#i support water's rights and water's wrongs!!!

[wttcsms]

you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody, atsumu miya

pairing atsumu miya x reader word count 1.4k synopsis love for you is holding him; love for him is allowing himself to be held. content contains hurt/comfort, intimacy, atsumu-centric, insecurities, unconditional love, showering together but make it sfw

The stinging spray of scalding hot water from the showerhead should be enough to get him to leave, but he barely registers the pain, can’t seem to bring himself to feel the heat, can’t seem to bring himself to feel anything.

No — that’s not entirely true. He feels one thing.

Devastated. 

Everyone knows Atsumu Miya likes to talk shit on and off the court. It’s his thing, his trademark, his brand. Lots of athletes like to talk big about how they’re going to win; who the hell is going to support a guy who walks onto the court with a well, it’ll be alright if I lose. 

He’s staring down at the tiles of the shower, can somewhat register the persistent barrage of water spraying onto his back as he has one hand splayed on the wall, shoulders slumped, water dripping from his hair and running into his vision, making everything blurry. 

Don’t blink, he tries to demand of himself, but the issue is, we can’t always control our bodies. He has to shut his eyes, just for a brief second, and in that second, it all comes back to him.

The opposing team at set point. His team depending on him to serve. One point left. Only one chance. He can feel the stadium’s crowd holding their breath, can feel the lack of air in the atmosphere, can hear how loudly the blood is rushing to his head. Dizzy. Dazed. He doesn’t give into pressure, not anymore, not ever. Doesn’t feel performance anxiety, knows better than to try to attempt something flashy just for the glory of a good story to tell. 

Give ‘em a serve they don’t have a chance of receiving, he demands of himself. 

The final seconds of the match all come to him like stills from a movie, each frame another devastating blow to his ego, his self-worth, his very being. The ball is in the air, he’s bending his knees to prepare for the jump, his hand making contact with the ball. Something’s off, he can feel it upon first contact, but it’s too late to save, too late for him to change anything.

The ball lands.

On his side of the net.

He’s frozen in place as he stares ahead. He can tell the other team is cheering, slapping each other on their backs, and he can hear the blow of a whistle, the celebration from the crowd. But all he sees is the ball. All he sees is his failure.

Atsumu has spent a good portion of his volleyball career knowing that he plays the game better than most. It’s why he feels so comfortable talking about the lack of skills other players display. It’s why he always has something to say at practice, on the court, during a post-game interview. 

And he knows he makes mistakes. He knows that he’s only human. But a bad serve in the middle of a game isn’t as crushing as knowing that he is the sole reason as to why the Black Jackals’ season is going to be ending early. 

Where did he go wrong? He did everything perfectly, did everything the way he usually does. Why couldn’t he perform? Why did he let his team down? Why—

“Atsumu?” 

He doesn’t look up, and all you can see is the sad shape of his outline from the foggy glass door of the shower. You know that Atsumu probably wants nothing more than to be alone right now, but you can’t help but worry when fifteen minutes have gone by, and you could still hear the shower running. That’s your first sign that something is wrong.

Atsumu is a notoriously quick showerer, to an almost concerning degree. When you first started living together, you debated planning elaborate tricks to see whether or not he was even using soap. (Which, in hindsight, was just flatout silly; he walks out the shower smelling overwhelming of his Axe Men’s 3-in-1 and Old Spice deodorant.) 

No — the first sign that something is wrong would be his uncharacteristic silence on the trip back home. He hadn’t responded to your it’s okay, baby, you’ll get ‘em next season. Instead, he just looked out the window, the devastated expression on his face silencing you as well. Even when he lost to Kageyama, he had been disappointed, upset, but still talking big about how he was going to crush the Adlers next time around. He had then made a comment about Tobio’s stupid haircut, and that’s when you told him if he doesn’t have anything nice to say, he shouldn’t say anything at all.

Now, you’d give anything to have him say something. Something for you to work with.  

“Atsumu?” You call out for him again, worried when you don’t see his figure moving. 

Pathetic. Atsumu thinks that’s what he is. A loser, a fucking scrub, a failure. Even if his teammates won’t admit it, the media will. And what then? Will you think that about him too? It’d be the truth, wouldn’t it? Isn’t that why you’re in the bathroom now? To pity him? 

He’s too busy tearing himself down to react to the distinct sound of you sliding back the glass door of the shower so you can enter it. There’s a brief burst of the cool air of the bathroom hitting his exposed body, but it evaporates the moment you shut the door. 

“Oh, ‘Tsumu.” You whisper it, and he wants to tell you that he’s not fucking fragile. That he’s not going to shatter into a million pieces if you just raise your voice, if you tell him how you really feel about him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around to face you. He doesn’t want to. He can’t.

His skin is red from the heat of the water, his back staring at you angrily, hurt. The skin’s going to need some time to heal, and you turn the faucet, lowering the temperature of the water. 

“Turn around, honey. Please?” You’ve never seen Atsumu so upset before, so quiet. You wait several minutes for him to actually do as you request, and you think it’s only because he wants a way to get rid of you sooner. 

You don’t say anything to him as you reach for his shampoo, letting it lather in your hands before you give him a pleading look, one that has him leaning down so you can reach his hair. It feels nice, he thinks, the way you’re shampooing his hair. You’re gentle with your movements, and it almost relaxes him. 

You use your body wash on him. Massage the suds into his skin, but you’re mindful of the amount of pressure you apply. You know which areas of his skin is more sensitive from its exposure to the hot water, and you are careful with the spots of his body that he had chosen to be negligent with. 

“Am I so fuckin’ worthless that you have to do somethin’ as simple as bathing me?” He’s not angry at you. He might spit out the words — words that come out sounding all raw and scratchy, like they had to personally claw themselves from his throat — but the anger is not directed at you. It’s at himself. 

“Look at me.” 

His eyes are glossy, wet, shiny, and you know it’s not because of the shower. You’ve never seen Atsumu cry before, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. So, you do what feels right. You whisper his name softly, tenderly, and it’s this tenderness, your unwavering softness, your unconditional love, that breaks him. That makes him feel safe enough to break. That makes him think of the possibility that you’ll take these jagged pieces of him and piece them back together for him, with him. 

He’s so much bigger than you. You tell him all the time that he’s larger than life, and he thinks about that comment as he lets himself sink into your open arms, as he lets himself be held. He has never felt smaller in his life, and in your embrace, he buries his face into your shoulder, letting his warm tears mix in with the water already on your body.

“I don’t know how you can still look at me.” He mutters, and every word is spoken onto your skin, tiny blades striking you. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what he wants to hear, isn’t even certain that there’s anything that could be said to ease his devastation, but melts into you even more so when you tell him,

“Atsumu, I thought you already knew that nothing can change the way I look at you.”

[cosmerelists]

Stormlight Characters Meet an Octopus

As requested by @miss-madithe-baddie :)

It's Octopus Time on Roshar!

1. Kaladin

Kaladin: [stares at octopus] Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: So it...what? Is it one of those creatures that squishes down into crevices during storms? It doesn't look like it has bones. Kaladin: Kinda big though. Would need a big crevice. Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: ... Kaladin: I feel like it's judging me, somehow.

2. Bridge Four

Moash: Well, I don't like it. Moash: An animal with no carapace is unnatural. Rlain: ...You're an animal without a carapace. Moash: W-Well, it's different for humans! We can build houses! Drehy: Maybe the giant squish bug builds houses. Drehy: We all saw it pick up the shell and put it on its head. Skar: That's more fashion than construction, I think. Sigzil: We saw it go into the water. It's a sea creature. Sigzil: Sea creatures don't need carapaces like land animals do. Moash: It's on the land right now!! Skar: Guys, shut up! It's wearing a shell as a hat again! Renarin: It really is quite fashionable.

3. Adolin

Adolin: Sure is weird looking! Adolin: Look! It has little sticky cups under its legs! Kaladin: D-Don't grab it! It's gonna bite you! Adolin: I bet it can crawl up walls 'n' stuff! Adolin: Hey, isn't that something you can do too, Bridgeboy? Kaladin: I use Stormlight! Not sticky vine legs! Adolin: Bet its some kind of tiny Windrunner. Kaladin: It is NOT!

4. Shallan

Shallan: Hush, all of you. Shallan: This thing is beautiful! Gorgeous! Octopus: [abruptly changes color to match surroundings] Shallan: !! Shallan: Talented! Amazing! Shallan: This might be the most important drawing I'll ever do! Adolin: ...You drew me last week for our wedding anniversary? Shallan: [already drawing] And you didn't even change color ONCE!

5. Lopen

Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [concentration face] Rock: ...You're trying to grow more arms, aren't you? Lopen: I didn't know EIGHT was an option!

6. Zahel

Zahel: I've seem those things before. Zahel: Very smart. Zahel: Very tasty. Rock: ...Tasty you say? Shallan: NO

7. Navani

Navani: Seeing this bizarre creature gives me so many ideas. Navani: Dalinar, do you think we should build semi-aquatic vehicles that can go on both land and water and develop color-changing camouflage technology? Dalinar [trying to be a supportive husband]: And perhaps the land-water vehicle could have...tentacles? Navani: No ideas are wrong in the brainstorming stage. Navani: But also no.

8. Dieno (the Mink)

Dieno: [gives octopus a bro nod] Octopus: [gives Dieno a bro nod back] Dalinar: ...What was that? Dieno: Ah, it is nothing! Just two master escape artists recognizing each other. Dalinar: Escape...artist? Dalinar: This creature has done nothing but sit on that rock and occasionally go into that pool this whole time. Dieno: Yet nevertheless, people like us...we recognize each other. Dalinar: ... Dalinar: [doubtfully] If you say so. 

9. Dalinar

It is later. Dalinar is walking through Urithiru. Something from above touches his face with a thwick sound. He looks up. The Octopus is looking down at him from the ceiling, one tentacle reaching down. Lift is also in the ceiling. Lift gives him a thumbs up. Dalinar keeps walking.

10. Lift

Lift: Today has been the greatest day of my life. Lift: I had no IDEA there so many vents 'n' shit that someone like you could squish through! Lift: And when you used your dark water attack to push that button? Amazing! Lift: Even I had trouble keeping up with you!! Lift: Truly, you are my new best friend.

[atwistinthetail]

nothing is realer to me, as someone who can hold a grudge, than Rikki excluding herself from Lewis’s birthday party because she is THAT committed to her vendetta, at the expense of everybody’s peace and also her own

I know she was “wrong” but she was right

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

I’m sorry but you can’t cry “human rights violation!!!!” when you are actively carrying out a campaign of genocide.

[4e7her]

this is what i actually came here to post about. look at my new bbygirl

[reikunrei]

sleepy bc I accidentally stayed up late monologuing to myself about how free! really should have ended for the nth time 🥴

[strawberrybyers]

honestly oliver quick is my kind of man. he cleans, he cares about your needs, he makes sure you cum, he’s hot, he’s smart i mean the dude goes to oxford and gets good grades, he’ll do anything you want just to make sure you are his, he’s rich… like idk man i’d fuck him and let him wife me up but that’s just me

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

[disneyprincemuke]

look after you * fem!driver

the heat of the qatar race alongside her period proved to be much more than she can handle; although she doesn’t tell anybody that

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!driver, sebastian vettel x fem!driver, alex albon x fem!driver, carlos sainz x fem!driver, charles leclerc x fem!driver

warnings: mentions of period, not feeling well

notes: hi i told u we're back to regularly scheduled fem!driver content... although, i do have a plan for something else later tonight! i also seem to be getting over my writer's block, sOOO WE SHOULD BE GOOD TO GO WITH THE REST OF MY FICS

also, i'm very curious where u guys think i'm from because i'm awake at the most ludicrous of hours answering asks and messages so like idk

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

she sits back in her seat, eyes darting all over the garage as mechanics and engineers scramble around to prepare her car for the race later today.

the sprint race yesterday was just as excruciating as she expected. the heat, the intensity of the race, and the fact that she's suddenly got her period was not a good mix as it proves.

she barely survived the duration of the sprint yesterday. she was visibly pale climbing out of her car, chest heaving and makeup melting off as she took her helmet off. it didn't take long for sebastian to catch on to her state when she entered the garage after weigh-in.

"kid," sebastian stops right in front of her, head tilted to the side in concern. he's got a cold can of pepsi in his hands when she looks up. "are you feeling okay? you don't have to race today if you're not well."

"no, i'm fine," she nods, taking the pepsi into her hands. she smiles up at him weakly as she sips on the straw. "i'm okay."

"well, you didn't look very okay yesterday," sebastian frowns. "don't be pressured to race tonight if you don't feel like it. your safety is more important than the race and it's unbelievably hot here tonight."

she shakes her head, slowly getting up as she remembers the drivers' parade that she has to attend. "i can definitely race today. i promise i'm fine," she reassures him with a pat to his shoulder. "i just need more pepsi to feel refreshed."

"you've got to drink water at some point for hydration," sebastian mutters. "i've got some in the freezer for before the race. drink it, okay?"

she grins at him with a thumbs up, slowly exiting the garage. "i will drink the ice cold water."

when she turns around to walk towards where other drivers have gathered, she backs into somebody's body, making her whirl around with an apology on her lips.

"i'm so sorry!"

"oh, it's alright!" a familiar giggle fills her ears and a hand comes up to her shoulder to offer some support. when she turns around, alex is smiling down at her as he steps aside to walk with her. "oh, your hair is up in a ponytail today. is something wrong?"

"what?" she's taken aback by the question - why is her ponytail such a big deal? "what about the ponytail?"

"i've just never seen you bring your hair up before on a race weekend," alex frowns, tugging at a strand of hair gently. “you look cute. and- oh, no makeup today?”

she shakes her head with a frown. “the heat practically melted my makeup off yesterday. that shit’s expensive and uncomfortable,” she mutters, bottom lip out in a pout as they walk.

when they approach the small group gathered by the pit lane, she’s greeted by oscar’s surprised gasp and carlos’s confused head tilt.

she lifts her arms, palms into the sky as she throws them a scowl. “what?”

carlos tears his eyes away immediately, but oscar maintains his gaze on her. “you’re not wearing any makeup.”

“yeah, so?”

oscar furrows his eyebrows and turns his body away from her. “nothing, just odd. you typically like doing your makeup.”

“it’s too hot to do my makeup,” she sighs, not liking that she has to repeat herself. “it practically melted off during yesterday’s sprint.”

“that’s true. comfort over anything else,” carlos nods with an approving smile. “please remember to drink some water later.”

“you and seb are so alike,” she grins, patting the spaniard’s shoulder. “that’s exactly what he told me earlier.”

“yeah, because everyone knows you don’t drink water when you’ve got,” oscar snatches the drink in her hand, “a pepsi in your hand. so unhealthy.”

“well, it makes me feel so sparkly in my mouth,” she fights back, snatching it back. “mind your own drink!”

“what’s u– you look different today,” logan says, slowly approaching the circle. with a hand on the small of her back, he tilts his head slightly as he scans her face. “is it the hair?”

“no, mate,” oscar smirks, “she didn’t do her makeup.”

“oh! how come?” logan frowns, pinching her cheek. “i was wondering why you hadn’t sent a selfie to the groupchat yet begging for compliments.”

“yeah, true,” oscar chuckles. “that does seem to be a trend, doesn’t it?”

“you guys get selfies for free?” carlos frowns. “she always asks me to pay like a thousand every weekend i ask her what she’s wearing to the paddocks.”

“only a thousand? she asks me for millions,” alex finally speaks again with the shake of his head. “what a business woman you are.”

carlos raises an eyebrow. “all jokes aside though… you are looking a bit pale. are you feeling okay?”

she smiles, a thumbs up raised next to her face. “of course!”

“mate, you don’t look very well,” she mutters, sipping on her pepsi as she approaches logan. “the flu still got you bad?”

“pretty bad,” logan sighs, slumping his shoulders. “but i’ll be alright.”

she hums, pressing her lips together as she looks at him from the side of her eye. “i’m not sure if i believe you, actually.”

“if anyone’s more of a liar between us, it’s you,” he puts his hands on his hips, “you look worse than i do and you just keep insisting you’re fine

“is it because i’ve not got makeup on?” she scowls at him, winding her hand back to smack him on the shoulder.

“what?” he cries incredulously, throwing his head back in shock. “where’d you get that? i didn’t even say anything about the makeup!”

“it’s just such a coincidence that everyone’s saying i look sick without makeup on.”

“it’s really not that. you just don’t look like you’re coping well with the heat.”

“oh, cause god forbid a woman sweats.”

“i literally didn’t even say that.”

“you may as well have.”

“you’re crazy.”

“you guys are driving me crazy with all these questions.”

“cut it out,” oscar scolds, coming up from behind them. he steps between their bodies and separates them. “grid kids are coming. please behave.”

“he said i look sick because i didn’t have makeup on,” she mutters, pointing at logan.

“i said she doesn’t look like she’s coping well with the heat! i never said anything about the lack of makeup!” logan answers hurriedly, leaning forward to scowl at her from oscar’s side. “will you tell her to cut it out?”

“tell him to stop telling me i look sick!”

“okay,” oscar says, hands up as she stops speaking. he turns to logan. “stop aggravating her — you already know what’s pissing her off, so stop bringing it up and asking her.”

then, he turns to the girl with narrowed down eyes. “and you do look a bit sick, and trust me, it’s nothing to do with the fact that you didn’t do your makeup. you just look like you are going to pass out,” oscar sighs. “just drink some water, and i’m sure you will look slightly more alive.”

he straightens his back as more drivers pile towards them for the opening ceremony for the race. “now, cut it out and just act normal. please.”

“are you sure you’re fit to race tonight?” sebastian asks again, eyebrows raised as she zips up her race suit. “no harm in pulling out if you’re not okay.”

“seb,” she says in a laugh, securing the velcro around her neck. “i’m okay. it’s just another day in the office.”

“your mum would personally shave my head if she finds out i let you race when you’re not well,” sebastian sighs. he places a hand on her shoulder. “seriously. please sit out if you need to.”

“i’m,” she turns to him and puts a hand on his elbow, “seriously okay. please don’t worry so much. this is what i do — i race.”

“fine,” sebastian smiles. “but promise me you’ll keep me updated how you’re doing during the race.”

“i always do,” she smiles, leaning into his body for a hug. like they always do before she gets in the car for the formation lap. “promise me you won’t pull me out without my approval.”

“i’d never dare cross you."

well. she didn’t feel good the entire race. it was too hot the entire race, her seat was burning, and sweat flooded her face almost three-quarters of the duration.

the sensation of her hair sticking to her neck and her sweaty head is driving her to the brink of overstimulation. perhaps it’s with the added bouts of cramps that would come every few minutes.

but she doubts it’s the period making her feel sensitive. it’s not her first time racing with the conditions of her period.

she finished in p5, which is arguably very nice, but she just feels very suffocated in her race suit and the helmet that hugs her.

“is logan alright?” she manages to ask, driving her car into parc ferme. “you mentioned he retired during the race?”

“he’s alright. dehydration, i think,” sebastian answers her through the radio. “medical centre with james.”

“what about oscar? he’s okay?”

“he’s alright, from what i can see from the pit wall. he’s got p3.”

“crazy stats for a rookie,” she smiles as the car stops. “can i just sit here for a while, please?”

“do you need help getting out of the car?”

“i don’t,” she trails off, her head starting to spin now that she’s no longer in motion. instantly, her chest starts to feel heavier and her breaths become shallow. “i just… just need a minute.”

every breath she takes is proven to be worse than before. the hot air hits her in the face, the helmet and the balaclava restricting the type of air she can get.

she just wants to lay back in an ice bath, if she could. if she could just manage to get out of the car, that is.

a tap on the top of her helmet urges her to look up, doe eyes meeting a pair of dreamy green eyes. one that she doesn’t see often, but has always looked up to since she was young.

“are you okay?”

“charles,” she says breathily, her vision getting blurrier by the second. “i’m okay. i just needed a minute. it’s very hot.”

“it is,” he smiles. “do you need help getting out?”

“i’m alright,” she says softly. “it’s just a little hard to breathe.”

“it would probably help if you take off the helmet,” he suggests. “i’ll hold it for you — take it off now so you can get fresh air.”

she nods, reaching beneath her chin to unclip the helmet. slowly, she pulls it off her head, then charles takes it into his hands.

instantly, she does feel slightly better. she pulls the balaclava away from her nose, allowing her to deepen the breaths she’s taking as she attempts to regain her composure.

“doesn’t that feel much better?” charles grins. “let me help you out of the car and let’s head to weigh-in together. sound okay?”

she smiles with a nod. “okay.”

the way charles leclerc has her starstruck even after racing alongside him the entire year is something she will never understand. she climbs out of the car, charles’ arms lifted up protectively around her as she wobbles out.

then she realises that he’s holding both of their stuff. she tries reaching over to take her helmet into her hands, but he simply twists his body away from her as he shakes his hesd.

“take off the gloves. you’ll feel so good,” charles smiles at her, still walking alongside her. “and the balaclava. don’t worry about your helmet.”

“thank you,” she smiles, her cheeks flushed as she does as she’s instructed. “how was your race?”

“it was okay,” charles says simply. “you drank water during the race, yes?”

“a little. it wasn’t very refreshing when i did,” she sighs. she holds her balavlaca and gloves in one hand, smiling when charles finally hands her her helmet. “though, i think- whoa!”

her sentence is cut off immediately, her helmet falling to the ground with a loud thud as she lands on her knees against the pavement. her hands dig into the gravel as she drops her head low, slightly embarrassed that she’d tripped on absolutely nothing to the naked eye.

“hey, are you alright?” charles asks hurriedly, bending down next to her. he puts his helmet down on the ground gently, a hand wrapping around her elbow and the other around her shoulders. “what happened?”

“i don’t know,” she sighs. she straightens her back slightly, sitting on her knees. “i got dizzy for a second.”

“we better get you to someone who knows how to take care of you,” charles sighs, looking up at the crowd that’s gathered around them.

one of them, being carlos, who sat out for the race today. “i’ll bring her to the medical centre,” carlos mutters, wrapping his arms around the younger girl. “get her things to seb. i’ve got her.”

“stupid,” was the first thing logan said to her when she stepped into the room in the medical centre.

she scowls at him, a cold pack of ice gel sitting on her forehead as carlos helps her get settled into her seat. “shut up.”

“no, you shut up.”

“both of you shut up,” carlos sighs. he bends down and reappears with two bottles of water. “both of you are like, extremely dehydrated. please drink some water.”

“you didn’t drink the water seb asked you to drink before the race?” logan scoffs. “should have known better. you’re on your period, aren’t you?”

“you’re one to talk — you literally refused to drink the water they gave you in the car,” she scoffs. “and how do you know that?”

“you only physically reject water when you’re on your period, idiot,” logan sighs, sinking in his seat and closing his eyes. “also, i live with you. of course i know when the devil comes to visit you.”

“drink,” carlos says again, handing her the opened bottle of water. “i know it’s not super cold water, but you’ve got to drink something.”

“only freezing water for me,” she frowns, pushing the bottle back into carlos’s body. “you heard logan: i’m on my period.”

“i’ve got your stupid water right here.” the door is opened, sebastian holding it open with a bottle in his hand. he flashes a grin at his driver before extending his arm to give her the bottle. “drink up, please.”

“do you know she is on her period today?” carlos snorts, pointing at the girl. “no wonder she was being weird all day.”

the look of realisation that dawns on sebastian’s face can only be described as priceless. typically, him and noah, her physical trainer, are quite up to date with her statistics.

for something this serious to be overlooked with the chaotic weekend was a big issue.

“oh,” sebastian frowns. “why didn’t you tell me? we could have looked after you better.”

she smiles, closing her eyes. she waves off his concern. “i was okay. finished in the points without makeup melting on my face.”

“okay, what do you m- you literally almost fainted after the race!” sebastian groans, scratching his head in confusion. “nothing about that screams okay!”

“her definition is okay is that she’s not dead,” logan says monotonously.

“which is a good definition, if you ask me.”

“but it’s stupid,” sebastian says.

“but it makes sense,” she sings. “i’m gonna take a nap. wake me up when they come over to give me an iv like the nurse said earlier.”

“you are so very silly for not hydrating enough,” carlos sighs, readjusting the gel pack on her forehead. he puts another one where her shoulder meets her neck, chuckling when she shakes in a shiver. “glad you’re okay.”

“me too.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie@gentlyweeps-world@woozarts

[catiuskaa]

*cough cough* no, me kisses.

SUMMARY: he may have lost his opportunity to ask you to become official, but boyfriend or not, there’s only one thing Hannie wants needs: your kisses. All over his face. Right now.

WC: exactly 1.3k baby!

CW: it’s too fluff!! ahhh!! (scared) lol, mentions of the usual sick thingies like headaches and mucus (ew!), mentions of lipstick stains (because YES), use of petnames.

REQUESTED! by pookie dookie @4ln-stay8 right here. I owed you one for reading my angsty fics, so I gave my best with this one. tysm for your support, my love! <3

A/N: inspired on the jeekies bc this singlehandedly changed my brain chemistry (melts n giggles)

[☆★🧣★☆]

Jisung wanted to groan.

Meanwhile, you only wanted to giggle and take millions of pictures of him.

What for? Well, first of all, little Hannie was cutely hiding under his duvet.

Only Jisung’s big boba eyes blinked repeatedly as he sniffed, not because he was crying, but because the poor little thing couldn’t even smell anything. He kept the half down of his face under the blankets of his bed, as he surely knew he was blushing due to you being in his room.

He hadn’t been expecting you, and he wanted to groan and put on a tantrum —or however you use that word in a sentence— because you had to be there at that moment.

“Aw, Sunggie,” you melted at the sight of him, holding back the need to coo and pet him and treat him the small and cute hamster he so was. “Lix called,” you clarified with a toothy grin. “He said you were sick, and buzzed me in before he left.”

Jisung made a note to himself to remember to tickle Felix to death for that.

There was one thing he wanted, and while it was you the one who could give it to him, he felt quite shy from asking, as far as refraining from doing so just yet.

Because it was not like you two were dating officially. Yes, the big, fat crush he had on you was as obvious as shit, to put it in elegant words, but he hadn’t asked you yet.

He was going to ask you, but he got sick.

And that one thing he wanted from you was your sweet pouty lips peppering kisses all over his face.

You sat next to him, and sheepishly shook your head. “Let me tidy up this place for you and bring you some medicine and more tissues, yeah?”

Your voice felt soothing, he wanted to use it as a blanket and stay wrapped in it for the rest of the week.

His heart sent more blood to his cheeks. As if there wasn’t enough, he thought with a huff, big eyes watching your movements as you picked a plate that had been left there since the night before and started picking up the used tissues from the floor.

“…hi…” Jisung mumbled, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.

Was he sick? Sure. I mean, his head hurt, his eyelids felt heavy, his nose was runny and he had surely filled the floor of his room and a decent part of his bed with used tissues.

But despite all that, the thing he wanted the most was to cuddle you to his hearts content.

“Hi, gorgeous,” you snickered softly, and he couldn’t help but smile with you. “Want some water too?”

He coughed in response, and you giggled. He cracked his knuckles underneath the bed sheet, his hands tingling, wanting to take you by your shoulders and hug you like a boa constrictor.

“Guess we have to cancel for tonight,” you mumbled with a small smile, your hand tenderly stroking his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll go leave my coat and bag in the living room and I’ll come back, yeah?”

He pouted without realizing. “Mmhhh…” he hummed with a small frown, almost like a whine.

You were about to mumble a soft ‘what’s wrong?’ before he shoved the covers away from his face as he gingerly raised his hand to grab your wrist and settled your palm back on his forehead. He sighed in small relief, melting into the coldness that lingered in you from being outside.

“Headache?” You said almost in a whisper, hearing the butterflies’ wings going crazy in your stomach.

He nodded. If he had been a cat, he would be purring, even if your hand had already turned warm against his skin.

“C’mon, Jisung-a,” your voice felt even softer than before. “I’ll come back before you know it.”

He sniffed. “…you will…?”

Your heart crushed, unable to handle how cute Han looked. It was too much, so much that even the butterflies in your stomach started to have their own butterflies in their stomachs.

And with a smile, you moved your hand to his cheek and planted a shy tender kiss on his forehead.

“I will. Pinky promise.” You chuckled softly, a blush slowly creeping up to your cheeks.

His eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat.

Oh, no. Now he knew what one of your small kisses felt like.

Now you couldn’t leave. Not before… oh.

He grinned slyly, making you raise your eyebrows, wondering what could he be thinking in that cute little head of his.

“…we’ll… make a deal…” he stated as firmly as he could.

You shrugged lightly, secretly enjoying the faint pink hue of your lipstick that had stained his forehead.

“Sure, Hannie.” Your smile only made the fact that you’d leave for, like, ten minutes —or God, maybe even more— feel a lot worse.

“I… want… more of those…” he blushed deeply.

“More of those?”

He took your hand and covered his eyes with it.

“I want more kisses.” He sniffed again.

Your mouth quickly formed the shape of an ‘o’, as your blush quickly turned a deeper shade of red, as if to compete against his.

You giggled, moving your hand from his face.

“You want my kisses, jagi?” You teased with a smirk.

He felt his heart going crazy in him, a tight feeling in his chest that turned his ears red.

“Aww, but aren’t you too sick for that?”

Oh, no.

You weren’t just going to give him a small kiss and then not continue all morning and all evening… right?

That couldn’t be allowed. Was it? He tsked at the thought. He had to make sure it wasn’t.

He coughed, pouting.

“No.” He coughed again. “Me. Kisses.” He sniffed. “Now.”

You laughed loudly, a sort of laugh that went right in Han’s little heart and filled it up with energy. He didn’t feel that gloomy sensation that being sick could cast over someone.

Instead, he squinted at you playfully.

“You have ten minutes, missy.” He said, already looking much better, emotionally wise at least. “Or else.”

You giggled, sheepishly pecking the corner of his lips.

"You can set up a timer, you cheeky idiot."

He moved his hand to his heart in an overly dramatic gesture that made you cackle, as he chuckled too, trying to ignore how fast his heartbeat felt under his hand.

Nine minutes and forty three seconds later —forty four, forty five...— you had settled a plastic bag next to his nightstand, had stolen a tissue box from the living room, and right now, you were smiling, walking one step in front of the other, carefully so to not spill over the soup you had made for him.

"It's amazing. You have to try it, I've outdone myself." You chuckled as he sat up on his bed, gingerly waiting. You left the tray on his crossed legs, moving his desk chair and nonchalantly taking a seat close to him.

"C'mon." You snickered. "Eat up." He finished it without a single complaint.

"Good boy." You teased, cackling loudly when you saw him blush.

"That's not fair," he mumbled with a pout.

"Scooch aside, Mr fairness."

You moved the pillows and laid next to him, shyly putting your arm below his neck, and then passed the other over his chest.

His face was practically in front of you.

"Hi." You grinned cheekily.

"...oh, h-hi." You giggled at his shyness. You hid the fact that you had reapplied your lipstick in the kitchen before bringing the soup, and started peppering soft kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his mouth...

Oh, you were surely going to catch whatever he had.

[☆★🧣★☆]

~Kats, who doesn't understand why tumblr won't let her stack pictures when answering asks, reason why I post them separately, lol. Thanks for the request, gorgeous!

[headspace-hotel]

There, in the sunlit forest on a high ridgeline, was a tree I had never seen before.

I spend a lot of time looking at trees. I know my beech, sourwood, tulip poplar, sassafras and shagbark hickory. Appalachian forests have such a diverse tree community that for those who grew up in or around the ancient mountains, forests in other places feel curiously simple and flat.

Oaks: red, white, black, bur, scarlet, post, overcup, pin, chestnut, willow, chinkapin, and likely a few others I forgot. Shellbark, shagbark and pignut hickories. Sweetgum, serviceberry, hackberry, sycamore, holly, black walnut, white walnut, persimmon, Eastern redcedar, sugar maple, red maple, silver maple, striped maple, boxelder maple, black locust, stewartia, silverbell, Kentucky yellowwood, blackgum, black cherry, cucumber magnolia, umbrella magnolia, big-leaf magnolia, white pine, scrub pine, Eastern hemlock, redbud, flowering dogwood, yellow buckeye, white ash, witch hazel, pawpaw, linden, hornbeam, and I could continue, but y'all would never get free!

And yet, this tree is different.

We gather around the tree as though surrounding the feet of a prophet. Among the couple dozen of us, only a few are much younger than forty. Even one of the younger men, who smiles approvingly and compliments my sharp eye when I identify herbs along the trail, has gray streaking his beard. One older gentleman scales the steep ridge slowly, relying on a cane for support.

The older folks talk to us young folks with enthusiasm. They brighten when we can call plants and trees by name and list their virtues and importance. "You're right! That's Smilax." "Good eye!" "Do you know what this is?—Yes, Eupatorium, that's a pollinator's paradise." "Are you planning to study botany?"

The tree we have come to see is not like the tall and pillar-like oaks that surround us. It is still young, barely the diameter of a fence post. Its bark is gray and forms broad stripes like rivulets of water down smooth rock. Its smooth leaves are long, with thin pointed teeth along their edges. Some of the group carefully examine the bark down to the ground, but the tree is healthy and flourishing, for now.

This tree is among the last of its kind.

The wood of the American Chestnut was once used to craft both cradles and coffins, and thus it was known as the "cradle-to-grave tree." The tree that would hold you in entering this world and in leaving it would also sustain your body throughout your life: each tree produced a hundred pounds of edible nuts every winter, feeding humans and all the other creatures of the mountains. In the Appalachian Mountains, massive chestnut trees formed a third of the overstory of the forest, sometimes growing larger than six feet in diameter.

They are a keystone species, and this is my first time seeing one alive in the wild.

It's a sad story. But I have to tell you so you will understand.

At the turn of the 20th century, the chestnut trees of Appalachia were fundamental to life in this ecosystem, but something sinister had taken hold, accidentally imported from Asia. Cryphonectria parasitica is a pathogenic fungus that infects chestnut trees. It co-evolved with the Chinese chestnut, and therefore the Chinese chestnut is not bothered much by the fungus.

The American chestnut, unlike its Chinese sister, had no resistance whatsoever.

They showed us slides with photos of trees infected with the chestnut blight earlier. It looks like sickly orange insulation foam oozing through the bark of the trees. It looks like that orange powder that comes in boxes of Kraft mac and cheese. It looks wrong. It means death.

The chestnut plague was one of the worst ecological disasters ever to occur in this place—which is saying something. And almost no one is alive who remembers it. By the end of the 1940's, by the time my grandparents were born, approximately three to four billion American chestnut trees were dead.

The Queen of the Forest was functionally extinct. With her, at least seven moth species dependent on her as a host plant were lost forever, and no one knows how much else. She is a keystone species, and when the keystone that holds a structure in place is removed, everything falls.

Appalachia is still falling.

Now, in some places, mostly-dead trees tried to put up new sprouts. It was only a matter of time for those lingering sprouts of life.

But life, however weak, means hope.

I learned that once in a rare while, one of the surviving sprouts got lucky enough to successfully flower and produce a chestnut. And from that seed, a new tree could be grown. People searched for the still-living sprouts and gathered what few chestnuts could be produced, and began growing and breeding the trees.

Some people tried hybridizing American and Chinese chestnuts and then crossing the hybrids to produce purer American strains that might have some resistance to the disease. They did this for decades.

And yet, it wasn't enough. The hybrid trees were stronger, but not strong enough.

Extinction is inevitable. It's natural. There have been at least five mass extinctions in Earth's history, and the sixth is coming fast. Many people accepted that the American chestnut was gone forever. There had been an intensive breeding program, summoning all the natural forces of evolution to produce a tree that could survive the plague, and it wasn't enough.

This has happened to more species than can possibly be counted or mourned. And every species is forced to accept this reality.

Except one.

We are a difficult motherfucker of a species, aren't we? If every letter of the genome's book of life spelled doom for the Queen of the Forest, then we would write a new ending ourselves. Research teams worked to extract a gene from wheat and implant it in the American chestnut, in hopes of creating an American chestnut tree that could survive.

This project led to the Darling 58, the world's first genetically modified organism to be created for the purpose of release into the wild.

The Darling 58 chestnut is not immune, the presenters warned us. It does become infected with the blight. And some trees die. But some live.

And life means hope.

In isolated areas, some surviving American Chestnut trees have been discovered, most of them still very young. The researchers hope it is possible that some of these trees may have been spared not because of pure luck, but because they carry something in their genes that slows the blight in doing its deadly work, and that possibly this small bit of innate resistance can be shaped and combined with other efforts to create a tree that can live to grow old.

This long, desperate, multi-decade quest is what has brought us here. The tree before me is one such tree: a rare survivor. In this clearing, a number of other baby chestnut trees have been planted by human hands. They are hybrids of the Darling 58 and the best of the best Chinese/American hybrids. The little trees are as prepared for the blight as we can possibly make them at this time. It is still very possible that I will watch them die. Almost certainly, I will watch this tree die, the one that shades us with her young, stately limbs.

Some of the people standing around me are in their 70's or 80's, and yet, they have no memory of a world where the Queen of the Forest was at her full majesty. The oldest remember the haunting shapes of the colossal dead trees looming as if in silent judgment.

I am shaken by this realization. They will not live to see the baby trees grow old. The people who began the effort to save the American chestnut devoted decades of their lives to these little trees, knowing all the while they likely never would see them grow tall. Knowing they would not see the work finished. Knowing they wouldn't be able to be there to finish it. Knowing they wouldn't be certain if it could be finished.

When the work began, the technology to complete it did not exist. In the first decades after the great old trees were dead, genetic engineering was a fantasy.

But those that came before me had to imagine that there was some hope of a future. Hope set the foundation. Now that little spark of hope is a fragile flame, and the torch is being passed to the next generation.

When a keystone is removed, everything suffers. What happens when a keystone is put back into place? The caretakers of the American chestnut hope that when the Queen is restored, all of Appalachia will become more resilient and able to adapt to climate change.

Not only that, but this experiment in changing the course of evolution is teaching us lessons and skills that may be able to help us save other species.

It's just one tree—but it's never just one tree. It's a bear successfully raising cubs, chestnut bread being served at a Cherokee festival, carbon being removed from the atmosphere and returned to the Earth, a wealth of nectar being produced for pollinators, scientific insights into how to save a species from a deadly pathogen, a baby cradle being shaped in the skilled hands of an Appalachian crafter. It's everything.

Despair is individual; hope is an ecosystem. Despair is a wall that shuts out everything; hope is seeing through a crack in that wall and catching a glimpse of a single tree, and devoting your life to chiseling through the wall towards that tree, even if you know you will never reach it yourself.

An old man points to a shaft of light through the darkness we are both in, toward a crack in the wall. "Do you see it too?" he says. I look, and on the other side I see a young forest full of sunlight, with limber, pole-size chestnut trees growing toward the canopy among the old oaks and hickories. The chestnut trees are in bloom with fuzzy spikes of creamy white, and bumblebees heavy with pollen move among them. I tell the man what I see, and he smiles.

"When I was your age, that crack was so narrow, all I could see was a single little sapling on the forest floor," he says. "I've been chipping away at it all my life. Maybe your generation will be the one to finally reach the other side."

Hope is a great work that takes a lifetime. It is the hardest thing we are asked to do, and the most essential.

I am trying to show you a glimpse of the other side. Do you see it too?

[hier--soir]

take your medicine

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: *tv sales advert voice* so you've been finding it hard to reach orgasm? lucky for you, our best-selling item "hunky boyfriend joel" is on sale at half price. shipping is free, and he is very determined to help you achieve your goals! call the number on your screen to buy now! OR your medication makes it difficult to orgasm so joel (and your vibrator) help make it happen. warnings/tags: set in the early 2000s aka early thirties joel my lover boyyyy, boyfriend joel, depression [nothing dark or sad], anti-depressants, brief discussion of food/eating, cigarette smoking [f], soft!supportive!joel, mentions of masturbation [f], unprotected piv sex, use of a sex toy, ride 'em cowgirl (1939) dir. samuel diege, cream pie, dirty talk, joel talks you through it. word count: 2.9k masterlist a/n: so this one is.... self-indulgent. shout out to all my friends on anti-depressants that are strugglin' to reach orgasm. me too, pals, me too. and there will be no medication shaming on this account, no there will not! so happy sunday, i hope someone else out there enjoys this short little thing with me x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing

Medication is a journey, they say. Every day will be different.

Medication is not the end all be all, they say. We can always try different avenues.

Six months on, now.

Six months since Let’s try the Zoloft for a few months.

Six months since We can reassess in April.

It’s June and summer has settled over Austin with a hot wet vengeance. April came and went with a mutual agreement that you weren’t ready to be weaned off yet. A gentle hand on your forearm and a softly spoken Why don’t we check in again in July?

A low dose. A starter dose. A you shouldn’t experience too many side-effects dose.  

And she was right – for the most part. There were no headaches, no nausea, no dizzy spells, no changes in appetite. That shallow, low mood that’d been haunting you for months suddenly began to lift. Begrudging exercise in the afternoons, a three-meals-a-day regiment implemented by your boyfriend, and a happy little pill with every morning coffee.

But fuck – you can count the number of orgasms you’ve had since January on one hand.

Countless nights spent alone in your bed, tangled betwixt sweaty sheets, fingers and forearm cramping until you finally give up. Drink a cold glass of water, wet your face, and go to bed frustrated; a routine disappointment.

You’d gotten lucky a few times, of course. Vibrator on the highest setting possible, pussy all puffed up and numb from the rough speed. Frustrated tears in your eyes, lightheaded by the time you finally feel that sweet sweet relief coursing through your veins.

A few times with Joel, too, in those first few months. And ignorance was bliss—quite literally—until he caught onto what you’d been doing.

“What was different tonight?” he’d asked you on one of those nights, laid out beside each other in his bed. Chests heaving, satisfied smiles spread across your faces.

Your hand had paused against his head, fingers twisted up in his sweaty curls, and you hesitated. So quick, the briefest pause before trying to play it off, but he caught it. Always too perceptive, too watchful of an eye; especially since you’d been diagnosed.

“What’s wrong?” Joel frowned.

“I… didn’t… my…” you’d mumbled, face tucked against his pillow.

“Can’t hear you when you do that,” he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Baby?”

“I didn’t take my meds today,” you repeated, voice still low, still wary. But you could tell he heard you. Knew from the way his body stiffened beside you. From how when you looked over his smile had dropped, eyebrows pinching inward. 

For a moment he didn’t even say anything. He hardly breathed. And then—Darlin’, why would you do that?—so painfully soft, the faintest tinge of worry in that deep, rasping voice of his. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, and something hot began to burn behind your eyes. Wet, pinching shame. “Just… I woke up and I wanted you. And I wanted it to feel like it used to for us, and I can never… you know I can’t finish when I’m on them, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing you—”

“Baby,” Joel shook his head, strong hand cupping your jaw. His forehead knocked against yours; a tender but firm kind of insistence. The type that says look me in the fucking eyes and listen up. “You’re not disappointin’ me.”

“Joel,” you sighed, face hot, foreheads tacky where they pressed together.

“No,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ mean it. This stuff takes time, okay? We’ll figure it out the way we always do. Just… don’t do that again. Please.”

“I won’t,” you murmured feebly, nose smushed against his.  

“Promise me,” Joel had urged you. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine.” 

“I promise, Joel.”

You kept strong on that promise. Didn’t get frustrated when he’d stay over more nights than usual, or drag you back to his place in the evenings – all just to watch you pop that little white pill in the mornings.  

It brought out something new in him, the day you’d showed him the prescription. Like some instinctual protectiveness was unlocked and he just kicked into hyperdrive.

Cutting work early to drive you to your doctor’s office, cooking up different meals every night for dinner.

Most days you wake up alone in his bed; wipe the sleep out of your eyes as you wander downstairs. Let him nudge you into a chair at the table, beside Sarah, so he can set identical bowls of cereal in front of the two of you—his girls. Hell, if you had a dollar for every time that man has said Breakfast is the most important meal of the day in the past six months, you’d have more money than you could spend.

Joel didn’t even get mad when you started smoking again in May.

Didn’t bat an eye when he found you at two in the morning, sat on the back porch in one of his sweatshirts with the smell of tobacco staining your fingers.

“Been a long time since I seen once of those in your mouth,” he’d smirked, settling onto the stoop beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you grimaced, remembering how proud he’d been when you quit. He rested his head against your shoulder, eyes watering with a yawn.

“S’late,” he grumbled sleepily. “N’you smell now.”

“I’m sorry,” you’d repeated, stamping the cigarette into the concrete. “Today was just… hard. Couldn’t sleep.”  

“S’okay,” Joel told you. “Just don’t like it when you sneak out on me, yeah? You know I ain’t judgin’ you.”

The only thing that frustrates Joel, is that he comes, and you don’t.

And it’s not a frustration with you. No, it’s a hot faced guilt that spreads through him every time you fuck. Evident in those frantic touches, desperate pleas of your name, of tell me what to do, tell me how to help, of fuck I’m sorry.

Because you still want him, despite it all. Still can’t help your wandering hands, your fingers that tease back his bed sheets and then his boxers and coax orgasm after orgasm out of him, night after night.

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

Covers strewn across the end of your bed, pillows askew, you sit astride his lap.

It’s hot; the AC in your apartment has been broken all week, and your thighs are tacky with sweat where they press against his skin. Everything wet – sweat in your hair, slick between your thighs, the soft squelching sound that raises with every press of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Joel pants, hands tight against your waist. “I can’t—goddammit, I’m not gonna last, baby.” 

“It’s okay,” you moan, eyelids heavy as you rock your hips over his.

It’s late, and you both have work early in the morning, but the burn is so good like this. The heavy weight of him reaching so far, pushing the limits of what your body can take. For years it’s been your favourite way to fuck him; poised above his body, admiring the way his stomach tightens and his eyes roll when you sink down on his cock.

“What can I do?” his voice is strained, the veins in his neck bulging as he holds his breath – anything to stave off the impending high.

You only whimper pathetically, grinding your hips into his. Can feel everything in your stomach knotting up into a white-hot ball.

“Hey,” Joel urges, hand landing in a soft slap against your outer thigh. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” you cry out, shaking your head. “It’s right there, but I…”

“But what?” he murmurs, hips snapping up again.

“I don’t think I can,” you finally admit, eyebrows drawn tight in frustration. Your lower lip is bitten raw at this point, incessantly gnawed at by your own teeth. His grip tightens on your hips and he drags you upward until his length slips out, falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

“C’mon, tell me what you need,” he says quickly, and you’re sure that the desperation you see in his eyes is mirrored in your own. Pupils blown round and fat, endless black—pleading.

You stare down at him for a moment. Watch the way his chest heaves with harsh, stilted breathes. How little dots of sweat have gathered at the hollow of his throat. And fuck, you want it so bad.

“Top drawer,” you exhale roughly, pointing to the side table.

Joel doesn’t question the order. Doesn’t say a word as he spreads a long arm across the bed, yanking the drawer open and shoving his hand inside. You watch him rifle around for a moment, pulse increasing as you wait for him to find what you want. What you need. And you can tell when he does; his shoulders stiffen and he lets out a choked sort of sound, pulling out the black wand and shoving it into your hand.

“Show me,” he says, eyes wild.

Your finger drops down against the button, turning your hand to show him which one to press.

“There’s four settings,” you murmur, slipping it back into his palm.

“Does this normally help?” he asks, grunting softly as you grip his cock, notching the tip back at your entrance.

“Sometimes,” you sigh, sinking down, sucking in the heavy weight of him. “Can still take a—a little while.”

He presses the button tentatively, watching as the rounded head of the wand starts to vibrate. Spread open around him, he can see your swollen little clit so easily, and he lowers the wand to press against it. Your body jolts forward, mouth splitting open with a groan as heat flares through you. Your hips stutter against him instinctively, chasing that intense feeling, and he looses a gravelly moan at the feeling of your wasted cunt squeezing around him.

“Look at that,” Joel grunts, dark eyes trained on your face. That wicked pink tongue slips out to wet his lips and he nods in encouragement. “I know, baby, I know it’s a lot, you feel good?” 

“Yes,” you gasp, jaw going slack as you settle into the feeling. “Fuck, yes, it’s good, it’s good.”

It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before; nothing your past boyfriends had ever been comfortable enough to try. It has the muscles in your thighs tensing up already; the thick press of his cock paired with that unrelenting, almost overbearing, vibration.

“Can feel it,” he hisses out, head tilting back into the mattress.

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he nods, expression grim. The muscle in his jaw twitches. “So fuckin’ tight like this. All wound up, y’need it so bad, I know.”

You moan, eyelids fluttering as he presses the button again, notching it to a higher speed. You lift up slowly and then press back down over him, and the two of you groan in unison. His free hand falls against the curve of your ass and he squeezes, encouraging you to rock against him, starting up a steady pace.

One of your hands settles on your chest, fingers twisting and pulling at your nipples. You need more, always more, something, anything.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” Joel mutters, and you can tell how fucked out he is already as he watches you. Dark eyes glazing over, mouth hanging open deliriously. “My pretty girl, so damn good for me.”  

Your heart stumbles in your chest and you whimper, appreciation for him flooding your senses. He’s been so close for so long tonight already, teetering precariously on that edge but holding off for you. Fucking you into the mattress before pulling out and tucking his face between your thighs, doing his damnedest to get you to that same place. Urging you to get on top, to take what you needed, to use him to get yourself off.  

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly, eyes pinching closed as something sharp starts to tingle at the bottom of your stomach.

“Fuck, fuck,” Joel snarls, hips snapping upward.  

“What ar—” your words cut off with choked moan as he clicks the button again, and then again, taking it to the highest speed. Your shoulders shake and you tilt forward a little, hand gripping his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Joel,” you cry out, chest heaving and stomach tightening.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist, searching for something to ground yourself against. That firm press against your clit doesn’t falter for a second, and you let out a rough moan.  

“Good,” he grunts. “Good girl, give it to me.”

The muscle in his bicep spasms and strains beneath the skin, everything pulled taut as he keeps the wand pressed firmly against you. And it’s almost painful, the way you can feel your high coiling inside you, burning, but never quite reaching fever pitch the way you need it to. 

A symphony that builds and billows and writhes within you. Sloping swells of violins and cellos and trumpets. Up, up, up to that shattering crescendo you just can’t seem to reach.

“Joel,” you mewl, and there’s tears in your eyes, on your cheeks. Hot, fat tears that stain your face now, dripping from your chin to splatter against his chest.

“C’mon now,” he grunts, hips shifting up off the bed, meeting you thrust for thrust. The stretch of his cock is so wide, so deep, and every shift of his body punches the air from your lungs.

“I don’t know if I can,” you shake your head, stomach on fire. The vibrations are so intense, the speed so fast, you can feel your clit going numb beneath it. But Joel doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop the fast pace of his hips. The muscles in his abdomen twitch under you, tan skin glistening with sweat.

“You’re so close,” he goads, jaw tight. “Don’t fight it, baby.”

“Stop moving,” you beg then, your voice a high keen. Joel stills instantly, wary eyes darting across your face. He doesn’t pull the vibrator away though. Not yet.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand firm against his stomach. “Just let me-just—”

Knees on fire against the bed, you grind your hips down into his. Gasp as his cock presses hot and heavy against something deep inside of you that sets your entire body shaking, vibrating against him; buzzing at the same high-speed rhythm as the wand between your legs. You rut against him again and again and then something pulls tight and hot at the base of your spine.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Oh god, Joel, I think—”

“Shh, I know, I know,” he moans. A bead of sweat rolls from his hairline to his chin. “You’re okay, let it happen.”

“Touch me,” you say, breathless and needy and so so desperate. “Fuck, please.”

Joel groans – a deep, guttural thing. A sound that comes from somewhere in the base of his stomach. It rattles your bones and has your fingernails digging into his stomach, and then his hand is on your chest. Rough fingers squeezing and stroking and pinching and you’re gasping, keening his name as he whispers frenzied words of encouragement and it’s building it’s building it’s building and and and—

Everything goes silent when you come. It’s all blurred vision and deafened ears; an intense ache in your jaw from the way your mouth hangs open. You can feel a vein in your neck, raging beneath the skin; a staccato rushing sound that echoes inside your head.

And you think you can hear Joel’s voice, somewhere beyond it all; Fuck, there it is, good girl, good fuckin’ girl.

When your eyes flutter open, you can only see Joel’s face swimming in your vision. His eyes rolling back, lips parted as he snarls your name.

“Fuck,” he spits. “—yeah, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go.”

You feel his cock kick inside of you; fast jerking spasms and then a warm rush as he starts to come. Your hand wraps around his, pushing the wand to the side of the bed, but he doesn’t fucking stop. He grips your waist and fucks up into you, spitting curses and warbled slurs of your name as he pumps you full of his hot spend.

It’s obscene – a mix of your come and his, squeezing out around his girth and smearing against the inside of your thighs. It pools around the base of his cock and you whimper at the sight, swollen cunt still tightening around him. Only when you start to sag down against his chest does he rest, his thighs twitching and tensing with the aftershocks of his high.  

Joel raises a hand, calloused thumb brushing the tears from your cheeks. Then, carefully, he grips the back of your neck, guiding you down to rest against his chest.

Your shoulders slump and you press a lazy kiss against the jut of his collarbone. And for a moment there’s just this. No sounds but that of heavy breaths and a soft buzzing, forgotten somewhere in the sheets. The swipe of his fingertips down your spine, your lips against his salty skin. A gentle tap against your waist and he’s slipping out of you with a sigh, but not letting you pull away, not letting you move from where you’ve collapsed directly on top of him.

“Missed that,” you slur sleepily, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“Me too,” he mumbles. “Did so good. Made me proud.”

“S’that right?” you smile against his skin.

“S’right, baby.”

You hum, dragging your head up to press a kiss against his mouth. Both of you so exhausted that it’s just a brief, lazy swipe of your lips, but it’s enough. It’s thank you.

“Shower?” he suggests softly, smiling up at you.  

“Or… cigarette?” you respond, eyebrows raised, teasing.  

“Watch it,” he smarts, laying a quick smack against your ass before nudging you off of him. He stands and holds out a hand to help you off the bed, tutting underneath his breath. “Although I guess you’ve earned it.”

a/n: in hindsight, idk why the fuck i wrote that it took them six months to try this but what can you do lmao.

thank you for reading! x

[tojipie]

crybaby reader! but it isn’t toji who makes her upset, it’s someone else maybe some guy at her college how would toji react?

i honestly want to dedicate a proper blocked off chunk of my masterlist to this pairing :(( this is for the extreme social anxiety girlies who can only ever be around their boyfies (me)

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, severely introverted reader, anxiety

every hour spent in this class was more time to yourself to mull over why you’d let toji convince you to take an in-person course for once.

you’d gotten through college just fine these past few semesters, sitting through your lectures from the comfort of your living room. most of your school day was spent cuddled up with your back pressed to your boyfriend’s chest, where you were safe. 

you liked your routine, you craved order. there was nothing wrong with doing school online, in fact, you much preferred it that way over making the infuriating commute to school every morning.

toji had liked your routine just fine too, boasting about how nice it was to have you at home. that was until you started to let yourself go, slacking off during class to make yourself snacks, take showers, and nap on the couch.

that’s eventually why—much to your chagrin— toji convinced you to sign up for an in-person course to help you get your momentum back.

you were hesitant at first, blown completely out of the water by his outlandish request.

“just one day a week,” he pleaded, petting over the crown of your head in reassurance. “just one day to get a little fresh air, make some friends. don’t that sound fun?”

“i’m not gonna make any friends,” you explained bitterly, stomach already cramping with distaste at the thought of being forced to take the time out of your day to make your commute and spend 2 hours in a 30-person classroom every wednesday. people your age were cruel, you’d learned that very early on.

you knew it was unhealthy, squeezing your bubble this tight until you and toji were the only ones that could fit in it. was it really that bad to protect your peace though? you trusted toji, and he was better than anyone at showing you how loved you were—in his own way of course. 

you don’t say anything the day you press “enroll” on your school portal, feeling your boyfriend rub both hands up and down your sides in silent support. in fact, you’d secretly been the slightest bit excited at the change in scenery, ready to consider expanding that little bubble of yours.

keyword, consider. you were considering it right up until your first group assignment.

the stranger—your partner for the day, looks you up and down for only a moment, awkwardly turning to tap his friend behind him.

“switch with me,” he mutters, already grabbing his bag to leave your table with a sigh of relief.

the humiliation that settles deep within your bones is excruciating. you feel hot all over, suddenly conscious of every breath you take, how your chest shudders as you try not to cry. had he already decided he wanted nothing to do with you based on one look?

the girl he switches with isn’t much of an improvement, spending the majority of class on her phone while you work quietly on your laptop. you hear her laugh once or twice, too scared to look up and see if the giggling was at your expense.

you slink out of the room forty-five minutes early, unbeknownst to the people around you.

this was such a big mistake.

˚ ✧ ───

toji freezes the second you start to blubber into the swell of his chest, holding his thin work shirt in your quivering fists.

“what is it baby?” he whispers, bringing a large hand up to pet over the crown of your head. “you trip in the elevator again?”

“no,” you sniffle, embarrassedly wiping hot tears with your jacket sleeve. you didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t feel like enduring another wave of embarrassment lest you relive the events from today. 

the older man realizes the source of your tears, choosing his next words with caution.

“didn’t like class today?” he asks, fiddling with a strand of your hair absentmindedly.

“not going back,” you mumble, untangling yourself from his limbs to set your bag down on the couch. you sprawl out on the piece of furniture, exhausted beyond belief.

you tell him what had happened in the hours prior, pausing a few times to will away oncoming tears. toji kisses away each salty droplet, mouthing at your neck to coax an unexpected fit of laughter from you.

“you send in that project yet?” he asks, thumbing at the seam of your shirt.

“not yet, why?”

“bring it here.”

you oblige, curious.

the older man flips through the slides until he gets to the title page, highlighting your “partner’s” name and clicking the backspace with enthusiasm.

“there you go sugar,” he smiles, pulling you into his lap to let you get a better look. “you’re gonna go to that class and you’re gonna get the credit you deserve, okay?”

you truly hadn’t thought of it that way, intertwining your fingers as toji submits the project for you. was standing up for yourself really that simple?

tears start to well behind your lashes for the umpteenth time that day, reducing you to mush as the raven-haired man pulls you flush with his chest.

“thank you,” you mumble. he knows what you mean without you having to explain, wishing you wouldn’t thank him for the bare minimum. 

toji fiddles with each of your smaller fingers as you drift asleep against him, too overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions to stay awake any longer. 

he whispers sweet promises to you as your mind walks the right rope between consciousness and dreamland, telling you how he’ll hold your hand on every walk to the train station from now until the last day of the semester. 

and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this safe in your life.

[angelltheninth]

Wet to the Bone

Pairing: Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, fluff, misunderstanding, gentle sex, kissing, tail use, purring, worried boyfriend Neuvillette

Word count: 0.5k

A/N: Another Neuvillette commission. This time for @dearlybeelovedreadingroom. Thank you for your support of my work!

The wetness was due to the rain at first. Then you ran to him and he, without an ounce of hesitation told you to strip. Neuvillette smelled it right away, your arousal rising as each layer of clothing feel from your body. It wasn't the rain that you were wet from. But he could take care of both, warm you up and get rid of that ache between your legs, in the same loving act.

His long blue tail held you as close to him as two people could be, his hand on the back of your head, the other intertwined with yours against the pillow while his hips kept thrusting his cock in and out. Not too much because he didn't want to leave you cold for long but long enough for your cunt to miss the fullness before he filled it up again.

"Is this what you wanted?" He grinned against your lips as he broke the kiss, "To be warm both inside and out?" His cum felt hotter today, just a little bit, as did his whole body, falling over you like a blanket of comfort and warmth.

"It was a misunderstanding. And all your fault for getting me wet in the first place." Neuvillette laughed at your choice of words but you didn't think it was funny at all. He was an Archon, "You should take all responsibility for it."

His hips stilled suddenly, you were about to ask what was wrong when he began thrusting at blurring speed, sending shockwaves through your body until your pussy was filled with more warm seed. "That's what I'm doing. Am I not? Do you require more?" Neuvillette felt your chest pressing against his as you took deep breaths, he felt your thighs twitching around his hips, your hand smooth over his back and against his hair while you struggled to catch up with his words.

"I'm not warm yet." Your skin is still wet, from sweat not water, you were shivering, from pleasure not the cold, you were warm, from his body not the fire. "A few more rounds would do."

You wrapped your legs around him again, sighing when you felt his cock sink home inside you once more, fully enveloped in your own warmth. It didn't matter that it also pushed some of his cum out and down his balls, onto the bed. You wanted him to move again and he did, providing you with that much needed friction, in and out, his cock still as hard as when you started, his eyes just as soft, his purring loud and relaxing in your ears.

"If you make jokes like these I know you're feeling alright." He pressed his nose against yours, "Your nose is warm again. Good." The small peck he placed on it make you chuckle, "Don't laugh at my worry." His hips rocked forward, turning your laugh into a wheeze and then a gasp for breath. "I need to make sure you're well taken care of. In every way possible, my beloved."

[luveline]

hi bae, just wondering if you could write something like roommate!marauders and reader with anxiety where everytime one of them goes out she gets really worried that’s somethings gonna happen to them and waits up for them and just feels like a burden when she calls to make sure they’re alright and just general anxiety things and them being so sweet about it

love u

love u too♡

cw death related anxiety

“Hey, Remus?” you ask tentatively. 

Your housemate lays across the sofa with his dinner half eaten on the coffee table and a book tented on his chest. He's ignoring both in favour of the television, a rerun of Family Fortunes turning the sofa cushions and his pale skin a light blue. 

He drags his blue-tinged gaze from the subtitles to your frowning. “What's wrong?” he asks. You're surprised he heard you over the sound of Sirius’ stereo echoing down the stairs. 

“Where did James say he was going?” 

“I think he said he'd be at the gym for an hour now he's not in work. Want me to call him?” 

“Why would you call him?” you ask, instead of saying yes, please, like you want to. 

“You're worrying again.” 

They know how you are. It doesn't mean they have to understand —it isn't logical to think James is hurt because he hasn't been home today yet, and none of them are required to humour you in your worry, but they always do. 

You feel sick as he takes his phone from his pocket. You've convinced yourself that James is dead, that his car curled around a bend too quickly on the drive in the rain, or that something happened at the gym, or that he never made it there at all, had a fit in the car park outside of work. Even as you think it, you know it's implausible, unlikely, just a repetitive negative anxiety worming its way into your head, but you can't make it stop. 

James doesn't answer the first time, which doesn't help, and then when he does answer the second time you're waiting for bad news. Remus smiles as he talks. “Hello? Jamie?”

James doesn't need speak phone to be heard. “Remus! I'm at the gym, what's happening?”

Remus wrinkles his nose. “What's happening? Since when do you say that?”

“What's up?” James corrects. “I'm on my way out of the gym, can you talk? You can keep me company while I drive.” 

Remus holds out the phone to you. 

“Remus?” James asks into the room. You take the phone before he can hang up, and decide to be honest, but the words get stuck like toffee between your teeth. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” you say, sending Remus a grateful look. He moves over to make room on settee for you, and his arm wraps familiarly around your shoulders as you settle in. He turns his attention back to his show. 

“Oh my god hey, angel. Remus okay?” 

“I was making him ring you, sorry. I thought… you know what I'm like. It's getting late and you aren't home, and I know I don't have the right to pester you about where you are.”

“Yeah you do,” James says, his voice louder, like his mouth is very close to the microphone. “Course you do. I'd worry too if you weren't home yet.” 

“I do this all the time, though.”

Just last week he and Sirius were out late and you'd panicked that they'd both been hurt. You stayed up until almost one in the morning waiting for them to get home from a music shop in the city, each minute after eleven like a shot of ice water in your veins. Sirius jumped when he saw you waiting in the living room, but then he'd given you a hug and rubbed at your shoulders roughly. You didn't wait up for us, did you? 

“It's worse lately, yeah?” James asks. You hum non-committal, and Remus gives you a squeeze in typical Remus fashion. You hadn't even realised he was listening, but his support makes this easier. “You're worrying about us more.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don't know why. And it sucks because I know it's making me a lot to deal with.” 

“I would one thousand percent prefer it if you rang me then sat there worrying. That would make me feel better. And Remus and Sirius feel the same way, okay? We could all stand to ring each other a bit more anyways.” 

You rub your nose into your hand. “Sorry,” you mumble. 

“There's no need to be. I love you, ‘n I just want you to be happy. If a phone call can make that happen then why shouldn't you do it? And it's not like they're a big imposition, I like talking to you. We all do.”

James is home from the gym what could only be ten minutes later, and he leans over the back of the settee to kiss your forehead chasely. “Here we are, all safe and well.” 

“You haven't seen Sirius yet,” Remus points out.

“I can bloody well hear him. What is he listening to? Is that U2?” James shakes his head in disgust. “I can see why you were so worried I wasn't coming home. Let me go put a stop to that immediately.” 

[mrsbarnesblog]

you deserve the world

masterlist ko-fi ao3

College! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You were in a relationship with a man who had never truly cared about you, but after catching him cheating on you at a friend's party, you eventually decided to end things with him. The good news was that there was always someone who wasn't going to let you go through it alone.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: toxic relationship, cheating, name calling, gaslighting, protective Bucky, feelings.

Author's note: college Bucky + some angst = my favorite combo. I already have a cute idea for the part 2 so stay tuned ☺️

“And what about you, ma'am?” The waitress asked, looking at you. 

“Um–” 

“She’ll get a salad and a glass of water, thank you.” John interrupted you, not allowing you to choose for yourself. Everyone at the table went quiet, looking at you, and you felt the heat spreading on your cheeks. There was nothing new in the fact that John always decided for you, but no one from your friend really knew about that. 

You quickly nodded at the waitress with a polite smile and gave the menu back. When she left, you really hoped that this question wouldn't be discussed, but you were wrong. 

“What the fuck? You said that you were hungry. Why do you even listen to him?” Natasha, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table with Bucky, Steve, and Wanda, angrily looked at you. 

She was really protective over you, and she hated John. Natasha tried to convince you many times to break up with him, but every time you tried, he somehow managed to manipulate you to stay. And you hated yourself for being so weak. 

“Natasha, please, don't start it.” You begged, feeling that John was losing his temper. “I'm not hungry, I'm—”

“She’s on a diet, right, baby?” His fake smile made you almost want to cry, but you just nodded. Nat and Wanda rolled their eyes, not for the first time hearing that from your shitty boyfriend. Steve and Sam looked mostly disappointed or even concerned, but Bucky… Bucky looked furious. 

You weren't best friends. You hung out only when the team got together at the parties, and since John was extremely jealous, it had never been only the two of you. But you both felt something every time your eyes met or when you sat too close to each other. He always gave you that one-sided smile that made your knees weak and the plums of your hands sweaty. It seemed like John had always sensed that tension between you and did everything to ruin it, even fighting with Bucky a few times over it. Their enmity was unspoken, yet everyone on the team knew the real reason.

Bucky had a crush on you probably since the first day when you came to see the game, but no one on the team besides Steve, Sam, and Nat knew that. You had a boyfriend, so he had no place to ruin it. Well, that's what Bucky thought at first. But when you started spending more time with the team and he started seeing the real sides of your relationship, it made him want to just pull you out of there. 

You were so kind, and cute, and beautiful, so Bucky had to put effort into not staring at you like a creep. Everyone on the team adored you because you were nothing but sweet to them. But the person who was supposed to be your biggest supporter actually slowly ruined you. 

Bucky noticed the way your face dropped every time John ignored you and didn’t pay attention to your words. He was too busy chatting with someone on his phone or just casually didn't care and didn’t even try to hide it. Your eyes would flick between his face and the phone screen, and then you stopped talking and sat quietly, probably too deep in your thoughts. 

It really broke Bucky’s heart that you were taken for granted and that you weren't with the man who would give you the whole world without you even asking. And right now, he felt just a hot rage in his veins at the thought that John didn't care about your feelings; he was making decisions for you and convincing you that you needed to be skinnier. 

“Did you decide that?” Your eyes shot at Bucky, who was looking like he was about to punch somebody. His brows were slightly furrowed, his jaw tensed, and there was not a single hint of the playfulness that he always had.

“I know what's better for her, Barnes. She’s not yours, isn’t she?” He winked at Bucky and threw a hand over your shoulder, carelessly dragging you closer. You squeaked at the sudden movement and tried to push your boyfriend away, mumbling a quiet “stop”. 

“Oh, believe me, if she were mine, she wouldn’t try to push me away like that, Walker.” Bucky looked directly at you, making the weird feeling blossom in your stomach. The things that you were feeling for Bucky were wrong; you knew that. You had a boyfriend, and thinking about another man was basically cheating. 

But how could you not? 

He looked at you at every opportunity—you saw it even if you didn’t show it. Bucky was a charming man, a gentleman, with a beautiful face and a kind heart. Even though you weren’t so close, you were able to collect pieces of information from other guys, and you wanted to know him so badly, but it seemed like John felt something weird and forbade you to talk to him. 

Your heart told you otherwise, though. You felt a reaction in your body every time Bucky smiled or laughed, even not with you, when you accidentally touched his hand a few times, and when you caught his baby blue eyes in the room. 

It was never like that with John. John has been your first and only everything since high school, and after some time, it felt more like a routine to be together. He didn’t want to let you go, even though you suspected that he was cheating. You couldn’t say whether you loved him or not, but his usual coldness, carelessness, and annoyance when you were around made you think that you were the problem. 

You were not ready to admit that you often lay in bed before going to sleep, thinking about how your life would be if you dated Bucky. 

There was more tension between John and Bucky than usual after that night. They even got into another fight in the field over nothing, and you couldn’t help but think that it was partly your fault. 

On Friday evening, there was a party at Bucky’s and Steve’s house. John was against you going there, and you got into another big argument over it, so he said that was not going to drive you there, and it was your own responsibility. Not that he usually gave you a ride somewhere; even on the rare occasions that were supposed to be a date, he went there in his car while you had to take a bus or a taxi. 

He will apologize later for everything he said to you, but he will still repeat it a few days later. Those emotional swings honestly drained you; you were sick of his behavior and disrespectful words and of the way he was treating you. But you still stayed for reasons that even you couldn’t name. 

Natasha, your usual lifesaver, picked you up despite your refusal, and after almost thirty minutes of driving, you pulled near the house with the loud music and a lot of people everywhere. 

Holding Natasha’s hand, you walked through the bunch of people dancing and drinking into the room where your group usually sits. Two large sofa’s and a few armchairs were filled with boys from the team, Wanda and Yelena; the coffee table in between them was almost breaking from the weight of the alcohol bottles. 

“Look who I got here.” Natasha slightly pushed you further into the room, and you followed her, still holding her hand, smiling and saying “hey” to everyone in the room. You definitely didn’t miss the way Bucky checked out your figure in a soft green dress. 

He was sitting next to Steve, holding a bottle of bear in his hand, and he was looking awfully attractive in the simple jeans and t-shirt. He also had that boyish smile, which made you feel weird. 

You were stuck on the coach between Natasha and Thor, who was laughing so hard that your entire body moved with him. Sam gave you a red cup with your favorite drink in it, and you sat comfortably laughing at the jokes with the group.

Even at parties, “Avengers” liked to hang out together, and with loud music and a lot of strangers in the house, it was fun and relaxing. People from your little circle came and went; some of them wanted to dance, some wanted to find a girl for the night, and when there were only your closest friends left, you remembered about John. It's already been half an hour since you came here, but you haven’t seen him. 

“Did you see John? He said that he'd be there.” 

“I saw him once, he should be somewhere here. Do you want me to find him?” Always cute and ready-to-help Thor looked at you with his kind puppy eyes and smiled.

“No, thanks, Thor. I’m just curious.” You waved your hand at him and soon forgot about your boyfriend, too interested in another playful argument between Sam and Bucky.

After another ten minutes, when your drinks finally started working, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom on the second floor. The boys didn’t let anyone besides your group go on the second floor, so as it seemed at first, the corridor was empty. You did what you needed to in the bathroom, and when you almost went down the stairs back to your friends, a weird noise caught your attention. 

You went in another direction, and around the corner, you saw something that you definitely didn’t expect. John was almost eating another girl’s face. Her legs were wrapped around his naked body, and his t-shirt was carelessly thrown on the floor. Your sudden gasp probably gave you away, because John immediately stopped and looked at you. 

Bucky had just finished another bottle of beer when strange noises came from the second floor, and you almost ran down the stairs in tears with John chasing after you. 

“Y/N, please, wait! That’s not what you think! I can explain!” John was struggling to fasten the belt on his pants and was half naked. The tall blond girl walked down the stairs, looked at you with a grin, and disappeared into the crowd. And then it hit Bucky. He cheated on you.

That motherfucker cheated on you.

Guys stood from their places, as if the same thought came to all of them at the same time. John grabbed your hand, not allowing you to leave the room. You tried to get away, but he brought your shaking form closer and looked almost as if he were truly sorry.

“C’mon, you know that I love you. It was just sex. Please, honey. Don’t be mad.” He spoke too softly. It was obviously so fake, and it made you want to vomit. You looked at John through tears. You tried to stop them, but they were just streaming down your face. The painful wound in your chest felt like you were suffocating.

You were breathing heavily, trying to control yourself and not make a scene. God, everyone could see you. Your closest friends were watching your interaction, which was so fucking humiliating that you wanted to flee right then and there.

Steve and Sam both held Bucky by his hands so he wouldn't interfere. You had to end it on your own, but Bucky was in such rage that he could’ve probably killed John.

“D-don’t touch me, please. I don’t want– I don’t want it, I’m sick of you, of this. I-I’m done.” You stuttered, pushing him away from you, but John refused to let you go. 

“Don’t you understand that you need me?!” As always, his behavior changed in a blink of an eye, and now, again, you were responsible for his actions. “It’s your fault. It wouldn’t have happened if you had given me what I needed… And can you stop fucking crying and put on a performance for everyone?" You shook your head to not let his words settle in, but you were already too hurt and broken to fight or stand up for yourself. Now you were blamed for your boyfriend’s cheating, and once again, he reminded you that your emotions were wrong. 

The whole team looked at how your posture changed, you made yourself seem smaller, and your head was low with eyes glued to the floor in shame. Everyone was ready to step in, but Natasha was already ahead of everyone. 

“I knew that I had to chop off your dick many years ago. You’re just using and manipulating her into thinking that she is the one to blame, while you are the piece of shit responsible for it.” Using the fact that Nat caught John’s attention, you ran past him back on the second floor, locking yourself in the bathroom.

As soon as you ran away, it became messy, with screams and almost a fight between Bucky and John. Sam and Steve weren’t able to hold him anymore. He was so pissed, ready to wipe off this asshole’s smirk for the way he talked to you. 

Bucky was able to throw a punch before his teammates dragged him away and held John by his hands too. 

“You’re trying too hard to get into her pants, Barnes. She’s not worth it.” John laughed, and Bucky tried to escape again, only to be stopped by Natasha, who got sick of this childish behavior. 

“James, go find her." She started throwing orders. “Boys, get the trash out of the house.” Her perfect red nail pointed at John behind her back. “And you, go fuck yourself. You’re not getting near her ever again, I promise you this.” 

“Are you sure?” Bucky furrowed, not sure how you would react to his company. 

“Yes. You know that you can help her. We both know that.” She licked her lips, stepping closer to Bucky. “But if you ever hurt her, I swear to God, it’ll be your last day on earth, Barnes.”

You quietly slid down the wall, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle any sounds. Your heart was ripping apart, and you felt like you were going to faint. So stupid, so fucking stupid. The tears were rolling down your cheeks nonstop, and you just curled into yourself, crying and suffocating. It was probably your own fault that you hadn’t noticed everything earlier; it was obvious. John didn’t love you and didn’t care about you; he saw you as a possession and it made you sick thinking about every time he humiliated you.

It could be only a few minutes or a whole hour when you hear a soft nock on the door. Your whole body froze, waiting until the person went away. 

“Doll, it’s me.” Bucky. You felt the relief washing over your body, but you still refused to answer him or make any sound. “Doll, please, open the door. I know that you’re here. I just want to help you.” His calming and deep voice brought another wave of tears to your eyes. Bucky was always so gentle with you and it felt weird—you weren’t used to that treatment, especially from a man. 

You stayed quiet. Bucky tried to turn the handle on the door again, but it was closed, and you heard the muffled sound of his forehead touching the door. 

“Please, at least say something. Talk to me, Y/N. I need to know that you’re okay.” 

“Leave, Bucky.” You said between not stopping sobs. “I’ve already embarrassed myself enough.” 

Bucky's heart sank to his stomach from your words and the way you were crying there over the man who didn’t deserve a single drop of your tears. “Don’t say this, doll. The only person who embarrassed himself was Walker. You have nothing to be ashamed of, I promise. Just open the door, sweetheart.” You couldn’t resist anymore. And even though you hated the thought that Bucky would see you looking like this, you reached for the lock and opened it. 

He took a deep breath before stepping in and softly closing the door behind him. You looked so small, sitting on the floor in a ball, with your face hidden behind your hands and hair. Bucky kneeled in front of you, gently placing his hands on your wrists and pulling your hands away. He shook his head when you were avoiding his eyes and trying to stop crying, when your whole body was almost shivering with emotions and pain. 

Your eyes, cheeks, and nose were red, your face was wet with tears, and your mascara was slightly smudged.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He mumbled before stroking your hair with his left hand. Bucky’s movements were so slow and careful, as if he were trying not to scare you. “C’mere. And you shouldn't be sitting on the cold floor; you might get sick. ” Bucky himself sat on the floor near you before his other hand slipped under your legs and lifted you sideways onto his lap. 

When you felt two strong arms wrap around you, your body dissolved into his. Your face perfectly fit into the crook of Bucky’s neck, and you sobbed out loud. 

“Sh-h, that’s okay. You can cry if you want to, doll. Don’t hold it back. I’ve got you.” You shook your head, gripping his shirt in your fists. You tried to control yourself, but the way Bucky tried to calm you down and was so sweet made you even more emotional. 

You were crying, hidden between his neck and shoulder, while Bucky rocked you like a baby and kissed your head. His hands never left your body, creating a safe space and grounding you.

“I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. It’s my fault that it happened. I should’ve left a long time ago. I don't—I don’t know how it got so bad.” Your voice was weak and you couldn’t stop crying as the images from the night flushed through your mind. “I’m sorry for ruining your night, Bucky.”

“No. Don’t ever apologize for things like this, doll. None of this was your fault, you hear me?” Bucky took a deep breath as the rage began to form in him towards the coward who made you so unsure of yourself. "You are the sweetest person I have ever met, and I swear everyone on the team adores you. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way, and I'm so sorry that it happened to you. But you should know that we’re all on your side. If you let us, we’ll make sure that John won’t bother you again, sweetheart.”

“You’re so sweet.” You smiled through tears, gripping his shirt harder.

“Because that’s what you deserve. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.” He mumbled into your hair, but it didn’t respond. Now that John didn’t control you anymore, you just didn’t know what to say or how to feel about the warmth that Bucky’s presence and words had given you. 

Bucky sat there with you, probably for another ten minutes, while you were calming down and your tears were slowly ending. After your crying session, you just felt exhausted; your body was aching and your eyes felt so heavy that you almost felt asleep on Bucky’s firm chest. 

“Hey, doll, don’t fall asleep here.” He slightly pulled you away when he felt that your breath started slowing down, ready for sleep. Bucky held your face with his right hand and gently tried to wipe your mascara. “You’ll stay in my room, okay? I won’t let you drive home in a taxi like that, and everyone else here is drunk. But first, we should take off your makeup. 

“What? No, I won't sleep in your room, it’s your place.” The cutest little frown appeared on your face and Bucky bit his lip to not make a comment about that. He helped you get up, still having a firm hand on your lower back, and walked you to the sink. “Oh my god, I look horrifying.” 

“Actually, you’re really cute. But we should take off your makeup. You can’t sleep like that and your eyes will hurt in the morning.” Bucky stepped to the side and opened the drawer. “Here is everything Nat has. Is there anything to wash your face with?” He curiously examined the bottles, reading the labels and frowning at the unknown words. 

You couldn’t hold back a small laugh at the confusion on his face and reached to take the right one, squeezing some product on your hand. Bucky had a small smile on his face, noticing that he was able to make you forget about John, at least for a few minutes. “Can I help you?” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to.” Not breaking eye contact, Bucky took a new clean towel, wetted it, and gently placed his left hand on your neck while the right one wiped your makeup off. 

You froze at your place, studying Bucky’s face. He was so concentrated on his task that he probably didn’t even notice you staring. Your heart was beating too fast, and your skin was burning under his touch. You craved him, only now understanding how much your body and soul needed him. 

“You look so pretty without makeup.” Bucky smiled at you, and you couldn’t hold your own smile from forming on your lips. “Wait a second.” He stormed out of the room and returned in less than a minute with one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. “You can wear it. Now finish here, change your clothes, and you can go to sleep, okay?” As soon as Bucky got a nod from you, he smiled, placed a light kiss on your forehead, and left you alone in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach.

Bucky’s clothes smelled amazing, just like he always did. You spend a good minute with your face buried in the t-shirt that he gave you before finally putting it on. You looked at yourself in a mirror, feeling relieved and kind of happy for the first time in a while, until your phone on the counter buzzed with messages and you saw that someone texted you several times. 

Your heart sank in your stomach when you unlocked the phone, and your eyes started quickly reading the messages from John. 

Where the fuck are you? 

Come back now, or you’ll regret it, Y/N. 

I saw how Barnes run after you

Are you fucking with him?

I knew that you were just a whore

Can’t even keep your legs close, can you?

He’ll just use you, that’s everything you're good for anyway

Always played hard to get with me, but you’re just like any other bitch

Are you going to answer me? 

You’re really pissing me off right now

“Doll?” After sending Nat a message that you were okay and that you were going to sleep in his room, Bucky knocked on the door because you were too silent there, but you didn’t answer him. “Is everything okay? Can I come in?” He leaned closer to the door and still heard nothing. 

Bucky slightly pushed the door, and the first thing that he saw was you in his clothes. He almost made a comment, until his eyes shifted to your wet, teary face. Your hand with the phone in it was slightly shaking, while your gaze was glued to the screen. You didn’t even notice Bucky’s presence until he stepped closer to you and forced you to look at him with a hand on your face. 

“Hey-hey-hey, what happened, sweetheart? I left you a few minutes ago, and everything was fine. What’s going on?” The concern in his voice made you want to cry even harder. You hesitated for a few seconds, wondering whether you should show Bucky the text messages. What if he thinks the same? What if John’s right, and that’s everything Bucky wanted from you too? 

But the way he was looking at you, so genuinely worried, wiping your tears once again, made you give up. 

As soon as the phone was turned towards Bucky, you saw the instant change of emotions on his face. His brows furrowed, the blue eyes that were soft and caring before narrowed, and his jaw clenched. Bucky was filled with so much anger that he was ready to go after your ex and beat him up. Such a sweet and cute thing as you did not deserve to be treated this way or to hear such words directed at you. But Bucky knew that it was the wrong time to show his emotions; the last thing he wanted to do was scare you, so he just swallowed his anger, took the phone out of your hands, and put it in his pocket. 

"Please don’t listen to him. Don’t listen to a single word he’s saying, Y/N.” Bucky pulled you into himself, and you once again melted under his touch. His firm chest and tight grip around your shivering body made you feel safe. “You’re the sweetest fucking person ever. You’re everything that any guy could ever dream about. You deserve the whole world to be gifted to you, doll. He knows that he lost the best girl and now wants to hurt your feelings and boost his own ego.” Bucky started stroking your hair while mumbling reassuring words into your ear. “I want you to be strong. I want you to see in yourself what I see in you. Promise me that you’ll try. And I promise that I’ll help you.” You nodded against Bucky’s chest, now too emotional about his words. “Now let’s get you to bed, that’s enough for today.”

Bucky led you to his room, which was dark with only one nightstand lamp on. You’ve been here several times at other parties, but you've never really had time to look around. It was so… Bucky? Dark and comfy, with random books laying here and there, two coffee mugs, and his uniform on the chair. 

“Can you lay with me? At least until I fall asleep.” You whispered as you sat at the edge of the bed. How could he say no to you when you looked at him with those eyes? 

You got under the blanket, already feeling like you were about to fall asleep. Eyes heavy, body exhausted from the stress and all of the tears you’d cried today. Bucky climbed near you, lifting one arm as a suggestion for you to hug him. And you didn’t waste a second. You got closer to him, perfectly fitting under his arm, and wrapped your own hand around his waist. Bucky hesitantly touched your fingers on his stomach with his free hand, but you just went in and interlaced them.

“Thank you for everything, Bucky.” You mumbled against his shoulder, barely keeping yourself awake. “I– I wish everything went differently. I like you, you know that? I always did. But now I don’t know what to do.” You nuzzled deeper into him, listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“Well, then I am happy to even have a small chance. Everyone knows that I go crazy about you. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sweetheart. Now sleep, you had a long day.”

“Mhm… Just don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” Bucky kissed your head, listening to you fall asleep. The only thing that he could think about was how he was going to make you his and shower you with all the love you deserved.