that is so beautiful and big that it makes butterflies soar in my stomach. Oh how I loved that smile.

Once again, I wrapped my arms around Joe’s neck and closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. Joe cupped my cheek with one hand and then pulled me closer to him until there was no more room between us. When our lips finally separated, Joe looked past me at my nightstand before I remembered that he got me a promise ring. “Oh my gosh, right. I almost forgot,” I laughed and looked down at my hand to see the ring, “Joe it’s amazing, thank you. I love you so incredibly much.” I said.

I looked into his eyes as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I love you so much. I know things are rocky right now with school and my job, but after you graduate, i’m going to marry you, I promise.” Joe said with that adorable smile. My face flushed red and butterflies flew around in my stomach. I looked down to my feet to try and hide my flustered state after Joe said he was going to marry me, but Joe put his finger underneath of my chin and angled my face up. When we made eye contact, I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle. “I’ll hold you to that,” I smiled up at him, “and by the way, I really thought you were proposing. I was pretty scared, not gunna lie.” I sighed out, telling Joe the truth.

“I know you aren’t ready for marriage yet. That’s why I got you this ring. It means that I love you more than life itself and I will wait however long it takes for you to be ready for marriage.” Joe said. As soon as he said this, a tear pricked my eye and I blinked fast and hard to try and subside them, but it was impossible. When a tear rolled down my cheek, Joe swiped it away with his finger and then chuckled slightly. “Are you getting all sappy on me now?” Joe said with a laugh. I sniffled a little bit and wiped another tear off of my cheek. I looked into Joes bright blue eyes after taking a deep breath. “It’s impossible for me not to. You are seriously the best, Joey. And trust me, I would get married right now but,” I said, but Joe cut me off, “you have a strict list of everything you have to or want to accomplish and marriage isn’t on the list for a little while. I get it. I do.” Joe said.

I squinted and looked up at him. After telling Joe about my list and showing him it a million times, he pretty much had it memorized by heart. After graduation came going to college, then studying hard and focusing until I get my degree, then moving in with Joe and finding a job in Cincinnati, then making enough money to support myself, then after a little bit, marriage. Deeper on the list somewhere is of course kids, but there are so many things that come before that as well, but that’s a conversation for a different day.

“Is it annoying? My list?” I asked him. “What? No, of course not. I made a list of my own back in high school too.” Joe said. I glared up at him and tilted my head. “No you did not, you lier. You would’ve told me about it sooner if you really made one.” I said, knowing he was lying. Joe put a hand on his chest and took a step back. “Excuse me? I did indeed have a list thank you very much.” He said, acting shocked. “Fine, enlighten me then, what was on it?” I asked him with a small smile, knowing for a fact that he didn’t have a list and would need to come up with things on the spot. Joe looked clueless for a few seconds as he tried to think of things and then he said, “One, go to college, two, fall in love with the most amazing girl and then do long distance…three…win a national championship, four, win the heisman trophy, five…,” Joe hesitated, thinking about what came next. I slapped his arm and rolled my eyes. The both of us started laughing as I said, “you idiot. I’m sorry, but I’m not giving you that much credit. You may have had big dreams, but not dreams that specific and in order.”

“Fine, fine, you caught me. But I was really hoping to fall in love with an amazing girl, and I did just that. Granted, I never thought she’d be a carrot top with freckles and have an attitude like yours.” Joe said and avoided eye contact with me, knowing that always drove me crazy when he called me carrot time. I drew the line at carrot top after kids at school used to bully me about that years ago. “Oh shut up, you love my hair and freckles. Maybe not my Attitude as much, but you still love it.” I said with a ‘hmph’ and held my head up high in a triumphant manner. “Guilty. I love your red hair. I love your freckles. I love your green eyes, attitude, long legs, and eye lashes. I love how driven you are. I love the way you get so flustered at the smallest things. I love the way you light up a room with just your presence alone. I love the way you stick out your tongue when you’re concentrating super hard on something.” Joe said. I put a hand over my mouth and couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my rosy cheeks. “Joey.” I said quietly. Joe just looked down at me and cupped my cheek. “I am so in love with every single thing about you and I cannot wait to marry you, freckles.” Joe said. “I cannot wait to marry you too, Benchwarmer.” I giggled through tears.

#joe burrow #joeburrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow bengals #joey b #nfl #joe shiesty #bengals #joey burrow #joe burr #joe x reader #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #nfl imagine #imagine #nfl fan fiction #fanfic #my fic #promisering

[heedeungism]

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.  he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze. 

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years. 

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.” 

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

#enhypen #nishimura riki #nishimura riki x reader #niki x reader #ni-ki #niki x y/n #bridgerton au #historical au #friends to implied lovers #ni-ki enhypen #niki drabbles #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #niki bridgerton au #romance #bridgerton #riki 🩷

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 20

summary: the mission, the safe house, the extracurriculars that follow.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: HAHAHAHA GUYS I fully did not intend for the story to go there today, but here we are. enjoy ;) LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

I padded out of the bathroom in my trusty pajamas, the soft cotton ones that I had packed specifically for "casual, inconspicuous, asexual lounging," as Natasha had put it. I ignored the barely-there lace set she’d somehow snuck into my suitcase when I wasn’t looking. Bucky was tossing a thin blanket onto the couch, trying to make it look suitable to sleep on. It looked about as comfortable as a slab of concrete, one of those pieces of furniture that’s clearly for fashion rather than function. Especially considering his size, there was no world in which he’d get a good nights’ sleep on that thing.

"Do you have something against comfort, Barnes?" I quipped as I leaned against the doorframe, watching him attempt to make the blanket fit across the length of the couch.

He glanced up, eyes flicking down over my pajamas, making me keenly aware of my lack of bra. "Just figured I’d be a gentleman, that’s all."

I crossed my arms, my eyebrow arching in amusement. "Come on, there’s a perfectly good bed here. And it's big enough for, like, three of me. Or two of you."

Bucky stood up, hesitating for a fraction of a second. "You sure? I’ve slept in worse ––"

"I’m sure. Besides," I continued, walking over to the king-sized bed and patting the mattress, "if one of us has a nightmare, the other can play the hero. You know, wake the other up before it gets too bad?"

"That’s... actually not a bad idea," Bucky conceded, though he still looked as if he were mentally measuring the distance between the couch and the bed.

The silence stretched for a moment before he finally picked up his pillow and made his way to the other side of the bed. "If you start stealing the blankets, though, I’m building a fort."

"I solemnly swear to keep my blanket thievery to a minimum," I said, my tone mockingly serious as I climbed into bed next to him.

We both settled under the covers, maintaining a respectful, almost comical distance between us. I lay on my side, facing away from Bucky, my eyes staring at the wall as if it might suddenly become interesting. All I could think about was the weight of his body on the mattress, pulling me towards him. The warmth of him. The way I could just roll over, touch him…

The room was silent, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and our synchronized breathing. Every once in a while, I could hear Bucky shifting, as if he were also wrestling with the awkwardness of the situation. We’d agreed on a cool 66 degrees for the room, both of us embracing the likelihood that we’d wake up from a nightmare, panicked and sweaty. A cool room was a small comfort, an easy thing to agree on. At this moment, it served to keep us both from getting too warm in our full pajamas. My full length set had felt nice after a shower, but now, under the covers, it felt cumbersome. Like I was wearing too much clothing. I wondered if Bucky felt the same in his sweatpants and t-shirt. My normal sleep attire was a tank top and underwear, far less than I was currently wearing. What did he sleep in? A faded shirt and boxers? Boxers alone? I propped myself up on my elbows, reaching for the glass of water on my nightstand, clearing the thought from my head as my cheeks flushed. 

"Hey, Char?" His voice was soft in the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"If this were an actual date, I'd have said some smooth line about how you like your eggs in the morning.”

I chuckled, the sound muffled by my pillow. "Lucky for you, we’re just two spies in a bed. No lines necessary."

The tension seemed to ease a bit, and slowly, the space between us felt less like a wall we couldn’t cross. As sleep eventually claimed us, it was in a quiet understanding that for the first time in weeks, we weren't going to be alone with our nightmares. 

And miraculously, neither of us had one. 

When morning light spilled into the room, gently pulling me from the depths of an unprecedented peaceful sleep, I realized something had shifted—not just in the bed (which they had, by the way. I’d never seen such a violent sleeper, covers kicked off of his legs and one pillow on the ground), but perhaps in the silent agreement that we were in this mess together. I rolled over to face Bucky, whose eyes were already open, a trace of a smile on his lips.

"Morning," he said, the word simple, but not without warmth.

"Morning," I replied, feeling a surprising flicker of something like anticipation for the day ahead. 

“Coffee?” his voice was gruff, tired. Sexy?

“Coffee.”

“I’ll call room service.”

“Suddenly I’m remembering why I married you.”

______

Under the blazing sun, Charlotte lounged in the cabana, her gaze fixed on the two men seated at a table by the poolside bar. The earpiece nestled in her ear crackled to life as Bucky's voice filled her senses. Today was the day that the sale was supposed to take place. Sure enough, their buyer and seller were exactly where they’d predicted. Bucky, not exactly able to lounge at the pool without exposing his metal arm and therefore, his identity, was watching from the roof of a nearby villa. High enough that no one would be able to see him, but close enough that he had a perfect view of Charlotte.

Charlotte in that thin, stringy black bikini. Charlotte, laying back against the chair, propped up in a way that had the muscles in her stomach taut. Charlotte, the one who’s heartbeat he’d fallen asleep listening to last night. He shook his head, pressing a hand to his earpiece.

"Alright, Char, what's the plan?" His tone was serious, willing himself to switch to mission mode.

Charlotte smirked, adjusting her sunglasses as she replied, "Just sit tight, Tin Man. I've got this under control."

Bucky huffed a laugh, the sound tinged with a hint of exasperation. "Just don't get…distracted," he narrowed his eyes as a particularly confident set of men in Speedos walked in front of her.

Rolling her eyes, Charlotte scanned the scene before her, noting the men's movements. "Something tells me I’m not their type," she flipped a page on the magazine she was pretending to read, eyes still locked on their targets.

As one of the men pulled out a thumb drive, Bucky's voice grew more urgent. "They've got the goods. What's the play, Char?"

Charlotte's eyes narrowed, her mind racing as she formulated a plan. "Let me work my magic," she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You got the camera ready?” 

“Yes…” His skepticism was evident, but he tugged the small drone from his backpack. Flipping it on, he felt it rise from his hand with a near-silent whir, soaring down to a vantage point above the pool. It was one of Stark’s newer inventions, equipped with the same stealth mode features as the Quinjets. Even in direct sunlight like today, it was completely invisible to the naked eye, making it perfect to transmit the video footage in real time. 

Bucky watched the scene below unfold. Both men leaned in over the table, clearly deep in conversation. One of them slid a small device, the zip drive, across the table. The other picked it up, examining it, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a thick envelope. Rounding the edge of the pool, Charlotte padded barefoot across the patio. She’d tied a sheer scarf around her hips, doing little to hide the skimpy swimsuit beneath. A sorry excuse for a cover-up, but one he couldn’t bring himself to look away from. She approached the men with calculated confidence, her smile coy. Holding eye contact with the buyer for just a fraction longer than normal politeness, she strode right by them and up to the bar. Leaning her elbows on the surface, she stuck her hips out ever so slightly. Both men clocked it, heads turned towards her backside. 

She could feel their gazes like a physical touch, exactly as she'd intended. Keeping her expression casual, she signaled the bartender. “Mojito, please,” she requested, her voice a melodic purr that carried just enough to ensure the men behind her could hear.

The bartender nodded, setting to work. As he did, Charlotte cast a sidelong glance at the pool’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The buyer and seller were still staring, their conversation momentarily forgotten. Charlotte allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

“Put it on my tab.” A deep, mildly accented voice called from behind her. Bullseye.

When the bartender handed her the drink, Charlotte turned, making sure to force a blush into her cheeks “Oh, hi,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence. “You didn’t have to do that..”

The buyer—tall, with slicked-back hair and an expensive suit—smiled. “No problem at all,” he replied, eyes raking over her form, taking note of the absence of a ring on her left hand. The faux one she’d been given for the trip was sitting back on her nightstand. “Why don’t you join us? A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be alone.”

Charlotte’s smile widened. “Well, if you insist.” She slid into the empty seat, crossing her legs slowly. “What brings you gentlemen here?”

In her ear, Bucky’s voice crackled. “Careful Char,” he warned. She ignored him.

The men exchanged a glance. “Business,” the seller replied curtly. He was shorter, stockier, with a sharp look in his eyes that spoke of years spent dealing with shady transactions, things he didn’t speak freely about.

“Oh?” Charlotte arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. “What kind of business?”

The buyer leaned in, lowering his voice. “The kind that pays well. Really fucking well.”

Charlotte laughed softly, leaning onto her elbows in a way that pushed her chest forward. Neither of the men made an effort to pretend they weren’t looking. “Sounds like my lucky day.”

Bucky watched from his vantage point, his jaw clenched. Charlotte was playing her part perfectly, but he couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at him. He adjusted the drone’s angle from his phone ever so slightly, ensuring he had a clear view of the table. As much as he wanted to see the show she was putting on, the point of the footage was to capture their faces, so he positioned the drone behind her.

Charlotte ran a finger along the rim of her glass, her gaze fixed on the zip drive that remained loosely held in the buyer’s left hand. “That looks vintage,” she remarked, nodding towards the watch on the same wrist. “Are you a collector?”

The buyer’s smile widened. “You could say that.” He set the zip drive down on the table, reaching over to tug up the sleeve on his left arm, holding it up for her to see. “1975 Rolex, custom made. Worth a fortune.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened slightly, feigning interest. “Really? I’ve always been fascinated by watches. Mind if I take a closer look?”

The seller hadn’t taken his eyes off her chest since she’d leaned on the table, and the buyer, clearly taken with her, unfastened and handed it over. “Be careful with it, darling. It’s not something you come across every day.”

“Of course,” she marveled. “I promise I’ll be gentle.” A mischievous look in her eye that showed a bit more than innocence. Her fingers brushed against the buyer’s as she took the watch, the touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. She continued to ooh and ahh turning the watch over in her hands, asking questions she couldn’t give less of a shit about just to keep the men distracted.

Bucky’s grip on his phone tightened. The look in both men's eyes…he knew exactly what they wanted. Even if Charlotte was a professional, even if she could hand their asses to them with one arm tied behind her back, even if she was only his wife for the sake of the mission…it made his blood run hot. He willed her to work faster, to get out of there before one of them got handsy and made him do something he’d regret.

After twenty minutes that felt like an eternity, the buyer was fastening the watch back on his hand, the seller scrawling a phone number onto a cocktail napkin. Charlotte was cradling her chin in her hands, making doe eyes as she thanked them profusely for her drink. When the napkin was handed to her, she held it to her chest as she stood, blowing them a kiss before turning and striding away. She winked as she turned, her smile teasing. “Don’t miss me too much.”

 The men didn’t take their eyes off of her. 

Bucky swore, swiftly making his way back to the room.

As soon as she was out of sight, she quickened her pace, switching from the exaggerated swing of her hips to a brisk walk. 

“Buck,” She breathed, pressing a finger to her ear. 

“I’m here,” His answer was instantaneous. “Are you okay?”

“Meet me at the room,” She tried to keep the grin out of her voice. “Hurry!”

When she slid the keycard into the lock and pressed the door open, Bucky was already there, pacing. He stopped when he saw her, relief flooding his features. “Did you get it?”

“What, is it my first mission or something?” She slid her fingers into the triangle of fabric covering her left breast, tugging out a small black zip drive. Tossing it to him, Charlotte held up a thick envelope with a grin. “And a little something extra,” she said, tossing it onto the table with a thud. “But we’re not in the clear yet. They’ll notice soon enough.”

“Char,” He shook his head as if he wasn’t sure whether to scold or commend her for the envelope of cash she’d somehow snuck out without a single piece of fabric on her body large enough to cover it. Letting out a small chuckle, he tossed the drive back to her. “Then let’s get out of here.”

They gathered their things quickly, filling their small suitcases and –– in Charlotte’s case, changing into something a little less revealing. With a crochet sundress slipped over her bikini, she tucked the zip drive into her purse and held the door open. Bucky, one suitcase in each hand, strode right through.

“Nice work,” Bucky said, his voice low as they walked. “You handled that perfectly.”

Charlotte smirked. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you are. Now let’s get this back to Stark.”

“Wait,” She paused. “Give me ten minutes. Can you have the Quinjet on the roof of that villa by the pool?” 

“Char,” His tone was warning. 

“Ten minutes,” She was already walking away.

Bucky looked up, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Where the hell are you going? We got what we came for.”

Charlotte held up a key card as she walked backwards. “This little beauty gives us access to Mr. Seller’s room. Who knows what other goodies we might find?”

“Charlotte, we can’t risk it. We need to get out of here now,” Bucky insisted, his voice tight with concern.

“Relax, Buck. I’ve got this. Just get the Quinjet ready and meet me on the roof in ten,” she waved him off, rounding the corner.

“Charlotte!” Bucky called after her, but she was gone, leaving him to swear under his breath. He had no choice but to follow her lead and hope she knew what the hell she was doing.

Charlotte moved through the resort with practiced ease, her heart pounding with adrenaline. She was thankful she put a dress on over the swimsuit, but admittedly could have opted for better shoes than the sandals she’d slid into. She slipped past other guests, too caught up in their own vacation to notice her at all. Sliding the key card into the lock, she felt a surge of triumph as the door clicked open. 

Inside, she quickly scanned the room, her eyes landing on a sleek laptop and a burner phone on the desk. She grabbed both, stuffing them into her bag. As she turned to leave, she heard the unmistakable sound of security personnel approaching, an angry male voice giving them a description. Brunette, around 5’7, nice tits, upper twenties. Well, they got almost all of it right. Her pulse quickened, and she ducked out of the room, making a swift exit.

The resort was now teeming with security, their radios crackling with alerts about a thief on the property. Charlotte moved swiftly, weaving through staff hallways and down the staircases, her senses on high alert. Her head was down, eyes concealed behind sunglasses as she tried her best to be stealthy in the world’s least conducive footwear.

“Hey, you!” A voice called out from behind her. She didn’t stop to see who it was. “Excuse me, ma’am, we need to ask you a few questions.” 

Charlotte paused just long enough to turn around and give the approaching guard a bewildered look. She spoke in rapid French, her tone laced with confusion and a hint of panic. “Je suis désolée, je ne parle pas anglais! Je cherche ma chambre, où est la réception?”

The guard hesitated, thrown off by the sudden language barrier. He glanced around for backup, clearly unsure how to proceed. “Uh, ma’am, we just need to—”

“Merci, merci!” Charlotte interrupted, nodding vigorously before turning and continuing her hurried pace down the hallway. The guard, still unsure, didn’t pursue immediately, giving her the precious seconds she needed.

As she rounded another corner, she slipped into a staff-only hallway, ducking through a door that led to a service corridor. The walls were lined with cleaning supplies and utility carts, providing some cover as she moved. She could hear footsteps echoing behind her, growing closer.

Charlotte spotted a side exit leading to the outdoor pool area and darted through it, emerging into the bright sunlight. The sudden change in environment disoriented her pursuers momentarily, but she knew she had to keep moving.

“Ma’am, stop right there!” Another guard shouted, now joined by a second one. They were closing in.

Without missing a beat, Charlotte kicked off her sandals and broke into a full sprint, her bare feet slapping against the hot pavement. She zigzagged through the resort, dodging guests and weaving between loungers and pool chairs.

Her heart pounded as she approached the pool, diving over a low hedge and slipping through a narrow gap between two cabanas. She could hear the guards shouting, their frustration evident as they tried to keep up.

“Bucky, I need that Quinjet now!” she hissed into her comms, her voice low but urgent.

“On it,” Bucky replied, the hum of the Quinjet’s engines audible in the background.

Charlotte spotted the rooftop access door ahead, but so did the guards closing in on her. She raced up the final flight of stairs, her muscles burning with the effort.

Bursting through the rooftop door, she saw the Quinjet hovering just above, the hatch open and waiting for her. With a final burst of speed, she launched herself towards it, hands grasping the edge as she hauled herself inside.

Bucky reached out, pulling her up the rest of the way. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his eyes flashing with anger.

Charlotte grinned, breathless but exhilarated. “I was thinking we could use a little more intel. And look what I found,” she said, pulling the laptop and phone from her bag.

Bucky shook his head, his frustration evident. “You could have been caught. Or worse.”

“But I wasn’t,” Charlotte winked, her tone light. “You worry too much, Buck.”

“That’s because you don’t worry enough,” he shot back, his voice edged with concern. “One of these days, your luck is going to run out.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, breathless and grinning. “But not today.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get out of here.”

As the Quinjet rose higher into the sky, Charlotte settled into her seat, her pulse finally starting to slow. She glanced over at Bucky, who was still fuming, his jaw set in a tight line.

“Hey,” she said softly, nudging his arm. “We did good today. And now we have even more to bring back to Stark.”

Bucky looked at her earnest smile, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah. We did.”

Charlotte leaned back, closing her eyes as the adrenaline began to fade. She knew Bucky was right—her risk-taking tendencies could be dangerous. But she also knew that without them, she sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten this far. It was a fine line to walk, but she was willing to walk it for the sake of the mission—and, if she was honest, for the thrill of it all.

The Quinjet sped across the sky to their rendezvous point, the cities below them all blurring together. It was just another day in their complicated, unconventional lives, but for Charlotte, it was a day well spent. And as she felt Bucky’s gaze linger on her, she knew that despite his frustration, he couldn’t deny the spark of excitement that her antics always seemed to ignite.

As they settled in for the rest of the flight, Bucky shot Charlotte a sideways glance, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "You're something else, Char," he remarked, a wry smile betraying his stern tone.

Charlotte grinned back at him, her pulse still racing with the thrill of the chase. "Just trying to keep the spark alive.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“In our marriage,” She winked. “Duh.” 

Bucky snorted, shaking his head. "If this is your idea of a marriage, I'm not sure I can handle the honeymoon."

Charlotte leaned closer, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, come on, you know you love it. Admit it, Barnes, you were on the edge of your seat watching me back there."

He rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, on the edge of my seat ready to jump in and save your reckless ass."

"Please," she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "I had everything under control. You worry too much."

Bucky's smile faded slightly, his expression turning serious. "And you don't worry enough. You can't just keep pulling stunts like that, Char. One day, you might not be so lucky."

Charlotte's playful demeanor softened for a moment. "I know, Bucky. But a very wise tutor of mine once told me to know the plan, but never be afraid to pivot during battle. And besides," she added, her grin returning, "isn't that why you love working with me? Keeps you on your toes."

He shook his head, a reluctant chuckle escaping his lips. "A wise tutor, huh?"

“Don’t let it go to your head.” 

“I’ll do my best.” He shot her a sidelong look. “No more stunts like these, okay? I’m too old for this shit.”

She saluted him with a mock-serious expression. "Aye aye, Captain. No more near-death experiences...for today."

Bucky rolled his eyes again but couldn't suppress his grin. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are, stuck with me," she teased, leaning back in her seat.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just promise me you'll be careful, Char. I don't want to have to explain to Nat why we lost her favorite agent."

Charlotte placed a hand over her heart in a mock pledge. "I solemnly swear to be as careful as my reckless nature allows."

Bucky shook his head, but his eyes were warm. "That's a start."

______

An hour into the flight back to the compound, they’d received an incoming call from Agent Hill. Apparently the notorious Midwestern spring storms were looming in their path, making the normally simple flight a little more treacherous.

Bucky rubbed his jaw as he leaned against the console of the Quinjet, exchanging an exasperated glance with Charlotte. "Maria, what do you mean we can't fly? We're in the sturdiest fucking aircraft there is."

Maria Hill's voice crackled over the comms, her tone firm but sympathetic. "I know, Barnes, but we've got some bad storms rolling directly through your path. It's not safe to be up there right now. You need to find somewhere to land and wait it out until the weather clears."

Charlotte crossed her arms, frustration evident in her voice. "Agent Hill, we have intel we need to get to you. We’re so close to being home, just another two hours ––"

"I understand, Charlotte," Maria interrupted, her tone firm. "But your safety comes first. You won't be any good to us if you end up caught in a storm or worse. We received the drone footage from Sergeant Barnes, any other intel can wait until you get back tomorrow"

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's right, Char. We can't risk it."

Charlotte shot him a defiant look. "Where the hell are we supposed to go? Where even are we?"

Natasha's voice cut in over the comms, her tone calm but authoritative. "You’re over Oklahoma. I’d recommend detouring south to avoid the storm cell, hiding out in our North Texas safe house. I’ll send over the coordinates."

Bucky exchanged a resigned glance with Charlotte before nodding. "Fine. It better not be one of the shitty old ones."

"It’s one of Stark’s old vacation homes," Maria replied. "I think you’ll find it…comfortable. Just be safe, both of you. We'll regroup once the weather clears."

With a heavy sigh, Bucky switched off the comms, the tension in the cockpit palpable. They were so close to being back home, but now they were grounded by forces beyond their control. As Bucky scanned the horizon, the storm clouds loomed ominously in the distance, making Charlotte’s stomach flop. She’d grown up in a cold, frigid climate. Summer storms and tornadoes still made her uneasy, especially combining an unfamiliar environment. 

But she wasn’t the captain, and they’d been given a direct order. Sighing, Charlotte leaned back in her seat, knowing there was no amount of insubordination that would get her out of this one. 

As the Quinjet touched down in the field next to the large safe house, Bucky and Charlotte stared out the windshield, both sighing deeply. The rain was coming down in sheets, making visibility near zero. They could barely see the house thirty yards in front of them. With a sense of resignation, they grabbed the bags, hurried out of the Quinjet and dashed towards the safety of the house. The rain soaked them through in a matter of seconds as they sprinted across the yard.

They stumbled up the porch steps, clumsy and slipping, as they reached for the door handle, their soaked clothes clinging to their skin. Bucky punched in the security code, and with a click, the door swung open. 

They practically tumbled inside, Bucky dropping both of their bags on the ground with a wet thunk. Water pooled at their feet as they stood in the entrance hall, dripping onto the undoubtedly expensive hardwood floor.

Charlotte let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through her sodden hair. "Well, this is…not how I saw today going."

Bucky scowled, raising an eyebrow at her. "Funny, I’ve thought that several times today."

“Don’t be a dick.” She rolled her eyes. 

As the rain continued to pour outside, Charlotte stood dripping on the rug, her soaked dress clinging to her curves, her hair plastered to her skin. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she tugged it over her head, revealing that damn black bikini underneath. Pulling it over her head, she paused, the soaked material knotted in her long, dark hair, already curling from the rain. She hesitated, glancing back at Bucky, her expression a mix of frustration and amusement as she attempted to tug the ends of her hair free.

"Good thing I’m wearing a swimsuit," she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Bucky watched her, momentarily stunned into silence by the sight before him. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, the way the rain droplets ran down her body, the way her muscles moved beneath her skin as she tangled with her hair. His heart raced in his chest, his blood burning in his veins.

"Let me help you with that," Bucky finally said, his voice low and husky as he stepped forward. Moving closer to Charlotte, he reached out to gently untangle the dress from her hair, his fingers brushing against her shoulder with a feather-light touch. 

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat as Bucky's touch sent a shiver down her spine. She met his gaze, her eyes locking with his in a silent exchange. He easily freed the dress, letting it drop to the floor. There was a palpable tension in the air, thick with things they’d repressed, fought against, lied to themselves about. Now, everything that had previously stood in their way was nowhere to be found. There was no mission, no teammates sharing a wall, no Sam to come interrupt them. 

In a way, it felt like they’d lost their safety net. Nothing stood between them and certain death. 

Nothing stood between them at all. 

"Thanks," Charlotte murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she stepped back, the space between them suddenly feeling charged with electricity.

Bucky swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure. He felt his grip on himself loosening, slipping away. His fists clenched at his sides. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard, trying to remember any reason he shouldn’t do what his body was telling –– begging him to do. 

He felt her touch first. 

Her hands on his leather jacket. They gripped the lapels, pulling it back, down his arms. It dropped to the floor. 

Her hands found the hem of his t-shirt, slid beneath it. His skin burned under her touch, where she brushed his stomach as she lifted the shirt. Raising his arms, their eyes locked as she reached up to pull it over his head. His hair was soaked, a few loose strands plastered to his face. Giving in to her temptation, she ran her hands down his body. Her fingers trailed over his collarbone, over the ridge where his arm met his shoulder, over his chest and the muscles that rippled across his abdomen. She let her eyes roam over him unapologetically, drinking up every muscle, every scar, every glint of his arm in the low light. When she looked back up to meet his gaze, she almost didn’t recognize the man staring down at her.

There was a wild look in his eye that made Charlotte forget who she was, who he was. It burned into her, making her feel naked in ways far beyond just clothing. 

Without breaking eye contact, he kicked off his boots. His hands went to his belt, unfastening it, unbuttoning his jeans, lowering the zipper. He paused, seeming to come back to himself for a moment. They stood there, still soaking wet, in the entryway. Rain pounded against the roof, wind howling outside. Charlotte was in a black bikini, Bucky in unbuttoned jeans. Both of them showing more skin to the other than they’d ever dared. 

A moment passed between them. Shallow breathing. Hungry eyes. Thunderous heartbeats. 

Slowly, tortuously, Charlotte reached up and brushed her wet hair to one side. Her eyes remained locked on Bucky as she tugged on one string of her bikini top. The knot on the back of her neck instantly unraveled, the top falling down to her stomach, revealing her bare chest to him. His breath caught in his throat, his pants feeling tighter. She reached her hands down to the second knot, tugging on it before letting the whole swimsuit top join the rest of their discarded clothing on the floor. 

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, unable to formulate another thought. 

Charlotte took a step towards him, closing the gap between them. She looked up at him, cocking her head ever so slightly. “Is that an offer?” 

Whatever leash he’d had on his restraint snapped. 

Bucky reached out, his hand cupping Charlotte's cheek as he leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from hers. His heart hammered in his chest, every nerve in his body on edge with anticipation.

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat as she felt Bucky's touch, his warmth seeping into her skin and setting her ablaze. She met his gaze, her eyes dark with longing, silently urging him to take the next step.

And then, in a heartbeat, it happened. Bucky closed the final distance between them, his lips crashing into hers. It was hard and ravenous and impatient and greedy. His hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck, tangling in her wet hair. His other hand found her waist, gripping her hard with cold metal fingers. Her arms wrapped around his torso, trailing down his back. She dug her nails in ever-so-slightly, eliciting a low moan from him, devoured by their kiss. 

The kiss was a mess of wet skin and lust, it was sloppy and desperate. For a fleeting instant, nothing else mattered but the electrifying connection between them, the raw intensity of their desire igniting like a wildfire. It was a kiss of longing and longing, a silent confession of the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

A big fuck you to every single time they’d repressed their feelings, every single time they’d fought the urge to cross this line in the sand.

Charlotte’s hands slipped into his waistband, tugging his soaked jeans down over his hips. Bucky stepped out of them, leading Charlotte backwards without breaking the kiss. They stepped backwards through the dark entryway, dripping water across the floor. Charlotte’s hands gripped either side of his face as she followed his lead, one of his hands on her lower back, the other outstretched behind her. With a thud, his hand collided with a wall, immediately backing her against it. Their bare chests collided, skin sticky from the rain and warm with desire. 

In one movement, both of Charlotte’s hands were pinned above her head in a vibranium grip. Bucky angled his head, reaching up to cup her jaw as he slid his tongue along her lower lip. A whimper, a whine escaped her lips, only serving to ignite him further. Sliding a knee between her thighs, Charlotte nearly gasped at the sensation. She writhed against his thigh, chasing this strange and euphoric feeling as he rubbed against her. His hand dropped from her jaw, trailing down her neck, across her breasts, down her stomach. It reached around behind her and slid into her bikini bottoms, squeezing her ass so tightly she sucked in a breath. She’d never felt this good, felt this needy, this desperate. 

She’d never done this before. 

Her heart thudded in her chest as Bucky released her hands, bringing both of his down underneath her, lifting her up until her back was against the wall and her legs were wrapped around him. She locked her ankles behind his back, pulling his hips even closer to hers. He was rock hard, pressing against the spot threatening to ignite her whole body. Wiggling her hips, she ground herself into him.

“Oh, God ––” He closed his eyes, throwing his head back as her hips pressed against him. 

When he brought his head back down, he pressed his forehead to Charlotte’s, both of their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Hearts pounded, chests heaved. For a moment they stayed, pinned against the wall, holding each other. 

“Char,” He groaned. 

“Mmm,” The noise she made was somewhere between a reply and a moan as she ran her hands through his hair. 

“Do you want this?” 

She paused, hands freezing on his neck. 

Hell yes, fuck yes, she absolutely wanted this. This sensation, this feeling, everything that was just happening. She wanted it to never, ever end. She wanted to feel him, she wanted to give herself to him, let this aggressive and demanding version of James Buchanan Barnes take as much of her as he needed. 

“Buck…” She breathed, closing her eyes. 

“Hey,” He slowly lowered her to the ground, ensuring she was steady on her feet before reaching up to cup her cheeks. “Hey, what’s wrong? We don’t have to do this, we don’t ––”

“No,” She met his gaze, eyes determined. “I want this. I want…this.” Rising onto her tiptoes, she gripped the back of his head, bringing his lips to hers in a slow, wet, deep kiss. They slowly separated, Charlotte dropping back down to her normal height. “I want it all…so badly. I just,” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. “I don’t know how.” 

A moment of silence passed between them. 

“You don’t know how…” He spoke the words slowly, as if he was trying to figure out what they mean. 

“I mean, I never have.” Her eyes met his, willing, begging him to understand. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Oh,” Bucky's gaze softened as he realized what Charlotte was trying to tell him. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch tender and reassuring. "Oh." he repeated, his voice filled with understanding. 

"Charlotte, that's nothing to be ashamed of." He paused, searching her eyes for any sign of discomfort. "It's okay. We don't have to rush into anything. We can take our time." His hands slid down the backs of her arms, gently, softly.

Charlotte's eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and she tangled her fingers in his own as they reached down her arms. "What if I don’t want to take my time," she breathed, her voice trembling slightly. 

“Char…”

"Bucky.” She squeezed his hands. “I want this. I want to do this. I want to learn. With you. I trust you."

Bucky's heart swelled, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll teach you," he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin. "We'll go slow. I'll show you everything, and if you ever want to stop, you just tell me, okay?"

She nodded, her insides throbbing at his gentleness. Bucky lifted her chin, making sure she looked into his eyes. "We'll start with the basics," he said, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll go at your pace."

“Can we skip the basics and go back to where we just were?” She pleaded, bringing his hands up to her breasts. A groan escaped his lips as he squeezed, ever-so-gently. His thumbs grazed her nipples before trailing back down to her hips. 

“If you want me to teach you…you have to let me start from the beginning.” A devilish grin.

He leaned in again, his lips capturing hers in a slow, tender kiss. This time, there was no rush, no urgency. It was a kiss filled with promise and patience, a kiss that told her he was in no hurry and that he valued her comfort above all else.

Charlotte melted into the kiss, her hands slowly finding their way to his shoulders. She felt the heat of his body, the steady beat of his heart against her chest. It was a feeling of safety, of being cherished.

Bucky's hands moved gently, exploring the curves of her body with a reverence that made her feel beautiful and desired and fuck, so impatient. He took his time, tantalizing her. As his hands caressed her back, her sides, and finally the soft skin of her belly, Charlotte felt like she was going to boil over.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was breathless but smiling. "How was that?" Bucky asked softly, his forehead resting against hers.

"Perfect," Charlotte whispered, her voice strained. "But can we get to the next part, please."

He smirked, his thumb gently tracing the outline of her jaw. "What’s the rush, Char?"

She groaned, leaning her head back. “You’re killing me, Buck,” 

“Am I?” He cocked his head in a way she’d never seen, mouth slightly agape. His hand trailed down her stomach, slid between her legs, making her bite her lip so hard it nearly split. Metal fingers slid the band of black fabric to the side, making a long, leisurely swipe through her. A truly pathetic whimper escaped her lips as he pulled his hand back up, examining his fingers in the dim lighting. His gaze darkened as he looked her dead in the eye, bringing his fingers to his lips and slowly sucking the first two.

“Bucky,” Charlotte whined. “Please.” 

Bucky's grin widened, and he took her hand. “For the next part,” He led her towards a long hallway. “I think we’ll need a bed.” 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fluff #winter soldier #avengers #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #winter soldier fluff

[4dkellysworld]

The state of self-communion

Hellooooo, haven't been here for a while. Hope everyone's doing well :) I've just been doing my own thing away from Tumblr and haven't felt like there was much to post. I do enjoy reading Reddit posts though across a variety of spiritual subreddits and sometimes I come across some gems of wisdom. It also supports my belief that all paths can lead to Home (Self) because the same truths pop up in so many different subs from people doing different things (some with barely any actual spiritual study or sadhana).

Anyway, I found this part of a Reddit post (from the Neville Goddard subreddit actually) to be really beautiful (highlighted my fave parts) because it emphasizes Oneness (which isn't something I actually see much when it comes to manifesting-centric content) and shows what it looks like in practice to treat others as if they were yourself, as if there is no separation between you and everyone/everything else, as if the world is just a projection of your mind. I like how he calls it Self-communion when he talks of communicating with another person too and treating it as if he is talking to another aspect of himself.

The first most apparent proof I have received during my early era of this understanding, was still when I was in a shitty state of consciousness, so I was met with my own creation. It was a man that stumbled upon me and a cousin out in the street, it was a hostile interaction, I won't specify what. I had no other choice but to apply what I believed in, that if all is myself, and he is only my expression of my own state of consciousness, if the attitude I undertake towards him was as if he was a pleasant gentleman (despite him clearly coming to harm me outta no where), if I dare to live FROM MYSELF from my perception and attitude towards the stranger that approached as if he was a lovely gentleman, he would be so. So I was forced to apply it, and to completely put aside all my physical reactions and all that nonsense that the physical man invented and called instincts, and I was willing unto death, to believe that I was communing with a pleasant gentleman, I do not even remember what words came out of me, but I wore the state of love, of self communion, I knew I was talking to myself in another garment called Another Man, and he was pacified immediately. He broke down and we hugged and parted ways without further speech. I knew what I did, my cousin was clueless. In another case history as well, when a family relative I have neglected to frame his ideal image in my imagination, and it came surfacing (as everything neglected eventually does), I made the bold decision to carry an attitude towards him that he would be the coolest gent there is, and despite physical evidence from the first time, I applied my new standard good attitude towards this person, him being the way he still was, it did not take long for him to change in his attitude so quickly, because my attitude defined his reality and attitude in this physical world. So he was changed, and also pacified on the spot when aggressive speech took place. All my states created the vile and created the perfection.

Here is the original Reddit post though beware the formatting, spelling and sentence structure makes it quite difficult to read lol, I just skimmed it until I found this case studies which I thought were worth reading and sharing.

Anyway, hope that inspired/sparked some love within :)

#from reddit

[hermitagereheadcanons]

...there may be a few days of no new posts after tomorrow.

#i havent been keeping up with hermitcraft #watching anything that requires more brain power than a reddit reading video has been impossible #and i can barely make myself do things that i enjoy #im gonna try to at least keep reruns going and add new stuff to the queue when i can #but maintaining the blog has been really difficult lately #i dont think ive missed a single day since i started this blog #and the fact im dropping below my standards honestly makes me wanna cry #but when im at a point where trying to come up with new posts feels like being forced to do homework #i think it's better to step back and give myself a breather instead of making myself hate the blog #the way im struggling to engage with hermitcraft genuinely feels like losing part of myself #so it's very difficult to actually accept that the hyperfixation may be slipping away #i still love hermitcraft #and i still enjoy it a lot #but like. im 1-4 episodes behind on most of my favorite hermits at this point #and ive dropped several of the hermits #and the current storyline isnt catching my attention the way the older content does #im very tired so im going to bed now but i figured i should post while im thinking about it #so i wont forget #oli says things #not a headcanon

[regallibellbright]

Honestly I think I'd hate Arthur Cantabella less if they'd simply removed the whole "Yeah no this is a government-condoned psychological experiment" aspect.

TESTING WHAT?! No, genuinely, what? Using the contaminated groundwater/weirdass Silver Fainting Allergy and/or the flower ink as a drug? Because uh, if that's the case, then I'm pretty sure using them both in conjunction contaminates your results.

Is it something about mob mentality? In-groups and out-groups with the elaborate tech crew made of convicted witches and victims maintaining the whole illusion? In that case, I think the fact that you're drugging and gaslighting the entire experiment group is also contaminating the results.

Also the whole fantasy setting is probably a confounding variable for Something.

Okay sure parents could consent to taking part in this experiment for their children, but uh, I'm pretty sure some of these kids were born AFTER the experiment began. Given the aforementioned Large Amounts of Drugging From Multiple Origins going on here, I have some concerns!

No seriously. Please. PL vs PW writers. Give me the grant proposal Arthur Cantabella submitted to get anyone to fund this project. I know it's Bill fucking Hawks, but even he's got limits! I don't see how he benefits from half this shit even if he wants to use the other half (I assume the drugs.) Why is he paying for the rest? There's a reason why Clive is established as being a lone schemer with obscene amounts of money who's keeping all his scientists in the dark and/or coerced to keep building, and it's so that we don't have anyone there questioning why he's building an elaborate fake town populated by actors in addition to his Underground Vengeance Mecha!

The fact that you somehow managed to get this cleared as a psychological experiment establishes that you know the field of psychology exists. Why in the name of all that is holy did you think building an elaborate fake fantasy town with an elaborate magic system which you make real through the power of drugging people, knocking the ENTIRE TOWN out every time a spell is used, changing things around them to simulate "magic" using the most ridiculous Renn Faire stage crew ever, and manipulating the clocks so no one's aware time is passing, with a system that prosecutes witches and burns them so that they can join the Renn Faire Stage Crew along with their victims, and positioning yourself as the all-powerful Storyteller who writes their reality into being would be a better solution than therapy?

Honestly I'd respect "I had a god complex, lol" more. Especially for that last one, but like. In general. Descole's out there living his worst life, he KNOWS he's an asshole supervillain agent of chaos, and I respect this because he has clearly CHOSEN to be Like This. You do you, man. Ditto for Don Paolo but like, less effectively.

This is not how any of this works.

Okay, setting... ALL OF THAT aside, you're doing this because your and your best friend's young daughters are understandably incredibly traumatized because they wanted to ring the bell early and the Weirdass Groundwater-Induced "Allergy" That Makes You Faint When You Hear Silver Ringing caused them and everyone else to pass out, and as everyone in the square below was having a fire festival, this caused a massive tragic conflagration. Okay. Yeah, this is bad. (I have. MANY questions about how this bell was made, excavated, and mounted in the square without anyone ever ringing it and realizing something had happened, but we're going to gloss over those for now, it's Professor Layton and I would otherwise be all over this incredible bullshit. It's great up until it asks us to think THIS was ever a remotely reasonable idea.) One of your daughters is all but catatonic because a story you told her earlier has convinced her she either is or will be taken by The Great Witch Bezella. Sure. (You suck.) Why the FUCK is your solution based on the other one unpersoning herself to her best friend and doing all the work to make the magic real? Yeah, sure, she agreed to it. SHE'S LIKE EIGHT TO TEN. HER BEST FRIEND THINKS SHE'S AN AWFUL MONSTER AND WON'T REACT OTHERWISE. OF COURSE Eve's gonna help, but that doesn't mean you should put the entire burden on her! She is ALSO horribly traumatized to the point of repressing what happened. Get her help too. The fact that the game seems to put their actions on remotely even footing when one of them has been treated like shit since she was TEN and one of them was an adult who PURPOSEFULLY AND INTENTIONALLY set up a system that would put her in this shitty situation means that yeah, no, they fundamentally are not. Of course her decisionmaking is misguided and terrible! She's a twenty-year-old who's been horribly mistreated for more than half her life! HER DAD JUST COMMITTED SUICIDE OUT OF GUILT FOR HIS ACTIONS IN SETTING UP THIS SYSTEM.

No one's going to hold them responsible for the deaths. This was a sequence of events so thoroughly unforeseeable that literally no one could have predicted it. It won't even reflect poorly on you and Belduke, because you two somehow managed to find the bell, excavate it, and mount it without ever ringing it and realizing it knocked you out and you all had an environmentally-induced silver "allergy" and at that point this goes into "acts of a cruel and malicious Writer-God" territory.

Also it was totally predictable that this elaborate system of misogyny would not actually help Espella in the long term as she instead repressed her memories and further internalized the whole witches = evil thing so that when those memories inevitably came back she would be in EVEN WORSE shape, this is why you should have gotten an actual psychologist who could have told you this whole thing was a terrible plan to write your grant.

No like does he drug all his requests to whoever he reports to (it has to be directly to the person signing checks) in the mind-control ink? This is my only explanation here.

Why. In God's name why. Did you not. Simply. DESTROY THE FUCKING BELL TOWER. You have a crane here! What possessed ANYONE to think just covering it up with Vantablack and gaslighting so people couldn't see it was a reasonable solution to the Trauma Tower? (There may be an explanation for this, it has been ten years, but this man's problem solving has been established to be so poor I award him no points.)

And if you were going to do this, why didn't you tell Newton? Or was it just that the lightning strike burning up the Vantablack was itself a reminder to him that you can't repress the past away and he was suddenly aware of how overwhelmingly POINTLESS all this suffering was? (Edit: I think it was this. No but seriously you could’ve just taken a fucking wrecking ball to that thing while you were rebuilding the town.)

Seriously why the fuck did Newton Belduke go along with letting you use his traumatized daughter like this? What the hell, man. What an asshole.

Also. Your problem was that you had two severely traumatized little girls (even if you only acknowledged one of them was traumatized.) Your solution was... to traumatize a shitload more young girls?

TO THE POINT WHERE AT LEAST ONE OF THEM ATTEMPTED SUICIDE?!

And then your best friend actually committed suicide?!

Like. Seriously. If these are the actions of a single, seriously traumatized person, the fact that you are making Literally The Worst And Most Inexplicable Decisions Ever Which Make The Problem Worse For Literally Everyone Involved is more... well, conceivable. I buy a traumatized eighteen-year-old with an obscene amount of money building an elaborate fake London that is allegedly London ten years in the future, hiring actors to populate it, kidnapping scientists, making them build an Underground Vengeance Mecha to destroy the city, and then kidnapping the Prime Minister who is the source of that trauma and hooking the engine of the mecha up to his heart. And then roping in the one guy who could conceivably solve the whole problem and stop him and Clive would let it. It's a bad idea on EVERY conceivable level, don't get me wrong, on an UNPRECEDENTEDLY terrible scale, but it's a bad idea in which it is very clear no one at any point has asked the person what the fuck they think they're doing here, what they are trying to accomplish, and why they are doing so with this objectively absurd method. Because they have not let anyone in close enough to key them to The Full Absurd Terribleness. It's either this or become Batman.

But Arthur? Apparently his decisions have been vetted by OTHER PEOPLE, and this just boggles my mind. I refuse to believe this. I refuse to believe NO ONE went "have we considered this is like eight hundred terrible ideas bundled up into The Worst Idea Ever?" And I refuse to believe he's anything but a massive asshole when his plan had so many awful consequences for literally everyone BUT himself!

Like, don't get me wrong. There are SO MANY examples of unethical experimentation on human subjects in the real world, psychological and otherwise. But most of them are not this incredibly convoluted, implicitly expensive, and we all generally recognize these days that they were bad.

Also, none of them were enacted as an elaborate setup to (incompetently) handle the trauma of the experimenter's daughter after he told her if she was bad a scary evil witch would possess her and then she and her friend accidentally enacted a tragedy whose scale and fundamental absurdity rival the Boston Molasses Flood, but without corporate greed. There were solutions to this that were so much easier, less convoluted, less EXPENSIVE, and less harmful to... well, everyone else involved, except Arthur Cantabella.

#drugging #gaslighting #attempted suicide #suicide #psychological experiments #unethical science #mass death #pl vs pw spoilers #pl spoilers #going to try to avoid maintagging here inasmuch as I can because uh. Yeah. Preeeeetty critical. #the thing is I genuinely LOVED like 90% of this game. Adored it. Had a blast RIGHT up until the reveal. #and then the reveal and the ways it's handwaved just kill it for me even though I usually enjoy Layton Plot Twist Bullshit #(the Underground Vengeance Mecha is my favorite thing ever. Unironically. It's delightful.) #because it's like... multiple people vetted this terrible idea in-universe? Why the fuck?! #and we DWELL on the consequences in a way we rarely do for most Layton Bullshit and see that oh THEY ARE /BAD/. #(I'm pretty sure it's established Jean's still a teenager. She was under Belduke's care /for five years./) #meanwhile the game only BARELY seems to recognize that this dude is in fact the Actual Villain Of The Game. Like. Eve's justified. #but she's still given more of the Sympathetic But Misguided Layton Antagonist treatment whereas he's MAINLY 'sympathetic but misguided.' #which... no. just. no. You're an adult and you had options and you were in a position to choose them. Why was THIS your choice? #again I respect Descole so much more for being like 'well I'm gonna make myself Everyone Else's Problem but mostly Layton's.' #own that you're terrible. Embrace it. Laugh as you seek your revenge on the entire world.

[slippery-minghus]

i want to paint, but autism is hungry and needs to be fed 8hrs of skyrim a day

#i'm trying to set up to paint bc i want to!! but every bone in my body says no #i'm gonna feel sad and disappointed in myself if i don't paint because i want to actually *do* something #and not spend this whole weekend having barely even scraped the surface of what i truly genuinely wanted to do #and instead just burn away the time looking at skyrim #i'm not even really having all that much fun playing it!!! but i can't break away from it #which isn't always a bad thing especially on week days but? on a long weekend where i want to enjoy myself?? #and i can't because my brain won't let me??? not fun!!! #painting is so boring and understimulating and my brain is way too foggy right now to think about mixing colors and layering #(secretly i don't even want to paint i just want to feel satisfied at creating a thing!!) (my brain is too fried to hold a thought long #enough to do the physical action of painting! it sounds wayyyy too daunting and taxing right now!!) #but if i spend this whole weekend having sat on my ass doing nothing will i feel rested? no!!! #but if i spend all my energy doing A Hobby will i feel rested? also no!!! but then i'll at least have something to show for it #i'm riling myself up and i feel like i ALMOST could make myself paint right now #but as soon as i think of what it will feel like to sit here and focus and move my hands to do the painting my brain screams NO #and sure i can argue i'll feel better if i do it i'll be glad if i do it and it'll be easier once i start #but this isn't the walk i took yesterday (that i was glad i took but still felt like garbage after) #i WANTED to take a walk. i was just struggling with the level of exertion i could manage (walk my neighborhood or drive 30min to the park?) #my brain is latching on to 8hrs a day of skyrim bc that's all i have the energy for #work has been killing me #and it's so painfully bright in my apartment but i can't close the curtains bc i need all the sunlight i can get #i WANT to have the energy to paint and enjoy it but i just don't.... (but i feel like if i Give In to the exhaustion then i'm #no better than my mom who just sits around all day refusing to live her life bc she refuses to take care of herself. #and calls sitting perfectly still—instead of actuvely managing her condition—'not letting her disability win') #(so i don't want to be that. i don't want to waste away like my mom bemoaning how i Just Can't when i totally can!!! #i could push through this exhaustion and hype myself up but the only thing i'm going to be thinking about is Am I Done Yet? Can I Rest Now?) #and i can't convince myself that 'just paint for 30min' is worth it bc mixing paint and setting up is Just So Much #enough that 'just 30min' is a lie and not a legitimate out if i need it to be #i need to commit or not do it. and i just can't......... my eyes hurt and i'm tured and i just wanna play my game #and all this indecision and feeling like i'm wasting time is just making me want to cry. im gonna close the curtains and boot up the xbox;( #personal

[kjqhaujdffjryakhf]

i feel like a different person

#its been permanent #i just dont feel the same #i dont enjoy the same stuff anymore #not as in ive just changed interests i mean i just dont experience enjoyment the same anymore #hope that makes sense #im paranoid and want to cut myself off from everyone i know #ive barely been eating unless its something i can make myself basically from scratch #because if anyone else gives it to me its been poisoned or has razors #i cant play games or write or do things anymore because i feel like i have hidden cameras in every room im in #and i dont even know who put them there #i feel like people i know/talk to have some way of contacting my family members and tell them about me #or find things out from them #i cant join groups or chats or servers anymore because people i know are already there on alt accounts i wont recognise #and i cant be embarassing in front of them #im scared to go to sleep because someones going to come in and hurt me #or someone will break in my window #i spend at least 30 mins every night just imagining that scenario playing out #im scared and i dont trust my head because it feels different and i dont know what to do #sorry if ive missed anything important by the way. ive barely been checking tumblr

[tastytofusoup]

People talk about an easier difficulty setting for Elden Ring, and like, they're not wrong, choices in game settings so you can play the way you want to are always good.

However, an easy mode does already exist, and it is called playing as a mage, with the Moonveil Katana.

#elden ring is also in general feeling like the most accessible from software game - by FAR #if you're put off by the difficulty of the others - try this one #it's way more generous #'bonfires' are plentiful #and there are so many ways to make it more of a chill experience #make an Astrologer with an INT build - go around doing every misc thing and progressing npc quests in the zone before doing major bosses #if anything's feeling too tough just go and do something else then come back #by doing all the shit available out there in the zone you'll end up very leveled - grab the meteorite staff as early as you can - #it's easy to get and has S INT scaling (the best) #then grab moonveil after destroying stormveil castle and your domination will be in business #summon your spirit wolves - summon the npcs - and just demolish with your damage #most things become a fucking joke #I've barely been using my spells today because moonveil's special attacks are better #it does both physical and magic damage so it scales off all your points you've put into INT #it's disgusting and I love it #then you're free to enjoy the gorgeous world and follow npc questlines and enjoy the experience rather than it all feeling like a ballache #the dark souls games I finished - I struggled and served my sentence - and they're cool and all! #but the vast majority I look back and think 'oh that pos boss' 'oh that area I'd rather fuck a cactus than replay through - no thanks' #I see myself gladly replaying the shit out of elden ring

[pepprs]

also (this is it i promise) this is why i am so INSANELY excited to have my own room soon. like omg. it is definitely not perfect bc it’s at home and there’s a breaker box in it and you can hear footsteps really loud through the ceiling and also again *it’s at home* when i really need to not be living at home. but the quality of life improvement i am about to have is actually INSANE. i will be able to have a space far away from everyone else where i can sing without bothering anyone and play piano and decorate it (mostly) to my liking and have a desk and draw and paint and do whatever. finally!!!!!!!! that is going to fix me!!!!!

#purrs #i just wish it was permanent or that i had more years to spend in it. like i actually just want to find the place where i will live forever #and just stay there bc oh my GOD am i tired of living in places temporarily. i have so many issues w that bc so many spaces that were #formative for me have been destroyed (e.g. the van 😍😍😍😍 and my grandparents house 😍😍😍😍 and my favorite hs teachers classroom 😍😍😍😍) or are #going to be destroyed (e.g. the office where i work rn 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍) or ive had to leave them and move out bc they’re inherently temporary (e.g. #my on campus room 😍😍😍😍 and my room in brighton 😍😍😍😍😍😍). and ive had attachment issues w space / location : whatever my whole life like i wou #would have huge meltdowns whenever we were transitioning from like elementary school to middle school middle school to high school etc etc.. #so i really just um. would like permanence and stability please. im 24. im done w school for now and maybe forever. i want to find a place w #where i can just like.. stay. so if im paying rent like something that would allow me to renew it indefinitely and not fear bei ng kicked #out randomly or at the end of a determined period. i just want a home lol i want a homeeeee and i want to decorate it with all my things and #never be afraid that i will lose it and get to stay there forever and ever or at least as long as i want. bc my parents already have plans f #for my new room after i move out and i won’t get to decorate it as much as i want bc my mom doesn’t want me to damage the paint. but like if #i have a place of my own then i get to decide a little ding in the paint is worth it to put up my lanterns. you know? idk. the mortifying #ordeal of experiencing freedom like thisfor the first time in my mid-late twenties probably 😍😍😍😍😍😍 but still its gonna be good and i hope it #happens soon and i have to MAKE that happen. so yeah. #wishlist #delete later #ok now im done for real THJS time lol. my mom is gonna be so pissed at me ive barely lifted a finger here. but im enjoying the quiet what ca #can i say!!!!!!!! like OMG ok last thi ng…. like she’s always saying i have to love myself first before i get into a relationship and it’s l #like.. maybe my living conditions do not predispose me to be able to spend time w myself in ways that allow me to love myself!!!!!! #maybe always being on the defense and needing to find quiet spaces all the time and being shamed for that is not a very good way to experien #experience myself in the place im supposed to feel most grounded and comfortable!!! so yeah. #like maybe i stopped doing all the things i loved bc you got alexa and loud speakers and started blasting music all the time and dominating #space and becoming more and more high maintenance… 😳 (and obviously i changed as a person / played a role in it too but again my point / re #realization is… maybe it was in RESPONSE to stimuli that were not good for me and not just bc i suck as a person / am losing myself / etc.) #like theeeee sonic warfare of it all. also my brother is a key player in it too bc he raps and sings at the top of his lungs and it’s like 🤨

[squidmaid]

sometimes I really MISS being young and feeling passionate about things like. I used to be so into writing and drawing and all these sorts of things and i could make myself work so much harder at them and nowadays I’m like. I would be content to be content at this point? like idk what I feel PASSIONATE about anymore I just aim to be comfortable but also sometimes that doesn’t feel like it’s enough. I miss that spark.

#I barely even enjoy media these days like it’s just. I can’t barely get myself to be too invested #ok it’s not that I can’t enjoy it I just… don’t feel as attached as I used to be #and I kind of miss that sometimes #everything just feels so transient nowadays #tbh the most excited I got for doing anything recently was when #my partner + housemate brought up potentially running a brothel business (it’s legal here) #and I was like holy shit I could be HELPFUL #and HELP with this thing I have some experience in (albeit online but still) #also admittedly I’ve been getting back into art here and there lately and that’s been nice #maybe I just need to seek it out more than I used to have to. being an adult in our day and age is hard yall. #but also I’ve always been addicted to being helpful because I feel like I am actually capable of something #and can make an impact on someone else #is it any surprise I went from being a full time SWer to being an age/disability carer? more at 11

[gottarunfromthelaw]

On the one hand I have alot of self restraint when it comes to me doing things that I know will eventually hurt me but also I really want to do the things that will hurt me.

#wish I had the same urges for helping myself in the long run instead #but alas I want to no longer be a thinking human being who feels things #wouldnt life be so much better if you just gave in and then die? I think it would. #like genuinely all I’ve been thinking about is alcohol I want alcohol so bad #and I almost accepted some cigarettes from a coworker I am not having a good time #I cannot let myself have any nicotine I know I will become unbearable and the absolute worst human being #I am barely a decent human being now #like realistically I know I should like. not purposely do things that end up hurting me or cause actually harm to my body #but also I genuinely want nothing more than to simply not exist #but also doing certain things will make me more aware of my body and of my thoughts #idk very much a ‘I think I need therapy’ hour #the thing vents #idk not really negative but I’m tired of having ‘ooooh you want to drink so bad oooooh you want to smoke so bad oooooo #‘oooooh you want to hurt yourself so bad so you can stop having these thoughts oooooo’ #like shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment and be happy but my brain fucjing wont

[mooodyblue]

ignore me lol

#having one of those nights where i'm very very miserable #like the constant guilt of just being me in my situation here at home barely getting to leave the house #not being able to work because i have no transportation #having to rely on bits of online work i can find online just to like have lunch with a friend #can't even drive we have one car my dad won't help me get my license #can barely do my online work because we haven't had wifi in weeks and a lot of it i need my laptop for :( #like writing is all i have now this is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind and doing some dumb shit #and im like .. is this going to be my life forever cause this shit has been going on for many many years now #and i just don't want people thinking i /want/ to be living this way i literally don't #like it's crazy i have to wonder like why am i existing if im just locking myself in my room all day everyday #all of this combined w my trying to control my ** it just does not help at all #idk i just want to be normal i want to have a life i wanna enjoy my life #but knowing it's going to be awhile before i do just makes me dread waking up every morning #im just so sad and lonely and miserable and this is all i have going for me #idk #sorry for the long vent #but it is true everyone i am in fact a loser #alright lemme shut up lol

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

ah well gosh hi???

in what i said was gonna be a one day break from, well, life tbh, i seemingly realized that i don't just have school coming SOON, but that i wasn't prepared to wake up at 2pm to find out i only have a few days left of total free time not spent struggling and stressing out over exams of all things

so like any average person i went and made plans with friends to hang out and get my mind off of everything- and while it was good while it lasted, i really wanted to be, yknow, clear

i have artworks at the ready, and if i ever become desperate enough to start getting a hang on drawing with a mouse all the time i might as well, but as things stand i really do not know what the heck i am doing-

i'll try my hardest to at least look for a way to fix the pen cause that's just the most important and expensive part of the damaged stuff, but i'm thinking the cable is perma-broke so i'll have to look for a way to replace it

to cut right to the chase: i have some art i can post. but i dunno when, if, or which to post because most of them have some context that i would've normally been all too eager to explain, but as things stand? man i don't think i could muster the energy to try

so? i dunno yall- i mean i could start writing again? i've entertained the idea long enough and this might be just the opportunity to finally get some practice without getting distracted by drawing :'D

i could do small stuff with a mouse if i feel like sharing some art, but the illustrations? i feel like i can only post those once i feel a bit more alive mentally and physically to interact with others without feeling so drained all the time (but knowing that school's coming, i can't really promise anything :'))

thanks a lot for the sweet words and patience guys- it means a lot that you won't immediately, idk, ditch this blog once you realize i might not post much if not at all (hopefully not gosh) for an undetermined amount of time? you really made me realize this wasn't as bad as my mind's been pushing me to think,

so trust me i WILL bounce back and reblog stuff and have entire essays in your tags eventually- i just need to stop feeling like it has to be today, or tomorrow, or any days afterwards, just that it will happen when i feel like it<3

#rambling #delete later? #it feels so funny to get bothered by something that would be trivial to future me in like...idk a year? #i'm not as upset as i thought i'd be too- just mostly numb i guess.. #also the reason why i can't bring myself to post the artworks i had- can i really talk about how much fun i had drawing them? #when i'm barely wrapping my head around the fact that i can't no more? and for an uncertain amount of time where i'll be too busy #too tired and too short on money to even think about drawing in the first place? i don't think i wanna get used to that but well #if there's one thing i can take from these vacations is that while you guys can't see it i really did have fun improving on my art #and gosh do i love what i'm doing so much that i personally wouldn't mind if it were just for me alone to see #but after sharing my ideas and works into the wild and watching people gather around to share ideas back- #i can say i like my art and the why is because it makes me happy! and it apparently does for you guys too so why not share! >:) #i also guess one of the reasons i'm not as active is cause of the whole need to compose myself and find the time to breathe and enjoy #the works of the others and mine and think of ways to express my feelings to everyone #and trust me sometimes i wish i could just write nothing and post/reblog- but it feels so empty #if i wanted to do that i'd make another account #no i want to talk about what i love with y'all and if i start rambling well no one's complaining! #if i see something made with the thought of me behind it then ain't no way in hell i'm not climbing rooftops yelling how much i love it #so if i somehow don't do that then i'm either too busy to even check tumblr- dead- or doing even worse somehow- so nothing against you! #guess i had that on my mind for a while now so please! i'm not ignoring you on purpose! i'm probably too wrapped up in my stuff to react #same for asks btw i am not joking there's so many and i live in constant shame xD :') #if you made it this far i am so sorry for yet another long post but i feel it's justified a little x) goodnight everyone! have a nice day<3

[actual-corpse]

I.

Want.

A.

Fucking.

CHEESEBURGER

#living that 'no red meat' life be like... #id love to fully convert over to pescatarian but FISH IS SO EXPENSIVE #so i suffer with poultry (i am not a poultry fan) #but #and #then i see these people eating the red meat #and im like... damn.... vegetarians are.... oof #bc cutting ALL meats? i can BARELY cut red! #but i am losing weight (probably not entirely related... correlation causation bla blah*) #*i HAVE cut a LOT of fast food trips and soda and have just watched my food intake bc ive decided to make a change.... #and ya know #it really proves to me that i CAN change! i CAN improve if I truly want to try!!! #and thats what matters #the ability to follow through! #and i think.... #idk #it gives me hope #ive gone back to doing things I like. watching things I enjoy!! #i can watch Trixie Mattel again! (my ex and his friends are Cringe [derogatory]... I actually couldnt watch anything I liked... It was alway #shitty YouTubers talking about Magic The Gathering and Pokemon... and I couldnt object... #i was nothing but a live in maid and when I couldn't do that I got ignored... I wasnt treated well and I guess I set myself up for that but #it still wasnt right! I DESERVE BETTER GOD DAMNIT) #anyway #i REALLY want some shitty McDonald's burgers rn i stg im so fucking glad I live 20mins out of town bc I am so tempted rn #it is ONE AM... The MACCAS WITCHING HOUR! I AM HUNGY... and thursity #but I have a 40 pack of water in my car (I cant afford a LifeStraw filter pitcher and I NEED one for safe water) #byyyyeeee

[iidsch]

can you imagine if someone said that they are severely depressed and the only way to feel better is to hunt endangered animals for sport? like we would all agree that this person shouldn't do that just because it's the only thing that makes them happy and that maybe they should a. go to therapy and b. find something less harmful, right? well i just saw someone said they use ai art bcs they are disabled and cant draw anymore so-

#m #art stuff #ai art #ive thought sometimes about how devastating it would be if i lost my sight and couldnt draw anymore #or do many of the things i love because they require me to see #and it's a very scary thought honestly #but i would just learn to move on and find something else to do #like. you know. what every blind person has to do because that's just life #but i wouldnt start doing unethical stuff like ai art which steals from other artists #also genuine question but what do you get from using ai to generate an image #i enjoy making my ocs on picrew but that can never replace the joy of drawing something myself #and it's astonishing to see an artist say that ai can replace that feeling #also not to be that person but beethoven was deaf and he is the greatest composer of all time #there are blind people who make incredible art and deaf people who make amazing music #having a disability is still not an excuse. and if it's really preventing you from creating art then do something else #im depressed and barely draw but i've learnt to do other creative stuff like gifs and edits #using your disability to defend something that hurts artist is honestly disgusting and anyone who does so should be ashamed of themselves