#i sometimes wish i could go back to it but i don’t think i could do it on good conscious anymore

[maxriss]

༘⋆MORE THAN AN AFTERTHOUGHT — LN4

Lando Norris x Reader / est. relationship / library

Syn. The world sometimes made you feel left out — especially your friends recently — but for for Lando you’re more than just an afterthought.

I used to think friendships had a rhythm, a pattern you could always fall back into. But now, sitting at that dinner table, I realized I was the only one out of sync.

It all began when I noticed the silence that hovered over our dinner table conversations. One friend was completely ignoring my presence, while plans were being made with the person I hated the most, all without acknowledging that I existed at all.

I was in my room, cleaning away my anxiety and the hollow pit in my stomach at the thought of encountering them again the next day when my phone vibrated on my nightstand. Ting!

Lan 🧡 : so have you picked one yet?

The screen blinked Lando's name and he replied to my previous text of thinking of watching a movie. His name seemed like an echo back of my helpless screams. His presence a lifeline almost. I hadn’t even thought of it since watching my friends’ video on the group.

I’d come back from home recently after being gone 15 days and this change felt sudden yet right around the corner. I knew my friends weren’t the best of the lot — this still stung way too much than I’d liked.

Making friends hasn’t been my strong suit, and finally having a group felt like a stepping stone into the real world. Yet, my world felt lonesome this evening. All of it, all of the dreams of having a happening friend group the one with wine and pasta to enjoy, making ppts to catch up on and going for brunches suddenly seemed irritable and far out of reach.

A solemn sigh heeded my fingers typing away a response.

Me : no I don’t feel like watching one

This time he didn’t respond right away. I almost half-wished to unsend the text. Instead, his name flashed bright along with a picture of us as he called me. My heart beat almost a bit faster at this. A warmth peeked out in my chest. Hearing his voice did marvels.

“Hey Lan” I began. Fingers nibbling at the crocheted flower on the desk mindlessly.

“What happened?” Lando’s voice dripped worry and urgency. “What’s wrong? Okay, tell me exactly what happened.” His voice was warm but serious, none of his usual teasing in it.

I wavered, then breathed out. “I don’t know. It’s just… ever since I got back, they’ve been different. Hanging out without me, making jokes I don’t get, acting like I wasn’t even there before.” My voice lingered despite my best effort to sound mellow. “I feel like I don’t belong anymore.”

Lando was quiet for a few before I could hear an indistinct rustling in the back ensued by the tinkling of what seemed his car keys.

“Lan—”

“First of all, that’s bullshit.” He concluded. A small laugh escaped me. “Your friends are being shit. As simple as that.” He emphasised bitterly. I didn’t have anything to refute and to be honest yeah, they were being shit. “You deserve better.”

“I don’t have any other options.” I thought out loud.

“You have me.” He chimed.

“I know I do Lan,” I smiled softly glancing at the Polaroid of the two of us in Miami. The one we clicked at night after Lando won his first race in F1. It was flawless the two of us in our pyjamas watching Shrek eating kinder maxis. It was perfect. “You’re not here right now.”

“Not yet.”

“What-”

“Better pick the movie babe, see you in a few”

And with that, the line went dead. I swore I heard a car door shut before that.

───── · ·

It was an hour later when a knock at the door woke me up from my reverie, the customary chaotic knock only one person did — Lando. I skipped to the door beaming ear to ear opening it to find him there. Quadrant hoodie and joggers, smile mirroring my own with a bag in hand.

“Hey baby,” he said into my hair, hushed by my hug. I only hugged him tighter. His smell was a familiar canoe.

He came into my apartment and went on to place the bag on the counter pulling out bags of popcorn and soda and, of course, a few kinder maxis as well. “Pick the movie babe?” He asked while opening the popcorn into a bowl.

I stood by the door leaning against the frame watching Lando merely exist. The way he would show up selflessly making home in whatever feeling I was in — not trying to puzzle out things but only standing by me through everything. Knowing I’d find my own way. He showed up and that’s what mattered.

I bee lined up to Lando hugging him from behind. A surprised sigh was breathed out of him. My hands splayed on his chest feeling his heartbeat in the sun with mine. He turned out with a chuckle to look at me. His hands intertwine around my body as well. I looked up at him, his eyes dipped in crescents. “I love you” I breathed out.

“I love you more.”

The thing about Lando was — he never made me feel like an afterthought in a world where I’d find myself in the footnotes.

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©maxriss please do not copy, save, or translate my stories. this is no place for hate and violence, kindly maintain love and peace.

[leighsartworks216]

With Bated Breath

Sylus x gn!Reader

Sometimes I think about their fucked up childhoods and have to cry in a corner about it

Based on this post

Warnings: fluff, light angst, sickfic, fever, cuddling, references to homelessness and death

Word Count: 829

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus stirs awake, shifting where he lay on his stomach to watch what appears to be a blanket-monster approaching the bed. Quilts, furs, throws - gathered into one pile and now dropped to be on the unoccupied half of the bed. The person carrying them is gone before he can ask. He settles back into a comfortable position, stretched out like a cat in the sun, and quickly drifts off again.

He’s woken up again who-knows-how-long later. His heavy eyelids crack open to watch you, sitting on your knees on the bed with your back to him, shifting the pile of blankets and a series of pillows around as quietly as you can. With a cursory glance, he also notices the hoard of snacks, juice bottles and water bottles at the foot of the bed.

“What’re you doing, sweetie…?” he murmurs. His voice is low and raspy.

If you’re startled, you don’t show it as you look at him over your shoulder. “You’re sick.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “So you’ve decided to build a pillow fort while I sleep?”

You huff, feigning annoyance, but there’s something else beneath it. A softness at the edges, betraying genuine concern. It’s so hidden - shoved deep down beneath your usual façade of neutrality and disinterest. He can’t help wondering why.

You shift around the pillows some more, adjust a blanket here and there. It’s like watching a bird build a nest. When you’re finally satisfied with your handiwork, you open the blankets and sit back against the pillows, propped up against the headboard. You continue to hold the blankets open expectantly, nodding your head to your lap.

With nothing being explained to him at all, what more can he do besides follow what you want?

Grunting, he lifts himself up and crosses the distance, slipping under the blankets with you. Your lap acts as his pillow. You cover him with the blankets, tucking him in in a way completely foreign to him, carefully ensuring that he’s covered up to his neck and that no air can get in.

“You’re really doing all this just because I’m sick?”

You run your fingers through his hair. His back tenses, then relaxes, giving in to the sensation. It’s so easy to let go; hugging your waist, tucked in and warm, comfortable - he’s never been safer.

His hair is damp from sweat. His skin burns with fever. Goosebumps raise on his arms. You don’t seem deterred by any of it. You press your cool hands to his forehead and the back of his neck. Your fingers nimbly massage at his tense muscles. It’s hard to believe you’re capable of something so soft after the things he’s witnessed you do.

“I was worried,” you admit quietly.

He chuckles. It’s not as rich as usual, but it rumbles through him just the same; like thunder rolling over distant hills. “It’s just a cold, sweetie. I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

You’re silent. You scratch gently at the base of his scalp, drawing a sigh from the man. “Get some sleep.”

It’s an easy order to follow. You’ve managed to provide him all the comforts he could ever wish for. Admittedly, it’s a bit unusual for Sylus. He’s never been doted on like this. His whole life, he’s never really had someone to hold him or take care of him before. It seemed like such a weakness. Something left behind closed and locked doors, where no one can find him. He can see the appeal now.

In mere minutes, he’s dozing off. His breaths are even. The quiet rasp of each inhale and exhale fills the air. His mind teeters on the precipice of unconsciousness. Dreams and reality converge in a haze. The only thing that keeps him from slipping under is a voice, so soft and so unfamiliar it registers with the same level of danger as a high-level Wanderer sneaking up on him in the dark. Fortunately, his reflexes are slowed by his fever, because half a second later, he recognizes who’s speaking.

It’s you.

“Please don’t die…”

You whisper it into his hair with a light kiss, before it’s brushed away by your fingers. But you sound so… scared. Like a child. Like you’ve done this exact thing before - created a nest of blankets and a hoard of food and drinks, held someone in your arms… and they died.

You’d never admit it, if you did. That life is far behind, and you’d both promised that it will remain there. You’d never know his childhood and he’d never know yours. But he knows enough to guess.

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t give away that he’s actually awake. Instead, under the pretense of stirring in his sleep, he holds you tighter, tucks himself closer, and stills with a sigh. He can only hope, as he finally falls into a world of dreams, that you do not anxiously wait with bated breath to make sure he makes it through.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy II

an art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU...

II.

-It takes about three classes for you to finally relax around Professor Wick. You still feel his eyes upon you when you pose, but he does not make you feel uncomfortable. In fact…he is painfully proper with you. As he should be, of course, but sometimes, late at night when you are kept awake by your thoughts of him…you wish he would be just a tad forward. It's unseemly, what you would let that sweet man get away with. Therein lies the conundrum, you suppose. If he made a pass at you…he wouldn't be so sweet. 

-One day you are making your rounds during the break, when you happen to notice Professor Wick was drawing at his desk along with the students. You were in a reclining pose, feigning sleep. The way he drew you…you know better than to think you could possibly look so alluring in real life, but there is something in the varied weight of his lines, the soft shading. Somehow he configured the shadows of the background to suggest wings folded over your supine nude form. 

You've never really liked your body. Well…who does like themselves, truly? But modeling in the classroom, seeing your flesh turned into art, has helped you find a confidence, or at least an acceptance, you didn't have before. Wick’s rendition goes beyond all that, though. You can't let this go to your head. It’s too much. “I hope…you don't mind.”

Again, he's crept up on you without a sound, and you nearly jump out of your skin. 

Clutching your heart, you look back at him. 

“No…I…it’s beautiful.”

You don't know where you get the courage to meet his high-polished onyx gaze, but you feel something inside you implode…then melt. 

“You're beautiful, y/n.”

You have no idea that this is the first time he's drawn anyone besides his wife, since she passed. 

You stand like this in agonizing stasis, close, but not touching, for you don't know how long. You're not sure what might have happened, given enough time, but some of the students return to class, and the moment is broken. You don’t know if you're disappointed, or relieved. 

-You don't know why it's taken you this long, but you finally look up “John Wick+artist”. What you find takes your breath away. Yes, he's a skilled draughtsman. And a painter. And sometimes he combines all these things with bookbinding. 

He's incredible. 

His paintings are dark, with a touch of fantasy, evoking grisly folktales and the old masters in his play of light and shadows. He uses perspective and foreshortening to explore the human body in exciting new ways. He made his name with a series of ethereal ballet dancers in precarious situations. Later, he only painted his wife, Helen. She was a photographer, and in a snap of them with cheeks pressed together they seem impossibly happy. You see that she succumbed to a terminal illness two years ago.

The art world has not heard from John Wick since. 

You do not know this man, really, but you cry for him all the same. 

-You have no idea, how you move him. It's not just that he's seeing you naked on a regular basis, though that does not help. It's the flash of your eyes across the room, your smile and your laughter as you joke around with the students while they draw you as God made you. There is a light in you that he cannot turn away from, perhaps because he has lived in darkness for so long. He craves you– and he knows he shouldn't.  He traces your form with charcoal on paper, and he tells himself that that will have to do. 

He looks you up too. 

He finds your little miniature paintings on your social media, your digital portfolio for all to see. You make tiny eclectic diorama scenes you cook up with a 5/0 brush, sometimes you add moving parts and teeny dolls with teenier twee companions. Polly Pocket never had a pet opossum…poor girl. Your diminutive pieces hint at a longing for the enchantment of childhood lost, and maybe a cozy home that feels whole, if not strange to an outsider’s eye.

He notices you have not created anything you feel like sharing lately. He wonders if you are ok. The answer amongst the creatively inclined is usually not. But if you are not happy…you hide it well. 

He senses there is a well of strength in you that he wishes he could drown himself in. 

TBC...

___

masterlist/chapter map

pinterest board/ photo credits

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Link found it strange that he was being summoned to the observation room. Usually if the queen needed him, she’d just call him to the throne room at the end of her busy day. If it was less official she would come find him with the children.

When he reached the room in question, he glanced around. Guards flanked the entrance as usual, and the area was devoid of all else save the queen, who stood up on the balcony looking out at the city.

Link had sometimes ventured to this room over the years, far more so recently, but sometimes it left him feeling too exposed. He moved slowly up the small stairway to the upper level, feeling the cool breeze of winter’s periphery slowly fading away.

Zelda was dressed warmly, wearing attire that reminded him of the war. He recalled the last year of the war had been unseasonably cold, making things more miserable, and Zelda had taken to wearing two dresses layered over each other. Although she had favored pinks and reds and golds as a princess, she typically wore shades of blue or green nowadays to honor the goddesses of wisdom and courage. Her dark blue gown that she wore today, embroidered with silver around the trim, was no different. He could see the pale pink underdress at her collar, with the blue one’s collar far lower and wider than the layer underneath. Her hands were clasped in front of her as she watched the sunset.

Entering the balcony, Link questioned, “You needed me?”

The queen turned toward him a little, green eyes sparkling in the golden light. “I got a concerning update from the Gerudo Desert in a meeting today. I thought you might be interested.”

Link felt dread fill his stomach, but he kept his face guarded. “What news?”

“There’s a possibility of fighting on the horizon,” Zelda explained. When Link’s eyes widened in alarm, she clarified, “Not us. It’s within themselves.”

Link didn’t know how to feel, nor why Zelda was relaying this to him. He was certainly relieved there wasn’t another war brewing, but what was wrong? Was Hemisi alright?

What did Zelda want out of this?

“I don’t know the politics of the Gerudo tribe too well, I’m afraid,” the queen continued, looking back at Castle Town. “But it seems there are some who are unhappy with Chief Hemisi’s leadership.”

That was… Link tried to parse this out. He knew next to nothing of what Hemisi had been up to over the years, only that through her efforts the Gerudo had survived. He knew there had been skirmishes between her and the Hyrulian Marshall - it was part of the reason he had been sent to negotiate a trade deal with her years ago. But after he’d returned he’d pointedly avoided any information pertaining to the desert or its people. While he had occasionally kept Hemisi in his prayers, he’d really not considered her much… at least as much as possible. He had to focus on his children, on the Sheikah, on actually being a functional person.

In the end, he’d known she’d take care of herself. If she’d survived that cursed war and, more importantly, managed to pick herself up after what he’d done to her, she could survive anything.

More to the point, though, Zelda wouldn’t be telling him this just for information’s sake.

Before he could inquire, the queen sighed. “It’s sad that there always seems to be an issue there nowadays. I recall when they first came to the castle years ago. Father wouldn’t let me near them, but they seemed a vibrant people. I wish I’d known them for more than just war.”

This conversation was not going the way he thought it would. Link approached her slowly until he stood beside her, following her gaze down to the city below. They were too high up to see much detail, but he could still make out people going about their business in the central square.

“Do you think their capital once looked like ours?” Zelda asked.

The king smiled, eyes growing distant as he remembered his earlier years. But the smile faded quickly. “It… did. A little. Different architecture, more vibrant colors. Far different culture.”

The queen looked at him, surprised. “You saw their capital before it was destroyed? Or were you there when—”

“No,” Link answered strongly. “I was not there when that monster chose to burn it to the ground. I visited it a few times before the war.”

Zelda swallowed, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “I didn’t sanction that order.”

“I know,” Link said far more gently, reassuring her. “You would never give such an order. The general took matters into his own hands. What I don’t like is that he is still viewed as a hero for it.”

The queen stiffened, arms coming up to hug herself as her brow furrowed. “It was a hard lesson that I learned that day. I… I wanted to punish him. But I was advised against it, and I saw how people cheered and celebrated.”

Link didn’t comment. He knew that who history determined to be a hero was hardly based on who actually deserved it.

Goddesses knew he didn’t deserve the title. At least not anymore.

But this conversation was still strange. Zelda had to be discussing this for a reason. “Do you think we might get pulled into their problems?”

Their problems. As if they were just foreigners, as if the chief wasn’t a beloved friend, a—

Shut up! He snapped at himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. There was a reason he tried not to think about the Gerudo.

“I don’t know,” Zelda answered evenly, relaxing. “Father never paid attention to the Gerudo until they brought themselves to him. Obviously we don’t have that luxury, give the history.”

“Why not?” Link asked. “We shouldn’t meddle.”

“Everything and everyone is interconnected,” the queen replied sagely, facing the city once more. “Father lived in his own world, only wanting validation and safety, and he cared for nothing outside that. Affairs of other lands were not his problem. I know better than that. It’s why I’ve been watching the Zora conflict as well.”

There was a Zora conflict? Was everyone having troubles these days?

“I remember when the Gerudo came, he told me to stay away from them. He said they were dangerous,” Zelda commented softly, seemingly nostalgic. “It makes no sense that…”

She bit her lip. Link supplied carefully, “That he let them take the Triforce?”

She sighed heavily. “He always said Ganondorf was not as great a threat as I claimed, yet he was the one who said it first. But I think he only said it to me because he didn’t want me exposed.”

Link leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, facing her fully, tilting his head to the side. Was this actually about the Gerudo, or simply Zelda needing to vent about her father?

It was certainly a strange way to go about it. But the queen did seem to be in a strange mood.

A small, sardonic smile pulled at Zelda’s lips, and she huffed. “You know, I think my father had grown fond of their prince, Merovar. Took him under his wing in a sense. I… I think he wanted us to marry.”

Link stared. Stared a little longer. Let the words sink in.

And then he laughed.

King Ozen had wanted Zelda to marry Merovar? Had Ganondorf even known, even realized—

Reality swam away and swirled and crumbled and shuddered and buried him, and he laughed all the harder.

He could’ve won. He could’ve won and he didn’t even know it.

Zelda did not seem to know why her husband had started wheezing hysterically, and her own mild bitterness crumbled away into concern.

Link didn’t realize he’d started crying until he saw her watching him worriedly.

“Hylia,” he gasped breathlessly, wiping the tears away hastily. “I’m sorry, I—your father was an idiot.”

And so was mine.

He shook the thought away. Ganondorf had never been his father.

Zelda’s eyebrows rose at his words, at his bluntness, but he didn’t rescind them. Did she not realize? If Ozen had wed Zelda to Merovar, to the Gerudo kingdom’s heir, then it would have been a power play to see whose kingdom would absorb the other… and it was obvious who would have won.

Ganondorf could have gotten the Triforce without lifting a finger. But his hunger for power was insatiable and impatient.

He could have won.

Link wished he’d never learned this, but he still found it hilarious. He hoped, somehow, that the demon king’s torn up, twisted soul could learn it too, that he could have gotten what he’d wanted if he’d just not been a monster and not started a war.

But there was far too much anger and pain and possibility to get lost in with such knowledge, so he simply tried to move the conversation forward. “Is that why you called me, then? To tell me of the Gerudo affairs?”

Zelda swallowed, growing serious once more. “Yes. I apologize for getting side tracked, I’ve just been nostalgic lately, I suppose.”

He should probably ask her about that, but he’d do so later. Maybe. If she stopped by another time instead of summoning him. This was official business.

“I just… am concerned. About the outcome of this.” Zelda continued. “We do not know much of this other faction’s leader. Chief Hemisi does not like Hyrule, but I know she will not attack us outright.”

Link stiffened. “You think this other faction would?”

“I don’t know enough,” she repeated uncertainly.

Ah. Zelda hated not being control. He did know that.

“I can ready the troops,” he said to assure her, praying it wouldn’t be necessary. He knew it wouldn’t be - Hemisi wouldn’t let this usurper win.

“Perhaps just… ensure the Sheikah have arsenal available,” Zelda answered carefully. “There has been no fighting yet.”

Link nodded. And he noticed—in this light, the queen looked rather… exhausted. He wondered how much this was truly bothering her.

“Hyrule will be safe,” he assured her. “I promise.”

With that, the king departed, and both monarchs were left with hearts full of worry.

[t1ts-4-donaldson]

Patrick trying to comfort gf who is too insecure about her body

TW: Depression, Self deprecating behavior

Patrick skipped class that day, the lack of messages from yesterday morning to last night concerned him. He stumbled into your dorm after fishing out his own key

you're cocooned tightly in your sheets. Clothes strewn on the floor the most jarring thing the full stand mirror shattered in half, frankly scaring the shit out of him.

He quietly murmurs your name careful not to step on broken glass slipping into your bed when he receives no response nudging his way through the rumbled sheets pulling you on top of him.

"baby.. what happened..?" he swallows as you whimper out a hollow nothing

Patrick glances back at the mess squeezing you tight against him “don’t lie I can feel it..” see it too the self hatred.

He knows how much you suffer. He'd never understand it you were angelic, the stretch marks, the scars, the curves you desperately wish you could carve away. He'd tear up at the ceaseless curses you'd spew at yourself when you didn't think he was paying attention.

The distractions would sometimes help, going out to late night showings of your favorite films, buying your favorite snacks even a new purse you've been eyeing for a while. It was a fruitless endeavor.

"I swear you can wear anything it would look good" He walks over wrapping his arms around your torso leaning his chin over your shoulder watching your expression sour

it was worse when he felt you stiffen up beneath him right before being intimate, covering yourself up pushing him away insisting you'd turn him off. He'd sit at the end of your bed aggravated grinding his teeth trying not to snap at you for acting this way.

the darkness came like clockwork sometimes expected most times not.

"how can I make this better hm?" he urges with a kiss on your head rocking you back and forth

"you can't Pat" fat tears fell down your cheeks soaking his shirt, it broke his heart

"You're my favorite person, I wish you'd stop being so mean to yourself because I love you and you don't need to change your body." He croaks meeting your sullen reflection in the smashed mirror squeezing you tight as you crumble falling part in his arms.

repeated "I love you's" leave his lips until his throat begins to ache.

After that night he noticed changes you wouldn't stray away from your reflection anymore, able to change around Patrick without having him turn around or running into the bathroom to hide

the most comforting was the first time you let him embrace your naked body.

this was bad I'm sorry I'm slumped :(

[crowsofdarkness]

Time: Chapter Five

-gif not mine. credit to owner.-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: fluff, angst, language, violence, and mentions of death.

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky could withstand anything, even time itself.

Authors Note: This series will have twenty one chapters, some of which will be short and quick, and takes place throughout the forties. I did my best to line up the days along with Captain America: The First Avenger. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @that-blonde-girl @bookofriverr @starfly-nicole @ell0ra-br3kk3r @baw1066

Time Masterlist

January 12, 1942

“James Buchanan Barnes!” 

Laughter bounced off the walls of the small apartment as I ran around the couch, trying to escape Bucky’s wrath. With a quick jump over the couch, Bucky had tackled me to the floor, all but gently, and his fingers attacked my sides. A horrendous laugh escaped my throat while he non stop tickled me. 

“Say it!” He yelled. 

“Never!” I breathed during giggles. 

Bucky lifted me from the ground onto the couch, pinning our hips together and locking my hands above my head. 

“Say it,” he repeated. 

My chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath but still wouldn’t say the words. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“You’ll never hear me utter those words,” I sliced my eyes into his. 

Bucky smirked. “I know what will make you talk.” 

His fingers gripped my thigh and I tensed under his touch, knowing exactly what he was talking about. 

“Don’t you do it,” I threatened. 

Suddenly, his fingers squeezed my thigh over and over again causing me to yelp out in laughter. I felt my tough exterior fall away as Bucky continued to tickle my thigh. 

“OKAY! FINE YOU WIN!” I bellowed, giving up. 

“SAY. IT!” Bucky said. 

“YOU’RE THE BEST KISSER I HAD EVER KISSED. EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE THE ONLY MAN I’VE EVER KISSED!” 

Silence fell around us and while Bucky smirked down at me in victory, I pushed my bottom lip out in a giant pout. 

“I hate you.” 

He leaned down and kissed my pouted lip. “Love you too, doll.” 

We kissed once more, this time longer and more passionate than the last one. Bucky let my hands go and I ran them through his hair and down his back, nails digging into his skin through his shirt. 

“Aw, come on guys. Really? I’m still here!” 

Bucky rolled off my hips while helping me to a sitting position and I gave an apologetic smile to Steve. He was walking back into the living room, bowl full of chips in one hand and beers in the other. 

“Sorry, Stevie.” 

It was Saturday night and we all met at Steve’s apartment for our usual movie night. Except we hadn't seen Steve in almost two weeks because Bucky and I had been so busy with each other that we didn’t stop to think of our other best friend that we almost ditched completely. 

Steve said he didn’t mind, liking the time alone, but we both knew that he was hurt that we hadn’t made the time for him. 

There was also a massive thing that we had to talk to Steve about; something we weren’t happy about. 

“So, do you want to tell us where you were this morning?” I asked with a raised brow. 

Steve gave me a confused look so I continued. “Bucky said he saw you coming out of the enlisting office again.” 

He sighed while giving us an apologetic look. I would have believed it if he actually was sorry. This wasn’t the first time we caught him trying to enlist for the war. They denied him so many times now he started to lie on the forms, saying he’s from somewhere else; a different city and even sometimes a different state. 

“They’re going to accept me soon.” 

“Are you asking for a death wish?” Bucky semi-snapped. 

“I can’t sit by and watch other men lay down their lives. I have to do something,” Steve stated. 

A soft sigh fell from my lips and with a sad stare, I placed my hand on his knee so Steve could look into my eyes. 

“We’re worried about you, Steve. That’s all.” 

He nodded and placed his hand over my own. “I know but you have to understand that I’m not going to stop until they take me.” 

I hesitated to speak but Bucky’s voice stopped me. 

“Doll, come here.” 

He nodded towards the spot next to him and without a second thought, I snuggled closer into his chest, breathing in his scent. No matter how bad I was feeling or sour in a mood I was, Bucky’s scent always relaxed me instantly. 

“It’s not worth it, sweetheart. You can’t change his mind,” Bucky muttered into the mess of my hair. 

I nodded while my arms snaked around his body, letting the warmth spread from his body to my own. 

The three of us sat quietly, letting the noise from the television be the only thing we bothered to listen to. My mind wandered to the smaller man sitting next to us, wondering what was going through his own mind. 

I knew he wanted nothing more than to enlist in the current war because he wanted to stand up to the bad guys. That’s what we loved about Steve, always willing to stand up against the bully’s, not letting any of them knock him down. 

Truthfully, I knew that they wouldn’t take him because of his list of medical issues but I couldn't help the lingering fear that I would be left all alone sooner than I thought.  

[roughroadhaley]

i don’t think it is humanly possible for the Robby-Johnny relationship to be as good as the writers want me to believe it currently is going, but i also don’t think it’s going half as bad as people on here or on reddit say it is, so it is incredibly challenging for me to find posts I agree with about them anywhere

[foxgloveinspace]

I mean this in the nicest way possible: I wish I was a better friend.

[skhardwarevers1]

does everything suck or is it just me being over dramatic

[lyrebirdswrites]

The evil demon in my head says I’m a terrible horrible no good very bad writer and I MUST NOT let it win. Even if this wip is not knocking anybody’s socks off right now I have to trust it will become good eventually!!! Just keep swimming!! Just keep swimming!!

[cavity-collector]

i genuinely need to be put down like a dog i cant do this anymore man holy shit

[danielnelsen]

there’s so much i wanna do this week/month/etc but i’m just too sick, i have no energy, i can’t sleep, i’m constantly nauseous and headachey and on the verge of a migraine, i’m stressed and irritable and impatient and panicky…….how tf did i survive nearly 5 years of high school untreated if i can’t even manage this when i don’t have any major obligations rn

[fridakahloblvd]

no one finds me attractive

no one finds me attractive

no one finds me attractive

no one finds me attractive

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[trueloveandy]

feeling inadequate about my writing tonight

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

people begging me to do something to make a certain someone happy aren’t taking into account that i hate this person and i will revel in the knowledge that i kept them from getting the most perfect version of what they wanted. in fact i hope they mourn the loss of this for the rest of their life and die unhappy about it