#but physically I am just as tired. all of the time. so what’s the point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acknowledgetheabsurd · 2 days

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The most serious thing remains to be said and it is not yet today that you will find me "in love, open, melting"; it is not yet tonight that I will write to you with "joy, brightness, glory", in spite of all the forests of "olive trees of kisses" that you want to put on my face and all the mastic trees in the world! I leave for tomorrow the care to explain clearly that you did not understand anything in my last letter, to tell you that it "often" happened to me to "think coldly" to try to make you understand my "real and lucid desires" and "what is lucid" and "what is constant and true under my changes".

This is a difficult task to carry out at a distance and quite dangerous when one thinks of the state in which you are reduced. For, my dear love, with your strength and health, with your "fatal and vigorous air", I see with pleasure that you are also recovering your good, solid, Algerian stupidity. Oh! I understand! I understand so many things, and you are constantly emptying yourself, my poor darling! I know! You work! Your essay must exhaust a great deal of your intellectual strength! And then, the rest, isn't it, it's tiring! But don't worry, go on! The little glimmer will come back to shine in the depths of your thoughts and one day - oh miracle! - I will speak to you in half a word... and... you will understand! I am changeable! O rock!

Since you left, you have spent your time asking me for some reason not to write to you if it would tire or annoy me or torture me or... I don't know what. When, by chance, one day, you don't receive any news, it's a debacle, doubts, dark ideas of the future, more doubts, madness! And you find my letters mean, when, having received from you, for a week, only two small ones every other day I complain at last that the mail is not working well! Since you left, you have been telling me to live as much as I can, to go out, to entertain myself, etc. Now, because I'm going to spend two miserable hours in Iberia, dragged along in spite of myself by some nice friends, and I drink a whiskey and dance a rumba you dare to write to me: "Poor me!" That's all that you found to say to encourage me to start again and as you feel that, I have to spend my energies somewhere and not completely wither. You now advise me to take up SPORT! And the SWIMMING POOL! I hate it! No! But... Do you want to make me die! Do you want to make me catch double pneumonia? The pool! In this cold! And where to find time to go to the pool! But what is the matter with you!

I can see your face if one day I follow your advice word for word and you receive a letter in which I praise you with warmth (as far as possible!), the joys of swimming, of naked and wet bodies, of water on the skin, wet hair and glances lost on a pair of beautiful legs! Ah, well, if I didn't have other things to worry about, I'd make the effort of swallowing a few sips of chlorine, just for the result! It would be pretty! Notice that while you're feeling sorry for yourself and [complaining] about yourself, you are tasting whiskey, wandering through dances and noticing American women who want to do you good! It is perfect!!! But that's still nothing! Not only are you stupid as a sink, unfair, a pain in the ass (I hope you understand the meaning of this word, which I can't write in full) but, to make matters worse, you are naughty! - I am copying exactly one of your sentences: "You would do the worst things, and against our very love, despite a suffering that I am physically afraid of because I know it so well, I would still love you and stay close to you."

I thank you, my darling, for the general meaning of the sentence, but since I think you love me, I never doubted that it was so. It seems to me obvious that at the point we have reached, errors or blindness of a certain kind can no longer do anything more against our union than to cause excruciating suffering. I am less grateful to you for the little parenthesis "so much I know her". It seems to me that you exaggerate or distort. But all these little impressions disappear before the enormity that follows: "These are reckless words (in all respects) and before pronouncing them I thought a lot about them." How about that! The very fact of speaking of imprudence in a love like ours amazes me, but the parenthesis (again!) that allows me to believe that I could use your words to consider myself free to do things against our love, that is beyond anything else! That is beyond the worst that one can imagine!

But no! I must not get angry! I must not! It is always the rest, your fatal and vigorous air, your trial, that are the cause of everything! You are stupid, my poor darling! And you have to wait for it to pass! That is all. Ah! I am beginning to feel lighter. As I told you, I leave the serious things for tomorrow, because tonight it is already 2 o'clock and my day has been hard. All this is exhausting and I am tired.

Good evening, Algerian! Good evening, my love, my beautiful love beast. Good evening, my darling. Curled up in you, your legs mixed with mine (alas if it could be true!) I will fall asleep and try to dream of a pool where you would be lying, fresh and wet, against me. I love you. I love you. I would also like to hold you in my arms and watch you sleep. You see how chaste I am! Unfortunately I believe that I would wake you up slowly, but quickly! See you tomorrow, my darling.

Maria Casarès to Albert Camus, Correspondance, February 14, 1950 [#193]

#albert camus #camus #absurd #absurdism #maria casares #correspondance #love letters #love #joy #desire #strength #future #madness #suffering #angry #pool

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dogboyheaven · 1 month

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Eating healthier getting more active being on a set schedule and taking my meds regularly. Literally doing everything people recommend to help you feel “better.” And I’m still so fucking drained and exhausted and lethargic all the time. No matter what I do.

#.text #I don’t get it. genuinely I’ve made so many lifestyle changes the last few months and mentally I feel a lot better!!#but physically I am just as tired. all of the time. so what’s the point #vent #I don’t..think?? I suffer from chronic fatigue? but then again I’ve never seeked out any sort of treatment or diagnosis #and bc I’m fat the answer from any doctor when I bring it up is ‘oh just eat better. and exercise. fatass’#and I am!! and it’s still not helping!!!

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figofswords · 2 months

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the post grad why did i get an art degree what am i even doing what do i want in life where am i going crisis has finally hit i want to. lie down in the dirt. or something

#WHAT AM I DOING!!!!#i get up i go to my stupid retail job i stick labels on bags they pay me fucking thirteen bucks an hour i come home i lie on the couch #too tired to draw in too much pain to go anywhere no energy to reach out to college friends to do anything fun #no idea where the even start with getting an industry job no clue what i even WANT at this point #trying to remember what i loved so much about comics i want it BACK i HATE this #WHAT IS THE POINT!!!! WHAT DO I WANT WHERE AM I GOING!!! WHAT COMES NEXT!!!!!!#there's no clear career trajectory i can't do freelance i need structure i can't work too much i need free time #my brain doesn't work every job requires me to move across the country the irs just took fucking three hundred stupid dollars from me #my friends live in different states i can't get a job without experience i can't get experience without a job #i can't work on my portfolio with no energy and no time and i dont have any money and everything is so expensive all the time #i can't get anywhere bc i dont drive and im too stressed to think about taking driving lessons again #and WHAT DO I WANT!#THE MOST INTERESTING THING I DO EVERY WEEK IS GO TO PHYSICAL THERAPY!#I AM EXCITED EVERY WEEK FOR PHYSICAL THERAPY!!!! WHY!!!!!!!!#anyway WHATEVER i need to go to bed #delete later #i got into spx. today. so. had to have a crisis about how i felt when i attended spx (energized. excited. a part of something. ambitious)#versus how i feel now (tired. unmotivated. kind of apathetic about art. disconnected)#i dont miss the stress of school but i miss being around other artists. ppl who speak your language and who want the same things you want #ppl who are excited abut art and that makes YOU excited about art. ppl who get you #i miss that i want that back #whatever. its 1am i gotta go shower i have an 8.5 hour shift tomorrow. wahoo. $13.50/hr lets go

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m-for-now · 25 days

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Improving in your life is actually kinda hard and sucks, I'm gonna pretend I'm at the beginning of my anime arc now

#now this ones a hard one to tag #but can you tell i've just rewatched the Inarizaki match in Haikyuu?#probably not actually #but like damn #i'm gonna pretend Kita is someone i actually met #shinsuke kita #haikyuu kita #this is so random #writing this at almost 1am while eating slightly over-salted pasta after not being able to be productive on a day #(due to slight physical exhaustion and pain)#this is the regular #“i'm questioning my life in the middle of the night because what am i even doing”#do i ... do i tag this with HQ!!?#i only mentioned Kita in the tags...#well it can't hurt #pls Haikyuu people feel free to ignore this #haikyuu!!#inarizaki #haikyuu #honestly i could start getting into blue lock in the tags...#idk how many i have left though; i'm kinda just rambling #i hope no one wastes their time reading these #it's mostly to distract from my over-salted food #bc i was hungry but i'm too tired and would feel too bad throwing it away to get new food #it's not actually That bad #this is kinda pointless but hey #let's hope i can start my anime journey of kinda getting my shit together after i've slept #(i told myself this 500 times by now but like... it's gotta work at Some point)#and also ngl Haikyuu just kinda makes you wanna be A Person #i love all the arcs and motives and views and stuff. it's genuinely awesome

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paging-possum · 1 month

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Who up listening to good luck babe by chappell roan and having it resonate not in the way intended but resonating nonetheless. About to go ham in the tags about the overlap of being a lesbian and being aromantic...if u even care....

#my art #gore #organs #its 2am so not a lot of this is going to be very coherent but this song makes me feel a lot of things about it all #like. its the Expectations #the expectation that im going to date men and the expectation that im going to date at all have always felt equally stifling #theres that feeling of not trying hard enough or not realizing it at first or trying to lean into what you're told you should feel #and having it not pay off time and time again and wishing you could just make it work #because everyone else around you has it just fine and you dont get why you're struggling with it so much #THERE ARE MORE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THE TWO IS WHAT IM SAYING #like obviously figuring out aromanticism is especially weird because its a lack of something BUT THEYRE PRETTY SIMILAR #realizing I dont want to date anyone mirrors realizing I didn't like boys but like. idk man its worse sometimes?#I wouldn't trade it for the world it means a lot to me but its almost like people go out of their way not to understand it sometimes #at the end of the day I am the you in that song #it was a very very long road to being okay with never falling in love because that was something I wanted for a very very long time #at the end of the day I will never have to be someones wife and I think its better that way #but its also hard not to get jealous sometimes #like I know its irrational I know I get physically ill at just the thought of being asked out but like #sometimes ill see my friends with their girlfriends and ill feel like clawing my own chest out with want #but also if anyone asks me out I will have to dig myself into a pit and never come out. I think.#I want to be with women but I dont want to Be With Women if that makes sense #its another layer of difficulty that I dont think I'll ever be able to get past #I feel like at this point I should just be trying to conditioning myself out of any form of desire because its just not an option for me #which definitely isn't true and like chappell roan says. you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.#but its also so tiring to have to sit here with the feeling and feel bad for having the feeling.#I dont know #I think if I felt a little more or a little less I’d be fine but I’m stuck in the middle #it feels very weird talking about this openly but also its very difficult to talk about with friends because most of them dont get it #anyways something something Josies monologue from bottoms #im going to bed

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opens-up-4-nobody · 8 months

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#what does one do when their perception cannot b trusted? im so physically and emotionally exhausted #and i can go from feeling hopelessly terminally bad to completely normal for no apparent reason. and on occasion i can go from normal to i #think i can stay up all night. i never have to sleep again. look how great i can focus. i could kill god.#and i have no emotional object permanence so it feels so stupid when im normal. i cant sympathize with myself in altered states of mind #and it doesnt matter but it makes me crazy the idea that i might not b bip0lar but i just push myself so far that under pressure my mind #splits into the catastrophically positive or negative. but i feel like this is how i have to live. i have to b perfect or pay a blood debt #and thats just how it is. and thats how its been. so at this point ive spend thr last idk 15 years of my life being d #some measure of miserable for no reason. i dont kno y i do this to myself and im 26 now and idk how to stop bc even pushing myself as hard #as i can im so far behind. how am i supposed to do less and not #and not just quit. im compulsive for a reason. there's a fundamental barrier between myself and understanding language but if i do more and #more and more then i can at least try to keep up with everyone else. idk im so tired. and im 26 and im afraid im stuck like this #and i cant even... its like ive split my head in 2 to cope. ive created distance within myself so that i cant fully feel how terrible i make #things for myself. half my brain is always like lol suffer idiot. it throws off my therapists bc i cant take my own pain seriously. ill #laugh and smile while im like yea i feel horrible like most of the time and i dont kno what to do lol. idk so it goes. i think im gonna stop #with the birth control tho. as it doesnt seem to help with my sadness levels. idk if ite making ot worse or not. guess well find out #itll b easier once i dont have to b trained on things. then i wont have to ask a question and burst into tears on my lab mate 🙄#unrelated

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arthur-r · 1 year

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need to poll my friends, does anybody drink black coffee like just coffee from inside of a coffee pot and you don’t put anything in it?

#haven’t tried black coffee since i was like ten and i hated it then and now i have mixed feelings #the biggest problem was that it is way too warm i am all burnt up now #that’s what milk is for really is just to drown out the heat turn it into a regular temperature beverage #anyway it tastes well enough and i guess the point of black coffee is it gets the job done #that being said caffeine usually makes me feel unwell so don’t ask me why i went for it today #pro tip if you don’t want to aggravate somebody’s heart problems don’t pour coffee near them when they’re sleeping #(‘‘sleeping’’ what i mean is eyes closed head on desk still perceiving things. not strong enough to wake me up from a dream or anything)#anyway if you pour coffee near me and i’m currently tired out of my mind i’m gonna ask to have some there’s no way around it #so um not my fault i was aided and abetted and i play no role in my own destruction #anyway i’m also feeling entirely fine shdhdf i’m nearly convinced it’s been a chocolate allergy this whole time #and if i stop drinking mochas then i’ll stop reacting cause it’s not the caffeine that’s the problem. we’ll find out soon #anyway who drinks this. do my friends drink this?? do my friends have tips on how to drink this #for example how do you make it not be warm but also not be filled up with milk #do you just blow on it. like an old man in a fable about a satyr who thinks humans are the strangest creatures #the taste is kind of epic honestly like it’s not good but it’s kind of good #at the very least it makes me feel like an old academic #anyway hi it’s senior skip day and i’m playing the system by showing up at the school building and skipping from here #shdhdf i’m gonna go to class from here on out though. just had to skip physics cause i never did the essay and i’m afraid of confrontation #that’s also not my fault because who assigns an essay in physics class???? i dont know this stuff well enough to write about it??#although of course that’s the point of assigning an essay is to see if we know everything well enough to write about it shdhdf #so anyway i’m here to ask my friends who drink black coffee (if there are any) what do you do to help it cross the line to just being good?#cause right now it’s like good in several ways but it’s too warm and it tastes a little bit silly. i need pro tips for college #cause honestly i love the taste of coffee and like i said the chocolate might be the problem so i’m turning away from mochas #probably they’re both a problem. but let’s say i start drinking decaf black coffee. what do i do to make it incredible. please and thanks #shdhdf mostly i’m just checking in though. how is everybody? i really hope you are doing well!!!!#i’ll be around for a bit then heading to humanities class eventually i can’t skip on the teacher who invited me to her book club #also like. lunch. and like i said i have integrity now. gonna go to the rest of my classes #but so anyway i hope everybody is doing well!!!! let me know if you need anything!! listen to corrections by poolboy if you feel like it!!#me. my post. mine.#alright this is my last tag but i’ll be around. hope you are well and let me know!!

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ceolocunt · 16 days

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#today has been. such an insane day I dotn even know where to start #there is so much on my mind about my panrets and my sister and my friends and #im drunk rn btw. which explains everything #but I just dont kno whow to even begin to unpack how im feelin #I dont know where to start #I feel like im a million miles from all my friends because I AM (physically) (emotionally)#and I feel like im a million miles from my parents because I AM (emotionally)#I feel like im a million miles from help #ive been looking into residential programs and my therapist has supported this but I just have no idea how id approach this idea to my pare #parents.#bc I have in the past and like.#idk I just keep replaying this fucking memory of me showing my mom a hospital and saying “this looks like somewhere good for me"#and her saying “for your sister?” <- or smth like that. its been a year #im just. sad. all the time and especially when im drunk #me when the depressant depresses 🤯 aint no wayyyyy #but yeah its crazy how my parents are too tired to start shit to point out the obvious self harm scars ive gained since january.#shocker!!! <- this is a pattern #my parents love ignoring my self harm #im just so tired #im so tired #this is going to be a really hard summer I really need people to check in on me. hopefully #ill do what I can do talk to other people #also the urge to buy a pack of cigs is so fucking strong. I miss weed. I miss anything thats not fucking alcohol. I hate it!!! and yet #ironic my dad gave me his 30 days sober coin as a gift and now im drunk off my ass #also my ex texted me today im normal about that too. fuck that guy fr #anyway. idk. I havent showered yet tonight but I know im gonna regret it when I do. im just so sad and tired and done #its not even relapsing if ive been conisistently self harming for the past 6+++ months lmao I need to stop lying to myself. but I wont #im just tired. I want a hug. I want to stop being the one people rely on. I want to be loved without it feeling conditional #maybe I want too much and this is my punishment

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piplupod · 2 months

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so frustrated tonight bc i want to participate in society, it is so lonely being unemployed and disabled, but even if i woke up tomorrow with the fatigue miraculously cured i still wouldnt rly be able to get a job unless i wanted to risk catching covid every single day. this is so fucked up. im so tired. i hate how my parents see me as lazy when I am fucking crying out of frustration and the unfairness of it all and how achingly lonely and isolated i am. I don't understand how they think im choosing to do this to myself, i am not living im simply existing. i can't even make the art i want to make because im so impossibly tired all the time !!!

i cleaned a chair today and im barely able to sit up tonight bc it exhausted me so much. but god forbid i ever say that im tired because then suddenly its a contest, or show that im tired because then im "pouting"(????), but also "I've never seen you tired, I would've noticed if you were tired all the time, you seem fine!"

#i genuinely WANT a job.#i want to have money. i want to have a life that i enjoy living. i want to be able to purchase things that make me happy #i want to eat food without getting scared about how much im eating bc i know its expensive so i have to be careful w it #i want to talk to people and have opportunities to make friends #i want to feel okay physically again #i want to feel like im contributing to the world in some way #i want to make people happy by being useful in an employment setting #i want to feel like im actually a part of the world #....i want to move out of this house. i want to not be scared all the time. i want to feel okay #but all of it is so far out of reach or impossible and i am tired and trapped #i want to be happy I really really do. I've been so miserable and scared lately #i miss being pleasant to be around #im just so frustrated with the way the cards have been dealt. im so jealous of my brother who keeps squandering away what I'd love to have #i dont even know what to discuss with the counselor at this point like... if she doesnt have a miracle then theres nothing for me #i want there to be a solution but there doesn't seem to be anything #pippen needs 2nd breakfast

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kindacreepy-kindaugly · 2 months

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i don't know what to do

#doll #do i leave? do i try to fix it even if it means startin over again? am i overreacting?#i'm just avoiding him n i should probably take some space but #i'm......scared.#i thought i wasn't scared of him anymore #if he lied about this what else was just him tellin me what i wanna hear #when he said he wouldn't stop me from leavin?#(physically. at least he was honest enough to admit he'd probably try everything in his power to make me change my mind)#n i mean i don't even wanna break up for good. i don't wanna give up on him. i love him.#maybe i'm just stupid but i really think he loves me too. at this point it's the only thing he's said i'm not questioning #it's just that for the first time in my life i'm not sure it's enough #n he just....doesn't know how to. n i'm gettin so tired of tryin to show him when he's fightin it all the way #i'm just. so sad. it's hard to breathe. i wanna be angry w/ him but maybe i was just stupid to trust him like that #i know by now i can live without him even if he'll always be the only one for me (cause he is n i'll always love him)#but i don't wanna face a world where it's not enough that you just love each other. where it breaks anyway.#spdrvent

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queercatboyrights · 4 months

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totally not me having one of the shittiest mental health crisis known to man for like, the last week

#nebbles talks #vent #feel free to ignore i am just so chronically tired and depressed rn and don't have another outlet atm #literally just feel so. helpless? not necessarily useless #but fuck literally any action i take or do or even THINK about doing feels so fucking pointless #its like no matter how hard i work for self improvement or just simply trying to get a better quality of life in general #NOTHING fucking changes #ive spent the last like. year busting my ass working and doing college classes 6 days a fucking week #and not only is my financial status even fucking WORSE than when I started #my physical health has tanked horrendously and i barely even have the energy to do basic tasks like take care of my self or even shower #SO LIKE WHATS THE FUCKING POINT??????#WHY SHOULD I FORCE MYSELF TO SUFFER IF ITS NOT EVEN GONNA CHANGE MY LIFE FOR THE FUCKING BETTER??????????#uuuuhhhgggggggg #basically no matter what i do im never gonna be able to afford to live on my own and not starve.#despite busting my ass and working 40hrs a week while also having a full time academic load #fucking. SO cool hard work literally means nothing anymore. thats definitely so so motivating and totally doesnt make me want to kill mysel #so so so glad i got to be alive in the time period where you can never gain any improvement in your life #despite doing everything i was told would make my life better #like thats so fucking cool and totally not disheartening or tragic at all #asdgjsldkdnb #again. feel free to ignore all this #the tags are like my personal little journal of fucked up thought processing since i dont have my actual paper journal on me atm

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allbark-no-bite · 18 days

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good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

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You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction.

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x y/n #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #challengers imagine #challengers x reader

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inkdrinkerworld · 29 days

Note

hi! i saw you were taking requests for post prison spencer, so hey

i was thinking about spencer meeting a kinda sunshine reader, and it’s like…love at first sight. she’s literally the one to make him smile for good

feel free to add your magic to it, and to ignore it, don’t feel pressure at all!

have a good day/night <3

babe you guys are saving my life with these requests right now! I'm feeling so good about everything I write again <3 enjoy sunshine!reader x post prison!spencer who looks less tense and serious around you

You’re at his desk, sitting there all perfect in your orange button up and flared pants, Mary Janes clicking on the linoleum tile as you tap your pen against your lips. Your hair is scraped back into a ponytail, the plait brushing the spot between your shoulder blades.

Spencer had asked about you to Penelope, asked about your personality, about how you work- all the important things. What he didn’t ask was if you were gorgeous and Penelope, who loves to divulge, had never said a thing about your looks.

“Hi, you’re Y/n right?” Spencer’s standing before you, not realising how intimidating he must look till you jolt in your chair.

You’d been trying to get your morning crossword and read in before the day had officially begun, a habit you’d been trying to keep up with since you started the job. So far it’s been going- the crosswords are boring so you have to pretend to be distracted by it to let it last a bit more than four minutes.

“Oh sorry, I am. You’re Doctor Spencer Reid,” you lean back in your chair, not bothering to hold out a hand to you. Penelope had grilled you on his aversion to germs and touching people more than needed. “I’m sorry about taking over your desk, but they didn’t have any free ones.”

Spencer shakes his head, you take a moment to look him over. His hair is a bit looser than you’d imagined, Penelope said curly hair and you’d thought tight spirals- he has pretty loose ringlets, dark and mocha-like.

He smells like leather and something else, maybe plum and black currant- it’s a bit of an all encompassing smell that you like already. He’s much prettier too, he looks tired, but still pretty. His stubble presents a problem, you know it’s going to be your downfall.

“It’s alright, we keep a tight ship. Have they been treating you well?”

You tilt your head, “The team or the unsubs? Because it’s been too many cases to have real team building.” You grin when Spencer huffs, making his lips twitch. “But I think getting concussed while saving Newbie’s ass counts for something.”

Luke grumbles as he walks by with his coffee, “You were hired after I was,” patting Spencer on the back when the taller, lithe, man rolls a chair to sit opposite you.

“Do you still experience headaches or migraines?” Spencer kicks himself when he sees your tongue poke into your cheek- you’re trying hard not to smile at his question. He also thinks he’s doing a shoddy job of flirting but that can be fixed- he’s been in prison for the last three months, he just needs to get back in the swing of things.

“I’m pretty sure your first official day back starts with you in Emily’s office and not giving me an impromptu physical, Dr. Reid.” His lips twitch again, cheeks jumping as he shakes his head.

“It’s just a check-up, no physical yet.” he stands, not really giving himself time to overthink what he’s just said. It’s more than a little presumptuous on his part but you don’t call him an asshole or swear at him, so he thinks he’s okay with it.

“Do you want your desk back, Spencer?” you’re earnest in asking, not wanting to fuck up his routines and his norm. You can tell you like him already and it’s hardly been a fifteen minute conversation.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take the one right there.” Spencer points a finger to the desk right in behind yours with a little less severity to his lips, his stubble looking even more attractive as he does so.

You watch him walk away, willing yourself to be professional about all this, he may be hot but he’s your coworker and you know all about close proximity relationships possibly being shams. You’re not here for that, so Spencer will be a good friend.

You make your way into the kitchen, steps light as you reach for your mug- a cute blue mug with an orca as the handle.

“So you come in and the kid’s already obsessed with you?” Rossi’s right beside you, making you jump as you put more than the recommended amount of tablespoons of coffee into your mug.

“It’s not like that, you all made him out to be this awkward shy mess and he isn’t.” You try to sound as casual as you can, but you profile your own voice and know how it sounds to everyone- wistful.

“Maybe he’s seen a pretty girl and the ‘awkward shy mess’ melted away,” Rossi places his hands on your shoulders. “He’s a good kid. You can trust in that.”

You roll your eyes, stirring your coffee. “I’m pretty sure he’s in his thirties, Rossi.” You take the milk from him, pouring it in till your coffee is just at the lip of your mug and smile. “Definitely too old.”

Rossi waves his hand, “I’ve been married four times, old isn’t a marker for romance anymore. Not when you’re only twenty four.” He leaves you be for a moment, and on your walk back to your desk to fill out the remaining crosswords you mull over his words.

As you sit, you look down and find it all filled out in black ink, opposed to your blue and you know who did it, if the messy scrawled message is anything to go by- ‘You should get The Washington Post puzzles, much more stimulating.’

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luveline · 10 months

Note

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy.

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead.

"Just go home," he says.

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of."

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed.

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason.

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure.

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward.

"Y/N?"

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be.

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question.

"Yeah?" you ask.

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks.

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away.

"My office," he says.

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says.

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk.

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks.

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?"

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse.

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there.

"From me?"

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself."

"I'm fine."

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick."

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world."

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk.

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously.

"I'm taking you home, honey."

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine."

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home."

"Hotch–"

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'."

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort.

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad."

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow.

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right.

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then."

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend."

"What did he tell you?" you murmur.

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds."

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm.

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament.

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home."

"Oblige you?" you ask.

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead."

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head.

"This is inappropriate," you mumble.

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home."

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then.

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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arthur-r · 1 year

Text

(vent cw sorry i ran out of room in the tags to say that. it’s illness-related anger as usual. content warning for medical everything)

im so fucking sick though. just in general

#and i am so tired of people acting like they know my experiences better than i do #stayed home from school today falling behind in everything couldn’t fcuking get out of bed and my dad said that yesterday my energy was up #so i’m obviously faking it today. like yeah yesterday i laid in bed for hours then came to your house and sat in a chair. saw me for 30min #you don’t get to tell me that yesterday i was feeling well because i fucking wasn’t and you have never noticed or cared #when i fucking passed out got a black eye from hitting my head on the way down. he didn’t fucking bat an eye #now i’m stuck awake because i have stomach pain and my heart has been pounding so loud for hours #and i’m trying to sleep and i need to make it to school tomorrow but i can’t #and i’ve been trying and i’ve been lying awake. and at this point i don’t know how to deal with this anymore #i get sick three times a month you’re supposed to be sick three times a year. this isn’t even counting days where i can’t stand #when i say i’m sick i mean i have sore throat congestion and sometimes fever. and it’s almost always a direct result of trying to live life #like i went to the mall thursday prom shopping. walked a few hours. woke up next morning sore throat runny nose couldnt focus on school from #all the pain in so many places and all of my regular symptoms just being escalated so badly. cant think can’t see cant stand #and that is messed up!!!! that is messed up!!!! and my mother tells me she finally agrees i need anxiety medicine #like hey thanks!! that’s helpful!! however!! why do you only endorse mental when it’s the only alternative to physical #why has my mom always denied viewing my anxiety as anything i shouldn’t just push aside. until it becomes a way to tell me that my physical #problems should also just be pushed aside. why is it so hard to get an audience with a doctor #ANYWAYS i have my stupid follow up appointment. this friday. i dont know how it’s gonna go down #i’m just going to tell the doctor how much it fucking sucks. i guess i’m going to ask for a referral to a neurology specialist in the cities #which will drive my family insane they don’t want to enter the cities to help me. but our clinic doesn’t have what i need #i might get the doctor to do a stress test on friday though if they can do that. but i want specific autonomic testing #and like yeah. i get that anxiety is in the autonomic system. part of fight flight freeze and what EVER i’m not trying to say it’s not!!!!#but does it occur to anyone that my heightened anxiety is one of several symptoms. rather than somehow being the cause #heart rate in panic attack sitting down is 120bpm. heart rate in normal brain walking down the hallway is 140bpm. it’s not my fucking brain #anyway i just need a doctor to actually fucking look at me. actually do the tests actually monitor. because it’s there if you look #but nobody cares enough to look and i just have to sit here falling behind in all my classes and not able to do my job that i love #and just wait for it to somehow get better when i’ve been like this as long as i can remember and maybe it’s worse now but it’s always been #there and everybody writes it off as me being lazy or not putting in enough work and maybe i would have been in sports as a kid if i could!!#people act like my fitness now is because of choices i made as a child but i have ALWAYS had worse reaction to exercise than my friends #and anyway i just. idk. sore throat and stuff is gone now but overall discomfort and disability is not. but i’m going to school cause i cant #keep missing it for health reasons just have to watch my heart go insane and do nothing. out of tags i’m sorry. i’m just so tired.

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noceurous · 3 months

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get you back

summary: You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption, semi-drunkenness, carsex (18+), fingering, oral, swearing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it), fuckbuddy!bucky, dbf!bucky, implied age gap, mention of bad boyfriends (not bucky), using nicknames (princess, bunny) , slight degradation - nothing physical, some mention of food

minors dni

a/n: yes I AM BACK. please leave some comments/reblogs. thanks!!

A loud snap of fingers made you turn your head to him. “Are you even listening to me?” You sighed, pressing fingers on your temples to look like you were trying to remember.

No, you weren’t listening. You were thinking how that hot guy was about to give you his number, before James Buchanan Barnes a.k.a the actual devil, snatched you away. Leading you to his car without giving you a chance to say goodbye to the best body you have ever seen.

You. Hated. James. Bucky. Barnes.

“Something about… bunnies?” You shrugged as you turned your head back towards the road. Even though it was almost pitch black, you fought your urge to look at his profile under car’s lights. Even though he was angry and sleepless he looked better than all the guys you’ve ever known.

“Really? You are not even trying kid.” He said as he emphasized on the last word. He knew how much you hated the nickname.

“Stop calling me a kid. I’m not that young.”

“I will stop calling you a kid, when you stop acting like one. What were you thinking? What was the point of all that drinking? Get my attention or liver failure?”

The point was to get over your ex boyfriend finding someone before you did. You didn’t want to be the one who was stuck in an ended relationship.

You weren’t even prepared to the idea that he would start dating in a few months. His post just popped on your phone while you were scrolling through pictures on Instagram. Selfie with her, cheek to cheek and smiling like a true dumbass he is.

Getting ass drunk would be a nice way to forget. But you shouldn’t been too drunk to start texting and calling other people.

Especially calling the guy you hated the most. Because he would show up just in time, and yank you away from the guy you were flirting with.

You really shouldn’t have drunk texted your on-again-off-again hookup. Neighbour of your parents, a close friend of your dad.

It started just a few days after your heartbreak. You weren’t sure of how it started, but you remembered how it ended. In his bed, literally begging him for letting you cum as he pounded into you like an animal.

When you weren’t fucking, all you did was argue. Arguments about when to meet up or where to meet up… You hated meeting up in his place, so close to your parents. And he hated meeting only for an hour max.

You started fighting and decided to not meet up again. Either of you got tired of all the lies and secrets. It was you more than it was him. Bucky was always sure you would come back to him one way or another.

“Remind me not to call you again.” You huffed, resting your head on the window. Sun was about to shine in a few hours and all you wanted was to get into your bed. All you needed was forget the day and move on.

“Sure your parents would be thrilled to know their daughter would end up in jail for DUI.” You turned your neck so fast that it hurt.

“I wasn’t going to drive the car!”

“You getting into car of a drunk idiot is stupid enough too!”

“Stop acting like you are my dad! He was fucking hot, and he told me his place was really close.”

“What made you believe in him? I know what that kind of guy thinks. It is only getting you to the bed. You would be considered lucky if he bothered to call you the next day.”

“So? What made you think I am not okay with it?” You saw all the blood rushing to his cheeks, decorating them with a soft pink hue.

“Okay...” He said trying to not go any further with that discussion.

You dropped your shoulders, when you saw how his grasp on wheel tightened and his jaw clenched. If you didn’t know him that well, you would say he was offended.

Whether it was because of anger towards him or how tired you were. You didn’t say anything back but leant your seat back to at least sleep for the rest of the ride.

“Oh no princess, you are definitely not sleeping.” He said just before he slapped your thigh. Small ‘Hey!’ fell from your lips. It was fair to expect him to snap and say you crossed a line.

You yanked your leg away from his grasp. He shut you up before you could say anything back. “You made me get all this way three in the morning. Ofcourse there would be consequences.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” You said as you rubbed your thigh.

“You sent me a picture of you lifting your skirt and texted all those things you want to do with me. But when I come to pick you up, I saw you on the lap of some dickhead.”

“I was horny. We’ve decided to stop with fooling around. Life moves on James.” As you finished the sentence, his foot stepped on the pedal so quick that he had to use his arm to stop you from falling forward.

“Get in the back of the car.”

“James, I’m tired.”

“Get in the back, or I will make you bunny.” You didn’t said anything back. Bucky never called you bunny, if he didn’t have something on his mind. You knew better than to take the risk of getting him angrier.

You rolled your eyes before unfastening your seatbelt. He caught the sight of your underwear as you bent over to move through the gap between the seats. Even though Bucky saw your pink thong, you acted like you had the upper hand.

“Take off your skirt.” He said before coming next to you. He almost yanked off the door before squishing you on the backseat.

He pulled you by your legs, making you lie down. The cold leather of the seats caused goosebumps on your skin. That and you knew what he was capable of when he was angry.

And he was pissed.

“Not so tired ha, bunny?” His large hands wandered along your legs, moving slowly towards your hips.

A loud noise of your gulp echoed in your brain. You could get used to that view. You legs hooked to his shoulders. His charming face inches over your lucky thong.

“Tell me again bunny.” He said as his eyes locked on your figure under his, trying not to smirk at the wet patch on your thong.

“Tell you what?” You asked. Blinking at him with nothing else on your mind.

“Tell me again the last thing you told me before breaking up with me. So I would not have my way with you.”

“Uhm...” He started kissing on the top of your thighs. Index finger was tracing your slit over the thong.

“We can’t keep doing this and not expect one of us getting hurt. Ah-“ He bit inside of your thigh, sucking a gentle bruise. “James.”

He didn’t listen to you. If he ever did that was not it definitely.

“I’m listening. Continue.” Kisses, soft bites started decorating your body.

His hands placed next to your waist. His teeth brushed along the band of your thong. You wanted to raise your hips. But the way he looked up at you, the darkness in his eyes, made you stop.

You licked your lips, closing your eyes to concentrate. “We continue lying to our close ones and soon enough the lies would get out of—“ You stopped as he curled his finger like a hook to pull down your thong.

He mumbled something that you were sure was Russian as he got close to your heat. His eyes looked into your eyes. You knew he was daring you to stop.

If you stop I’ll stop too bunny.

He didn’t need to speak for you to understand.

“—hands. Lies get out of our hands. It is too risky and it does not worth it. We both know that this affair does not take LONG!”

He licked a stripe over your slit. As his cold fingers separated your folds. He loved to torture you like this.

“I don’t want any of us to get hurt.” You manage to finish your speech as you felt the familiar tingles build up.

The tip of his tongue flicked your clit and you had to hold on to something, his hair, to stop your thighs to close around his head.

“See this is where you are wrong, bunny. There isn’t any chance where you can hurt me...” He said as his fingers collected some of your juices, raising them to his lips. “Unless you try to neglect me of your sweet nectar.” He sucked his fingers clean, you heard a tiny ‘hmm’ as his fingers touched his tongue.

He raised his head to look at you when he was circling around your weeping hole. “Answer this, do you want to hurt me bunny?” He wanted to make you weep as much as your pussy.

“N-no. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then why you try to break things off?” The tip of his finger slowly pushed into your whole. He pulled it back before you could enjoy this. “Are you going to try and break things off again?” Another question he didn’t need to hear its answer to. He could read it from your tearful eyes and slight pout. “Oh bunny.” He whispered to himself, pride filling his chest.

His finger went back to circling around your hole as he used another one to toy with your clit. You could not stop yourself from curling your toes and try to pull him closer.

That arrogonat smirk on his face made a comeback. “Are you going to flirt with other guys who I’m sure does not even know what a clit is?” You shook head your again and he pressed his thumb.

“Fuck.” You said as you squirmed under his touch.

“Not the answer I am looking for. Do you want to try again bunny?”

“I—I’m not going to flirt with other guy a—and ohgod!” He pushed one inch of his finger inside curling the tip so it would reach your spot. You didn’t stop so he wouldn’t either. “I’m not going break things o—off.”

One more inch and you knew you would start to drip onto seats. Before you knew it, his mouth got back onto your clit. “James!” You said again as you pulled onto his locks.

“Shit! It’s only been a week but your pussy is crying out f’ me.” He said as he stood back up.

Your legs started shaking by the time. You whimpered at the lost contact of his fingers and lips. You also missed seeing him with your thighs wrapped around his head.

You knew if you touched yourself he would bite your fingers and deny you any sort of release. He quickly unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxers just low enough to take out his cock.

The tip was swollen red it was starting to leak some precum as he pressed it on your clit. “You are an attention whore bunny. It’s been only a week and I find you cosy with another guy. This deserves punishment don’t you think?”

“Please! I’ve been just trying to get your attention.” He smiled at your confession as he aligned his tip.

“Tell me you are mine and mine only. If you tell me that, I’ll give you what you want.”

“I’m yours James. I’m only yours, I do not belong to anybody else.” He started slowly push into you.

He leaned over you to fix the hair got on your face. His lips brushed along yours when you moaned as he found the spot. Your legs started to got down but he held them back. Pushing your bent knee to your chest as he started moving.

His hips started rutting into you slowly. “So pretty like this bunny. All spread out for me.” His tongue darted out from his lips to giving you a longing kiss. All teeth and tongue, full of lust and desire.

His large hands pulled down your strapless top, letting your tits out. His tongue clicked on top of mouth. “And thinking I would be sharing them with some dickhead.” He pushed into you hardly, making you jump into his arms.

“I don’t share bunny. Never.” You knew he meant more with those words.

Air inside the car was getting thick because of your panting. His fingers started playing with your nipples to get them erect as he held your tits together and started licking and sucking both of them.

“Not the teeth ah!” You tried to protest but he had already sunk his teeth into your extra-sensitive flesh. Sweet melody of your cries caused him to increase speed. He wanted more.

You yelped as you tried to find something to hold onto, best thing you found was the back of his shoulder as you pressed your nails against his skin. Bruises and scratches would be greeting both of you as first thing in the morning but it didn’t bother you as long as it came with pleasure.

“FuckFuckFuck!” Familiar coil started to form under your belly button, and you threw your head back. “James, please please…”

“Wanna cum bunny? Is that it? Mumblin’ because you are too close?” He said after detaching from your nipples with a pop. The little numb was all swollen and covered in saliva.

“Y-yes oh.” He slammed his hips onto yours with more force and stayed pressed into you. “Cum for me bunny. Cream all over my cock, fuck, you filthy girl, so eager for a release.” He said as he stopped your wriggling hips against is. “Humpin’ me like a cute lil’ bunny.”

Your hips started moving involuntarily, chasing after your release. He helped you with continuing the pound into you. You were chanting his name unable to form more coherent words or sentences.

“That’s it bunny. Cum for me come on! I’ve got you.” Just after he was finished your release hit you like a wave, causing you to lose all the control of your mind and body.

But he didn’t stop, he increased his pace. Chasing his own release using your numb body. “‘So pretty like this bunny. Makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

“I’m all yours.” You whispered, truly meant it. As you became used to the swell on your chest each time you look at him.

You were really his.

“Yeah? Are you going to take my cum? Let me breed you? I’m sure you would love that don’t you bunny? All swollen with my cum, looking at me with those pretty eyes. Fuck!”

“Yes, yes yes give it to me please.”

“Fucking take it. You little cumslut.” You felt the wetness and warmth of his release shoot right inside of you.

He stood there with your legs wrapped around his waist. Looking at your tired and ruined figure. Taking the sight in just before he slowly pulled out.

“We—“ You tried to speak up, trying not to show him how much you missed his cock inside you already.

As he was putting his clothes back on you once were aware of this situation.

There was no We, you two were just fucking whenever one of you needed some release. No matter what you do to get his attention, all you would get was his dick pounding into you. It won’t be his heart.

Sound of glove compartment’s being closed made you raise on your elbows to look at him.

You saw him take out some tissues to wipe off his leaking cum. “Are you on the pill?” You shook your head, you knew how those were messing up with you. “I’m not ovulating, it’s fine.” He shook his head, “Still gotta get you some plan B. We shouldn’t be risking it.”

“Sure.” You tried to swallow the ache in your throat, and your pride.

You fixed your top and found your thong on the ground, raising it to put it on. Tension between the two of you was so thick that a saw could not even cut it.

He got back on his seat and started the engine. “The sun is about to rise, I can drive to a diner and got us some breakfast. There is a place I know makes your favourite. They are also good at making it.” He couldn’t hide his smile when he saw your smile at the mention of the food. He loved making you smile like that.

Sleep was the last thing on your mind, since he fucked your brains out. Since it had been more than 10 hours since you last ate something; growling sounds from your stomach was about to come. “Sounds good but I want to wear my skirt first.”

“Sure bunny.” He said as he tossed your skirt back to you.

And it was a second, just a second, that he felt like he could get used to it.

He could get used to having breakfast with you. He could get used to your face being the first thing he saw as he started his day. He could get used to having sex with only one person, someone really means something to him.

But when your phone buzzed, and he saw your dad’s name on the screen he got back into reality.

You sent it to voicemail, and leaned closer to him over the table. He saw the same smile again on your lips and the familiar spark on your eyes.

“So what do you say? Your place or mine?”

He smiled back at you, leaning over you. “Which one do you prefer, bunny?” He knew he could go on as long as you looked at him like that.

As long as you looked at him with love. Even if you were just realizing, he was already an addict for it.

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