#And they are not afraid to let everyone else know

[cutielando]

brazil, my heart | m.v.

synopsis: in which Max finally makes a statement during the Brazilian GP

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

Your lip was stuck between your teeth as the whole garage waited anxiously for the start of the race.

The weather had kept everyone on their toes ever since the Sprint race had finished, and it seemed to be set on continuing to do so during the race.

Frankly, it wasn't something that you were very much keen on.

You were very tired, having woken up at 5 am to join Max at the track for the early Qualifying session from 7:30, you didn't want to take a nap after Max was done with Qualifying so you could talk to him, but now you were slowly starting to regret it.

Your nerves were stretched thin as you anxiously watched the 5 lights turn on one by one, your heart jumping in your ribcage once they went out and everyone lunged forward.

"Max up to P11" GP's voice suddenly rang through your headset, making you finally let out a sigh you hadn't realized you had been holding.

Max had long ago come to an agreement with his race engineers to do his best to keep you in the loop with regular updates because he knew you sometimes got too nervous or scared to actually watch the race.

The weather really didn't help your nerves, either.

You were always afraid for Max in dry conditions, but seeing him race in this rain and with the low grip level on the track, let's just say you were gonna have a lot more gray hairs by the time the race is over, which feels like a lifetime away.

Wet racing was often known to be one of Max's best conditions for racing, but it also meant more dangerous conditions.

Seeing the spray that the cars would leave behind, just having to imagine having to drive at such high speeds with water in your face, barely able to see anything, desperately trying to keep the car on track. There was no room for any mistake, no matter how little.

You trusted Max and his abilities, but that didn't mean you weren't still gonna be worried out of your ass for him.

"Red flag. Max is coming into the garage" GP's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, your stance immediately perking up at the sound of the news.

You waited until the cars had come into the pitlane to take off your set of headphones and make your way outside of the garage, anxiously waiting to see your boyfriend emerge from his car.

The moment you had laid eyes on him coming towards you, you hurriedly started walking over to him, not caring about any of the engineers or frankly anyone else from his team.

You only cared about making sure he was okay.

Just to ease your mind and worries.

"Hey babe-" Max barely got a word in before you jumped straight into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

He grunted, but returned the tight hug, careful not to squash your head with his helmet.

You buried your head into his shoulder as best as you could, your heart racing as you finally felt him under your fingertips, okay and all in one piece.

“I’m never joining you at the track for another wet race ever again. I’ve had 4 panic attacks until now” you said, half joking and half telling the truth.

Max laughed, his arms tightening around your waist.

He knew how much you worried about him every time he would get into the car, and he also knew how much you hated the wet races. And he couldn’t blame you, but he was the best in those conditions, so you had nothing to worry about on his end.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, looking at his engineer over your shoulder who gave him a short and worried nod.

“It’s worse. I don’t know how you guys can see the track in front of your eyes from all that spray” you said, slowly letting go of him and stepping back from his arms.

Max pulled up his visor and smiled at you, the crinkles by his eyes telling you everything you needed to know.

“Hey, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me, I’m driving the race of my life out there and everything is okay. I love you and I’ll come back to you in one piece” he said, holding our face in his gloved hands.

You bit your lip and studied him for a little while before nodding, giving him one last hug before he was pulled away by his engineers to go over data.

Running a hand through your already disheveled hair, you slowly made your way back into the garage, occupying your seat and putting your headphones back on.

Half more of this torture to go.

♡♡♡♡♡

The tears were falling down your cheeks before you could even think about stopping them, before the race was even close to being over.

Even though you couldn't see him, you could imagine what was going on behind Max's helmet, what feelings were going through his mind as he was leading the race towards victory.

Those last few laps seemed like they were taking forever, but then he finally crossed the finish line and took the checkered flag in first position.

You didn't think it was possible, but a new wave of tears started falling down your eyes, sobs racking through your body.

"P1, He's done it, Y/N" GP's voice rung through your ears, but you didn't care for any of it.

The only thing you cared about was seeing Max.

You got up from your chair and put the headphones on a table in front of you, your legs carrying you fast towards where his car was parked.

"Max!" you yelled just as he took off his helmet, his smile radiating as he started walking towards you.

You didn't waste a second before you flung your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as Max squeezed you close.

"I did it" he whispered into your ear, the smile evident in his voice.

You nodded, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you clung onto his body.

"I'm so proud of you" you murmured, pressing little kisses on his neck and his cheek.

Nothing could ever beat this feeling, being right there in your arms after winning a much-awaited Grand Prix.

Nothing could be better than that for him.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

[delilahsturniolo]

casual — m.s

in which . . . you get your virginity taken from your best friend matt, after he finds out you’ve never had sex.

warnings . . . smut, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected sex and more.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. do not take inspiration without asking permission first. happy reading! :)

“i know what you tell your friends.”

“it’s casual, if it’s casual now.”

you were currently over at matt’s house, it was just the two of you chilling together in matt’s room. you were both bored out of your mind, so you decided to play a classic game of never have i ever

“okay…my turn.” you exclaimed, sitting up. “never have i ever cheated on a test!” you asked, grinning. matt lightly chuckled, slowly putting a finger down. you still had all 10 fingers, you hadn’t done any of the things matt had asked.

“come on y/n, these are lame questions.” matt rolled his eyes, you only shrugged your shoulders.

“what? i don’t know what else to ask.”

“let’s spice it up a little at least?” matt questioned you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. you narrowed your eyes at him.

“spice it up how?” you asked, a little intrigued but nervous at the thought.

“we can start by letting me ask the questions.” matt smiled teasingly, you huffed and agreed.

“okay…go ahead.” you said, putting your hands up again. matt was determined to get you to put at least one finger down, there was no way you were this innocent.

“never have i ever…kissed someone?” matt asked, putting one of his fingers down. you stayed completely still, your finger not going down like matt had expected.

he furrowed his eyebrows. “you’ve never kissed anyone?” he asked you, a puzzled expression on his face. you shook your head. “no…” you mumbled.

“you’re lying.” matt teased.

“am not!” you replied back.

“alright…never have i ever had sex?” matt knew what your answer was going to be, he just wanted to confirm. matt put his finger down, but you didn’t move yet again.

“i didn’t know you were a virgin.” matt expressed, looking up at your face, that was completely flustered.

“i know…it’s embarrassing isn’t it?” your voice got softer, matt immediately shook his head.

“no no no, not at all.” matt reassured you, your body language was tense and hesitant. you didn’t really want matt to know you were a virgin, you just never found the right person, having sex was a huge fear of yours.

“i’m just…i’m just afraid.” you whispered, your voice weak. matt’s expression softened at your words.

“that’s completely normal, it’s okay to be afraid.” matt spoke back to you, a hint of care and concern laced in his voice, he had such a soft spot for you. however, he was stone cold to everyone else. everyone else but you.

you nodded, looking down at your lap. you stayed quiet, not knowing what else to say. that was, until matt spoke up.

“i could…maybe help you get over that fear?” matt requested, his voice barely above a whisper. your eyes widened.

“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he was saying.

“we don’t have to if you don’t want-“ matt started speaking, but you quickly interrupted him.

“no no no! i want to.” you abruptly replied, fiddling with your gold necklace as you and matt locked eyes for a moment.

“are you sure?” matt asked you, confirming that you were okay with this and that he wasn’t pressuring you.

you trusted matt more than anyone in the world, so you nodded your head. matt scooted closer to you on the bed, gently grabbing your waist.

“i need to hear you say it then.” matt told you, his voice deep and seductive. you felt so attracted to him, even though you both were best friends. it didn’t feel weird though, not at all.

“yes please.” as soon as those words came out of your mouth, matt smiled, feeling reassured that you trusted him. his hands gripped your waist once more, gently laying you down on the bed.

matt hovered over you, his hand cupping your cheek as he gently pressed a light kiss to your face before placing his other hand on the hem of your shirt.

“can i?” matt asked you once again, you nodded. he slowly pulled your shirt off, trying to be as gentle as possible.

he unbuttoned your jeans and unclasped your bra, leaving you just in your underwear. you allowed him to do all of this, just because it was matt. you wouldn’t let anyone else do this with you.

matt smirked at the wet patch present on your white laced underwear. he leaned in to you, pressing kisses and sucking on your neck, leaving marks as he trailed kisses down your body.

you moaned lightly from feeling matt’s touch, your moan was music to matt’s ears.

as matt’s hand trailed down to your panties, he looked at you, silently asking for permission. after you said yes, he slipped your underwear off and threw it to the side.

“y/n? can i ask you something?” matt’s gentle voice beamed throughout the room. “hm?” you mumbled, looking up at him. you were completely naked beneath him, his blue eyes locked with yours.

“have you ever touched yourself?” he asked you. you shook your head. “no…is that bad?” you whispered, looking at him with worry in your eyes.

“not at all love, that’s okay!” matt reassured.

you started feeling slightly overwhelmed. this was really happening, you were about to lose your virginity. it was all hitting you at once. matt noticed the worry in your eyes, he immediately took his hands off of you.

“hey hey hey, what’s going on? what’s wrong?” matt asked you, worry present in his voice. you bit your lip, your hands shaking.

“matt—i’m scared.” your voice wavered as you looked up at him. matt’s gaze softened even more, he gently rubbed the side of your arm.

“y/n…it’s gonna be okay. i’m gonna take care of you, i won’t hurt you, i’ll be as gentle as i can. if you’re ever uncomfy with something i’m doing tell me, okay?” matt quietly explained to you, you nodded your head, feeling better immediately.

“i can talk you through it if you want?” matt requested, you agreed, knowing it would make you feel better if he was talking to you.

“please.” you murmured, matt nodded in understanding. he gently parted your legs, his hands caressing your inner thighs.

your breath hitched as his thumb circled over your clit, it was a weird sensation, but it felt so good. you moaned softly, his thumb gently collecting your slick.

“i’m gonna stretch you out mkay? let me know if you need me to stop.” matt assured, his eyes not leaving yours once. his finger plunged into your pussy, his pace slow and steady as he pumped his finger in and out of you.

“o—oh my g—gosh..” you moaned out, your back arching against the bed as matt quickened his pace slightly, making sure he wasn’t hurting you.

you felt the burn of the stretch, but it quickly disappeared and turned into pleasure as your moans filled the room.

“mm..feel good?” matt mumbled, his voice wavering. you were so attractive in this state, he could do this for hours.

“s—so good..” you whimpered as he added another finger. matt pulled out his fingers from your core, sucking them in his mouth with a loud pop.

he quickly took off his pants and boxers, his dick springing out. your eyes widened, how in the world was that going to fit?

“matt, how exactly are you going to fit!?” you spoke frantically, sitting up slightly. he chuckled lightly as he applied lube to his length and spread some against your folds.

“it’ll fit lovey, don’t worry okay?” he gently pushed you back down, taking your hand in his as he softly kissed your temple.

“if you don’t like it make sure you tell me, yeah?” matt spoke, squeezing your hand in reassurance and comfort.

“first, i want you to take a nice deep breath f’me okay sweetheart?” matt instructed, exaggerating his breaths so you could copy. you took a deep breath like he asked, matt nodded in satisfaction.

“ready?” he asked you when you finally relaxed, looking down at your face as you smiled and nodded.

you both locked eyes as he slowly slid in, eliciting a mix between a gasp and moan as he did so. it hurt a lot, but you were slowly adjusting to the new feeling.

“you okay?” matt checked in on you, watching your face contort. “want me to pull out?”

“no no…just feels weird.” you express. matt nodded, gently pushing a hair out of your face as he did so. “i know, it’ll feel like that for a bit.” matt chuckled.

“can i move?” he asked, you nodded. you gasped as matt pushed further into you, it felt like you were in a whole different world, the pain quickly went away and turned into pleasure.

“matt..feels good.” you moan out, matt smiles, slowly beginning to thrust into you at a moderate pace, not going too fast. he squeezed your hand, making sure you were okay in between.

“shit baby—takin’ me so well, such a good girl..” matt praised, continuing his slow and steady thrusts as you felt a knot in your stomach form.

your whimpers and moans beamed throughout the dimly lit room, you could feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head almost.

matt leaned into you, grabbing your face gently with his hand. “is it okay if i kiss you?” matt asked you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“more than okay.” you smiled, your first kiss had to be with matt, he was the only person you’d want it to be with.

matt nodded, his thrusts as gentle as ever as he cupped your cheeks. both of your eyes fluttered closed and matt leaned into you, his soft and moisturized lips connecting with yours.

he groaned into the kiss, his hand sliding down to hold the side of your neck. you let matt guide you, but you eventually got the hang of it. you felt matt’s stubble against your cheeks as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip.

without warning, you could feel the knot in your burst, so did matt. you came with one last moan of matt’s name, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

matt pulled out of you, wiping the sweat on your forehead away. he kissed your temple and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“did so good for me pretty, took me so well…s’proud of you.” matt whispered with love and care in his voice.

“thank you matt.” you whispered back, your hand tangling into his hair. matt shook his head.

“don’t thank me, love.” he replied, picking his head up and looking at you, he attacked your face and neck with kisses, making you squeal in excitement.

“i’m no longer a virgin.” you smiled stupidly at him, matt laughed at how cute you looked right now.

“come on, let’s clean you up.” matt spoke, still laughing a little as he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom.

© delilahsturniolo

join the taglist here! ✨

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

+18

𝓔𝔁 𝓑𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓗𝓛!𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓲𝓼…

a ruthless enforcer who’s not afraid to get into a fight. Rafe’s an enigma. He only lets his guard down for a handful of people. To everyone else, he’s intimidating and cold

dressed in athleisure always, unless it is date night or game day. Cozy joggers, sweatshirts, v-neck t-shirts, and backward hats. He takes off his gold rings for games, but he never takes off his signature gold chain.

particular about his hair. He has a modern mullet with a longer fringe. He's always perfectly “undone,” removing his helmet and brushing his sweaty bangs off his pretty, chiseled face.

awful at dealing with his emotions. He has a temper—one that lands him in the penalty box often. It’s always a risk mic’ing him up because the NHL never knows what he’ll say.

an expert shit talker, chirping constantly. He loves getting in his opponent's head in any way, whether verbal or physical.

strong. Between ice time and workout, he's ridiculously cut. Thick forearms, massive biceps, deep abs and v-lines, and muscular thighs. Sometimes, he catches himself being too rough, but you swear you can take it.

so good at texting. He never fails to give you the butterflies when he’s out of town— sending you pics and texts just to let you know he's thinking about you.

a sweet talker. His favorite pet names are Baby, Princess, and Pretty; always laced in that deep southern drawl.

touchy. His hands are always on you: grabbing your hips, wrapping his big arms around you to give you a hug

posessive... He loves telling you you're his and hearing you say it.

an ace at the game. He’s known for being rough and tumble but has good hands and outstanding stats.

really, really good with his hands in more ways than one. His big hands can make you a wet mess in record time.

rich, and he loves spoiling you.

unreal in bed and his stamina is insane.

a sharp dresser. Rafe always shows up on gameday with a new designer suit. His favorite is an all-black Gucci suit.

soft around you. He's still rough around the edges, but he can't stay mad at you for anything, and you'd always get your way even on the little things, so much so that you'd tease him for it, which made him melt because “who the hell else teases him?”

always hurt. Walking around with a busted lip or a shiner.

a playboy - he was a fuckin’ dog before he met you, and those old habits were hard to break

always in his head. You're the one that got away, and he thinks about it often.

protective as hell. He checks on your socials nightly, making sure you’re okay

a jealous fuck. He’ll sabotage anyone who even looks your way without a second thought

thoughtful. He sends you your favorite flowers and that designer purse you had your eye on when you were together, waiting by his phone to see if you’ll give him anything even just a “thank you, Rafe” and he’d be more than satisfied

observant. Especially when it comes to you… He remembers everything: your coffee order, from the drinks the two of you would grab from your favorite cafe before the game. It's a little pregame ritual that he let you be a part of. He remembers your favorite songs, which is also part of his pregame routine. He loved going for a drive, listening to music, and hearing you sing along with your favorite songs, most of which he didn't know and didn't care to know; he just liked hearing your voice. He also remembers the smell of your signature perfume, the sweet elixir stamped into his memory. One of his college sweatshirts you wore the last night you were together is folded up in his drawer, and it still smells like you.

hopeful. He always sets a ticket aside for you just in case he runs into you before the game and you agree to come.

always looking around for you. At your favorite coffee shop before the game or places, he knows you’ll love, hoping to “run into you.”

reckless with his cash. Rafe went on a spending spree since cocaine wasn't an option: cars, watches, jewelry, trips, anything and everything to get his mind off you.

aggressive on the ice. Especially after your breakup, known for playing dirty. Samming bodies against the glass, throwing gloves for next to nothing, breaking sticks to get out his last bits of aggression before crashing down on the bench, burying his head in his gloves, only to go back out on the ice and crash out again.

humbled by his co-captain. He’s the only one who knows how much Rafe was affected by the breakup. He lets him know he needs to figure his shit out because it’s hurting his game and the team.

lonely. He dreads post-game losses because you were his anchor, someone who could ground him— focused more on how he was feeling versus the “game-talk” he gets from everyone else. At first, he hated it, but now he craves it, trying to remember those conversations and the sweet words you said on his drive home

really lonely… He hasn't been with anyone since and doesn't want to which is unheard of for him.

determined to win you back, which means that he’ll have to talk about all the shit he’s feeling, whichnhe knows is for the best. He’s trying to be the man that he knows you deserve.

[xinganhao]

🩵 dead poets society member!vernon x reader.

offshoot from the dead poets society!hhu x reader verse. (highly advise to read that first before delving into this!) part of my svt university milestone event.

I said / "I am afraid I will spend entire years / trying not to need you." / As if I wasn't certain. As if this wasn't my confession. — I swear, next time I see you I'll be funny by Clementine Von Radics

PREVIOUSLY ›

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ cool about it by boygenius. sa ngalan ng pag-ibig by december avenue. everything by the black skirts. buyer's remorse by daniel caesar & omar apollo. godspeed by frank ocean. someday i'll get it by alek olsen. everyone adores you (at least i do) by matt maltese. tie my shoes by beabadooobee. nothing can by niki.

on his first year away, vernon focuses on physical distance. a foolish part of him thinks that the more miles he puts in between the two of you, the easier it will be for him to get over this stupid, hopeless crush that lasted throughout his uni years. and so vernon goes backpacking, goes solo traveling. he lets the wind take him wherever. if anything, he only realizes just how deeply ingrained you are in his subconscious. he thinks of you when he passes a secondhand bookstore. he itches to text when he has a particularly good coffee. and when the sky is clear, when it's just the perfect shade of blue? he swears he can hear you in the back of his head, quoting mary oliver. (or: this is the year vernon learns all the different ways you can miss a person.)

vernon spends his second year on dating apps. it makes him a bit sick to his stomach, really. he doesn't think he's doing it right. he matches with people, sure. even manages to bag a handful of dates. each one ends with him giving them some variation of 'i don't think this is going to work out', and when they inevitably ask why, he lies through his teeth. too busy to be in a serious relationship. too emotionally out of it to commit. anything but the truth. (or: this is the year vernon realizes that no one measures up to you.)

by the time his third year away rolls around, vernon is beginning to feel a bit pathetic. here he is, after all that time, and he's still haunted by the shadow of a relationship that didn't even come to the light. sometimes, that seems to be worse— saying goodbye and knowing the door is left open a crack. he distracts himself with literally everything else. he tries out improv. he finally opens up a letterboxd account. he signs up for marathons. (or: this is the year vernon runs, in more ways than one.)

there's less of an ache by the time that year four comes. vernon doesn't think of you as often as he used to. he's able to be with someone else without imagining you in their place. even as that relationship eventually ends, he's glad that it's because of reasons unrelated to you. he's finally gotten to a point where he can look at himself in the mirror and not think of all the ways he faltered or failed. despite everything, it's still him. (or: this is the year vernon accepts the version of himself in his reflection.)

five years. it takes five years before vernon can finally reach back out. not to everyone yet, no. he starts slow. mingyu gives him a whole load of shit for it. seungcheol asks a dozen questions. wonwoo understands. vernon is grateful for them, so much so that he finds himself watching the dead poets society on his plane ride home. it's all fun and games until the scene with robin williams, where the schoolboys are paying ode to him with cries of "o captain, my captain!" it's the very line that echoes in his head when he sees you some feet away from him during a chance encounter. suddenly, none of it matters. not the distance, not the blind dates, not the man that he's tried so hard to be. all he can think of— all he can see— is you. o captain, my captain. (or: this is the year vernon decides to be honest with himself.)

[capybonara]

I have waited a long time to write this. I have actively resisted writing this, hoping that, given enough time, it would no longer be necessary. I’d hoped that, given enough time, people would move on, that my own anger would subside.

But they have not moved on. My own anger has not passed. A dear friend of mine by the name of Werewolfsister was horribly treated, and she faced a constant wall of passive aggression to the point that she had to leave entirely.

Both parties have had their say. Now I will say mine. And you might think “Oh god, just let it die,” to which I reply “why are a select few allowed a platform while others are scolded to oblivion?”

I was a third party to this situation who found out, almost as suddenly as my friend, that my presence was unwanted. So to those who publicly picked or “““didnt pick””” a side, I saw a lot of hate towards the friend I do support. And I don't care for it.

With werewolfsister's permission, I am making this a partner to their post. I am not as organized in telling events down to the date, but I am confident in my ability to provide proof where it is necessary.

I’ll start with the basic accusation: Tumblr user kenneduck has claimed that werewolfsister forced them to adapt their trauma into the latter’s comic, Labor of Love. Further, the accuser has claimed that a majority of the story, including a majority of characters, by default including my own, also belonged to Kenneduck.

From her October 12, 2024 post:

With that, let me turn to my own perspective. Let me preempt this by stating that the following information is from my own private conversations with kenneduck. Whether she has shown this information to others or dispensed with it entirely, I do not know. Screenshots supplied will also be the only ones I post out of respect to kenneduck, as the conversations they stem from were often extremely personal.

In mid-September, kenneduck approached me on Discord, stating that they and werewolfsister would work on the comic separately. Werewolf would continue the main story, and kenneduck would be given space to draw specific scenes for Kenne the Zora in a way they saw fit.

By this point, werewolfsister had gone on multiple breaks, preemptively announcing that they would not be speaking to anyone during them. This caused kenneduck to worry, at which point they came to me conveying their worries. I assured them that it was likely simply stress from working on the comic, possibly complicated by other factors we did not know at the time. They then confided in me that they worried they were the cause of pushing werewolfsister away. Kenneduck then informed me that their (kenneduck’s) desire to include personal experiences via Kenne the Zora was taking a toll on their (kenneduck’s) own mental well-being.

I was told by kenneduck themself that Kenne the Zora was given a particular backstory to help process their (kenneduck’s) thoughts on a real life event. When kenneduck disclosed this connection to Kenne the Zora, werewolfsister explicitly decided they could NO LONGER draw this character, as it was so closely tied to something so personal. As explained by Kenneduck, this comic separation was a compromise: it was meant to give kenneduck the freedom to process this event in their own way.

Kenneduck informed me that their (kenneduck’s) circle of friends agreed with werewolfsister’s decision, and that they (said friends) had asked kenneduck to step away as this was causing kenneduck to over think on the matter. Kenneduck informed me they (kenneduck) had not realized they were putting werewolfsister into this situation by having werewolfsister draw Kenne the Zora in the comic.

Upon learning this, I made the offer to speak to werewolfsister on kenneduck’s behalf, and encouraged them to reach out to werewolfsister as well. Kenneduck declined both plans of action, which I understood at the time as it can be scary to perform either one.

I then attempted to do a wellness check on werewolfsister, pointedly avoiding any information kenneduck shared to me. At present, I wince at the timing, because the day after this, werewolfsister announced they would be leaving the zora Discord we mutually participated in. This is no one’s fault: when under high stress, you gotta do what you must to take care of yourself.

Near the start of October, kenneduck approached me a second time, during which I still had no news to relay to them. Armed with slightly better understanding regarding why the comic split was occurring, I encouraged kenneduck, saying that werewolfsister was not acting out in anger.

^ Context: the “drama post” in question was werewolfsister responding to other people’s demands for greater representation of their own characters and insinuated charges of favoritism. Kenneduck made their own post to back werewolfsister up; to the best of my knowledge, this post has since been deleted. The only posts of its former existence are Werewolfsister's comment in their original post and an exchange between Kenneduck and I.

^ Context: I relayed that werewolfsister wasn't replying to comments I made on their page either. I suggested that werewolfsister’s lack of activity wasn’t out of spite, as they queued their pages up most of the time.

^ Context: We discussed what kenneduck’s friends told them about respecting werewolfsister’s decision to split the comic. Kenneduck made a few posts in our group chat at the time, apologizing for over-sharing personal information. This was one of the instances of kenneduck explicitly saying in private, to me, that they were adapting their own trauma for Kenne the Zora and the comic.

Everything I learned about werewolfsister's decision to split the comic came explicitly from Kenneduck. Kenneduck had nothing untoward to say about werewolfsister in these conversations.

Nothing else was said on the matter. Our last exchanges were quite positive; we shared pictures of our cats, they showed me an awesome Bluey plush, and she was sharing progress on a Sidon/Link/Yona piece they were doing. Kenneduck expressed -- what I thought at the time was -- genuine concern for Werewolfsister. Kenneduck also discussed going on their own break to think on how to approach Kenne the Zora's role in the comic.

Days later, I found an announcement via reblog from werewolfsister that kenneduck would not be completing Kenne the Zora’s section of the comic. This was understandable. Werewolfsister then announced they would continue the story, and do their best to do so without shining light on those issues that vexed kenneduck.

Then a switch flipped.

This is when Kenneduck made their post accusing werewolfsister of forcing Kenneduck into using their trauma. All of a sudden, werewolfsister never ASKED for their permission, and that they needed to take the comic down because her trauma was on full display.

Werewolfsister was not the only one blocked and removed. I was also removed from kenneduck’s friend list on Discord. Werewolfsister later discovered kenneduck’s side of their chats were deleted. I assume that's why I was removed as well.

This has been extremely upsetting, especially considering everything was kept private until kenneduck spoke up with a different story. Worse, when werewolfsister spoke up in their own defense, suddenly they were the bad guy for “making this public”. They were blocked. People told them they were no longer allowed to draw their OCs. Someone came to me to insult them, warning “Your characters are going to get ruined too!”

It's not cool.

None of this is cool.

Before this accusation, I had nothing negative to say about kenneduck. I had sympathy towards what they were feeling, and encouraged them to be cautious before sharing personal information. As I said to kenneduck at the time, communication between the two may have helped, but the decision was done. Werewolf's decision to separate the comic did hurt kenneduck’s feelings, but kenneduck themself acknowledged it was for the best as it was for the sake of their mental health and safety. I was given the impression kenneduck accepted and respected werewolfsister’s decision.

From this:

To this:

And one is always welcomed to change their minds. You should always be safe to revoke your consent on something. However, Kenneduck made the decision to broadcast to a public audience with a story entirely different from what was shared with me in private. I don't use this phrase lightly: they weaponized their trauma against werewolfsister.

And it worked.

Werewolfsister has been ostracized ever since. I've suffered blowback myself. Since then, werewolfsister and I have talked about doing our best to press on, but the atmosphere has changed. People who followed or even interacted with us have changed.

It sucks.

Folks prefer to keep quiet and avoid drama. That’s fine when it involves discourse on shipping or which characters are loved or hated. But this deals with deeply personal issues brought into the open, and the actions have affected actual people's lives.

If anyone wants to point fingers then point them at me.

Werewolfsister and I spoke more often after kenneduck made their accusation. They’ve stressed over how to finish the comic. Whether they were going to get more hate for doing so. If I was going to get more harassment just by associating with her. In the end, it was my suggestion that werewolfsister continue the rescue arc of the story. I suggested they either make kenneduck’s characters unrecognizable by darkening their silhouettes OR replacing them with new OCs, but I felt the latter might be disrespectful as it might somehow be interpreted as erasing Kenne the Zora’s presence. I helped write parts of Denouement and gave ideas for the epilogue’s ending.

I say this to waylay any more opinions of how werewolfsister was erasing or ruining specific characters because yes, with months separating their last cameo, werewolf STILL received requests to “no longer” use other players’ OCs as though they’re going to twirl their mustache and ruin said characters for all time.

If you're reading this, I'm not here to stir the pot. This is why it's under a cut: if you're reading this, it's because you chose to.

I'm also not telling people to pick sides. People will follow who they want to follow. That's their prerogative. Kenneduck will live their life and I hope they heal. They will find more friends, who I hope they treat with more kindness and honesty than they did werewolfsister. People will have their opinions, and you can't change minds with posts like these.

But people got hurt by this. Malicious intent was directed at one person, and others followed the example they set.

To anyone who follows me, who has made the decision that werewolfsister is a liar and a manipulator, unfollow me as well. Block me. I don't want anything to do with this two-faced behavior. If kenneduck says what werewolfsister did is true, why haven’t they said the same of me? I was literally in the middle of this.

^ Here I am, spitballing with kenneduck about how Kenne the Zora might be affected by the plot!

Here are other moments where I'm sketching with kenneduck about how Kenne the Zora’s traumas may be affected by the plot! 

Exactly as they did with werewolfsister! How is this any different?

Should these conversations have been kept private? Absolutely, and before kenneduck loosed their accusations, they were. But you can't announce neutrality in something you're not personally involved in, then treat one side badly and act all morally superior because yOu’Ve DoNe A sErViCe.

I originally thought I could keep neutral by staying quiet. I can't, because it would be wrong of me to. People have treated my friend like some villain who is chomping at the bit to destroy their OCs ever since this was made public. For six whole months werewolfsister has been doing free gift art without so much as a thanks from the majority. I am so angry about that. People were excited about receiving her, again, FREE ART - then a public statement by the recipient of six months of free gift art soured the joy of gift art altogether, subjecting us to an atmosphere of “You can't use my character because you'll ruin them! It makes me uncomfortable!”

You know, I’m not just upset at kenneduck. I'm just as upset at how easily it was for other people here to turn on a dime. For people to proudly say “Glad I'm not part of this” and still take sides.

A community involves active work to make people feel welcome. It requires courage to communicate, to find ways to keep the peace with its members, and make sure the community remains a safe space for those within it.

What I saw instead was a popular individual of the fandom using their platform to isolate another. I saw people follow that behavior and they made it known to werewolfsister and I that we were not welcome in this space. That we need to stay in the farthest corner possible and leave everyone alone.

That is clique behavior.

This is not a community. We're definitely not in this together; the majority of people here have been clear on that. The messages sent to me as of late have been clear on that.

There's no debate here: prior to werewolfsister's decision, there was NO animosity between the two. Werewolfsister made a choice she believed would keep her own mental health protected and did her best to respect kenneduck’s.

And for some reason Kenneduck decided to tell a different story, and everyone was content with not hearing our side. When harassment and bullying is happening, it's expected for people to stay quiet about it because it's no one else's problem. We didn't want to cause a fuss so we kept quiet and kept our opinions under read more’s so as not to offend others. I was told when I spoke up about those anons it kept people from wanting to join werewolfsister’s epilogue project because they were also afraid of being harassed. This is why I said there's no community here.

I have experienced harassment in fandom spaces before, and it can be awful, especially when you're led to believe you're alone. But just because I'm experienced doesn't mean these situations hurt any less. This has started to make me spiral in ways I don't want to go back to. I had to go to the ER because the stress was becoming too much that I was showing symptoms akin to a heart attack.

If anyone feels isolated or depressed due to such behaviors please PLEASE reach out to someone. To others, if you see a friend struggling, please lend them your support before it gets to a dangerous point. If you can't find help in the spaces you frequent there is always help in some form.

Werewolfsister decided to leave the fandom space as well as tumblr entirely because of this clown show. I won't be posting on my Tides blog for a while, if at all, because I give up. So congratulations, your precious OCs are FINALLY safe!

Many may not consider werewolfsister as a friend, or even as a kind person, so you better stop looking at me as one too, because I've been mirroring her values since meeting her. I don't care about your opinions on who is right, that you don't like my art, how you're better at dealing with drama, or that you won't follow me. It takes zero effort to NOT be an asshole.

Let me have my peace. My dear friend is gone, so leave me alone too.

My absence will be of no loss to you.

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Five

Word count: 9.5k (this is a long one)

Warnings: angst, PTSD, mentions of a car crash, death, mentions of death, fluff too because I have to add lightheartedness with angst

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |

Masterlist

The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the heater. Alpine lay curled up on Bucky’s lap, her purring the only sound in the room. Bucky stares blankly at the darkened window, his thoughts tangling. His metal fingers idly stroke Alpine’s fur, the sensation grounding him, even if his mind refuses to settle.

He thought of Y/N—her laugh, the warmth in her eyes, the way she makes Elizabeth light up with joy. The past few weeks have been something he hasn’t dared hope for in years: peaceful. But even as he replays those moments in his mind, doubt gnaws at him. Does he really deserve this kind of happiness? Could someone like him—damaged, haunted—be what Y/N needs?

Alpine stretches, her tail flicking against his hand, pulling him from his spiral. He sighs heavily. His phone buzzes on the table, and he leans over to check the notification.

"Steve: Let's meet up at Sam's tomorrow. Something’s come up. We need to talk."

Bucky’s stomach sinks. He sets the phone back down, dreading whatever Steve has to share. It’s always something, isn’t it? His past never lets him rest.

Alpine meows softly, sensing his unease, and nuzzles his hand. He scratches behind her ears absentmindedly before reaching for the notebook resting on the coffee table. The worn cover feels familiar in his hands, a tether to his scattered thoughts.

He flips past pages filled with his looping handwriting—fragments of memory, observations, and the occasional attempt at poetry. He finds a blank page and pauses, the pen hovering above it as if unsure where to start. Finally, he starts:

Am I even capable of being what someone else needs? Or am I just pretending I can be normal, that I can leave it all behind?

The words hang on the page, stark and accusing. His jaw tightens as he continues.

Y/N deserves someone whole, someone who can give her everything without hesitating. And I… I hesitate. I second-guess every good thing because I don’t believe I’m allowed to have it. But then she smiles, and for a moment, I think… maybe. Maybe it’s okay to try. But is trying enough? I put up a front around her. I suppress my struggles around everyone as to appear normal. 

He stops, pressing the pen harder into the paper than he meant to. The letters blur as his vision clouds, memories of cold steel restraints and harsh voices pressing in.

Alpine shifts on his lap, her weight reminding him where he is. He exhales shakily and sets the notebook aside, rubbing a hand down his face.

Whatever Steve and Sam are coming to talk about, he already knows it will dredge up parts of his past he’d rather forget. And if those parts ever reach Y/N, what then? Would she stay? Or would she look at him the way so many have before—like a problem to fix, or worse, like something broken beyond repair?

He’s been too afraid to let her see his metal arm. It’s more than just the limb—it’s the weight of the memories it carries, the pain it represents. He’s ashamed of it, of what it reminds him of every time he looks at it. The thought of her seeing it, of her being hurt or repulsed by the cold, unfeeling steel, terrifies him. What if she sees the arm and, in it, sees the broken man it belongs to?

He stands, Alpine hopping off his lap with a soft protest. Walking to the window, he stares out at the city below, the faint glow of streetlights shimmering against the glass. His reflection stares back at him—tired, burdened, and unsure.

His phone buzzes again, another notification lighting up the darkened room. This time, it’s a message from Y/N:

"Just thinking about you. Hope you’re doing okay."

The tightness in his chest loosens just slightly. He doesn’t reply right away, instead resting his forehead against the cool glass. The heater hums on, Alpine’s purring resuming as she curls back into her spot.

For now, at least, the world feels a little less heavy.

The next morning, Bucky shows up at your apartment, your usual bright smile faltering when you see the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes.

“You okay?” you ask softly, your hand brushing against his arm. He flinches slightly but covers it up with a tight smile.

“Didn’t sleep great,” he mutters.

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “Would you like to come in for coffee or to the usual cafe?”

Bucky hesitates, his eyes flicking between you and the open door behind you. The warmth in your voice and the gentle concern in your eyes make his chest ache in a way he can’t explain. He shouldn’t have come here, not like this. Not when his mind is a storm he hasn’t figured out how to weather.

“Coffee sounds good,” he finally says, his voice quiet. “Here is fine.”

You smile softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the coffee started.”

As you move to the kitchen, Bucky takes a seat on your couch, his gaze drifting around, admiring all the details–cozy, filled with small, personal touches that feel so distinctly you. There’s a stack of books on the coffee table, a big blue fluffy blanket draped over the arm of the couch, and a framed photo of you and two little boys sitting on a shelf. His heart clenches at the sight of it.

You hum softly as you prepare the coffee, a light tune that drifts into the living room. It’s a sound that, despite himself, Bucky finds calming. He rests his elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands—the metal one covered with his usual leather glove, rests heavily against his thigh.

When you return with two mugs in hand, you pause, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched and the faraway look in his eyes. Setting the mugs down on the table, you sit beside him, close but not too close.

“Hey,” you say gently, drawing his attention back to you. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Bucky exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing,” he lies, his voice strained. “Just...Steve and Sam want to talk. Probably something from my past catching up to me again.”

Your brow furrows with concern. “Do you want me to be there for support?”

His eyes widen slightly, and he shakes his head quickly. “No. No, it’s not...you don’t need to be involved in that.”

“Okay,” you say softly, not wanting to push him. “But if there’s ever anything you need, I’m here. You know that, right?”

He nods, swallowing hard. The sincerity in your voice makes his chest tighten. For a moment, he considers telling you everything—his fears, his doubts, his nightmares. But the words don’t come. Instead, he manages a small, grateful smile.

“I know,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a while, sipping coffee. Your presence is steady, unwavering, and though Bucky doesn’t say it, it’s exactly what he needs. Your quiet understanding wraps around him like a safety net, catching the parts of him that feel like they’re constantly slipping through the cracks.

Eventually, he glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. He places his mug down on the table, the scrape of ceramic on wood making you glance up.

“I should get going,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You frown, clearly not wanting him to leave just yet. “Are you sure? You could stay a little longer.”

He shakes his head, standing and running a hand through his hair. “Steve and Sam are waiting. Whatever it is, it’s better to just deal with it sooner than later.”

You stand, too, following him to the door. Your fingers brush his as you hand him his jacket, and he tenses slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“Bucky,” you say softly, your voice drawing his gaze to yours. “Whatever it is, you’ll get through it. And if you need me, I’m just a call away.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, his blue eyes searching yours, his expression unreadable. His attention flickers briefly to your lips before a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—small, hesitant, but real.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice low as he shrugs on his jacket. He pauses, a flicker of indecision crossing his face, and then leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips and the roughness of his stubble send a soft flutter through you.

The gesture is fleeting, almost shy, but it leaves you both standing still for a beat longer than usual.

"I'll call you later." Bucky assures you.

You recover first, smiling warmly. “You better,” you say, your tone light yet reassuring.

His smile lingers for just a moment before he steps out the door. As Bucky steps back out into the chilly, morning air, he exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The weight in his chest is still there, but somehow, it feels just a little easier to carry. He adjusts his jacket and starts toward Sam’s apartment.

With every step, the quiet doubts whisper at the back of his mind. The fear of what Steve and Sam might bring, the worry of dragging his past into his present. But he forces himself to keep moving.

If there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that facing the ghosts of his past is the only way to keep them from haunting his future.

As Bucky enters Sam's apartment, Steve meets him halfway into the living room.

“We don’t have all the details yet, but we’ve been hearing rumors. Someone's digging into your past, asking questions about your arm—your history. Could be anyone, but it’s enough to raise a red flag.” Steve informs as Bucky stands, fists clenching at his side. 

His mind races, memories of his past flickering in and out of focus—things he's tried to forget, buried under layers of time and effort.

“What kind of questions?” Bucky’s voice comes out rough, as though it was a struggle to ask, to even speak of it again.

Sam shoots him a glance, his face serious. “Nothing too specific yet, but enough to make it clear someone’s poking around. Doesn’t take much to stir up old ghosts.”

Bucky’s fingers flex at his side, his metal arm feeling heavier than usual. He hates it, hates what it reminds him of. Every inch of him screams to keep it hidden, bury it, away from the world. But now, it seems like the past was coming back for him.

He exhales slowly, his mind clouded with the familiar weight of dread. “I thought I left that part of me behind. Thought I buried it deep enough that it couldn’t find me again.”

Steve’s gaze softens, his expression unwavering. He steps closer, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t have to face this alone. We’re here, Bucky. You know that. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Sam nods, his face stoic but with a hint of reassurance. “Yeah. We’ve got your back. Whatever’s coming, we’ll handle it together.”

Bucky swallows hard, the knot in his chest tightening. He wants to believe them, but the past has a way of slipping through cracks, creeping back into his life when he least expects it. He isn’t sure he’s ready for whatever is waiting for him.

For a moment, he stands in silence, his eyes distant. Then he nods, his voice hoarse. “Alright. Let’s figure out what we’re up against.”

Steve gives him a firm, reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before turning toward the door. “We’ll take it one step at a time, Buck. Just keep your head up. And if things get too heavy, don’t hesitate to reach out. You know we’re here.”

With one last glance at Sam, Bucky turns and makes his way out of the apartment, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. But this time, he isn’t alone. And maybe that’s enough to face whatever is coming next.

The next day, Bucky and Elizabeth arrive at your apartment after school. Elizabeth is her usual excited self, bouncing around with a big grin on her face as she talks non-stop about her day. She runs inside, unaware of the tension hanging in the air, but Bucky is different. He’s quieter than usual, his expression distant. You notice it immediately, the way his shoulders are tense, his eyes too focused on something only he can see.

After a moment, Elizabeth disappears into your guest room, dumping out her backpack with some toys to play with. You turn your attention to Bucky. 

“Bucky,” you say softly, voice filled with concern. “How are you today? Is something bothering you?”  

He hesitates, his eyes flicking toward the door before settling on you. There’s a long pause before he speaks, and when he does, his voice is low, tight.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, but you can hear the strain. “Just some old stuff coming back to bite me.”

You cross your arms, frustration bubbling up but not wanting to push him to talk. You can see through him, the walls he’s built up. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. I do care about you, and I want to help. But I can’t if you don’t let me in.”

Bucky glances at you, his jaw tight. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but then he just shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. You don’t know what it’s like to carry this around—to always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Then tell me,” you urge. “Let me in.”

Before he can respond, a loud crash suddenly cuts through the air. Your heart stops as the sound of shattering glass echoes from your guest room. You don’t even think; just spring into action, rushing toward the room with Bucky right behind.

You reach the doorway to the room at the same time. Elizabeth is huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the broken window. A dark figure is retreating into the night, disappearing into the shadows before either of you can get a good look at them.

Bucky’s entire body goes rigid, his metal arm clenching instinctively. You see the shift in him—the moment his protective instincts take over. His jaw tightens as he looks at you, his expression hardening.

“Stay here,” he demands, his voice sharp, commanding. “Call Steve.”

You nod quickly, fear coiling in your stomach. You pull out your phone, dialing Steve’s number with trembling hands. As you wait for the call to connect, you look down at Elizabeth, her small form trembling in your arms. You whisper soothing words, but your own heart is racing, your thoughts scrambling to keep up with what just happened. You move with Elizabeth out of the guest room and into the living room, sitting on the couch with her curled up in your lap. 

“Shh, you’re safe,” you whisper softly, holding her tightly. “Bucky’s going to handle it. It’s going to be okay.”

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything, but she nods against you with tears streaming down her soft cheeks, the quiet terror in her face tears at you. You wish you could tell her everything’s fine, but you don’t know what’s coming next.

The phone rings once, twice, before Steve picks up. “Y/N? Everything okay? How are you?”

“Someone broke into my apartment,” you explain, your voice shaky. “Elizabeth and Bucky are here and everyone is okay, but they... they broke into my guest room window, and—Bucky’s after them.”

“Is Elizabeth alright?” Steve cuts in, his voice sharp with concern.

“She’s scared, but she’s fine, I have her with me” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “They ran off, but Bucky’s going after them. Please—hurry over. I am texting you my address.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. Stay inside, don’t open the door for anyone else.”

You hang up, letting the phone fall beside you as you continue to hold Elizabeth. Her grip tightens around you as she presses closer, seeking comfort from the warmth of your embrace. You gently stroke her hair, murmuring soft reassurances.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetie,” you whisper again, though your own heart is far from calm. “Uncle Bucky and your dad will take care of this.”

But even as you speak the words, doubt creeps in. The broken window is a sign that things aren’t as simple as they seem. Whoever did this isn’t going to stop with a broken window. You shiver, the weight of the situation settling over you.

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps reaches your ears. You look up to see Steve and Sam entering the apartment, their expressions grim. Without a word, they take in the situation—the broken window, the tension in the air, the terrified look on Elizabeth’s face. Steve moves toward the two of you, his eyes softening as he kneels down to Elizabeth’s level.

“Hey bub,” Steve says, offering her a warm smile despite the tension. “You doing okay?”

Elizabeth nods slowly, though her face is still pale. Steve wipes at the wetness on her cheeks, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her head. 

“We’ll take it from here,” he says. “Stay with her, Y/N. We’ll figure this out.”

Sam, already on his phone, glances at you once more. “We’ll handle it. Bucky’s not alone.”

The door clicks closed behind them, leaving you and Elizabeth in the quiet aftermath. You’re left with a sinking feeling in your stomach, knowing the fight’s not over yet—and whatever just happened, it’s only the beginning.

You glance toward the guest room—the broken window still gaping, the evidence of the intruder’s presence stark against the fading daylight. It’s a reminder that this wasn’t just some random occurrence. Someone deliberately targeted your home, your safe space. Whoever they were, they were watching.

Bucky’s protective instincts kicked in the moment the glass shattered. You know he’ll do whatever it takes to protect those he cares about. But still, there's a part of you that’s scared. Scared for Elizabeth. Scared for Bucky. Scared for what might be coming next.

You shake the thoughts from your head, focusing instead on Elizabeth. You need to stay calm for her. She needs you to be strong, even if you're falling apart inside.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear the soft click of the front door, and then the unmistakable sound of Bucky’s voice calling your name.

“Y/N?”

You jump to your feet, still holding Elizabeth tightly in your arms. She stirs at the sound of his voice, lifting her head to look around. You meet Bucky’s eyes as he enters the room, his face drawn with concern. His clothes are slightly rumpled, his expression more exhausted than angry, but you can see the relief in his eyes as he looks at you and Elizabeth.

“Is she okay?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with tension.

You nod, holding Elizabeth a little tighter. “She’s shaken, but she’s alright. You... you found them?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his gaze flicking briefly toward the broken window showing through the guest room door frame. His body language is guarded, but there’s a faint flicker of frustration in his eyes. “Yeah. They were long gone by the time I got out there. But I... I think they were watching. They knew exactly where to hit.”

You can hear the unease in his voice, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn’t a random break-in. Whoever did this had a purpose.

Elizabeth shifts in your arms, her eyes flicking between the two of you. “Uncle Bucky,” she says quietly, her voice small, “is it... is it safe now?”

Bucky kneels in front of her, his metal hand resting gently on her shoulder. His expression softens as he meets her eyes. “Yeah, bee,” he says, his voice soothing. “It’s safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Elizabeth nods, but her face is still pale, her lips trembling just slightly. You can tell she’s trying to be brave, but the fear is still there, lurking beneath the surface.

“Let’s get going. We’ll stay at Steve’s for the night. It’s the safest place right now.” Bucky responds. “Pack anything you need but do it fast.” 

You nod, handing him Elizabeth as you rush to pack a bag, grabbing the essentials and closing the guest room door, not wanting to look at the damage right now. 

“Let’s go,” you say, voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

Bucky nods, he doesn’t look back as he ushers you both toward the door.

The drive to Steve’s house is a blur. The car is filled with an eerie silence, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Elizabeth has her head resting against your shoulder as you sit beside her in the back seat, not wanting to leave her alone, her small body still trembling as she tries to hold it together. Every so often, you feel her fingers tighten around your hand, as if reminding herself you’re there, that she’s not alone.

Bucky drives with tense precision, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror every few seconds, always alert, always on edge. The streets blur as he takes you through the city, toward the familiarity of Steve’s home. 

When you finally pull up to Steve’s house, the security gates open almost immediately, and you’re ushered inside with a sense of relief, as though the weight of the world has been momentarily lifted off your shoulders. Bucky parks the car in the garage, and you help Elizabeth out, her small hand still clutching yours.

Inside, the house feels different from the night of the Friendsgiving. Steve is waiting in the foyer when you enter, his face lighting up when he sees Elizabeth. His usual warmth is tempered with concern, though, his eyes flicking over to Bucky for confirmation.

“You’re safe now.” Steve reassures, his voice low, eyes darting to Elizabeth’s tight grip on your hand.

You nod quickly, trying to keep your composure. “Thank you, for letting me stay over.”

“Of course. A friend of Bucky’s is now a friend of ours.” Steve gives you a small smile, trying to ease the night. 

Steve crouches down to Elizabeth’s level, opening his arms for her to fall into. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck. “Daddy’s got you. Let’s get you ready for bed bub.” 

“Oh, my darling,” You all glance up at Peggy’s voice. She appears at the top of the stairs as Steve carries Elizabeth up to her room. 

You watch in silence as the family reunite, coddling their daughter, making her feel safe. 

Bucky’s gaze softens at you, eyes meeting yours across the foyer. He doesn’t need to ask. It’s written on your face—the exhaustion, the concern, the fear still lurking beneath your calm exterior.

Bucky’s steps are quiet as he approaches, his expression steady but filled with empathy. "You’re safe here," he promises, grabbing your hand, squeezing it softly. "Take a breath. Let me make you a drink."

You nod, grateful for the offer but too tired to speak. You follow behind as he leads the way towards the kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and the soft clink of glass are the only sounds that fill the space, an unfamiliar comfort in the quiet after the chaos.

The house feels warm and welcoming, but there’s a lingering tension in the air. The kind that stays even when everything is supposed to be alright. You can’t shake the feeling that whoever did this isn’t done. They know where you are now.

A soft cough pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to find Steve standing a few feet away, his posture rigid but there's a softness in his expression now, a layer of concern beneath the usual stoic demeanor. “You alright?” Steve asks, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of everything that’s happened tonight.

You take a deep breath, trying to find some semblance of control. "Just… processing," you say, the words coming out more rigid than you intended. "It’s just been a lot."

Steve nods, his gaze flicking over to where Bucky is gripping the counter top, his back tense facing you both.

“If you need anything… I mean, anything... you can stay here as long as you need. You are no longer just Elizabeth’s teacher. Anyone important to Bucky, is important to all of us. Bucky’s right, you’re safe. And we’re not going to let anything happen to anyone."

The words hit harder than you expect, a promise laced with sincerity and a little bit of pain—he means it, and it’s almost overwhelming to hear.

"Thank you," you whisper, barely able to keep the emotion in check. "I really appreciate everything."

As Steve turns to leave you and Bucky alone in the kitchen, you feel the weight of the situation sink back in.

Bucky sets the glass in front of you, his touch deliberate as he slides it across the counter. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll help.”

You don’t hesitate to take the drink, grateful for the gesture even if you’re not sure how much it will ease the tightness in your chest. The liquid is warm and slightly burns as it slides down your throat, but it doesn't take away the gnawing sense of unease.

Bucky stands beside you, his posture still tense, but there’s something softer in the way he watches you—his usual hardened exterior momentarily set aside.

"I know it's not much," he says, voice low, "but I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m sorry for bringing all this into your life. I know you didn’t ask for any of this. I guess this is why I was trying not to get too close.” 

You nod slowly, the weight of his words not lost on you. Bucky’s been through his own hell, and yet, here he is—still standing guard, still offering whatever help he can. It’s comforting in its own way, but it also reminds you how much is at stake.

You take a slow, steady breath, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of your glass as you absorb Bucky’s words. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say quietly, your voice hoarse but determined. “None of this is your fault. Just because something happened in your past, it doesn’t define your present.”

Bucky doesn’t respond right away, his gaze softening, a mixture of relief and something else flickering behind his eyes.

The quiet is interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. You turn, and there’s Peggy, standing at the doorway to the kitchen. She’s dressed comfortably, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, but her eyes are sharp, a knowing look crossing her face as she observes the situation.

“Everything alright?” Peggy asks, her voice warm but carrying an undertone of concern. She glances between you and Bucky, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the scene.

“Yeah,” you reply quickly, though the exhaustion in your voice is impossible to hide. “Just… a long night.”

Peggy’s gaze softens immediately, her expression shifting into one of empathy. She steps fully into the kitchen, crossing the floor to stand beside you. “I’m just glad everyone is safe. Steve filled me in on the situation, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Her attention then shifts to Bucky, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she speaks again. “There is only one guest room, but the couch is available too. Whatever you both prefer.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes as he responds, “I’ll take the couch, thanks.”

You glance at Bucky, a small sigh escaping you. "That's ridiculous," you say, your voice softer but firm. "You’ve done enough. We’ve already been through enough tonight. It’s okay… It’ll be easier if we’re together. I’ll feel safer, at ease, knowing you're there."

Bucky looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening slightly, as if weighing the offer. His expression is unreadable, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes.

Finally, he exhales, the tension easing from his shoulders as he nods. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you affirm with a small, tired smile.

Peggy, who’s been quietly observing, smiles warmly at both of you. “Well, if you’re sure, then I’ll let you two get settled in. Have a good night. See you in the morning.”

As Peggy disappears out of the kitchen, Bucky turns to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before he steps closer. “I’ll keep you safe,” he promises again, his voice low and steady. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but this time, there’s a quiet certainty in his words.

You give him a small nod. “I know.”

Together, you make your way upstairs, the weight of the night still heavy but exhaustion taking over. Bucky leads the way into the room, his presence comforting despite the lingering shadows of fear. You can hear the soft hum of the house around you, the familiar sounds of Steve and Peggy moving a few doors down, here, in this quiet room, it feels like a moment of calm before the storm.

As Bucky takes off his jacket and shoes, you slip into the adjoined bathroom, changing into your pajamas, the soft fabric comforting against your tired skin. When you exit and glance over at Bucky, you see him standing still for a moment, his hand resting on the edge of the dresser, his posture rigid as though he's preparing himself for something.

You don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but something about this moment feels more intimate than anything before. The thought that you’ve never seen Bucky’s metal arm, that piece of him he's always kept hidden, lingers in your mind. You watch him as he slowly pulls off his shirt, revealing the metal arm for the first time.

The sight takes you by surprise. It’s beautiful in its own way—sleek and strong—but there’s a quiet sadness in his eyes as he turns towards you, the weight of his past unmistakable.

Bucky catches your gaze, his expression tight. “I’m not… I’m not sure what you’re thinking,” he says softly, his voice steady but full of uncertainty. He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s not… it’s not who I am. But it’s all that was left after… the people who took me, who… did this.”

You don’t speak immediately, your gaze softening as you look at him, trying to convey everything you feel without words. You want to reassure him, but you're not sure how.

“It…it was blown off in battle," he continues, his voice distant, as though he’s reliving the moment. "The people who… kidnapped me—they gave me this. And they experimented on me. It’s not just the arm. But sometimes, this thing... It scares me. I don’t want you to be afraid of it, of me.”

His voice falters toward the end, and you can see the vulnerability in his eyes—vulnerability that he doesn’t let others see, but it’s here now, with you. He sits down on the bed, resting against the pillows. You crawl onto the bed beside him, feeling a pull to make him feel safe, just as he’s always made you feel.

“You don’t have to hide it from me, Bucky,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I’m not afraid of you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Bucky exhales sharply, and for a moment, he looks away, his gaze conflicted. He sits there, motionless, before he finally looks back at you. “I’m sorry,” he mutters under his breath. “For all of this. I never meant to drag you into it.”

You feel a pang in your chest, seeing how deeply he feels this guilt. You reach out, placing your hand gently on his left arm, the cold, metal surface unfamiliar but comforting in its own way.

“You didn’t drag me into anything, Bucky,” you say, your voice steady, as you take his metal hand in yours and place it over your waist. “I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I care about you.”

Bucky hesitates, his eyes darting from your face to his arm resting on your waist, unsure. It’s almost as if he’s afraid of pulling you closer, of touching you in a way that might break this fragile connection you’ve started to form.

But you know what you need, what you both need. You shift on the bed so that your body is pressed closer against his, and gently guide his arm to rest more over you. You close your eyes for a moment, willing him to let go of his hesitation.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you whisper again, your voice calm, knowing what you’re asking him to do is not easy. “Please, just hold me. It’s okay.”

Bucky stares at you for a moment longer, and then, with a soft breath, he lays his arm down fully, pulling you into his chest. He wraps his left arm around you carefully, his metal hand resting against your back in a comforting, steady hold.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve better than this.”

You shake your head gently, pressing your cheek against his chest. “Stop apologizing,” you say, your voice firm but tender. “I’m here to stay, Bucky. You don’t have to carry this on your own anymore. And you won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky’s breath catches slightly, and he pulls you a little closer, as though trying to make the words you’ve said real in the way he holds you. His heart beats steadily against your ear, and you can feel the weight of everything he’s been through, all the pain he carries—but it’s nothing you can’t bear.

“I’m grateful for every Friday afternoon you’ve picked Elizabeth up at school. So grateful we met each other.” you whisper, your words muffled against his chest. “For all the moments we’ve shared, no matter how small they seem. They’ve meant the world to me.”

Bucky’s heart seems to beat a little faster, his grip tightening around you, as though he’s afraid you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on just a little tighter.

Before you can say anything else, Bucky lifts your chin gently with his metal hand, his expression soft and full of longing. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts tender but deepens as the moment pulls you both in, the weight of everything you’ve just shared passing between you in a breathless, passionate kiss.

It’s a kiss full of everything—comfort, release, promises unspoken, and a bond that’s only just begun to take root. 

And for the first time in a long time, you both feel a little less alone.

The morning light streams through the curtains of the guest room, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. You shift slightly in the bed, stretching as the warmth of the covers cling to your body. The quiet calm of the house is comforting, and for a moment, you almost forget about the events of the night before.

Beside you, Bucky stirs, his movements slow and deliberate as he stretches out beside you. He smiles softly, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The warmth of his body beside yours make the morning feel even more intimate, and you find yourself smiling back at him, your hearts still wrapped in the same contentment from the night before. The quiet, tender moment is enough to make you feel at home in this space, with him.

"Morning," he mutters.

"Morning," you whisper against the stillness of the room.

There’s a small pause before Bucky rolls over to look at you, his face relaxes, his expression warm. "You sleep okay?"

You nod. "Yeah, it was perfect."

Bucky smiles again, and for a moment, neither of you move, content just to stay in the quiet together. But after a while, the sounds of movement downstairs reach your ears. The familiar hum of voices, the quiet clinking of dishes, and the faint scent of breakfast began to fill the air. It’s time to get up.

Bucky let out a low grunt as he sat up, rubbing his face. "Alright, let's go see what they’re cooking up."

You both swing your legs out of bed and make your way downstairs, your footsteps soft on the wooden floor. 

In the dining room, the table is set. Steve and Peggy are busy cooking breakfast, flipping pancakes and eggs, while Elizabeth sits at the table, coloring in her favorite book. Her face lights up when she sees you and Bucky enter, a wide grin spreading across her face.

"Good morning!" she beams, hopping out of her seat.

"Morning, bee," Bucky exclaims, ruffling her hair as he passes by.

Elizabeth turns to you with a hopeful look. "Can you sit beside me for breakfast?"

You smile at her, moving to take the empty seat beside her. "Of course."

Bucky takes the seat across from you two, settling in with a content sigh. Steve and Peggy appear with platters filled with eggs, pancakes and bacon before taking their seats. As everyone digs into breakfast, the conversation flows easily. Peggy shares a few stories, and Steve makes a few jokes, always quick with a smile. Elizabeth, happily eating her pancakes, chimes in every so often with thoughts on her coloring book, her enthusiasm contagious.

It was simple, quiet—a family breakfast that felt like it had been this way for years. You’re grateful for this company. It has been a long time since you’ve had “family” time like this. 

After a while, Elizabeth pauses, her fork mid-air, and then gasps. She points out the window with wide eyes. "Look! Look outside!"

Everyone turns to see the soft, white snow beginning to fall, the flakes drifting gently down from the sky, coating the backyard in a blanket of white.

The room is quiet for a moment as everyone admires the sight, and then Elizabeth breaks the silence, practically bouncing in her seat. "Can we go play in the snow? Please?"

"Well, how could we say no to that?" Peggy says, smiling at Elizabeth's eager face. "Let’s all go out and play."

"Sounds like a good plan," Steve agrees, rising from the table to grab his coat.

The group moves toward the entryway, where everyone begins to gather their coats, boots, and gloves. You turn to Peggy. "Do you have anything extra I can borrow?"

"Of course," she responds, leading you to the coat rack, where she hands you a warm jacket, scarf, and gloves.

Bucky, looking over at Steve’s collection of winter gear, borrows some too. 

Soon, everyone is bundled up, and with a cheer of excitement, you step outside, the fresh snow crunching beneath your boots. The cold air is sharp, but the sight of the snow-covered backyard makes everything feel magical. Elizabeth immediately runs into the yard, throwing her arms out as she twirls, her laughter bright and carefree.

Bucky follows her, offering to help her build a snowman. Together, you all work to shape the snow into the body, laughing at how much bigger the snowballs get as everyone joins in. The snowman’s arms are made of twigs, and soon a carrot is placed as his nose, with mismatched rocks for eyes.

Elizabeth then scoops up a handful of snow, and with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she tosses it toward Bucky. The snowball hit him in the chest, and Bucky grins, picking up a handful of snow in retaliation.

The snowball fight begins—lighthearted and full of laughter. Elizabeth ducks behind the snowman as Bucky tosses snowballs, narrowly missing her. Steve and Peggy, having finished making the snowman, exchange amused glances and head back inside to prepare hot chocolate for everyone.

Bucky turns to you, his face flushes from the cold, but his eyes soft and warm. He catches your gaze, his expression changing, something a little more tender in his smile.

For a moment, it feels as though everything is quiet again, just the two of you standing together in the middle of the snow, the world outside fading into the distance. Bucky takes a step closer, and your heart races a little, caught in the moment, leaning toward him just as he leans in—

But before your lips meet, a snowball hits Bucky square in the back.

Elizabeth laughs, gleefully sprinting across the yard. “Gotcha!”

Bucky grins and, without a second thought, scoops Elizabeth up, tossing her over his shoulder with ease. “Oh, you’re in for it now, bee,” he says, his voice playful.

Elizabeth squeals in delight, her arms flailing as she is carried through the snow.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping before you can stifle it. There’s something about watching them—so carefree, so lighthearted—that makes your chest tighten with affection. You follow them back inside, where the warmth of the house greets you like a hug.

Steve and Peggy have set up in the living room, the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the scent of cocoa mingling with the cozy atmosphere. They look up when you walk in, Steve’s smile warm and welcoming, Peggy’s eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Hot chocolate’s ready,” Steve says, handing you a mug. “Come warm up.” Everyone takes off their winter gear. 

Elizabeth takes a mug from her mom, her face pink from the cold, her grin wide and satisfied and immediately curls up next to the fireplace, wrapping herself in a blanket. You sit beside her, the warmth from the fire seeping into your skin as you sip your drink, the quiet of the evening settling in around you.

As a movie drifts on the tv, the playful energy of the snowball fight still lingering in the room, you realize how different today has felt. It’s as if the snow fall outside has swept away the weight of yesterday, leaving everything cleaner, fresher. The air feels lighter.

It’s as though, for a brief moment, everything’s exactly as it should be.

After a while, as the evening stretches into night, you hear Bucky’s voice, quieter now, as he thanks Steve and Peggy for letting you stay. "I really appreciate it," he says, his tone sincere, and you echo his gratitude.

“Yes, thank you both for everything. I can’t thank you enough for welcoming me in like you have.”

Steve stands up, pulling you into a tight hug, and Peggy follows, wrapping her arms around you as well. “Anytime,” Steve says, pulling back to give you a knowing look. “If anything ever happens like that again, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for me,” Peggy adds, her voice warm and reassuring. “Take care of yourself.”

The hug from both of them feels like a shield—comforting. You pull away slowly, smiling up at them, but it’s Elizabeth who steals the moment next.

You crouch down in front of her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll see you on Monday,” you say softly.

Elizabeth’s small arms wrap around your neck, pulling you into an unexpected hug. “I love you, Miss Y/L/N,” she says, her voice filled with such sincerity that it catches you off guard. “Thanks for saving me.”

You freeze, the words a punch to the chest. You’ve had kids tell you they love you before, but this feels different—more genuine, more heartfelt. You hold her close, letting the emotion surge through you, grateful for her innocence.

“I love you too, Elizabeth,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “I’m happy to be here for you. Always.”

Elizabeth’s eyes shine brightly as she tightens her arms around you one more time. Her simple, unguarded affection warms you in a way you hadn’t expected. She’s been a light in your life without even knowing it.

As you stand up, Bucky catches your eyes. His expression is softer than usual, something in his gaze that says more than words could. He gives you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment. Bucky says his goodbye to Elizabeth, her hug even tighter around him. 

"Ready to head out?" Bucky asks, stepping toward you.

You nod, your heart full, taking one last look around the room before following him to the door. The warmth from the house still lingers as you walk out into the night, but with Bucky by your side.

Once you’re in the car, Bucky turns to you. “Ready to get some rest?” His voice is low, like he’s making sure you’re okay, like he’s already looking out for you.

"I can’t go back there, Bucky," you say quietly, the words coming out before you can stop them.

He glances at you, his face softening. "I know. You’re coming home with me. You’re not going back until we can get that window fixed and me and Sam find out more about the intruder." His voice is firm, but with a gentleness to his words.

You don’t protest. You trust Bucky more than anyone. Without another word, you let the quiet of the drive settle over you as the snow continues to build outside.

As you arrive at Bucky’s apartment, he’s quick to grab your bags from the backseat. You realize this is the first time you’ve been here, and a sense of quiet anticipation lingers in the air. Bucky holds your bags in one hand and, with his other hand, gently takes yours as he leads you up a couple of flights of stairs. He unlocks the front door and holds it open, allowing you to step inside first.

The apartment is calm and cozy, the kind of place you’d expect to feel at home in. It’s smaller than you imagined, but there’s a warmth to it—soft, dim lights and the gentle hum of a heater make it feel inviting, a stark contrast to the cold outside.

“I know it’s not much,” Bucky says, closing the door behind him and locking it.

You look around and smile. “It’s nice, comfortable, and honestly, it feels very much like you.” You let out a small laugh as you notice a pile of blankets and pillows scattered on the floor near the couch.

Bucky follows your gaze and chuckles. “Uh, I crash there sometimes. The bed can feel too soft at times.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you reply, understanding more than he knows. “I get it.”

He nods, a slight smile tugging at his lips before heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make us some tea,” he calls over his shoulder, the sound of running water and cabinet doors closing filling the air.

You take a seat on his small couch, glancing around, your eyes catching a litter box and a few scattered cat toys in the corner. “Do you have a cat?” you ask, curious as Bucky returns, handing you a steaming mug.

“Yeah, Alpine. She’s at Sam’s place right now. Keeps her whenever I’m away.” Bucky’s voice softens as he talks about her, his fondness clear.

“I love cats. I’ve always wanted one but never got around to it.” You smile at the thought.

“I found her in an alley when I first moved here. She keeps me grounded.”

The conversation quiets as you both sit in the comfort of his apartment, sipping tea. Your thoughts drift back to earlier that day, to the warmth of family and the joy you hadn’t realized you missed until you saw it again. A lump forms in your throat, and your heart aches, the tenderness of the moment catching you off guard.

Bucky watches you closely, sensing the shift in your mood. “Hey, you okay?” He sets his mug down, turning to face you fully, his hands gently cradling your face. The care in his touch is unmistakable, and it sends a quiet comfort through you.

You hesitate for a moment. You’ve been holding this back for so long, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “I don’t know,” you whisper, voice shaking. “I’ve been running from it for so long.”

Bucky doesn’t rush you, only nods, waiting patiently for you to speak when you’re ready.

Taking a steadying breath, you grab your bag from beside the couch, pulling out your wallet and carefully removing a folded picture. For a moment, you hold it, your gaze lingering on the photo, the memories flooding back. Then, you hand it to Bucky, your fingers trembling slightly.

The photo is a few years old now, but it feels as fresh as yesterday. It shows you with your sister and your two young nephews, standing in front of your childhood home. Your sister smiles, with her arms around the boys, their laughter frozen in time. You can almost hear the sound of their joy in the background, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed.

"I—" You swallow, the words thick in your throat. "A few years ago, we were driving to my dad’s on a snow day from school. We were going to have an early dinner. Nothing big, just a little family gathering." You pause, your chest tightens. "Another car lost control on the opposite side of the road. We didn’t see it coming. The other car slid into us. My sister, she—she died on impact."

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, your voice barely above a whisper as the pain resurfaces, raw and unbearable. "My nephews, they were only five and seven. They were taken to the hospital, but they didn’t survive. They died hours later."

You grip the photo tightly, the edges worn from years of handling it, your heart breaking once more.

"And me…" You continue, your voice cracking. "I was the only one who made it. I had to have several surgeries, months of recovery. I healed physically, but mentally… that’s still a work in progress. I miss them every day. They were my family, and I—I don’t know how to keep going without them. It’s changed everything, Bucky. It’s changed me."

Bucky’s hand, which had been resting on the couch, moves to gently hold yours. His grip is steady, reassuring, and there’s an understanding in his eyes—an unspoken recognition of the pain you’re carrying. His voice is low, filled with empathy.

“You’re not alone,” he says softly. “I get it. I know what it’s like to lose pieces of yourself in ways you never think you’ll recover from. But you keep going, even when you don’t think you can. You just… keep going.”

His words strike a chord deep within you, his vulnerability a mirror to your own. It’s not just the soldier in him talking—it's the man who has seen the depths of loss, who has lived through it and come out the other side.

You blink back more tears, nodding, the weight in your chest feeling a little lighter just by having him there.

Bucky’s hand tightens around yours, offering a comfort that needs no explanation. He leans back against the couch, his gaze turning inward for a moment, before he looks at you again, his expression softer now.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice small.

Bucky shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through hell, and it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while, neither of you rushing through the pain or pretending to have all the answers. There’s a sense of peace, of understanding, and it’s enough. For now, it’s more than enough.

Finally, Bucky shifts slightly, offering a small, almost awkward smile. “Do you want to take a shower? The first door on the right,” he adds quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him. “I mean—uh, not with me, but if you want to take a shower, feel free to.” He’s clearly embarrassed, but the warmth in his voice is endearing.

You giggle at his awkwardness. “Thanks, I can definitely use one.” You lean in and kiss his cheek, the gesture soft and comforting. “You can join me if you want,” you tease with a smirk as you stand and grab your bag, heading toward the short hallway.

Bucky’s face flushes, but his eyes sparkle with a quiet amusement. “I’ll… think about it.”

Bucky sits still for a moment after your teasing remark, his gaze watches you walk into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. He runs a hand through his hair, taking a slow breath as he seems to gather his thoughts. 

“Fuck it,” He mutters to himself, pushing through his insecurities, gaining courage with each determined step he takes. 

He pushes the door open softly, the sound of water filling the air as steam starts to roll out. His eyes glue to you through the textured glass door. His fist clenches in need, seeing you so vulnerable and you allowing him to see you this way, works him up more than he thought it would. 

He strips off his clothes, glancing down mentally praying for his dick to not intrude this vulnerable moment but one look at you as he opens the glass door, he knows he’s done for. 

Your eyes meet his, as your chest rises and falls faster as he steps in and closes in on you. Your eyes filter over his toned chest, watching the water glides down and glistens against his metal arm. Your breath catches in your throat as you peak down quickly before looking back to his eyes, the apparent smirk resting on his face. 

"I can... I can wash your hair if you want," His voice is calm, but you can hear the trace of nervousness underneath.

You nod, words lost in your throat as you turn around to face the water. Bucky’s hands are careful, gentle as he pours a bit of shampoo into his palm, his fingers working it through your hair with slow, steady movements. The touch is so tender, you almost forget everything else, letting yourself relax into the sensation of his hands massaging your scalp before the hot water cascades down your back, washing away the remnants of the day.

When it’s his turn, you return the favor, taking a bottle of body wash and working it into a washcloth, reaching out to his chest first. His skin is so warm under your touch, and as you slowly move to wash his shoulders and back, you notice how he lets out a soft exhale, as though the act of being cared for, of sharing this moment, is something he didn’t realize he needed.

You both take your time, no rush, no pressure. Just the quiet intimacy of helping each other unwind, of being present in the moment together, with no expectations. His fingers brush against your arm when you rinse his body, and the gesture feels like a silent acknowledgment of how much trust you’re giving each other in this small space, how much it matters.

When you’re both clean and standing close under the cascading water, Bucky turns to face you again, his eyes searching yours for a moment. There’s a vulnerability there, but also something deeper, something more familiar now, as though the weight between you both is no longer as heavy.

You smile softly, your fingers gently tracing the edge of his jaw, and then, before either of you can second guess it, you close the distance, pressing your lips to his. It’s a soft, unhurried kiss, the water flowing over you both, warm and comforting. The kiss is more of an unspoken promise, a way to share everything that words can’t quite express.

When you pull away, you both stand there for a moment, close enough to feel each other’s breath. 

Bucky finally breaks the silence with a small chuckle. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You laugh softly, nodding. “Not bad at all.”

He helps you rinse off the last of the soap, then reaches to turn off the water. You step out first, wrapping yourself in a towel, your hair damp and hanging loosely. Bucky follows, grabbing his own towel, and you both move toward the small bedroom, your hearts a little lighter than before.

The room is cozy and intimate, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. As you change into your pajamas, Bucky does the same, his movements quiet but sure. When you're both ready, you climb into the bed, the sheets warm against your skin. He slides in beside you, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks.

It’s not a grand gesture or a declaration of anything, just the simple act of being together. His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close, and you rest your head on his chest. There’s no rush, no expectation.

“Goodnight doll,” he whispers into the quiet, his voice steady and calm.

“Goodnight Buck,” you reply, feeling the weight of the day finally fall away, the quiet peace of being in his presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

And for the first time in a long while, you fall asleep, knowing that tomorrow can wait, and for tonight, you’re exactly where you need to be.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[aventurineswife]

aaaaaa Hello!!! I absolutely love your writing :D

May I request burnt out reader who had a passion for the performing arts (singing or dancing, up to you) but quit when they were much younger with Dan Heng and Jing Yuan? Maybee Reader and character were walking around when they came across a street performance and reader immediately stops and watches while they get all nostalgic and sad and wished they could go back to those times but isn't sure if they can and just goes through it.

Feel free to do this with more characters! Sorry if this request may be a bit much 🥲 Thank you!

“And in the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take”

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Angst, Reflection, Emotional Healing, Self-Doubt, Nostalgia, Quiet Support, Romance (Potential).

Warnings: Mentions of past emotional struggles, Mild existential reflection, Themes of self-doubt and giving up on dreams, Light angst.

A/N: HELLLO!!! 🤭💖 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LOVING MY WORKS, I APPRECIATE IT!! DON'T WORRY IT'S NOT MUCH!! I ENJOYED IT! ;)

The streets of the city were quiet, with only the gentle hum of distant voices and the rhythmic tap of boots on the cobblestones accompanying the evening air. Dan Heng walked beside you, his usual reserved silence in place, as the two of you made your way through the bustling market district. The lights of nearby shops flickered, illuminating the occasional passerby, and the faint scent of street food filled the air.

You had been quiet for a while, your gaze drifting over the various sights and sounds, until a faint melody caught your ear. It was soft, almost melancholic, yet undeniably familiar. Without thinking, you stopped in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat as a street performer spun in graceful movements, their lithe form dancing with the flow of the music. They twirled, each step measured and light, as if the music itself was guiding their every motion.

Dan Heng halted beside you, his eyes narrowing slightly, sensing a shift in your demeanor. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, but there was something about the way you stood—still, lost in the performance—that made his quiet curiosity stir. He could feel the weight of your sudden melancholy in the air.

You stood there, transfixed, as memories flooded your mind—days long past when you had been part of something similar, when your heart had danced along with the music, and every note had felt like an extension of yourself. Singing. Dancing. Performing. The passions you once had now seemed so distant, buried under the weight of time and life's expectations. You had stepped away from it all, too afraid of failure, too scared of never being good enough. And now, watching the dancer perform, that ache in your chest returned—a sharp pang of longing for something you thought you'd lost forever.

"I used to dance, you know." you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dan Heng glanced at you, his expression as unreadable as ever. He didn’t respond immediately, but the way his sharp gaze lingered on you suggested he was listening intently.

"I was passionate about it... but I gave it up," you continued, almost as if speaking to yourself. "I guess I was too scared. Too... burnt out. I was never going to be as good as everyone else, so I just stopped." You let out a soft sigh, pulling your gaze away from the dancer, focusing on the ground instead. "I don’t know if I could ever go back to it, even if I wanted to."

There was a long pause before Dan Heng spoke, his voice calm yet firm. "Sometimes, it's not about being the best. It's about doing what you love." His words were simple but cut through the noise of your thoughts, their weight carrying more meaning than you expected.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, finding a quiet strength in his steady eyes. Despite his own burdens and the weight of his past, Dan Heng understood something essential about resilience. His own journey of running from his past was, in a way, not unlike yours—both of you had stepped away from what you once cherished, not because you didn't want it, but because you didn’t know how to face it anymore.

“I don’t know if I can," you murmured, the sadness in your heart lingering. "But I can’t seem to forget it, either."

Dan Heng didn’t offer a solution. Instead, he simply stood beside you, the quiet understanding between you both settling like a protective blanket. In that moment, it wasn’t about finding the answers—it was about being present. And in that silent company, you realized maybe it was enough to simply remember. You didn’t need to decide everything right now.

As the music played on, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, letting the melody wash over you, just for a second.

The lanterns hanging from the market stalls cast a soft golden glow over the street, creating a serene atmosphere that contrasted with the usual bustle of the city. Jing Yuan walked leisurely beside you, his expression as calm as ever, though his eyes seemed to take in everything around him, as if calculating every detail of the scene.

"You seem quieter than usual," he remarked, his voice smooth and easy, the tone one of subtle curiosity.

You smiled faintly but didn’t answer immediately. Your thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back to a time when everything seemed simpler, when life had a rhythm and flow that came naturally. As you walked, the sounds of a distant performance drifted toward you—soft notes of music followed by the rhythmic tapping of a dancer’s feet on the pavement. You stopped, almost instinctively, and Jing Yuan, ever observant, followed your gaze.

Before you, a performer swirled in elegant, fluid movements, her body graceful as she danced in time with the music, each step full of passion and life. A pang of nostalgia hit you as you stood frozen, watching the performer’s every move. It was like watching a reflection of your former self—vibrant, alive with energy, and so in tune with the music. A version of you that now seemed so distant, locked away in the past.

Jing Yuan, sensing the shift in your demeanor, slowed his pace, standing just behind you. He was quiet, allowing you the space to reflect, but there was an unmistakable knowing look in his golden eyes.

"I used to perform," you said after a long pause, your voice soft and almost wistful. "Singing... dancing... it was all I ever wanted to do. But... I gave it up. Too much pressure, too many expectations. I was good, but not good enough, I guess." You let out a sigh, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. "Now, I’m not sure I could ever go back. I don’t think I have the strength to try again."

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened, though his expression remained stoic. He stood still for a moment, considering your words, before finally speaking. "It is easy to give up on something when the weight of the world presses down on you," he said, his voice laced with an unexpected tenderness. "But sometimes, the hardest part isn’t starting again. It’s letting yourself be vulnerable enough to want it again."

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. His words were simple but profound, carrying a wisdom that felt like a quiet nudge toward something you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider. Could you go back? Could you allow yourself to dream again?

Jing Yuan’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Whether you choose to pursue it or not, the past doesn’t have to define you. It can simply be a part of who you are."

You looked back at the dancer, the melody drifting on the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to remember what it felt like to be fully immersed in something you loved. No promises, no expectations—just the possibility of finding joy once more.

Jing Yuan didn’t push further. He simply stood beside you, his presence as steady as the passing wind, offering nothing more than quiet support. There was no rush, no urgency—just the understanding that, when the time was right, you’d figure it out.

As the performance continued, you closed your eyes for a moment, letting the music fill the space where uncertainty had once been.

[fanfic-enthusiast]

Just Try Your Best (GGG Fic)

“NO I DON'T WANNA!!” 

The shriek was so loud it rustled Cobigail out a nap in her leaves with a jolt. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” 

Before Cobigail could take a look herself a little girl came bolting into the closet where her domain resided. The girl was red in the face with her brows scrunched up and immediately sat down where she was with her arms crossed, grumbling to herself, completely oblivious to where she ran off to it seemed. A prime target for a prank. Quietly, carefully, Cobigail leaned over her and threw out her hands while making her signature scary face. 

“BOO!!!” The little girl screamed and covered her eyes with her hands. 

“Ahaha! Gotcha good! Well hello little thing. Hope I didn’t spook you too much?”

After realizing she was ok she carefully parted her fingers to look upon the cheeky prankster of a harvest god. 

“Noooooo.”

“Heh, well aren’t you a brave one! Not many your age can say they barely jumped at a prank from me. What’s your name kiddo?” “Parri…” “Well lovely to meet you Parri. Say what brings you to my humble abode.”

“I just wanted to get away from my teacher.” the little girl, Parri, crossed her arms again and furrowed her brow.

“Oh? Why is that? I thought she was nice.” 

“It’s cause she wants me to sing a stupid song with the rest of my class. And I don’t wanna.” 

She stomped her foot and threw her arms in the air in a little tantrum. Cobigail cocked her head a little and put her hands where her hips would be… if she had them.

“Now wait a minute little lady. A stupid song? I know plenty of songs, but I can’t really think of a stupid one.” 

Parri groaned and frowned harder, “You wouldn’t get it. I hate singing, I hate being here, and my teacher is mean to try and make me sing in some concert I don’t even want to be a part of.” 

A flash of memory comes through of similar kids not wanting to take part in shows or community gatherings. A sudden change in their excitement to be on stage, glee to anger. Rarely was it a genuine loss of enjoyment for music but rather something a little more, some problem outside the classroom in their lives. The part of Cobigail that remembers teaching kids like this knew that behavior all too well. 

She shrank down as much as she could and leaned over, to try and be closer to the little girl’s level. 

“Hey now, I’m sure you don’t mean all of that.”

“Yeah well I do.” 

“What specifically don’t you like about singing with your class?” 

“Um… the… crowd, and the song is bad. Like… slow.” she fumbled around for the right words but eventually fell quiet, caught red handed in her fib.

“Parri, I promise you can tell me what’s bothering you. I won’t tell a soul. The concert’s here are for the community and are a way to bring everyone together, doesn’t that sound fun?” “...” Parri looked away from Cobigail down at her feet. “My momma can’t come to the concert tomorrow… and I don't know anyone else here. I’m gonna be all alone. I d-dont wanna perform alone.” 

Cobigail’s gaze softened and she gently put a large finger on the child’s shoulder. “And you’re afraid?” 

Parri nodded, her big eyes welled with tears threatening to break and pour over her little cheeks. Without warning she pulls herself around and holds onto Cobigail’s hand, thankfully missing the thorns on her arm and starts to cry. “W-w-we j-just m-m-moved. And I-I d-dont have f-f-friends here.” 

How long had it been since someone cried to her like this or looked to her for comfort? 

“Shhh… There there. It's alright. Let it out.” Cobigail soothed while carefully stroking her hair with another hand, she was so small, last time she did something like this she was sure the child was bigger in her grasp. Probably squeezing her waist while she stroked their hair and tried to calm them down, being a supportive presence in their lives. 

What did she do back then?

A memory of holding a crying child to her came forth, they had lost a pet recently and the grief was still fresh on their mind. She held them close apologizing to them and while they cried in her arms she started humming, something slow. She didn’t remember the name. 

She came back to the present as Parri hugged her finger tighter and buried her face into it. While Cobigail held her and gently hummed what bits of the song she could recall and made up the rest. Parri cried for a while, until the sobs trailed off to small snotty sniffles. 

“Do you feel a little better?” Cobigail asked.

She felt the little girl nod against her finger. 

“I know you said you're scared of performing alone. But you are braver than you think Parri. And you won’t be alone, this will be a good chance to get to know other people in the community… other kids like you.” 

“W-what if I mess up the song and they make fun of me?”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to make a mistake, Parri.” Cobigail laughed a little, “Oh boy. One time I missed a whole line of a song when I was little you know. Some time around your age I think.”

“What happened?” “Well I sure was embarrassed but no one laughed or made fun of it. The show went on and people congratulated me on the performance.”

“Even when you messed up?”

“Yes, cause I kept singing and finished the show. They were proud of me for doing my best.” Cobigail carefully brushed a bit of hair out of Parri’s face with a smile. “And I think even if you mess up a little, people will be proud of you too, just for trying.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, I bet you will even make some friends too. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“Yeah…” Parri nodded a little. “I still dont wanna go alone though… I wish my mom could come but she works...”

After a moment of thinking Parri looked up at her, still holding onto her finger. “Can you come? Please.” 

Cobigail thought for a moment, “... Parri, I will see your show. You may not see me, but I will be cheering you on, don't worry.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

“Pinky promise.” 

“Hehe kid, my pinky is bigger than your whole body!”

“Oh. Well then, cross your heart?”

“Cross my heart, and hope to fly, stick a corn cob in my eye. Bleh!” 

She made a silly face while miming poking herself in the eye and Parri giggled from where she sat in Cobigail’s hand. 

“See, look at you smilin’ away! Make sure you wear one for the show ok. I’ll be watching!” 

“Ok ok! I will.”

“Good, I know you're goin’ to do great. Now you should probably go back to class, the day is nearly over and I’m sure your teacher is worried.” 

She carefully placed Parri back on the soft cloud floor so she could leave.

“Ok, miss. Thank you for making me feel better.” 

“Of course, always happy to help whenever you need. Oh, one last thing.” 

“Yeah?”

“BOO!” 

“AH!!! Hehehe!!!!! Boo!” “Ha!! Great job!” and with that Parri was sent off back to her classroom through the closet door. 

True to her word, it was the end of the class day and the teacher was very worried about how long Parri spent in the closet with their god. (Only a little worried about whether or not the girl was eaten though, and more so worried about what to tell her mother if she was.)

When the next day rolled around and towards the evening when the shadows were long. The kids from the small choir school in Milldread gathered in the center of town to sing a few songs, to show the community what they learned so far in the year. 

As the performance went on from where Parri stood amongst her classmates scanning the crowd she could see the figure of Cobigail above her altar watched from a distance, like another member of the audience. 

And when the songs were sung and the people clapped, a wind rustled the arms of the figure making it look as if she was doing the same. Congratulating this little girl for doing her very best.

[ak319]

Yan G!P Princess x fem reader

PART X ➺ Part IX

Your name is Deniz here

(Kade's POV)

"Here, Your Highness." My hands held the papers from Richard, but my gaze remained fixed on the wall in front of me.

9 a.m. The team will be here at 11. But what was throwing me off, keeping me on edge, was your behaviour. You were completely detached. You still had a mild fever, and God knows what exactly Father said to you. I preferred it when you were at least fighting back.

"Um, Ronan, call my wife, will you." I can't believe I am this weak, too afraid to even face you right now.

‘Is this what you wanted, Kade?’

Yes, it is. Whatever is happening, or however she feels, she’s still my wife. As she should be. You need to cope. I can't ignore reality, even if I am so deeply in love. Sometimes, I have to sit back and... let things be, however cruel they may seem. I can sense it--your defeat. It's near, and eventually, everything you consider bad or wrong in your mind will fade, leaving only my love. And I refuse to accept that this is wrong. I might accept it if someone else came along, declaring they love you more than I do, but I know that’s never going to happen. The mere thought of it made me let out a chuckle. Because there is no other me. There never will be.

Your footsteps made me alert, and I offered you a gentle, reassuring smile, though it probably went unnoticed. "Come, darling. Here, sit beside me. We need to discuss a few things."

You sat down without any protest, your hands resting in your lap, gaze distant. "You alright? Need anything? Please, just tell me, love." You responded with a disapproving sigh, and I couldn’t help but notice the lack of warmth in your eyes. "Do let me know if you do, even if it's in the middle of the interview. It’s not live, anyway." I handed you a copy of the questions, trying to ease the tension. "Um--so... here are the questions. It’s probably best we go through them ourselves first."

"Just tell me what I have to say."

A flash of frustration sparked in my chest. "No, that’s not how this is going to work, darlin. Can we have a moment, please."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness."

As soon as everyone stepped out, I turned back to you, leaning closer. "Look at me, love. Why are you shutting down like this? We’re in this together, aren’t we?" My voice softened, but my grip on your hand remained firm. "You can’t just sit there and follow a script. I want you in this, not some hollow version of yourself."

You kept your eyes down, refusing to meet mine. "Just... tell me what to fucking say. Please."

I shook my head, a dry chuckle slipping through my frustration. "Fine. If that’s what you’re so keen on, then sure, I’ll play along. But remember this, Deniz, what you say might be scripted, but what I’ll say there... it will be true." My hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer even as you tried to pull away. "Every word I say will be. I’ll make sure everyone knows just how much I love you."

I paused, exhaling to gain control over the storm of emotions swirling within me. "And if I have to make them see that you’re mine, that we belong together even when you’re like this, I’ll do it. Because no matter how you act right now, no matter how many times you try to push me away, I’m not going anywhere."

I searched your face, hoping for even a flicker of the defiance you usually had, the spark that used to meet mine. But there was only silence, and it cut deeper than any harsh words.

"Just... be casual, natural. You don’t have to do anything more than that. I’ll even let them know about your fever; that should help, take some of the pressure off." I tried to keep my voice steady, gentle, but the tension in the air was palpable. "I’m... here for you. You know that, right? Always."

Your silence lingered, stretching the space between us. It gnawed at me, stirring a frustration I struggled to swallow, but I knew it was better than getting snapped at. Right now, it felt like I was walking on thin ice, every word a potential crack beneath my feet. And with you in this fragile state, I couldn’t afford to make a wrong move.

"I love you, my princess," I whispered softly, letting the words hang in the air, hoping they might reach you, touch a part of you that still remembered us. But your expression remained distant, and the ache in my chest tightened.

With a resigned breath, I called out, "Ronan, Katie, come in." I straightened, bracing myself for the next few hours. "The sooner this gets finished, the better."

════∘◦❁◦∘════

(YOUR POV)

Five minutes left before it starts, and of course, Ewan appears at the room’s door, his eyes lingering on both of us, especially me. I knew that look, it was a subtle warning, just as I expected. And right beside him stood the Queen, Bella, with an almost sympathetic smile on her face.

Two minutes.

As the door clicked shut behind them and you settled into the couch, your eyes finally began to take in the room, drifting over everything. The interviewer made some friendly small talk with you and Kade, who gently shifted you into a more comfortable position on the sofa, her arm pressing against yours, trying to ease the tension from your body.

“Relax and just breathe.” Her whisper cut through the fog of your feverish thoughts, bringing with it the strange realization of how much... has changed. She’s beside you, her presence so familiar, so comfortable, as if you had invited her to be this close.

But you didn’t.

No, you didn’t do any of this. You don’t agree with any of it, and yet here you are, trapped in a scenario you never signed up for.

You’re caught, Deniz~

Your own mind seemed to mock you, a cruel voice echoing through the haze, leaving you questioning how you ended up here.

Don't lose your cool right now. Please. Don't cry. Don't.

The atmosphere in the room is thick with a forced sense of warmth, the kind that comes with polite smiles and scripted pleasantries. It feels like the air conditioning is too cold, but there’s a faint sheen of sweat on your skin, not just from the fever, but from the weight pressing down on you. The interviewer sits opposite you and Kade, her cheerful demeanor almost grating in its brightness as she tries to build a sense of ease. Kade's hand remains firmly on your knee, a gentle pressure that borders on possessive.

As the interview begins, the camera’s red light flicks on, and your heart stutters in your chest, the realization sinking in that everything you say here will be seen, analyzed, judged. The questions begin softly, a slow lead into more personal territory. You try to focus, but your mind is a swirl of mixed emotions, resentment, confusion, and a faint hope that somehow, this will be over soon.

The interviewer leans forward, clasping her hands with enthusiasm. “So, Kade, when did you first meet Deniz?”

Kade’s lips curl into a smile that looks warm on the surface but holds an edge you can almost feel. “Ah, I remember it vividly. It was during a high school cricket match. Deniz was bowling, and I was there for... let’s say, a friendly obligation.” Her gaze shifts briefly to you, her smile widening. “She was so focused, so determined. Even then, she had this fire in her. And I was just mesmerised. I thought, ‘Here’s someone who knows what she wants.’ It… intrigued me,” It’s a version of the story that leaves out the years of distance, the way she’d re-entered your life with a determination that left you with little choice.

The interviewer’s attention shifts to you, her curiosity genuine. “And what was your first impression of Kade, Deniz?”

You open your mouth, but the words feel trapped, caught in the tangle of thoughts that your feverish brain can barely unravel. You clear your throat, forcing your voice to stay steady. “It’s funny, back then, I was just focused on the game. Never thought I’d end up catching a princess’s eye,” you add, a saccharine edge to your tone as you look at Kade. “I guess you could say I wasn’t really looking for anything… or anyone, at that time.”” Your voice sounds distant to your own ears, and you hope it’s enough. You hope she’ll let it go.

Kade’s hand tightens slightly on your knee, and she gives a low, soft chuckle. “She’s always been humble like that. But for me, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

“But fate has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?” She says smoothly, her arm wrapping a bit more firmly around you, holding you in place even as your mind yearns to drift far away from the room.

The interviewer, blissfully unaware, nods along , a blush covering her own cheeks, charmed by the sentiment.

“And then, you two met again years later or...?” Sarah continues, trying to maintain the flow of the story.

“Yes, fate has a funny way of bringing people back together,” Kade replies smoothly before you can gather your thoughts. “It was like no time had passed, really. We reconnected almost instantly, and... well, the rest is history.”

You swallow thickly, trying to keep your own voice steady as you add, “Yeah, we… we met again, and things just… happened. Happened in a way I never expected, almost.” Your chuckle was soft, eyes dropping to your lap. You wanted to bury yourself in the ground. Your parents and Clara will watch this shit too, you realized.

The next question shifts to Kade once more, a simple one about how long you’ve been together, but she spins the answer into a tale of persistence and love that you barely recognize. “We’ve been together for a few years now, but honestly, it feels like a lifetime,” she says, casting you a smile that’s too perfect, too deliberate. “And I wouldn’t trade a moment of it. I mean, she for me possessed everything that I loved, a good spirit, the charm, the humour. That smile. Everything." Which translates to 'I have been stalking her for years and have been together in my own head'.

Asshole.

You nod along, your mind barely processing her words. You feel adrift, your thoughts tangled between the memories of what really happened and the story she’s weaving. Part of you wants to speak up, to say something real, but the weight of the moment crushes your voice. The cameras, the interviewer’s expectant eyes, the almost invisible pressure of Kade’s grip, all of it keeps you silent, playing along in a scene where the script isn’t yours.

The wife of the ex-playgirl Princess is what you are now it seems.

Kade’s voice continues, carrying the conversation forward, her tone polished and confident, while yours slips further into the background. She’s in control of this, just like she always is. You wonder if anyone else in the room can feel the undercurrent of tension, the way each of her words lands like a small, calculated blow.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

Kade’s lips brushed over your knuckles, and her words held a practiced softness, but you knew better. “See, darling? You did so well,” she cooed, her gaze steady, as if willing you to agree. The room buzzed around her, the team finishing up their last-minute checks on the footage, but all you could focus on was the way her grip never quite loosened.

You were exhausted, body and mind. The retakes had dragged on each one pulled from you with a tension you could barely mask by the end.

“Kay, so, let's go and have your medicine and some snacks,” she said, her tone sweetened but laced with that unmistakable firmness. Her hand remained entwined with yours, guiding you as if you were too fragile to walk on your own, or maybe too dangerous to leave unguarded. “Then we’ll get some photos taken. After that, you can rest, princess.”

Rest. You almost laughed at the irony. The way she said it, like it was a reward rather than just a moment to catch your breath.

Kade’s smile grew, pleased with your compliance, and she leaned in closer, her voice lowering just for you. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise,” she murmured against your ear, her tone gentle but carrying that familiar undercurrent.

════∘◦❁◦∘════

The dining room was heavy with expectation as Kade’s voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone’s attention to the matter at hand. A tension that belied the way she held her glass.

“So? What did you decide, Father?” Her voice was measured, but you could sense the undercurrent of urgency in her tone.

Ewan, ever composed, met her gaze with a hint of amusement. “About? Your house, you mean?” He allowed the question to hang in the air as Kade nodded, sipping her drink in a bid to appear relaxed.

“Well... you both did well.” Ewan’s gaze shifted to you for a moment, offering a vague, almost formal acknowledgment. It was one of those moments where you could almost feel the hierarchy of the family pressing down on you, an unspoken reminder of where you stood in all this.

“And, as for your coronation, I was thinking in November.”

You felt Kade stiffen beside you, the tension in her shoulders apparent as she tried to mask her reaction. “I mean, that’s, thank you, but do you mean to say we have to stay here till then?”

“I mean, your call. If you want to move early, then sure." Ewan’s tone was definitive, as if the matter were already settled, the decision made long before this dinner.

Before Kade could respond, Bella’s voice joined the conversation, smooth as ever. “Your father decided on York House, in Kingsreach.” She offered a polite smile, as though trying to soften the news. But the air in the room only seemed to grow colder.

Kade’s knuckles whitened against her glass, and you could feel the frustration radiating from her. She tried to keep her voice steady, but there was an edge to it, a subtle irritation that wasn’t lost on you or on Ewan.

“I appreciate your thoughts, truly, but I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t consider Ravenstone. It’s quiet, secluded. I think it would be a better fit for us.” She tried to keep her smile pleasant, but you could see the underlying tension tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Ewan, however, seemed unmoved, offering a tight smile. “Ravenstone is lovely, but this isn’t just about you, Kade. Kingsreach offers a better balance. It’s closer to the city, to Buckingham, which means you’re accessible for your duties while still having your privacy.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Besides, you and Deniz are still... adjusting to things. A place like Kingsreach will make it easier for both of you to settle, without the isolation of the countryside. I think it's for the best.”

Kade’s grip on her glass tightened again, her jaw clenching briefly. “I don’t see why you would make that decision for us. I thought this was our choice.”

“It’s a family decision, Kade,” Ewan responded evenly, leaning back in his chair. “And as much as I value your opinion, I’m thinking about the long-term.”

You could feel Kade’s frustration building beside you, a storm that was barely held back, but she forced a tight smile. “Right, because it’s always about what you think is best for us.” Her voice was sharper now, a challenge in her eyes as she stared back at him. You found yourself shrinking in your seat, wanting to disappear from the tension, but Ewan’s gaze found you again, lingering as if to gauge your reaction.

Bella stepped in smoothly, trying to ease the tension. “Kade, darling, we’re not saying it’s set in stone. It’s just a suggestion. But Kingsreach does have its advantages, especially as you prepare for the coronation.”

Kade’s expression softened slightly at her mother’s words, but the rigidity in her shoulders remained. She glanced at you, searching for support, but you looked away. Part of you understood Kade’s desire for Ravenstone--a place that would have allowed her to perhaps isolate you?. Another part of you felt the weight of Ewan’s logic, knowing that staying closer to the palace meant less friction, fewer battles to fight. You feeling more at home here.

The silence settled over the table again, thick and uncomfortable. Kade finally looked back at Ewan, forcing a smile. “We’ll think about it, Father. But I still believe Ravenstone has... potential.”

Ewan’s smile remained polite, but there was an unmistakable finality in his tone as he replied, “Of course, Kade. Take your time to consider it. But remember, there’s wisdom in seeing beyond just what we want.”

“Right. I just, I always wanted to move to Ravenstone. I love it. And it’s just... supposed to be mine. York, Kingsreach? Seriously? Where Romana lives too?” Kade’s voice carried an edge of bitterness, and you could sense how badly she wanted to cling to the dream of Ravenstone.

What the fuck is going on? Is this really what rich people fight over? It felt surreal like you were watching some twisted sitcom play out. The fights back home were over who ate the last piece of dessert or swiped the best leftovers from the fridge, but never this.

Ewan’s gaze darkened, but he kept his tone even, trying to reason with her. “What’s wrong with being with your sister?”

Kade’s frustration spilled over. “I want privacy! Something of my own. For my future family.” Her words sent a jolt through you, like ice in your veins. Family? Your thoughts spiraled, panic rising in your chest. She was already thinking about kids, of tying you even closer, of sealing this life together permanently. No, no, no. NO! SOMEBODY KILL ME ALREADY--

You hesitated but couldn't stop yourself from muttering, “Isn’t Buckingham... good? It's fine here.” The words slipped out before you could catch them.

“Deniz. Hush now.” Kade’s words cut through the air like a cold blade. Her voice was low but sharp, a tone she had never used with you before. It made you flinch, and a flush of embarrassment crept up your neck. Your chest tightened as her command sank in, leaving you feeling small and exposed. Even the three others exchanged startled glances.

The audacity.

You couldn’t quite process what hurt more, Kade’s uncharacteristic order, or the way it seemed to strip away the last remnants of any illusion you’d held. That despite everything she’d done, the manipulations and deceit, she had always treated you with a veneer of gentleness before. Now, was that gone? Did...you do something so bad? Maybe she's just frustrated right now.

"We will talk about this later." Ewan shut down the conversation and left everyone to their own thoughts.

(AN: comment below to get tagged for this fic🫶)

[ksbbb]

WIP SATURDAY

Tagged by @hemlocksandfoxgloves @mmoosen

“This is odd timing.” Liam says, eyeing Corey with suspicion.

“Theo came back to the house moody and irritated.” Corey shakes his head at Mason, exhausted from the last encounter with Theo and Liam can’t say he’s surprised, but Theo doesn’t really have the same intensity with him as he does with everyone else.

“He also said he had a feeling you would need a ride back. He would have come but Mason said he wasn’t letting Theo drive when his emotions were high. He said Theo could fight him on it. His words.” Corey adds, casting an endearing smile towards Mason that only highlights their own little connection they seem to have.

“You told Theo to fight you about driving?” Liam hops in the car, anxious over Mason being involved in more tense moments but he merely looks pleased with himself, letting out a warm laugh.

“Apparently.” Corey rolls his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of that guy. Not when we know he can be seduced by Liam’s blue eyes.” Mason teases, the implied joke burning into Liam’s face and causing him to lose all feeling in his chest.

Tagging @honestlydarkprincess @thiamsxbitch @maplesyrizzup @wolfboy88 @chasing-chimeras @theoceanismyinkwell @fruchtfliege

[healingwordswriter]

Why “Defying Gravity” from Wicked is a perfect song for Sun Wukong

Hello Lego Monkey fandom, this is really my first post ever as I often don’t post stuff but I really wanted to share this BECAUSE I love both musical theater, Wicked to be exact and Lego Monkey Kid of course. So this is an analysis on why I believe this song is perfect for Sun Wukong’s character.

Beware Spoilers for both Wicked the musical and the movie

Some context is necessary to explain why I find this correlation for those not familiar with Wicked. In the musical, “Defying Gravity” is the end of act one, and is one of the most important parts of the musical, not only for the story, but for the character of Elphaba as well. Elphaba the wicked witch of the west, had been discriminated her whole life for being different, for having a green skin which made her be isolated, so she often tried her best to win people’s approval her personal dream being meeting the wizard of Oz, hoping to get recognition and love by working with him. But after he falsely accuses her for a crime she did not commit, Elphaba realizes she can’t win love that way, that she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life being walked over, so she openly defies the wizard, saying “he is the one who should be afraid of me” showing her true powers as a witch, saying proudly no wizard will ever bring her down. Of course, Oz from there on starts seeing her as a villain and a monster, but she is true to herself now and unafraid to defy the authority of the Wizard.

But now how this applies to Sun Wukong?

Despite having different contexts, Elphaba and Wukong share a very important trait with one another. That being, how both defied a high authority in their respective stories, defying everything everyone else knew. Being unafraid to act and make a change, having the enough confidence and bravery to say that no one would ever bring them down.

Sun Wukong is know in media as a character that is not afraid to challenge those who stand in his way, no matter how big they are, he doesn’t let anyone walk over him and is firm on his beliefs. Of course, in the past is true that he used to be selfish and impulsive before his journey to the west, but in LMK even before his journey, something he had clear like we have mentioned before, is that no one had the right to walk over him, less the emperor or heaven. No one had the right to tell him who he was or dictate his destiny just because he was a demon. So this rebellious side of him wasn’t only to cause chaos, this side of him also show us how since always, he was confident and genuine to who he was and his people in flower fruit mountain and most importantly, was loyal to his own beliefs and fought for said beliefs even if others considered him a monster or harbinger of destruction. Just like Elphaba. He will defy those who think he should be below them just because he is different, he will fight those who want to bring him down and he will be loyal to what he believes is worth fighting for.

Now with these clear we can see the lyrics, and how I interpret them is they were from Wukong’s POV specifically the last part:

So if you care to find me

Look to the western sky

Literally, he was in the western sky as he did a journey to the west, he was in the western sky traveling with his master and friends to get the scriptures. Literally you can hear west and think about him.

As someone told me lately

"Everyone deserves the chance to fly"

The monk always helped Wukong as a mentor and was the guidance he needed when he was out on control on his life, so I personally viewed this line as something his master told him, and he then used it as a philosophy to think everyone deserves to fly, to be free, to dictate their own destiny and life.

And if I'm flying solo

At least I'm flying free

To those who ground me

Take a message back from me

This, this is how Wukong starts to defy heaven, the emperor. He may be alone, but he is free, heaven more than once tried to have him tamed, to have him controlled, to ground him but he refuses this control. Even when they put the golden circle on him, he never stopped fighting for his independence and freedom.

Tell them how I am defying gravity

I'm flying high, defying gravity

And soon, I'll match them in renown

His legend to this day is still known, he started everything as he wanted the respected of heaven and in the end he showed them he wasn’t inferior to them, the name Sun Wukong is a name they will always remember.

And nobody in all of Oz

No wizard that there is or was

Is ever gonna bring me down

Just imagine it, Wukong in the sky, with his staff in hand, confident, strong showing his power, being imposing. Looking at everyone from his position, thinking about the choices he has done, reflecting on his life. And then he says it’s, how no one in all China, no Emperor that there is or was is ever gonna bring him down. He flies free, while the people in heaven scream in horror and anger, calling him names, seeing him as someone evil and cruel but Wukong is happy, finally free from heaven and those regrets that brought him down. He remembered how it feel like to fly and won’t forget it ever again.

And that’s pretty much the analysis, this song tbh could be applied to when Wukong first defied heaven with the brotherhood or if he is in a similar situation like in Black Myth Wukong in where he already did his journey but he is still fighting heaven for his freedom and independence.

Even so, in the end I believe Wukong and Elphaba share this free and brave spirit that defied the odds when no one else could. In the end I just did this analysis for fun and using Lego Monkey Kid Wukong mostly for this analysis, but hey it has never been a crime to mix to hobbies so.

To conclude all I can say it’s that I love these two pookies and to please go watch Wicked and LMK as the two are gems ✨

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Just had a thought:

So the Isle of the Lost gets everything from Auradon right? And all of it is leftovers. Worn down and second hand at best. So their clothing would all be last season at the newest... And all of them wear leather primarily... Like- almost exclusively leather...

Did... Did Auradon go through an edgy leather phase???

[celestialrealms]

no thoughts, head empty: just that thing barbatos does where he rigs games of chance for mc

[neria-rt]

most normal warm up page known to man (PLEASE tell me you’ve seen the original image of the bottom left one

[deiaiko]

#19.3 Unravel

It had been some time since Agni felt this nervous. Not even talking with Jinsung Ha recently had made him feel like this. He fiddled with the mask on his hand as he waited for Grace to come back. He had thought hard on how to deliver the news, but he knew that no matter how he phrased it, Grace would be upset. Velt nuzzled under his palm and Agni gave her a few pats, before deciding that she would be better inside her bowl in his lighthouse, just in case the shinsu acted up around Grace after he received the news.

Grace came back wearing the comfiest shirt and shorts Agni knew Grace liked to wear on lazy days. He joined him on the floor, and they ate dinner together. Agni always finished last, so while waiting for him to finish his meal, Grace told him about his day with Bam. Grace was intrigued by how much his way of thinking had changed, and how glad he was to be able to be by Bam's side when he was having a bad day. It reminded Agni of the hidden floor, when Grace faced his sworn enemy.

They left the used bowls on the coffee table and went to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they turned off the light and went upstairs to sit on their bed. Grace's curious gaze never left him, and Agni curled his feet nervously.

Grace was the one who broke the silence. "So…what is it?"

Agni's breath hitched. This was the part he dreaded most. "I talked with the crocodile earlier. Did you know that he could manipulate stone already?"

"Huh." Grace needed a few seconds to let the information sink in. "Didn't Rak learn it on the Hell train? How does he know it?"

"Turns out our crocodile also traveled back to the past like us. He found the young crocodile and taught him."

"What?!" Grace gasped, wide eyed. "That means our Rak is–!!"

"He's dead." Agni quickly snuffed out that hope. They had been in delusion for long enough; it was time that they faced the bitter truth. "He suffered a fatal injury from the explosion. He couldn't have lasted long without proper help." Agni omitted the actual cause for Rak's death, but still kept his words true. "I'm sorry."

"…Oh." Grace looked lost, just like Agni was. His lips parted a little, but they closed before any sound escaped.

Agni gently squeezed Grace's hand, encouraging and comforting as he let the silence stretch on, giving Grace some time to process the information.

"Agni…" Grace whispered, "do you think Hatz and Isu…?"

Agni bit his lip and avoided his gaze, as the nightmare of that day replayed in his mind. He witnessed Hatz get his arm ripped off when trying to protect him. He could still recall the clang of a sword hitting the floor, and Hatz's suppressed scream that gnawed deep at his guilt. He witnessed Isu get beheaded after being taken hostage, the memory of warm blood painting them both still vivid like it happened yesterday. 

Agni refused to acknowledge their possible deaths, because it felt like a nightmare that one day he could hopefully wake up from. He avoided the topic when Grace brought it up, so he wouldn't have to say it aloud and make it real. He had been so hard on himself, because he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had failed Grace and everyone else involved.

Agni knew this had to change if he wanted to live better, now that they had gotten a second chance. So he swallowed down the lump in his throat that had built up over the years and asked mostly to himself; "What are the odds of their survival?"

"There's always a chance–"

"Grace." Agni looked him straight in the eye. "They were already severely injured before the explosion hit."

Grace fell silent and went still.

Agni felt a pang of guilt upon witnessing Grace's reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Agni fiddled with his hands. He realized that he didn't know how much Grace knew of what happened. "My scar…do you know how I got it?"

"I…was told it was from the family heads' battle." Grace looked thoughtful. Agni knew he was trying to be careful with his words. "A stray attack?"

"It could have been worse." The memory of the scorching heat on his skin felt like it had only happened yesterday. He passed out right when he was about to heal Isu, and only found out later that he also lost sweetfish at that time. The days he spent recovering from the burn, to withstand the excruciating pain every second he was conscious, and finally coming to terms that it'd be a permanent scar, was one of the turning points that had changed him forever. Were Grace not there to care for him, he might have ended up destroying himself even more.

Agni hadn't realized he had his left hand clawing on his cheek until Grace pried his hand off and frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Maybe I should wear the mask…" Agni muttered to himself. After all, Grace gave it to him less so he could hide the scar but more to prevent him from unconsciously hurting himself. The only time he could safely take it off was when Grace was around.

Agni bit his lip nervously when Grace didn't reply. He no longer had the courage to look Grace in the eye that spoke so much concern, so he leaned close and rested his head on Grace's chest. "Rak, Isu, Hatz and Hwaryun were trying to get me out of that damned place. But we were caught while escaping, and…it was a bloodbath. I was…too occupied to react to the incoming heat. Rak shielded us from the explosion. And when I woke up…"

"They weren’t with you," Grace finished it for him after Agni trailed off a moment too long.

Agni nodded dazedly, "I've been telling myself that they're still alive, after a blow that could kill rankers. But…who am I kidding? I was lucky enough to survive with just this little–" Agni vaguely pointed to himself– "inconvenience."

Agni felt a hand gripping his arm, and he pulled away to see Grace looking at him with a pained expression. His eyes were glossy and his lips were pulled into a thin line. Trusting his instinct, Agni reached out to gently trace and cup Grace's cheek with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," Agni muttered. "I'm sorry, for not telling you sooner."

Agni silently witnessed tears that streamed down on his love's face. It was a bitter sight that Agni wished he'd never have to see again, that he had tried to avoid for so long by not telling him. He pulled Grace in and held him close to his chest, as if Agni was trying to gather his own crumbled heart back together.

Grace mumbled their late best friends' names as he held onto him tighter, shaking from each breath he took between sniffles.

Agni felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered the years he spent climbing the tower together with his old team. Despite their banter being his source of headaches, Agni knew he too had come to acknowledge them as his cherished friends. Only when they were gone did Agni realize how much he'd miss having them around. Seeing the younger them didn't exactly close the gaping hole in his heart, but at least the emptiness was more filled.

Agni squeezed Grace tighter. "We have their younger selves with us now. We will protect them better this time."

Grace only nodded and sank further into his embrace. And Agni planted kisses on his hair, relishing the thought that after everything he had gone through, Grace was still a constant in his life. As long as he had him, everything would be okay.

When Grace started shaking again, Agni caressed his hair and hummed a comfort song they had known by heart. Still, it didn't make falling asleep any easier for Agni, especially not after admitting that his nightmare was very much real. However, as he had been through grief…this, too, would pass.

Masterlist

Previous

Next

Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs <3

☕ Buy me coffee ☕