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hecohansen31 · 4 years

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It Was Fun Till It Lasted

Duncan Shepherd x F1 Pilot Female! Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have been a bit silent the latest weeks, but I just got hit by the inspiration train as of lately (even more after all the F1 glory we have been getting) and I just thought about a small drabble, about Duncan in the race car universe.

Not as a driver, but more like a sponsor.

This is very PWP, even for my sentimental ass, so I do hope that you’ll like it, even though it isn’t the most perfect thing ever (just to warn you).

Also I just wanted to give @guiltyfiend a big shoutout because she has been a constant source of inspiration for me with various fics (‘Quid Pro Quo’ has been the main reason why for the existence of this drabble) so do check out her lovely fics!

I am also personally, maybe (since I don’t feel apprecciated in the other fandoms I am in) of making a few comebacks in this fandom, if any of you would like iit obviously!

So, please, if you want more, don’t forget to leave some kind of feedback I truly apprecciate it from the bottom of my heart and it’ll truly make my heart beat stronger and my fingers write faster!

Don’t ever ever forget to support your beloved writers with feedback, if you liked what they wrote!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: Galas can be annoying things, but when an handsome fellow accidentally drenches you in champagne there are many ways your night might change.

WORDS: 5,4 K

WARNINGS: Mention of Sexism, Misogyny, Harassment On The Workplace, Inaccurate Portrayal of The F1 World, Inaccurate Way Of Cleaning Champagne From Clothes, Sex, Slight Dirty Talk, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Sex Between Strangers.

You sipped slowly from the flute of champagne you had managed to steal, meanwhile your boss wasn’t looking, since you had been instructed to avoid getting yourself drunk till you got the trophy in your hand, to avoid replacing the ‘drunk Kimi meme’ in the F1 world.

But it was difficult for you, an introvert, to feel at ease in a room full of different people.

A few of them were gladly ignoring you, but more were looking at you like you were some kind of freak in a costume, which was probably the best description for being one pilot of the only all-female team existing in F1.

You had grown up with the myths of Ayrton Senna and Niki Lauda, thanks to your grandfather and his the passion for fast cars and elegant ones, raising you as some kind of substitute to him, who had never been able to race, having had various problematics with his own health.

An heartattack at seventy had taken him away, just as you signed your first contract with the F2.

You had been partnered with a male pilot, and although the car wasn’t the fastest, you had managed to become much better than your partner, eventually getting yourself fired because females, in a place like F1, couldn’t raise to fame, throwing you in a depression that had brought you almost on the verge…

… but then your newest F1 stable had brought you back, giving you a car that wasn’t definitely one of the best you could have gotten but it had gotten you through a nice first season, and you had actually arrived at the sixth position in the constructors’ championship, alongside your partner…

… who, right now, didn’t look less bothered than you, at this fancy party.

But Abigail could definitely hold the curious gazes better than you.

You might have needed something more than champagne to get through a night like this.

You had begged your stable director to just bring Abigail, the social butterfly out of the two of you, but he had just insisted that ‘having two beauties on his arm would have done him and the stable more good than just one’.

And aside from the blatantly sexist part of the comment, you knew he was right.

Sponsors had been rushing to you this season because the media had focused much attention on the importance of new female figures in races, but now that the novelty was rushing off a few had decided to let you go, so you had to grab a few new ones, convincing them through either the use of your talk and your feminine charm.

‘… I had almost thought that he’d ask us to sleep with the sponsors to get them to stay’ had commented Abigail, as you both set yourself up for the night, the elegant rented dresses waiting for you on the comfortable bed of the expensive suite of the hotel ‘… it was this close to becoming an episode of ‘Law & Order: SVU’.

And now Abigail was being her usual chatty with a few sponsors fawning around her, as you tried to down the flute of champagne almost as if it was a full bottle of vodka, something that you honestly missed and stared at the expensive drink in the glass.

If only your glare could turn it in something that would give you more liquid courage.

A few of the rookies had been tried to talk with you and you had been extremely happy to have someone approach you, but soon the chat had diffused itself and all the drivers had been called back by their own director, and you had found yourself alone, again, and with annoying stares upon you.

Many of the pilots from the other stables had tried to get you in bed with them, and you knew that there were various bets going on about getting you or Abigail to finally relent your ‘haughty pretenses’, not to talk about the fact that the entire media platform and magazines had been set up on you and Abigail, waiting for any false step of yours.

You had been dubbed ‘the sole chance for feminism to raise’ and everyone was waiting for you to fall.

To prove that F1 wasn’t female territory.

So, you had been rigorously swearing off any coupling with the other drivers.

The fact that you found it already quite difficult to combine your training and the various galas you had to attend with an healthy social life, certainly did help with the whole ‘chastity promise’ thing.

And you never regretted such a choice during the race season.

The ‘no sex’ rule helped you during the competition, keeping your mind in the game, but now that the driving season was ended and you were finally enjoying your well-deserved holiday, you couldn’t help but hate thoroughly the situation you had landed yourself in, only able to rely on your hand and a few interesting toys.

But otherwise, utterly frustrated.

And yet unable to come up with a solution on such a short notice.

Dicks didn’t grow up on trees, these days.

You just bumped in them, apparently.

Because, as you were halfway through having your second drink of the night, counting on the fact that the director of your stable was halfway through a successful talk with some well-dressed older gentlemen, hence making him quite busy already and unable to check up on you, you clashed against a wall.

A wall of muscles, at a second glance.

A breathing wall of muscles, at third glance.

But you were far more interested by the fact that the bump-in had just made you spill your entire drink on your Givenchy rented dress, the one that costed more than your apartment rent, something that made a loud ‘shit’ leave your mouth and making the ‘wall of muscles’ raise his head towards you, as he noticed the stain.

And then, when you noticed that ‘wall of musclea’ had a pretty face and an even prettier body, a softer ‘shit’ left your mouth.

What a way to make an impression.

“Oh Gosh, I am sorry!” American accent, no British accent.

That was probably where Mother Nature had drawn in blessing him with all the ‘fucking handsome man’ gifts.

His handsome face was elegantly touched up by high cheekbones and feature that had something of roguish matched with elegant traits and darker colors, making him stand out as someone who wasn’t definitely a pilot or a journalist.

Which was ideal for you.

Such an refined face was matched with an elegant tailored body, the suit definitely made for him and him solely, knowing perfectly how to highlight each and every trait of a body that was obtained through attentive work, a careful one that was meant to impose itself or pump his muscles with no aim, but to give him a lean appearance of power.

That definitely worked with you.

“… oh” brain to Earth, brain to Earth, (Y/N), say something intelligent ‘… it was an accident’.

Tell that to the lady that will want the dress back.

But for now, that wasn’t your main concern.

Which was the handsome man in front of you.

But you couldn’t just hump him right there, not only because you were pretty sure that it would have been described as ‘sexual harassment’, but all the spotlight was set up on you, hence all the cameras were focused on every little small mistake you could have done, intensifying them in a way that didn’t happen with men.

You had to be perfect, but even more than that.

You had to be the male everyone thought you were, although you lacked of the attributes.

So, flirting was considered a hellish sin.

“Gosh, I am… extremely sorry” he repeated again, as his eyes shared a quick glance with yours, and you just nodded your head as if you had to confirm to him that you had heard him clearly the first time, before ducking to the restroom, hoping to be able to scrub away the stain, at least to avoid its yellowish color on the stark white of your dress.

But before you could start raising the dress off your legs, where the stain was more evident, you were followed inside by the man, and before you could utter any protest, he caught the ones in your eyes.

“I swear I am not a creeper” he raised his hands as if to reinforce this “… I just… you shouldn’t scrub on silk, it’ll just ruin the fabric, just ran the water and then wait for it to dry, some alcohol and a bit of bleach might also help, the stain will come out, with a single wash… I swear”.

You had a million questions for the stranger, unsure if you shouldn’t have already screamed at him for having entered the ladies restroom, but you just assumed that he was the first handsome guy ever to come with a cute personality.

And good domestic knowledge.

That was meant to always do something to a lady.

“… thank you” you settled on uttering, comforted by the fact that the guy turned around to leave you some privacy, but you couldn’t just let go such an opportunity, even more when you were in some kind of secluded area, and he didn’t look like the type that had a secret go-pro camera under his clothes.

Some girl that you had once met in a bathroom at one of the races had turned out to have one, as she egged on commenting some shit over Abigail.

Unluckily for her, Abigail was in the other stall and she had flushed in the noisiest way the water, before appearing with some kind of triumphant aura around her.

“… can you please stay?” ‘people will probably doubt you on your “abilities” if you come out after five minutes’ you almost wanted to utter, as a test to know if he looked just like a sex god or he fucking was, although with the way his cheeks blushed of a light red, you simply bit down on your tongue “… just to help me get the stain off, properly… you seem to know much more than me about it”.

“Things happen in college” he commented, as if it was an explanation.

What kind of parties had he been in college?

You just remembered the rush to grabbing the cheapest and most efficient alcohol.

He reached out as kindly as he could to start on the farthest part of your dress, where it wasn’t straight up skin tight, gently dabbing it with a piece of paper you had handed him, the fabric destroying itself on the dress, but the stain became a bit less prominent.

Enough to pass as some kind of enrichment the stylist had done on the dress at the last minute.

You hoped you could make the lady that had rented it to you buy this shit off too.

Because you either managed to get the stain out or get yourself a sponsor for the new year, or you’d have had to probably start living on the road, with only a few shining trophies for losers, such as the one you were supposed to grab tonight, for ‘best promising team’.

As if there was some kind of competition, between your small team and various established ones…

“… what are you doing at such a party?” you knew that conversation during this kind of thing would have gotten it to seem less sexual than it truly was, and although you were as good at small talk as you were at handling a crowd, you did your best to sound as relaxed as you could be.

But your question still sounded like one out of a police interrogation.

“Friend of a friend” it was more like meaning ‘none of your business’ but kinder, and you couldn’t deny his own right to privacy “… by the way, I do think that I should give you my name… in case you want someone to curse for the dress, I am Duncan”.

“I am (Y/N)” you were glad when no light of recognition shone in his eyes, just as his hand lightly grabbed the back of your upper thigh, to make the dress adhere perfectly to your skin and dab the stain more properly, a light shiver at the touch made you understand how truly touch-starved you had been “… and you look as out of place as me in this fucking gown”.

“Don’t tell anybody, but…” and he lightly leaned in closer to you, enough that you could feel the strong but comforting perfume of his cologne, something that smelt extremely male and yet, you couldn’t detect a trace of toxic masculinity in it “… I have never seen a single race of F1 in my life”.

Just what you needed.

“… oh tell me about it” you played coy, as his hands raised up from your legs skillfully avoided your ass, instead choosing to grip on the outer part of your hip, handling you with care but a sureness that made you want to relent the whole ‘male image’ you had created around you.

What would you have given for a night in which you didn’t have to be the one in control, constantly checking every detail!

“… neither a fan of the whole race panorama?” he asked, as his eyes trained themselves on your stomach, barely covered by the white of the dress, showing him a bit of skin behind it, exactly as the absence of your panties, a crazed decision of Abigail, who had thrown away your seamless granny pants.

‘They might be protective when we race, but these are shit’.

You knew you shouldn’t have lied to him about not belonging in the racing setting, but you just wanted to have one night in which you weren’t the prodigy, the promise, ‘the sole chance for freedom to raise’.

You just wanted to be (Y/N).

“Definitely not”.

“Brought here by a boyfriend?” now he was scanning his own ground, and he had a small break from his cleaning duties, as you caught a glimpse of that damned profile, the kind of thing you saw on expensive old coins.

He was definitely some kind of emperor in his own right.

“Nope” you mumbled, before you gave him back his own same coin “… just brought here by a friend of a friend”.

He smirked at his words being spit back at him and you smiled almost foolishly.

You even let out a soft giggle.

How fucking long had it been since you had giggled?

And done it because you honestly wanted.

And not because you were forced in front of journalists or potential sponsors.

His hands were now on the side of your chest, against the slight hill of your bra (you could have forsaken panties, but you needed that support), his hands lightly tracing the ridge of the silicone part where the bra stood attached to your skin, sweaty due to the fact that you had been wearing the whole thing for five hours, before of the event.

“… and you had an idiot spill a drink over it, in the span of an hour” the words were meant for self-deprecation, but the smile that accompanied him was utterly confident.

Had you had panties, they would have definitely hit the ground soundly in that moment.

“… it could have been worse” you mumbled, just as your eyes twinkled with secret meaning.

‘You could have been a complete twat or old enough to be my grandpa’

“… you couldn’t have known how to get out champagne stains” you joked, settling up on a more PG-13 comment, unsure of what to do, since it had been quite some time since you had last flirted, and although his hand told you a story, you weren’t exactly sure if he had gotten all the clues of the game.

He laughed so brilliantly that also a light blush joined your soft giggle.

“Gosh, that would have been awful” his tone was joking, but his eyes were onto you, as they searched some kind of confirm in yours, and you just had to lean in to sign the deal, leaning down to kiss him.

You had never been one for one-night-stands and neither for quick fucks in a restroom, but with the way he lightly gripped you, making sure to position you on top of the elegant porcelain sink, careful to avoid the water: it wouldn’t have been neither.

And you were completely swept away.

He definitely passed the ‘kiss’ test.

His hand went through your hair perfectly, but careful of the small updo you had done, his fingertips lightly scraping the baby hair on your upper neck, in a way that kept you grounded, just as his lips lightly bit onto your upper lips, leaving you wanting for more, just as he backed away with a cunning smirk.

One that spoke of that technique never failing.

And before he could perform again that cocky enchantment, you kissed him.

Releasing on him entire months of sexual frustration.

And you had to say that you surprised him, enough that you were worried that your suddenness would have scared him, but he just needed to regain the control, before his hand without any care went to mess up your updo, in a way that instead of grounding and relaxing you, made you tense up, just as his hand splayed your knees wide onto the sink to have him come up between them.

And after the passionate kiss you had been sharing, you found yourself quickly locked, with one that gripped you by the hair against the cold mirror and another one splayed on your knee

The fabric of your silk dress lightly caressed the skin of your inner thigh, right as his elegant and expensive pants did the same with your core, making you feel that you shouldn’t have seriously worried about the ‘five minutes thing’, or at least you hoped.

But the package seemed fucking good.

“… so, would you like to have a bit more of help?” the way he pronounced the word ‘help’ sounded downright sinful and how could a girl deny him, as your own hands moved to gently tap on his sharp cheeks, the scratchiness of a cleanly shaved beard making you feel like this was all real.

“Just don’t get my dress dirty” it was a whisper, but your eyes played with the dominance you wanted to relent to him, and he just looked intrigued.

“Then spread your legs properly, little one” and as if under a spell they opened properly and let him adjust himself against them as his hands lightly raised up to collect the dress away from your legs, stopping right up on your hips and leaving a bit of dress to cover you, as if he had to leave you some modesty “… good girl”.

You purred at that, leaning in the light petting of his grip having become less pronounced as a grip and more a caress.

“… I saw you out there in the crowd and I wanted to buy you a drink, because you looked at unease as me, I thought that you could use that” he commented as his face lightly moved down to the crook of your neck, his nose making a teasing trail down your profile, just as his beard lightly scratched your skin, making it redden simply for his lips, before he covered it of purplish bruises “… I thought I had done the worst thing ever since with pouring a drink over you”.

“… couldn’t stay mad when you fucking looked like a sex god” you muttered unable to deny the truth, your body arching right against his as his hands, gently dragged he strap of your dress down your shoulders, revealing the awful skin-like bra, but he just seemed focused on your collarbones, his hand working slowly to ease the bra away from you, eventually dropping it onto the small tissues box over both of your heads, so it wouldn’t get on the ground.

An attentive gesture, exactly as the way he gripped tightly your breast, making sure that your nipples were lightly caressed by his thumb, right as he bit down on the softer flesh of your neck.

“I am glad that my good looks were of some use” he joked, and gently looked up at you “… and let me tell you, I have a tongue that will make you forget all about my clumsiness”.

“I do think that I deserve an apology” you muttered, as your eyes met again, your lashes cornering perfectly your hazy eyes, breathy and soft “… a vocal apology”.

And he simply smirked down at you, falling on his knees with a sound thud, as you pushed yourself further down the sink you were on, till you felt the painful dig of the faucet in your back, enough to make you moan in protest, but soon the look of wonder on his face as he unveiled the secret underneath your dress was definitely a relief against the uncomfortable position.

“… didn’t know that you were one of those girls that go without panties” he pushed a knee up on you to spread you further to him, as he took in the proper masterpiece that had been revealed to him down there, and his kisses moved up on your inner thigh “… look like the pretty girl turned out to be a bad bad girl, no wonder I am about to fuck you like a fucking bitch in heat in a restroom”.

And you blushed at the profane words.

But it was just more endearing for you as he pushed himself to properly settle against the nest between your legs, already oozing soft milk and sweet honey, his lips lightly pushing against your own, as he dragged the same beard you had felt on your cheeks against your cunt, the sensation making you hiss, right as again your lips came to soothe your ache.

The plumpness of his lips made you unable to stop yourself from moaning out loud, your eyes closing just as he delivered a slap to your thigh, a silent warning to keep your eyes trained on him and you did, as his lips sucked your softest piece in his mouth.

His tongue was instead a blessing inside of you and this time you were the one delving a bit of pain to him, as you grabbed strongly his hair, some kind of relief to keep you grounded as your body became like a cloud, weighted down just by the tension in your whole muscles.

“Fuck, you do know how to have fun” he mumbled tightly, as he released your cunt, something that made you protest loudly “… when was the last time somebody fucked you this good, (Y/N)”.

And before you could properly reply, his finger slipped inside you, making you hiss out at the feeling of being full, so unlike the stretch of your own fingers, so slight that now you needed a minute to calm yourself from everything, as you waited to answer his reply.

And he gave you a moment to breath, before his finger lightly probed further, reaching inside with a wayward gesture that made you choke up on your own words, as your back arched against the mirror and the hand that wasn’t in his hair gripped so tightly the sink that you were sure you had left an acrylic nail there.

“… a long time for sure” he smirked so devilishly that it broke you thoroughly.

And then his tongue matched his finger and before you knew it your floating was interrupted by your skyrocketing to the ground in a pleasurable trail that brought you back to all the earthly pleasure you could ask for, leaving you numb and tensed, your eyes rolling back as you lost sight of what was going on with you.

And then as you regained, your legs were slack over Duncan’s sides, his lips teasing again the skin of your neck, but no intention to punish you with any pain or tease you, instead there was a desperate soothing in his gestures, as you slowly came back to reality.

Fuck, you honestly should do this more.

Sadly, half of the guys that wanted a hook-up wouldn’t have ever done anything like what Duncan just did with you.

And would probably last five minutes, indeed.

“… was that enough of an apology?” he asked as soon as he saw that you had regained some semblance of calmness.

“Definitely yes” not that you could reply with much more.

Your fingers spoke louder as they went to his belt, undoing it with a bit of problem since you were slightly trembling, but he tried his best to let you do it, but before you could lower the pants, he gently grabbed your hands, something soft in his eyes, as he made you look up at him.

“We don’t have to do this…”.

“Oh, c’mon…” you mumbled, but his question was sincere and you couldn’t help but blush lightly “… I am pretty sure I want to do this”.

He mumbled softly, as he grabbed something from his back pocket, as you lightly lowered pants and boxers in one move,

And you weren’t disappointed,

He was definitely a big guy.

Larger than longer, with a light curve that made you painfully ache for having him inside of you, already half-hard, and your hand gently moved up and down on him, in a gentle foreplay that was completely uninterested about the knocking on the door, eventually dissipating in curses.

“… gotta be quiet baby” he commented, as he pushed his wallet on the side of the sink, getting a condom out of it, something for which you were thankful, because although you were on birth control, he was a complete stranger to you, and although the thrill of it just made it all just more daring, you would have preferred avoiding anything that might have given you an awful month “… I don’t know if you will, since I’ll make you feel fucking good”.

You just smirked at him, with a smile that told him ‘I can take it, sweetheart’.

And he just silenced it with pushing himself inside of you.

The penetration gave you an unpleasant stretch, and you needed a minute, as your whole body shifted against him, completely pushing himself in your arms, and to his credit he didn’t do much more than steady you, as he gave you the time to adjust yourself on him, till your whole body relaxed but your own insides.

Gripping him tighter.

Goading him closer and deeper.

And he gently set up a slow rhythm, making you feel each inch of him, till you were hypnotized with the way his hips moved against you, his upper body lightly stroking your clit, as wetness oozed down him, lubing him up, as he took up more speed and you found your back pushed against the mirror with such intensity that you were sure it would have been broken soon.

But you couldn’t give a fuck.

He gently pushed you in another position turning you around, so that you could face the mirror, meanwhile he took you from behind, the angle being deeper and the slight curve of his cock hitting the perfect spot.

And the fact that you could see yourself being fucked by him was only a bonus.

The way his face became so deformed by pleasure gave it all some kind of dreamish state, as the pleasure intensified desperately and you were there just on the right spot, but not enough stimulation was there for you, till he brought a finger in your mouth, and you sucked him inside, looking at the wanton expression on your face, before you closed your eyes.

And pleasure overtook you.

It didn’t take him too much time for him to finish alongside you, as his hand lightly went in your hair again, pushing as a way to grip on reality for a last time and your muscles spasmed around you, desperately and tightly in a way that almost made you wonder how it would have felt to have his seed on you.

And not in a plastic wrapper.

But for now that was all you could do.

Your legs trembled but he steadied you, something that definitely gave him more credit than you thought, expecting him to simply tug himself back in and disappear, maybe stand a bit next to you, to wash himself, but to his credit he gently handled you better, till you were again seated against the sink, the facet now digging painfully in you.

But you were definitely sore in more pleasurable places.

He gently got you back in your dress, adjusting your bra on your sweaty skin, too sensitive for the powerful orgasms you had felt, his silken touch making goosebumps appear on your skin, as your nipples lightly peaked and he couldn’t stop himself from gently sucking one after the other in his mouth, as you moaned almost as a protest.

“Don’t start something you won’t finish” you warned him, as his eyes twinkled with teasing happiness.

“… I would… but I do think that people need this restroom” and he was right, since you felt somebody halfway through calling the security and you shouted out calmly a soft ‘sorry, I just stained my dress and I am trying to get the stain away’ “… but if you want, I can… leave you my number, for more fun…”.

Which you were tempted to take, honestly.

He was handsome, he had a good dick game and he was definitely respectful of boundaries.

But you knew these things always got too complex for you.

First of all because had you given him your number, you would have to admit the truth and secondly as much as you were free right now a partner that was repeated a few more times was dangerous, because feelings might be developed.

“… I…” but how could you let down a guy like this.

“… you aren’t the type” a sad smile appeared on the man’s face, no hard feelings for sure, but definitely uncomfortable at your rejection and you couldn’t help but simply nod “… got it, well it was fun till it lasted”.

And to his merit he didn’t do anything that might have been rough against you, choosing to instead smile politely as he cleaned himself a bit, before he exited with one last look at you, as if to check if you had changed your mind, but you simply stood painfully uncomfortable off the sink as you dabbed a bit more the stain.

“… thank you for the suggestion and…” ‘…the fucking amazing sex’.

“You are welcome”.

And with that he disappeared from the restroom, as you thought he’d disappear from your life.

The only trace of him was the faint stain on your dress and the slight blush on your cheeks as you joined Abigail again.

‘… somebody got lucky’ she simply muttered, as she twirled her glass, another one in your hands, as your eyes searched for Duncan, he joined a few of the investors, but your eyes diverted immediately from that sight, worried the connection might be seen and questioned ‘… at least one of us got laid tonight’.

You simply elbowed her, as you smiled lovingly at the sponsors.

But you definitely felt rebirthed after the restroom session.

Maybe you were wrong about not seeing him again.

Not that you hadn’t to wait much to meet him again.

That morning you had been asked to take part at a reunion of the stable, alongside a few sponsors that you had found at the latest event, it was a way to get them to know the ‘talents’ they’d fund, and as you expected old and older people to approach you, you were surprised to find Duncan standing there.

Hadn’t he been a complete stranger to the F1 platform?

And as your grew nervous and more nervous, your stable director came up to you and Abigail, slinging an arm over you both as he moved to get you and present you to him, making you blush as much as he did, but he was extremely professional.

You couldn’t, when you discovered he was your newest sponsor.

‘Girls let me introduce to you both our latest sponsor’ your boss commented softly ‘Duncan Shepherd’.

And he was Duncan fucking Shepherd.

The heir to the Shepherd foundation.

What the fuck had you done?

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Duncan Shepherd (I don’t really have a taglist anymore, so if you are interested on being there for Michael do let me know, and I’ll add you, if I ever think about writing something for him again!):

@blakewaterxx, @melodylangdon, @avocodys, @ahsbitch, @littlegirlsdontplaynice, @accio-rogers

#Duncan Shepherd #Duncan Shepherd Reader #Duncan Shepherd x Reader #Duncan Shepherd x Female Reader #Duncan Shepherd Fic #Duncan Shepherd One Shot #Duncan Shepherd Smut #Duncan Shepherd Moodboard #Duncan Shepherd Writing #Duncan Shepherd Imagine #House Of Cards #House of Cards Imagine #HOC #HOC Imagine

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notesonabeautifuldisaster-blog · 7 years

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Introductions

For all those times where you get frustrated and want to grab my shoulders and give me a gook shake and say, “why, damnit?!”

For all those times where you wait for me to come to you but find yourself reaching out for me instead. For all those times where you find yourself silently - or not so silently- wishing I would finally say something.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for all the times where I leave you feeling insecure, frustrated or in second place, for making you feel like your feelings don’t matter, that mine always come first, that my issues always come into the foreground.

I’m sorry that my anxiety sometimes appears to be this whole other person present in our relationship, changing things and screwing things up, making things harder than they need to be. I wish I could kick them out but I’m afraid they’re here to stay (for a little bit longer anyway) so maybe you two should get to know each other a little better.

Anxiety, meet girlfriend. Girlfriend, meet anxiety.

So. This is awkward. Like a really bad first date with someone you don’t really like but you’re doing it because you don’t want to be rude. Yeah, the anxiety likes the girlfriend but I don’t think the girlfriend likes the anxiety very much. I don’t blame you. Even the host doesn’t like the anxiety. Best get this over with.

Once upon a time…. ah, fuck that. It’s 2017 and basically I’m a constantly tripping anxious mess who has been given the questionable responsibility over her own life. Welcome. Grab a chair and have a seat. I think you’re going to be here a while.

So, talking. You know, the thing you do with your mouth or by writing words down. Which is technically just writing but that’s not the subject here so…. talking. Let’s explore why talking and anxiety aren’t exactly best friends.

I go back and forth between opening up and locking down. The latter means I don’t bother anyone but it also means I ignore myself. I spend more time thinking about what speaking up would do to others than what staying silent does to me. I worry more about upsetting, hurting, disappointing or offending others that I leave myself silent, knowing full well that somehow somewhere, it’s going to come back at me eventually. You see the problem? Because I do. I don’t handle disappointment well. Easier to be disappointed in myself than have someone else disappointed in me.

Anxiety is a constant onslaught, not just on my mind but on my body too. It stops me eating or makes me binge (the weight loss is nice but really, I could do with a healthier way). It makes my heart race at a speed that would make an F1 driver jealous. It makes my palms sweat and my muscles tighten and I usually end up stressing even more because the physical symptoms are just so super uncomfortable. It is not just endless thoughts and overwhelming feelings of panic but also the twitching and the fidgeting, the adrenaline rushing through my veins before eventually crashing and leaving me empty and exhausted and wanting to sleep for a week, only to then sleep for maybe four hours…

So, anxiety is an asshole who really tries to ruin my life sometimes. Going somewhere? Stress about it. Doing something? Get myself into a frenzy with crazy thoughts.

I need time. For everything. Working myself up to make a phone call can take hours or even days. I won’t take part in conversation because I don’t want to be making mistakes, or, I go the other way and I talk too much and too loud whilst fully aware I am making myself look like an idiot, which is something I will then think about for at least 48 hours after the event.

I am already looking for an exit before I’ve even entered a room. I think and worry about leaving before I even go somewhere. When can I leave? How can I leave? Who’s going to be there? How long am I supposed to stay? Can I go somewhere to be alone? These thoughts are present even when I go somewhere I know with people I know. They’re off the Richter scale when it involves a place I’ve never been and people I’ve never met. And I may seem so calm on the outside…. which is probably a good thing because no one really wants to see the mess that’s happening on the inside. That alone would guarantee no one wants to hang out with me.

Ever get one of these texts or have someone randomly suggest this? “Want to grab a drink?”

It sounds so innocent and simple. For most people maybe. Not for me. These things need planning. I need time, a warning, a chance to work the whole thing through inside my head before deciding if I am actually in a place in my head where I can be social. Having things like this sprung on me… I will try to avoid it where I can (impromptu visits are my worst nightmare sometimes) and only ever say yes when it’s people I know really well. And the earlier questions still stand. Who, where, what and when. And on the occasions I do accept, I come home tired because I’ve been forced into a situation I didn’t prepare for and will have spent almost the entire time being attacked by the frenzied thoughts inside my head.

It is almost impossible to explain to someone outside my head how debilitating this can be. It seems incomprehensible and frankly, it is. Even to me and it’s in my head, for god sake. And none of it is rational. The ridiculous part is knowing that and still not being able to change stuff.

I may seem fine. I could be having one of the worst anxiety attacks ever and unless you look or listen closely, you wouldn't know. That's not just something I do. I know a lot of anxiety sufferers can do this. High functioning anxiety is a thing. It's a shit thing but it's a thing. I can go to parties and gatherings and go on last minute social events. I'll even face a crowd. But inside I'm fighting an almighty demon so while I may seem like all is well, I most likely am not. And when you think I'm not coping, you're probably right.

“Sorry” is my go to word because I am always worried and scared I will have done or do something wrong. I will take responsibility and blame when it’s not mine. I will just apologise for my emotions, my thoughts, my clinginess, my neediness, my distance, my desire to push you away but then worry I have gone too far and lost you. It's a lovely little combination, isn't it? So much fun... .

So, here we are. Anxiety… you’ve had the honour of meeting my girlfriend and she has had the misfortune of meeting you. Just be nice to her, alright? She’s trying - more so than anyone else ever has- to be supportive and she’s allowed to get it wrong.

She loves me. And even you can’t change shit about that.

#anxiety #personal

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twoscoopsofrecovery · 7 years

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re·cov·er·y  a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.  I wouldn't say I'm in recovery, but I also wouldn't say I'm fully in my ed or addiction at this point. I feel like I'm re entering recovery. But this time fully and honest, and I think that is why it is taking a little longer to surrender. When I do surrender I am doing It fully and completely. Two months back in treatment. Three months since I last wrote, so as assigned I'm writing again. An assignment I actually don't mind, I get to do what I love. A lot has happened. I've found myself kicked out of my parents house, yet again, jobless, broke, living with friends. Seems to be the norm. My mood has been extremely unstable and my behaviors are out of control. Well, sort of. I stopped purging. Since December 20th, when I finally came back to rosewood, I've only purged once. Which, is crazy because before I came in I was purging everything I ate. So major improvement there. Readmitting myself was this whole process. Due to health reasons it took longer then expected. My doctor found I had pancreatitis, which freaked me out to no end and back and motivated me to start eating a little bit before I even got back into treatment. Which, was insanely hard. My first two to three weeks back, I couldn't finish a single meal. It was humiliating to some extent, I felt completely incapable. With restricting, I haven't really been. There's this grey area in my brain where if I don't have the means to eat and if I don't have money, I don't have to eat. Which, was a bit of a problem maybe a week or two ago but I've seemed to improve with that one. So I guess my behaviors aren't out of control; I haven't purged, meal plan compliant, I don't binge, I don't use laxatives/diuretics/diet pills, I don't over exercise. Where does the problem stand then? Easy: my drinking. I'm in a constant debate with myself lately. Do I have an alcohol problem? A year ago I would've instinctively answered yes, I am an alcoholic. Today, well, I am not sure how to answer that question. I've drank a couple times now since being back. I'm supposed to be sober, everyone is supposed to be sober while in a program like this. My rational is: if I don't have a problem, I shouldn't have a problem staying sober for the duration of my stay at rosewood. But I find myself trying to sneak around the rules to drink. Is it a problem? I'm not too sure. When I drink I don't do so excessively, just enough to get decently drunk. Which, if you know me, you'd know its pretty easy for me because I basically have zero tolerance. So, again, I ask, where is the problem? The problem that I am encountering is not the actual alcohol it's self, or any drugs, or anything tangible for that matter. I do not think I am physically addicted to any substance currently as it stands. What I am addicted to, is escaping. And that's where the problem lays. I can't handle my reality, I want to get plastered, and forget about the shit show I call my life. I'm still terribly depressed and it keeps coming and going in waves and I can't really take it anymore. My life is currently rotating between, I want to kill myself and I'm writing a suicide note, to, my life is amazing and I love everyone so much and I'm so grateful for what I do have and people are inherently good. Which, is exhausting. A wave of sadness hit me the other day. Partially due to concerns, partially because of no reason. The other night I spent most of the evening with my boyfriend. I almost went into a flash back and started disassociating but was able to pull myself out of it before it had happened. He was extremely supportive and understanding, which was extremely comforting while I was in a more vulnerable place. When I got back to my friends place that I'm staying at, I was texting him, and something had come up. I've found myself scared to think about what things would be like with out him. Which, is insane because I haven't thought that about someone since my ex who I dated for almost two years. I don't find myself pushing him away, if anything I'm scared because I know I'm becoming attached, and commitment is scary, but I want it so badly. So, relationship wise, I'm extremely happy with where it's going. I'm very grateful I met someone who gets me and is there for me. It's going on the right direction, I'm in love, I'm happy, communication is there, things are good. So abnormal for me, but hey I'll take it. It's good and exciting. But, i miss my mom. My sisters, my brother. I know I have family, they're there, just not there right now. I have other family, family of choice vs. family of origin. I have people around me that help me out and are there for me. But I still miss them. So much. Before I readmitted me and my mom had probably the best mother daughter relationship I could of ever asked for. We had very real conversations about life; the good the bad, the nitty gritty details of addictions and my eating disorder. My mom confided in me and I the same. I miss my mother terribly. I miss my sisters and their beautiful sun-filled smiles. Sophia and her innocence. Audrey, who finally felt comfortable enough telling me her deep 5th grade coming of age secrets. Leo, who was just beginning to trust in me once more. I miss them. I miss them so much it hurts and I try not to think of it. So I won't talk about it anymore. I guess over all everything has improved and become more complicated. Still Canadian though, that's a major stress for me. But, I think I have figured out a way around it. I can get an F-1 visa, which is a student visa. Of course I'd have to take out loans to be able to go to school, and probably be in debt for the rest of my life, and after I'm done with school my visa is up and I cannot switch visas to something more permanent. So, it would just be delaying the process of going back to Canada. Which, at this point, I don't mind too much. Who knows where I'll be in four years. Four years ago I definitely didn't think I'd be back in treatment for a second time. Nor did I think I'd be alive at 20. At 16 I thought by time I was 18 I'd be dead. And "If I make it to twenty I'll have dentures" which didn't exactly happen. So yeah, maybe things have improved. I don't have much to complain about right now. Well, I have tons to complain about, I'm just choosing not to, because I'm not so sure how that'd serve me at this point. Wallowing in my own self pity doesn't help much anymore. I realize I need to get up, and move forward. I need to take action. It is my life and I do want it to be better then it has been. Ive recently reconnected with an old friend. I'm extremely grateful for her, as she has been there through the most depressive points in my life, and still has stuck by. She is family, and I love her dearly. Talking to her more recently I've realized how much I have changed, although I feel as though I haven't. We used to be a little group, me, her, my ex who is her step brother, her best friend, and her boyfriend who is now her husband. We used to do everything together. Before I had initially started treatment I lived with her because, well, my parents kicked me out. She had taken me in and for about two months we were this happy little family, until my suicide attempt. Which I regret so terribly and hate myself for putting them all through. When I was 18 I had an episode where I slit my wrists and hoped to die. Instead, my ex came into the bathroom where I was attempting to do so, and then a few minutes later, the rest of everyone. They rushed me to the ER and I was admitted to the psych hospital about twelve hours later, where I had never felt so alone. I spent five days in the hospital and then went to reasons inpatient for my ed because like my friend had said "be honest about your eating disorder". They had stayed with me while I was in the ER and the entire time she had been saying to be honest. And honestly if I didn't listen to her I probably never would have gone to treatment. So ash, if you're reading this, thank you. Thank you so much for everything you've ever done for me. I love you and you're a huge part of why I ever decided to change and learn to live. My parents always told me growing up that friends never last and family is forever. I'm upset, I'm hurt, I'm angry. Where the fuck are my parents now? If family is forever where are they? All I have is friends at this point. Which, again, I am so insanely grateful for. I don't know what I would be doing with out any of you. The people I choose to surround myself around are the people who actually stick around. Who knew, if you surround yourself by good people, good things happen. In my relapse this last time around, someone had asked me why I was killing myself over making my parents happy. At that time I wasn't exactly too sure what they meant and why they would say something like that. I was upset and hurt by it. But looking back just three months I completely understand that statement. Unfortunately, if I want to recover and live my life, I have to be separated from my parents. I love them so much. I love them to the moon and back. I have so much respect for them and would never do anything to hurt them. I think they are amazing people, but right now as it stands I have to love them from afar. And I'm coming to a place of acceptance with this. I think this is manageable at the point. As far as my visa goes, I've decided to get my F1. A student visa. I'll take out a loan and pay for school. I'll probably be in debt for the rest of my life but at this point, I do not care. All I'm doing is going to school for cosmetology and honestly, that's not that much money. So I need to finish high school. Which is on my list of things to do. This week I'm going to figure out how/where to go to get my transcripts. Or if I'm just going to take my GED. Also this week I'm going to meet up with a friend on Sunday and see if I can get a job anywhere. I'm excited honestly things feel like they're moving forward finally. And that's because of me. Because I finally decided to stop crying and wallowing in my self pity and actually get up and do something. The good news is, everyone else's voice is out of my head. I'm a lot more clear on what to do and how to do it.

#ed recovery #ed treatment #adulting

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