#but it’s just…. i don’t know. people are capable of a lot of things? and you really don’t know what you’re capable of until you’re tested on

[helvegen-s]

among all the people, always you

a Carlos Sainz one-shot

Summary: they always knew their love wasn’t enough to keep them on the same path. Over the years, they find and lose each other in an endless cycle of nostalgia, love, and goodbyes. There’s no resentment, only the pain of knowing that even the purest love may never be enough. But among all the people, they were always each other's.

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: emotional neglect, unrequited love, breakup, grief

A/N: some might say that I'm not capable of writing beautiful things, but the truth is, I LOVE angst. I cried while writing this—I hope you give it the love it deserves and appreciate it a lot. Like and reblog!! Lots of kisses <3 I PROMISE IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING

masterlist

The first memory she had of Carlos Sainz wasn’t particularly grand. It wasn’t of a rising Formula 1 driver, nor of a young man carrying the weight of a last name that already resonated in motorsport. It was, simply, of a guy who had walked into a café in Madrid with messy hair and exhaustion in his eyes, ordering a black coffee with the deep voice of someone who hadn’t slept enough.

She didn’t know him personally, but she knew his name. She had seen him on TV, in sports articles, in interviews where he smiled with the same expression he had now—a little distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else. On another track, in another country, in another time.

It was a mutual friend who introduced them, almost as an afterthought. A simple, “Oh, by the way, this is my friend,” as if he weren’t about to change the course of their lives.

Carlos shook her hand and smiled.

“Nice to meet you.”

It wasn’t a spectacular moment. There was no spark of electricity, no instant certainty that they were destined for something more. But when they sat at the table and he looked at her with a hint of curiosity, she knew she was in trouble.

The conversation started effortlessly, with the ease of two people who, though they came from different worlds, shared the same language in humor and irony.

“So… you’re the one who wants to be world champion?” she teased, resting her chin on her hand.

Carlos set his coffee down on the table and held her gaze with a smile that didn’t hide his pride.

“I don’t want to. I’m going to be.”

He didn’t say it with arrogance, but with the certainty of someone who had spent his life preparing for it. There was no doubt in his voice, not a hint of false modesty. And in that instant, she understood that this was not a man who knew how to love halfway. That if he gave his life to something, he did so completely.

“And what if you don’t?”

Carlos looked at her as if the question didn’t make sense.

“That’s not an option.”

There was nothing more to say on the matter.

Outside, Madrid carried on at its usual pace, but inside the café, time seemed to slow down. They talked about everything and nothing, losing track of time until Carlos checked his phone and frowned.

“Are you in a hurry?”

“No,” he replied, but slid his phone back into his pocket with a hint of discomfort.

She understood the signal. She smiled, leaning back in her chair.

“Do you have a flight?”

Carlos let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Tomorrow.”

“And today?”

“Today I have training. Then the simulator. And after that, probably a call with the team.”

“Ah.”

There was no reproach in her voice. Just the acknowledgment of a truth she didn’t yet know would weigh so much.

Carlos noticed her expression and tilted his head with an amused smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who says ‘nothing’ when clearly thinking about something.”

She let out a sigh, playing with the napkin between her fingers.

“I was just thinking that if this were a date, it’d be pretty depressing to know I have to share you with a race car.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation.

“Hey, it’s a very beautiful car.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And fast.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it’s my job.”

She smiled, unsurprised.

“I know.”

He studied her for a moment, as if weighing the meaning of her words. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at her intently.

“And if this were a date?”

She tilted her head, amused.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Carlos held her gaze for another moment before letting out a short laugh and shaking his head.

“If this were a date,” he said, picking up his coffee, “I’d probably do something stupid like try to impress you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’d tell you something exaggerated about my job, like that my heart rate never goes above 80 beats per minute while driving at over 300 kilometers per hour.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s completely true.”

She set the napkin down on the table, crossing her arms.

“And how would I know you’re not saying the same thing to everyone?”

Carlos rested an arm on the table and leaned slightly toward her.

“Because if this were a date, I would’ve already asked you to have dinner with me tonight.”

She felt a flutter in her stomach, but didn’t let it show.

“And if it weren’t a date?”

Carlos held her gaze for another second before smiling, resigned.

“Then we stick with coffee.”

She nodded, smiling too.

"Then coffee it is."

And it was. For weeks, months. They saw each other whenever flights and schedules allowed. They shared late nights in airports, brief calls between meetings, messages sent across time zones.

They didn’t rush to put a label on it because they both knew the truth from the start: she wasn’t competing against another person.

She was competing against the one love Carlos would never sacrifice.

And the worst part was that he never made her feel like she had to.

The problem with Carlos Sainz was that loving him felt like the easiest thing in the world.

She hadn’t looked for it, hadn’t planned it. It just happened. A quick call that stretched into the early hours. A message between flights that made her smile before she even realized it. A conversation that started with “Have you eaten?” and ended with her staring at him through a screen, feeling both closer and further away at the same time.

They weren’t together in the traditional sense of the word. No promises, no unrealistic expectations. No grand declarations, no ultimatums. Just him and her, finding each other in whatever gaps the calendar allowed, in every city where their paths happened to cross.

Sometimes, that meant a quiet dinner in a tucked-away corner of Barcelona. Other times, it was a fleeting visit to his hotel room after a race, where she would find him exhausted, the marks from his helmet still pressed into his skin—but his eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Come here,” he’d say, reaching for her.

And she would.

She’d sit next to him on the bed, the TV humming softly in the background, while he talked about tires and strategies, blind corners and missed opportunities.

Sometimes, he would fall asleep mid-sentence, his head resting against her shoulder.

She never woke him.

The first time she realized she had crossed an invisible line was at Silverstone.

It wasn’t because of a fight. It wasn’t because of a misunderstanding. It was because of how she felt when Carlos crossed the finish line, arms raised, his team’s cheers echoing through the radio.

She was in the stands, lost in the sea of people celebrating his victory, and yet, in the middle of all that euphoria, she felt something unexpected: emptiness.

Because when he stood on that podium, adrenaline rushing through his veins, the anthem playing, the flag waving above him—she knew she wasn’t there.

Not because she didn’t want to be.

But because, in that moment, he didn’t need her to be.

And it didn’t hurt. It didn’t make her feel small. It only reminded her of what she had always known: in Carlos’ life, she wasn’t the main character.

She was a pause.

A beautiful, warm, fleeting pause. But a pause, nonetheless.

And that day, as she watched him celebrate with his team, arms wrapped around his people, she understood that she couldn’t compete with something that had been his whole life long before she ever came along.

So she didn’t try.

She simply loved him.

She loved him the way you love something ephemeral, the way you love a summer sunset you know won’t last.

She loved him without asking for more than what he could give.

And Carlos never promised more than he knew he could offer.

That was the cruelest part of it all.

He never lied to her.

He never misled her.

He never asked her to stay.

But he never let her go, either.

With time, she learned to read the signs.

The way his voice sounded when he was exhausted. The way his gaze shifted when something frustrated him. How his laughter changed depending on whether he was truly happy or just covering the weight of a loss.

She also learned to recognize when he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reach out to her.

Not because he didn’t care. Not because he didn’t miss her. But because sometimes, his world was too loud, too demanding, and there simply wasn’t room for anything else.

She never complained.

Never asked why his replies sometimes took hours. Never mentioned that, during the busiest weeks of the season, the calls became fewer, the messages shorter. Never admitted that there were nights she fell asleep with her phone in her hand, rereading their last conversation, wishing it had lasted a little longer.

And Carlos, somehow, knew.

Because when he finally had a moment to breathe, he sought her out.

Not with apologies, not with excuses.

Just with his voice, with that quiet laughter through the phone, with an “I miss you” whispered between sighs, as if the words slipped out before he could stop them.

She always answered with the same softness.

But one day, without knowing exactly when it had started happening, she stopped feeling like that was enough.

The first and only time she thought about leaving was in Abu Dhabi.

The end of the season always carried a mix of exhaustion and celebration. Carlos had finished the race with a solid performance, and though he hadn’t made the podium, his team was satisfied.

At the closing party, he was surrounded by his people, a glass of champagne in hand, his smile easy, relaxed. She watched from a quiet corner, the same tenderness in her gaze, the same admiration.

But something inside her felt different.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t anger.

Carlos would have celebrated just the same. He would have laughed just the same. He would have woken up the next day with the same determination as always, ready for the next season, ready to keep chasing the dream that had been his long before she came into his life.

And for the first time, she allowed herself to ask:

What’s in all of this for me?

She didn’t have an answer.

But she did have a ticket back home.

And that night, while he kept celebrating with his team, she decided she wouldn’t wait until the end of the party to use it.

When Carlos saw the message on his phone, his smile faded.

I love you. I’ve always loved you. But in this story, the protagonist has always been F1. And I’m just someone passing through.

There was no reproach.

She hadn’t asked him to stop her.

Just a truth that, deep down, he had always known.

The noise of the party continued—the toasts, the laughter, the camera flashes—but to him, it all became a distant echo.

For a second, he convinced himself that she was still there, somewhere in the room, with her quiet smile and patient gaze, waiting for the moment he would realize he had neglected her once again.

But no.

She was gone.

Not in anger. Not with accusations. Just with the certainty that he couldn’t give her more than he already had.

And the cruelest part of all was that she was right.

She always had been.

Carlos doesn’t remember leaving the party. He doesn’t remember crossing the hotel lobby or the way his footsteps echoed in the hallways when he reached his room’s door.

He finds it just as he left it: closed. Untouched. As if she had never been there.

But when he turns the handle, what he sees tells him otherwise.

There’s a coffee cup on the table, still bearing the imprint of her lipstick on the rim. Her jacket is draped over the chair, as if she had hesitated for a moment before deciding not to take it.

And on the bed, perfectly folded, is the sweater he had lent her the last time they saw each other.

Carlos stares at it for too long.

He doesn’t touch it.

He doesn’t move.

Because in that moment, he finally understands.

She never wanted him to choose between her and Formula 1. She never asked him to.

But the problem was that even if she had, Carlos wouldn’t have been able to give her the answer she deserved.

It had always been her who adjusted to his life.

It had always been her who found the gaps between races, between commitments, between flights and hotels.

It had always been her who waited for him.

It had always been her.

And now, for the first time, she had stopped waiting.

For the first time, she had decided she didn’t want to be just the space between his priorities.

Carlos sits on the edge of the bed.

He closes his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he feels what it’s like to lose something without ever meaning to let it go.

The airport was almost empty at that hour of the night.

Cold lights illuminated the polished floor, reflecting the silhouettes of the few passengers dragging their suitcases with tired steps.

Carlos found her by the boarding gate, sitting with her back straight, hands clasped in her lap.

For a moment, he just watched her.

He wanted to memorize her like this, before she saw him. The serene profile of her face, her hair falling over one shoulder, the way her lips pressed together softly, as if holding back a thought she wouldn’t say out loud.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until she lifted her head and saw him.

And then, she smiled.

Sweet. Calm. As if his presence didn’t surprise her at all.

As if she had known he would come.

“You came,” was all she said.

Carlos exhaled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked toward her.

“Of course I did.”

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t told him she was leaving.

He didn’t ask why their last conversation had been a message instead of a goodbye in person.

Because deep down, he knew.

If she had told him earlier, he would have tried to convince her to stay.

And she had never wanted to force him into that.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the runway through the window.

The murmur of flight announcements filled the space between them, blending with the muffled voice of a child playing with a toy plane a few seats away.

“I didn’t want it to end like this,” he said at some point, without looking at her.

She turned her face toward him but didn’t answer right away.

Not because she didn’t have something to say, but because she was choosing her words carefully.

“It was never about how it would end,” she finally replied. “It was about everything it meant while it lasted.”

Carlos clenched his jaw.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair how calm she sounded, how at peace she was, while he felt like something inside him was slowly breaking.

Because he loved her.

He loved her with a certainty he had rarely felt in his life.

But love wasn’t enough.

Not when she had always been the one who waited.

Not when he had never put her first.

Not when, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, his world would always revolve around one thing: Formula 1.

She smiled at him, as if she could hear his thoughts.

"I know you, Carlos. I don’t want you to promise me something you can’t keep."

He closed his eyes.

Because that was the hardest part of all this.

That even if he loved her with everything he was capable of, he couldn’t promise her that he would change.

He couldn’t give her a different story.

And she knew that.

That was why she was leaving.

That was why, this time, she wasn’t going to wait for him.

Carlos didn’t know when he started crying.

It wasn’t when he saw her pick up her bag. It wasn’t when he heard the final boarding call for her flight.

It was when he truly understood that there was nothing he could say to make her stay.

He wouldn’t lose her because he didn’t love her.

He would lose her because he had never known how to make room for her in his life.

And that truth, so brutal and definitive, shattered him.

She watched him break.

And yet, she didn’t walk away.

Instead, she came back to him. Without hesitation. Without thinking. She hugged him as if it hurt to let him go, as if she loved him with every part of herself but knew that love wasn’t enough to stay.

"I can’t do this," he murmured against her shoulder, his voice broken in a way he had never let anyone hear before. "I can’t…"

She shut her eyes tightly, feeling his tears soak through the fabric of her coat, but she didn’t let go.

"Carlos…" she whispered, and the way she said his name—filled with both sweetness and sorrow—made him tremble.

He held onto her tighter, desperately, as if some part of him still believed that if he held her long enough, she wouldn’t leave.

But she couldn’t stay.

Not when he had never asked her to.

"Tell me what I have to do," Carlos's voice broke into a plea he never thought would leave his lips. "Tell me how to fix this."

She let go just enough to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

And the image of her tears sliding down her cheeks burned into his mind like a wound that would never heal.

"You don’t have to fix anything," she said, her voice softer and more broken than he had ever heard it. "I never asked you to change for me."

"But I want to," he insisted, and his voice cracked at the end, because now he understood, now he saw everything clearly, and goddamn it, why did it have to be now? Why so late? "I want to, for you."

She shook her head, with a tenderness that tore him in two.

"You can’t. You don’t know how."

And she was right.

Because she never wanted him to give up anything.

And he didn’t know how to love in a way that wasn’t defined by Formula 1.

Carlos swallowed hard, feeling the anguish burn in his throat.

"I need you."

She smiled—a sad, beautiful smile that shattered what little was left of him.

"No," she whispered. "You want me. That’s different."

Carlos closed his eyes as if that could contain the pain, as if not seeing her could make it hurt a little less.

It didn’t work.

Because when he opened them again, she was still there.

Beautiful. Steady. Determined to leave him.

And yet, with trembling hands, she wiped the tears from his face with her thumbs.

"You don’t know how much this hurts me," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Of course I do," she replied, and a single tear rolled silently down her cheek. "Because it hurts me too."

He shook his head, as if he couldn’t accept that this was the end. As if there was still something he could do to stop her.

"How do I go on without you?"

She let her hands drop to her sides, as if she no longer had the strength to hold him.

"You will. You always have."

And that was what finally destroyed him.

Because he knew she was right.

Life would go on. The engines wouldn’t stop. The next flight would be waiting for him, and then another, and another, and another…

But she wouldn’t be there.

And when she took a step back, Carlos felt every part of him screaming for him to stop her. To do something, anything.

But he didn’t.

Because he no longer had the right to ask her to stay.

"I don’t want you to go," he whispered, his voice raw and broken.

She closed her eyes.

Because she knew.

Because if she had heard those words before, if he had said them at any other moment, maybe everything would be different.

But he didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

"I know," she whispered against his hair. "I don’t want to go either."

Carlos swallowed hard.

She looked into his eyes one last time.

And with the same tenderness she had always spoken to him, with the same sweetness with which she had loved him, she said:

"I’m glad I loved you."

Carlos felt his throat close up.

But he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t try to stop her.

He didn’t reach for her when she turned and walked toward the gate.

He just stood there, watching her leave.

Watching as, for the first time, she took a path that didn’t include him.

And when the last image he had of her was her silhouette fading beyond the gate, Carlos knew that no matter how much he had loved her, he had always been too late.

The first reunion

Airports had never meant anything to Carlos.

They were nothing more than transit points, impersonal spaces where life moved too fast to leave a trace. Arrivals, departures, goodbyes, reunions… everything happened in a rush, leaving no time to process anything.

But that wasn’t true.

Because there was one airport that had marked him forever.

And now, so many years later, in another airport, he sees her.

Just a few meters away.

His heart lurches in his chest, strong enough to make him stop in his tracks.

She hasn’t changed. Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

She still has that natural elegance, that quiet air of someone who doesn’t need to draw attention to fill a space. Her hair is a little longer, her movements a little more measured. Life has passed.

But not enough to erase what they once were.

She looks up.

And sees him.

Carlos doesn’t know if one, two, or five seconds pass before a smile curves her lips.

It’s a warm smile, but soft. No surprise, no hesitation, as if finding him here were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hello, Carlos."

God.

Her voice.

He hadn’t expected hearing her voice after so long would do this to him.

Carlos feels a tightness in his chest. It’s not sadness. It’s not regret.

It’s just… affection.

A deep, unwavering affection that time hasn’t managed to wear down.

He smiles too. He couldn’t not.

"Hello."

She lowers her gaze for a second, as if processing something, before looking at him again.

"I wasn’t expecting to see you here."

"Me neither."

And yet, here they are.

They are no longer the same people. Life went on, the choices they made led them down different paths, but…

But they haven’t forgotten.

And maybe that’s enough.

There are no promises, no expectations. Just two people who once meant everything to each other, meeting again in the one place where they had always said goodbye.

"Do you have time for a coffee?" she asks, with the same sweetness with which she once offered him her love.

Carlos nods, feeling that, even though he’s no longer part of her life, he still likes the idea of sharing a little time with her.

Because love doesn’t disappear.

It just changes shape.

And this time, instead of hurting, it feels like a beautiful memory that still breathes.

The coffee between them is a clumsy attempt at normalcy, a shared routine that feels foreign after so much time. Sitting across from each other at a small table, they play with their cups in their hands.

"You still take it the same way," he murmurs, breaking the silence.

She nods with a tense smile. She doesn’t dare tell him she’s spent years waiting to hear his voice this close.

"So do you."

Carlos lets out a soft laugh, but neither of them finds the conversation funny. Another silence settles between them, heavier this time, more suffocating.

"How did we end up in the same airport, on the same day, at the same time?" she asks, her tone light, almost amused.

"I don’t know." He plays with the handle of his cup. "Probably the universe deciding we haven’t had enough."

She smiles, but it’s a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

"It always did have a twisted sense of humor."

"I couldn’t agree more."

They remain silent for a few seconds, but this time, she is the one who breaks it.

"Do you still not know how to pack properly?"

Carlos bursts into genuine laughter, remembering all the times his suitcase looked like it had been packed by someone with their eyes closed.

"I’ve gotten a little better, but I still don’t know how to fold shirts properly."

"I always found it incredible that you could drive a car at 300 km/h but couldn’t fold a T-shirt without it looking like crumpled paper."

"Everyone has their talents."

She smiles, lowering her gaze to her coffee, stirring it unnecessarily.

"And you?" he asks, resting his arms on the table. "Do you still carry a library in your suitcase?"

"Of course," she laughs softly. "You never know when you’ll need to kill time."

Carlos nods, vividly remembering all the times she pulled out a book in the middle of the chaos of a paddock, as if the world around her didn’t exist.

"What are you reading now?"

"Something on Stoic philosophy," she replies. "I bought it out of curiosity, but I think I’m getting more out of it than I expected."

"Sounds deep."

"It is. It’s basically about accepting what you can’t control."

Carlos sets his cup down on the table, watching her intently.

"That sounds pretty convenient."

She shrugs, offering a half-smile.

"I guess at some point, we all need to learn how to do that."

Silence creeps between them again. They don’t ask because they fear the answers. They don’t talk about the important things because they know it will hurt.

He doesn’t ask if she’s been happy without him.

She doesn’t ask if he still thinks of her before falling asleep.

He doesn’t ask if she ever loved someone else.

She doesn’t ask if, at any point, he wanted to find her.

Instead, they keep talking about trivial things, as if they were strangers. As if they didn’t know how the other kisses, how their laughter sounds intertwined in a dark room.

"Well..." she checks the time. "My flight leaves soon."

Carlos nods but doesn’t move.

"Yeah, of course."

She stands, and he follows, walking together toward the boarding gate. They stop a few steps apart, looking at each other.

"I’m glad I saw you," she says, and it’s the first truth they dare to admit.

"Me too."

She hesitates for a moment before smiling at him, as if the goodbye doesn’t hurt.

"See you around."

Carlos holds her gaze, watches her walk away, and feels like he’s losing her all over again.

The second reunion

Carlos wasn’t expecting to see her.

Not here, not tonight.

But fate, with its twisted sense of humor, has brought her to the same wedding he’s attending.

When he sees her, something inside him stops.

It’s a mutual old friend who’s getting married—someone with whom they once shared memories of another time, back when they were still a couple, when life seemed a little less complicated. Carlos wonders if she knew he would be here, if she saw his name on the guest list and decided to come anyway.

Or if, just like him, she simply went along with the invitation, without thinking too much about what she might find.

She hasn’t changed.

Or maybe she has, but not in the ways that matter.

The dress she wears falls elegantly over her figure, and her smile is still the kind that lights up a room without effort. She’s talking to someone, a glass of wine in hand, tilting her head with interest—the same way she used to listen to him when he told her stories that didn’t really matter.

He wonders if she still bites the inside of her cheek when she’s nervous.

If she still falls asleep on planes before takeoff.

If she ever thinks of him when she hears about Ferrari.

She notices him after.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and it’s as if time contracts. As if all the times they’ve avoided each other, all the efforts to stay apart, are erased in this single moment.

And yet, they don’t move closer.

Not yet.

But the entire night revolves around them in ways neither wants to admit.

Mutual friends glance at them with nostalgia—some with knowing smiles, others with a hint of sadness in their voices when they remember what they once were.

"Do you remember them? How good they were together…"

"They were perfect."

"Such a shame it didn’t work out."

She smiles politely. Carlos merely takes a sip from his glass.

They don’t say anything.

Because what could they say?

That yes, they were happy, but they were also not enough.

That love is not always enough when time and priorities are working against you.

The night goes on.

And stolen glances become inevitable.

Carlos looks for her in the crowd, only to find her already watching him.

She finds him when he’s at the bar, when he laughs at someone’s joke, when his expression softens for a fleeting moment.

They both look away, but never for too long.

Then comes the accidental brush of their hands when they cross paths on the dance floor.

She’s spinning with someone else, and he’s passing through the crowd.

It’s just a second, a fleeting touch of her skin against his.

But they both feel it.

Like an echo of everything they once were.

A moment that lingers longer than it should, though neither says it out loud.

And the respect.

That silent respect, that invisible space they’ve learned to keep—as if getting too close might wake something that has only ever been asleep, never truly gone.

Carlos watches her as she dances with others, laughing, her hair falling down her back, the golden light reflecting off her skin.

She watches him when he stops to talk to old friends, when his laughter rings through the warm night air.

They have never been strangers.

But they can’t be what they were either.

And that truth weighs as heavily as the music filling the room.

The music changes.

From the lively, upbeat songs that have dominated the dance floor, the DJ slows things down with a soft melody—one of those that invite bodies to draw closer, to sway gently, as if time might pause just for a little while.

Carlos looks at her.

"Dance with me," his voice is low, barely audible over the wedding’s hum.

She looks at him, surprised.

For a moment, Carlos thinks she’s going to refuse. That she’ll smile kindly and say no, that it’s better not to tempt fate.

But then she nods.

"Okay."

And she lets him take her hand.

They move through the crowd with the same ease with which they once sought each other out in any room. But there’s a chasm between them, one that time and choices have carved with ruthless precision.

They dance.

They move with a familiarity neither dares to acknowledge. Hands on waist and shoulder, fingers brushing with painful tenderness. They’re not pressed together—not like before—but the space between them is filled with what they were and what they still feel.

It’s the perfect balance between nostalgia and restraint.

Between the love still burning in their eyes and the certainty that they can do nothing about it.

They dance in silence.

No words. Just slow movements, the careful touch of their bodies, the feeling that this is the last time they’ll be like this—in each other’s arms, pretending for a few minutes that life didn’t get in the way.

Carlos takes a deep breath.

He wants to say something, anything.

But what can he say when she already knows everything?

When she has always known?

She is the one who breaks the silence.

"You still dance the same," she murmurs, a sad smile on her lips.

Carlos lowers his gaze to hers, to her eyes that are still the same as always.

"And you still fit here just the same," he answers quietly.

She looks away for a second, but she doesn’t pull back.

Around them, their friends watch in silence. There’s no need for words to see the obvious—the way they look at each other, the gentleness in their movements, the way neither seems willing to let go. There is no tension, no resentment, only love wrapped in the careful restraint of what can no longer be.

"It was always them," someone whispers, with a hint of melancholy.

"It still is. They just… can’t be anymore."

"Look at them. If you didn’t know their story, you’d think they were still together."

"No, if you knew their story, you’d understand why it’s so heartbreaking to see them like this."

The murmurs reach their ears, but neither of them says anything. They simply keep moving, letting the music be the only one to speak.

Because, in the end, what else is there left to say?

As the song ends, their hands slip away slowly, as if letting go of each other is the hardest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

The Third Reunion

She has a few days free from traveling and decides to seek peace where she once found it: a small coastal town in northern Spain. She walks through the same plazas as years ago, the same streets, the same ports. The restaurant is the same, but everything seems smaller now.

The last time she was here, it was with Carlos, and it was warm. It was summer, and he had made her promise not to work or think about the future—only about the days they had together. Now it’s winter, and the sea breeze drifting through the empty streets carries a feeling of emptiness, of something that once was and is now gone.

The restaurant remains a forgotten corner, with its dim lighting and the same wooden chairs that creak when you sit. She orders a glass of wine and lets herself be enveloped by nostalgia, by memories that shouldn’t hurt this much.

And then, she sees him.

Carlos is standing at the door, still wearing his coat, looking at her as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. As if time has played a cruel trick on them again.

“It can’t be…” he says, with a disbelieving laugh.

She blinks, shakes her head, and laughs too. There’s no other possible reaction. The coincidence is absurd, cruel, inevitable.

Carlos shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the rack before sitting across from her, without asking for permission. As if this place, this moment, still belonged to them and no one else.

“How long has it been since you were here?” he asks, resting his elbows on the table.

“Since the last time. With you.”

Carlos nods, and the silence between them is dense, heavy. They order their food without thinking, as if they were still the same as before. She still asks for the sauce on the side. He still orders the same glass of wine. Small habits that haven’t changed, even though everything else has.

“How have you been?” she finally asks.

Carlos looks at her, and in his expression, there are a thousand answers he will never say out loud.

“Good. Racing. Traveling. The same as always.”

“The same as always,” she repeats with a broken smile. “I figured.”

She doesn’t say it with resentment, only with a certainty that aches. Because she always knew Formula 1 was his life. She was only a stop along the way.

Carlos places his glass down and looks away.

“And you?”

She takes a moment to answer.

“Trying to live.”

Carlos looks back at her. It’s a simple response, but there’s something else beneath it. Something he doesn’t want to analyze too much.

“Are you happy?”

She holds his gaze, as if daring him to hear the truth.

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Are you?”

Carlos wets his lips, hesitates.

“I don’t know.”

She gives him a sad smile.

“How ironic.”

Carlos wants to say something more, but instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it until he finds something. He sets it down on the table.

“Do you remember this?”

She frowns and picks it up. It’s a photo. The last one they took here, years ago. They’re sitting together at a table—the same table where they’re sitting now. She has her head resting on his shoulder, and Carlos is looking at her instead of the camera.

The love is evident.

She runs her finger over the screen delicately, as if doing so could bring her back to that moment.

“I never realized you looked at me like that.”

“I always looked at you like that.”

She lifts her gaze. Carlos doesn’t look away. It’s a punch to the chest.

“Why are you showing me this, Carlos?” she asks softly.

Carlos lowers his head, exhaling.

“Because sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision.”

She tenses. She sets the phone down carefully and pushes it away.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“No. It’s not. The truth is, you did what you had to do. What we always knew you would do.”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“And what if I was wrong?”

She sighs and leans back in her chair.

“You weren’t. I never would have asked you to choose. And you never would have.”

Carlos feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

“I loved you.”

She smiles sadly.

“I loved you too.”

“Then why are we here and not together?”

She leans toward him, resting her elbows on the table, and says with devastating calm:

“Because love isn’t enough when there’s always something more important.”

Carlos says nothing.

She shakes her head with a soft, trembling laugh.

“How am I supposed to forget you, Carlos? How am I supposed to move on when every turn I take, you’re there?”

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment.

“I can’t change the past.”

“No. And I can’t change how I feel.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“You were never my second choice.”

“Then why wasn’t I the first?”

Silence.

She smiles bitterly, running a hand through her hair.

“Tell me something. If you could go back, would you do anything differently?”

Carlos looks at her. The answer is in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the table.

She nods before he can say anything.

“I thought so.”

And that’s when Carlos understands. This is the end.

Not because they don’t love each other. Not because they don’t want to be together.

But because he never would have chosen differently.

She stands up, leaving money for the bill on the table.

“Fate is cruel, isn’t it?” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Carlos watches as she walks away. It’s like that day at the airport, but worse.

Because now, he knows he has lost her for good.

For the first time in years, he feels like the world is collapsing around him.

The Atlantic air is sharp, cutting.

She walks without looking back. But Carlos follows her. Because he can’t let it end like this. Not again.

The night is dark, and the waves crash against the rocks with fury. The wind hits them with the same intensity as the feelings they have repressed. There’s no one else in the street. Only them.

“Are you going to keep running from me forever?” His voice reaches her before she can walk any further.

She stops dead in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around.

“Running?” she lets out a dry, incredulous laugh. “Don’t make me laugh, Carlos. If anyone has run away here, it’s always been you.”

He clenches his fists, walking until he’s standing right in front of her. The sea roars behind him, the wind pushes them, but the distance between them remains the worst storm of all.

“I didn’t run.”

She lifts her gaze, and her expression is filled with a sorrow that hurts more than any shout ever could.

“No. You just left me behind.”

Carlos feels like a dagger has been driven into his chest.

“You knew…”

“Of course I knew!” she bursts out, raising her voice for the first time all night. “I always knew. From the very first day, from the first time you said you loved me. From the moment you looked at me, and I believed we could find a way.”

Carlos takes a deep breath, the wind whipping against his face.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

She laughs again, without joy. Her eyes shine with a mix of fury and unbearable sadness.

“That’s the worst part, you know? That you didn’t want to. That you never meant to. But you did it anyway. And you keep doing it!”

Carlos takes a step forward, but she steps back.

“Do you want to know why I’m here?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Because I tried to move on. I tried. But here I am, standing in front of you, and I still feel the same. I still love you the same way, I still look at you as if you’re the only thing in this world.”

Carlos closes his eyes tightly, as if doing so could keep out the pain of hearing her words.

“Don’t say this…”

“Why not?” she whispers. “Because it hurts you?”

Carlos clenches his jaw.

“You have no idea how much it hurts.”

She looks at him, the wind tangling her hair, the waves roaring behind her.

“Oh, don’t I? Do you have any idea what it feels like to always be the one left behind? The one who watches you go, who’s left with memories that are too heavy to carry?”

Carlos feels something inside him shatter.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. It always has been!”

“I loved you!” he yells, desperation burning his throat. “God, how I loved you. Do you know how many times I tried to forget you?” His voice breaks on the last word. “How many times I wanted to hate you? But I can’t. I can’t, because I love you with every fiber of my being, and that’s the cruelest thing of all.”

She laughs, a hollow sound.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking unfair.”

Carlos swallows hard.

“It is.”

She lifts her gaze, her eyes burning.

“You know what’s worse? That all this time, I’ve tried to convince myself I was wrong. That maybe I didn’t love you that much. But every time I see you, I know I was lying to myself.”

Carlos holds her gaze.

“I never stopped loving you.”

She smiles, and it’s a sad smile.

“I know.”

A silence falls between them, heavy, suffocating.

She wipes her tears away with the palm of her hand.

“But loving me was never enough for you.”

Carlos feels something inside him tear apart.

She takes a step back.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep seeing you and pretending I don’t still love you.”

Carlos looks at her, desperation in his eyes.

“Please…”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me how to move on. Tell me, Carlos.”

Carlos clenches his fists.

She laughs again, her laughter broken by sobs.

“You can’t, can you? Because you haven’t done it either.”

Carlos feels his throat close up.

She looks at him for a long moment, memorizing every detail.

“I loved you with everything I had. And I’d do it all over again. But I can’t keep choosing you if you never chose me.”

Carlos feels a knot in his stomach.

She walks away, her footsteps echoing against the wet stone of the promenade.

Carlos watches her go. And once again, he doesn’t stop her.

The Last Reunion

There is no noise in his head when he crosses the finish line for the last time.

No shouts, no euphoria, no deafening roar of the engine drilling into his ears.

Just calm.

The kind of calm he never imagined feeling in a moment like this—the kind of serenity one finds when, after years of fighting against the current, they stop rowing and simply let themselves drift.

He expected nostalgia. He expected emptiness. He expected fear. But he feels none of those things.

He feels peace.

The peace of someone who has given every last piece of himself to something and, for the first time, doesn’t feel like he’s leaving anything behind. He has given it all, with no regrets and no reservations.

He removes his helmet with steady hands, no hesitation. He hears his name chanted from the grandstands, feels the pats on his back from his team, the embrace of his engineer, the flashes of cameras capturing the end of an era.

But inside, everything is silent.

Carlos Sainz is no longer a Formula 1 driver, and the world keeps turning.

That night, while the echoes of celebration still hum through the streets, he is alone in his hotel room, staring at the open suitcase on his bed. For years, his entire life has fit into a single piece of luggage—race suits, boots, headsets, caps with the logos of Ferrari, Red Bull, McLaren, Renault, Williams. The stickers on his passport are the only proof that, for more than a decade, he never truly belonged anywhere.

Until now.

Carlos has never been one to hesitate, but still, when he books the flight, his fingers tremble slightly over the screen.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find on the other side.

He doesn’t know if she will want to see him, if she still feels the same, if she still thinks of him when a song plays on the radio or when she watches a race on a quiet Sunday.

He doesn’t know anything.

Carlos stands in front of her door, his heart pounding in his throat, and one unshakable certainty in his chest: he can’t spend the rest of his life without trying.

When she opens the door and sees him, her expression freezes.

And then, slowly, it crumbles.

Carlos doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at her. Just feels her.

Years have passed.

Years of trying with other people, of unintentionally searching for each other in different eyes, of accepting that what they had would never be repeated with anyone else.

Years of remembering.

But now they’re here. In the same time, in the same place.

And Carlos has never wanted anything more than this.

“Hi,” he says, with a tired smile.

She blinks, as if unsure whether to laugh or cry.

“Carlos…”

His name is a whisper. A plea.

He takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t come to ask for your forgiveness.”

She looks at him, saying nothing.

Carlos swallows, his voice softer than ever.

“I didn’t come to make promises either.”

She closes her eyes for a moment, as if the weight of everything unspoken is crushing her.

Carlos steps forward.

“I just want to tell you the truth.”

She trembles.

“Carlos…”

He shakes his head.

“Let me say it.”

Their eyes meet, and it’s like being back in that airport, at that wedding, in that small town where they unknowingly broke each other.

“If you ever thought you weren’t enough for me,” his voice cracks, “that I didn’t choose you, that you were always second place…”

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You were so, so wrong.”

Her eyes shine with tears.

Carlos smiles sadly.

“You were always the only one that mattered.”

She exhales a shaky breath, as if the air has been stolen from her lungs.

Carlos takes one last step—without touching her, without forcing anything.

“But I chose you too late.”

His words land like a blow, an open wound.

She looks away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

Carlos runs a hand through his hair, letting out a bitter laugh.

“God… I spent so much time running from this. Believing I had all the time in the world. That loving you was enough, even if I always left you waiting.”

She looks at him.

And in a low, wounded voice, she says:

“But it never was.”

Carlos nods, his eyes glassy.

“It never was.”

Silence engulfs them. Everything they are, everything they were, hanging between them.

Until she, lips trembling, asks:

“What are you doing here, Carlos?”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if gathering every last ounce of courage he has left.

“I left Formula 1.”

Her brows furrow, surprised.

“Why?”

Carlos takes a deep breath.

“Because I don’t want my life to keep racing past without you in it.”

She loses her breath.

Carlos continues.

“Because after all this time, after every goodbye and every reunion… I still love you.”

Her lips tremble harder.

“Carlos…”

He gives her a small, sad smile, holding her gaze.

“And this time, I’m not letting you go.”

The silence that follows is dense, heavy, filled with promises and fears and years of restrained love.

She doesn't answer right away.

Because this is real. This is everything.

When she finally speaks, her voice is a broken whisper.

"I don't know if I can go through this again."

Carlos nods. "I know."

"I don't know if I can trust that this time you'll stay."

"I know."

She blinks, a single tear falling.

Carlos steps closer, his eyes burning with contained emotion.

"But I want to find out with you."

She looks at him, searching his face for something that will tell her this is just a fantasy.

But all she finds is truth.

Truth and love.

A love untouched. A love that never ceased to exist.

She closes her eyes and lets out a sob.

Carlos smiles softly.

"For the first time in my life, I don’t know what comes next."

She watches him, her heart pounding.

Carlos takes a breath, and with more sincerity than ever, he murmurs:

"But if you let me… I want to find out by your side."

She laughs through her tears.

And this time, when Carlos takes another step closer… she doesn’t pull away.

She stays.

The way she was always meant to.

@smoooothoperator

if you want to be part of my permanent taglist, just let me know :))

[mega-banette]

you know what. if we’re imagining Fox as being 17-19 then offering her french toast was actually a genius move on the Bizzies’ part. because from experience the number 1 way to get a teenager to trust you is to give them free food

[goldkirk]

Sharing one of the more powerful quotes from this current chapter of The Nazi Seizure of Power: The Experience of a Single German Town, 1922-1945.

The situation, where even heroism was denied the men of the democratic Left, came about in no small part because of the failure of the Social Democrats to understand the nature of Nazism. Just as their basic premise in the years before Hitler came to power was the erroneous assumption that the Nazis were essentially Putsch-ists who could not possibly attract a mass following, so their basic premise after Hitler came to power was the equally erroneous assumption that his would be a government similar to the others of the Weimar period.

The most eloquent document on this was the set of instructions sent out to SPD Locals in District Hanover on March 23, 1933. It was filled with instructions about sending for handbooks on Socialist policy in communal affairs and filling out questionnaires; in short, carrying on business as usual. The only reference to the phenomenon of Nazism was contained in paragraph seven;

Will the election of our village and town representatives be approved? That is a question which is repeatedly being asked. The question is unanswerable because we do not know what this government will do. However, in any case, we must, now as always, select trustworthy comrades as village representatives wherever we have a majority. Should they later not be sworn in, then we will take a position on this. Under no circumstances should we value any of our rights cheaply.

This at a time when SPD leaders were having their houses searched in the middle of the night for weapons! This when the officers of the Reichsbanner were being herded into jail by Storm troopers, beaten in the prisons across Germany, cast into Nazi concentration camps! The SPD, the only defenders of democracy in Germany, the men who should have been gathering guns and calling the general strike, or at least developing an underground with passwords, false names, and other paraphernalia of effective covert resistance, were instead being urged to keep the party files in order, to avoid bookkeeping errors, and above all to purchase the latest pamphlet on parliamentary tactics in village councils.

If the central offices of the SPD did not know “what this government will do,” the local socialist leaders in Northeim soon found out.

(the book goes on to describe the experiences of five Northeim Social Democrats over multiple pages of raids, imprisonment, misery, and persecution)

[rewordthis]

Oooh! Thank for your kind words, friend but I’m just a little human and I may have not the most correct takes on the story but I sure try to have an overall view and I most definitely don’t think I’m this off the mark.

Honestly speaking, I wanted to reply as soon as I saw your reblog but I have so much to say that I confused myself. lol

First of all, Trigun 98 is the first thing I watched and then Trigun Stampede and I know just what wikipedia has to offer for the big spoilers (mad about it, too btw) of the manga—so my knowledge is limited to that. Having mentioned that, each version is a completely different thing in my mind and consider each canon in only its respective version.

Now, I had wanted to do a review/analysis for each anime separately ever since I finished watching them both (September-November ‘24) but unfortunately, rl is being a bitch (excuse my French) so I never really got around to doing that. Anyway, I am only going to talk about the 98 anime twins’ character focal points, because this is the topic of the post.

Before that though, let me say this, what these fans agreed on—that maiming Knives in a direct analogy to removing a spider’s legs—basically means to torture and eventually do drive him to madness (even worse with how unstable he already is) and finally to death because a spider without its legs it’s no longer a predator and being unable to feed and execute the most basic of its needs aka to move and knit webs it will just die. So no point in Vash taking him back at this point, his IQ is too hight to act this stupid. Simple as that.

(Rest is under the cut because… long talk is LONG. 😬)

So let’s talk about Vash: First of all, from the very first episodes we are introduced to Vash, we hear Rem telling him that he is thinking like an old man; he is too skeptical, too careful and generally he tends to think and act a lot like an old man, possibly without curiosity or spontaneity (and even more setting him apart from Knives,who in retrospect may act a lot more like a kid). This is important, because it sets the base for Vash’s real character. Also, both twins are of an absurd IQ.

Next thing we see, is Vash acting like a loon. He is all over the place, acting funny/stupid. This carefree character is his persona. Fake acre to acre. This façade has very few, tiny holes though, something we see in bits and instances throughout the series, even more so when he’s really dropping the façade if his opponent has gone beyond just being dangerous but rather uncontrollable.

Vash is calculating and just as capable of being manipulative like Knives, he just won’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary. He actively prefers being misleading and avoidant, just so he can move freely until he achieves his goal, to find and take “revenge” on Knives. But he also has kept Rem’s teachings as a means to keeping her close to him—out of love and reverence.

What Rem represents for Vash in this anime particularly, is both the ideal of a mother/lover and humanity’s potential. She is literally his God and connection to humanity, so her word is The Word. “The future is a blank ticket” and “everybody deserves a chance to have a tomorrow” and “no one but God has the right to choose who lives or dies—every life is important”. These are pretty straightforward and good messages—in theory—that Vash has taken to an extreme to preserve since he meddles even in things he’s got no business in, especially about the every life matters.

He is not just doing that for Rem, though. His main goal from the moment we see him (it is the afterglow of the July Incident), is Knives. He wants to save as many people as he can (and essentially atone for both the Great Fall & July) until he finds Knives. What we also find out halfway, is that he has absolutely no recollection of July and as he says “how he got here”. Which is giving us another perspective of his character as well; he was wandering alone after the incident not knowing how the angel arm worked or that he had nearly (possibly? who lives after being torn in half?) killed Knives. His anger about the fall was still what he presumably, remembers clearly and a vague sense of responsibility he most probably shoulders for the destruction of July—but July should only be a vague feeling for him and not as driving as the fall. And let’s not forget that while the twins wandered the desert, he did pick up that rock, ok? He just chose not to do it: because every life matters and… well, even as a genocidal sociopath, Knives is still his only brother. Also, Vash thrives in company.

Here, I want to point out that Vash in the anime uses mainly “ore” when referring to himself as an adult. This is a fairly rude way for men to refer to themselves and it shows nonchalance and generally being tough. But he also changes to a more meek/cute “boku” depending on the situation and how he wants to address politeness (either fake or heartfelt—the only distinction is the scene for this) to the person he speaks to. On the other hand, Knives uses “boku” throughout the entire anime. And honestly? I was fairly surprised by this. I really like these kind of characters because they are using politeness in a way that sets them apart from others, JJK’s Gojo also refers to himself with “boku”, btw. A kid usually uses “boku” during elementary and an adult when speaking with someone older or of a higher status. An adult that uses it all the time though, does it either do be more approachable (cute) or because he really sees himself as more gentle (meek). This ties back to Knives seeing himself in the butterflies and the plants in the spaceship’s garden. He is shown (from the little we see of him) aside from being manipulative and cold-blooded, as a rather fearful child so it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he also feels fragile. Both he and Vash got regularly beaten, after all—to him, they are the butterflies. Also, when he fights with Vash over killing the spider, we have a moment of the twins freezing while looking at each other. That specific moment is a revelation to Knives for two things: a) Vash is far more stubborn than him thus potentially more dangerous (maybe to even himself) and b) he can not reason with him. This moment literally shows us Knives being scared of Vash.

Now, remember when I said that Vash held Rem as God; his sense of obedience and faith is shaken after he realises his own destructive power during the Fifth Moon, then Wolfwood died because of his (Rem’s) ideals and even more when he is finally killing someone himself, Legato. For the first time (as far as we can see), Vash experiences a detachment from his consciousness, as he very literally loses his cool and then realises how cruel and lethal he can be just like how Knives had said. This is the beginning of his unraveling, the loss of his faith in himself—he is not as innocent as he wanted to believe. Then, he lost a precious connection—a friend— because he wanted him to believe in Rem’s word, too and finally, committed a grave sin and he can only think of retribution by dying, to “go where Rem is”. This moment is heartbreaking, because after stubbornly living 130 years and condemning suicide since he is no God to take a life (not even his own), he’s finally so broken to seek death and Meryl is first seat spectator to his undoing. He literally undergoes a death of his ego in this moment, and tastefully so, if I may say.

Next thing is finally his face off with Knives. At this point I’m pretty sure that Vash is prepared for any outcome in this fight. Their fight is so intense because they both know each other much too well and are equals on both cunning and physicality. This is actually a fight that can only be settled eirher by a hair’s breadth of a difference in their strength or by luck and… Vash is lucky af. The second he grasps the punisher, Vash knows that he can win and thus to also have the chance to save Knives. It’s why he renders him immobile (and I don’t know how to scream that more! he doesn’t maim him! he renders him IMMOBILE! much like you pick a cat from the scruff!) so he can put an end to the fight—so he can be the winner. I don’t know how obvious this is, but throughout the anime, every opponent Vash won against, the fight was considered conclusive and they would all submit. Not one fight was restarted! So now we have: a) Vash finishing the dispute with Knives in an irrefutable way—Knives actually expects him to finish him as he lies bleeding. b) Every conclusive victory is permanent (within the anime at least). c) Knives will not go against Vash again because he is lowkey scared of him and now he is also proven “stronger”(or more stubborn, but that’s just me, I think). d) Knives will be forced to live in close proximity with humans for as long as he recuperates and Vash is going to be on his ass (prooobably) until they die.

And Vash. Vash after deciding that he will give Knives a new day to use his “blank ticket” is throwing away his coat because: a) he is no longer a messenger of Rem’s Word. He has killed and he is unfit to continue wearing Her colour. b) His quest is over. He has finally stoped Knives from wiping humanity out and has him in his care (or captivity, but he ain’t that cruel) and also the girls’ (Knives will be begging to be killed, trust me). c) He is also going to have new people to dedicate himself than Rem, which is Meryl, Milly and Knives. d) He is no more The Stampede, he has a family now that he reunited with Knives and he is going to become as domestic as possible and keep an eye on Knives. Sort of how a parent has their child on a “leash” kind of thing. NO MAIMING! NO! NOT EVEN A MENTION OF THAT THING!!! e) And eventually, since everything he has been through and all his quests and all his (self-inflicted) obligations (see Rem here) have come to an end, he is going to relax with jumping into other people’s arguments. I mean… he will bother to reconcile those around him—just look at him, he’s not stopping that shit any day soon—but he just won’t go around the planet for this. He can do that for his neighbours in the town he lives. f) He now knows how difficult it is to uphold Rem’s ideals for humans—and they do try to be kind and good, but after breaking down himself he understands the strides humans need to make. He is no longer that uptight about it. And finally f) He is freed from his persona. His family knows him, his brother and the girls know who he is and what he is capable of (Knives a little more that the girls, but still) and so there is no need for him to be The Stampede, anymore. Dude needs some much deserved rest and peace. ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ

So because of all these reasons above, I am fairly sure that going back to treating Knives like how he used to while maintaining in the back of his mind of what they both are capable, he is going to have their guns destroyed—aren't they already? Or did he also tossed them right there... I don’t remember—I should rewatch the anime and make more on-point observations because writing so far by memory, I hope I’m not forgetting anything… Oops.

He will also make Knives participate in the everyday life, help with chores etc. Fairly sure that he will be a grumpy cat about it but will still do it—not because he owes Vash but because he literally stands there and smiles creepily at him until he does what he’s supposed to do.

And for crying out loud, I hope he finally remembered what Rem told him to do with Knives, because I’m 100% sure the woman told him to stay with him and take care of him and not to be a stubborn shit to him; I believe then he will be way more understanding of Knives and this will have the most impact on that feral stray, too. Btw.

Not sure if I make sense, but like… these are some of the most basic points that I can recall off the top of my head and that is without delving too much into specifics and details in the depictions and the narration of the scenes but rather of the anime in its entirety.

Also, super sorry for the monster-length of this analysis, I tried to keep it short but... 🫣🫠

Oh, if you have anything to add or think differently about, please do tell me! Me wants food! 😌

The bad takes in this fandom are making me insane…

Sooo… critical question: When did we go from this…

to this?

[spicyicymeloncat]

Idk if this is a hot take but why is it always “Kai slaved away and worked his ass off to raise his sister” and never the other way round or them working hard together?

Like, I know he’s older but in the show, does he really… act older? Like if you think about Kai and Nya’s dynamic yknow? Because from my understanding:

When Kai and Nya are introduced we see Kai fail at making a sword and Nya being the one to chide him for it. Kai makes an overconfident statement about wanting to be a better blacksmith than his father. This suggests that one, Kai is rather rash as well as inexperienced (something that lines up with the rest of his character arc in the pots and also generally), with Nya being the more mature figure in contrast

Also just a note but in the shorts: “I can handle it!” “No you can’t, stupid”

Kai frequently being very good at neglecting people or things: leaving Lloyd at an arcade whilst being focused on finding samurai x, not even knowing samurai x was Nya or that she only did it because she felt left out by him, completely abandoning both Nya and Lloyd in s3 (and Ik he was going through it at the time, but in line with the fandom’s characterisation of him)

Kai in season 5: “After I lost my dad, I lost my way. But I was lucky to have my sister watch over me”

Generally, their dynamic isn’t one where Kai really provides for Nya at all. In fact, judging by the fact that Nya can make entire mechs and Kai struggled to make a sword, Nya was probably busting her ass to provide for Kai. And judging by the s5 quote, that’s probably true. I’m not saying Nya raised Kai, it just rubs me the wrong way when she’s treated like a decorative flourish to a narrative that paints Kai as a burnt out child who was forced to grow up too soon especially since that is such a mischaracterisation of him in the first place.

[grapecherry]

babe wake up the narratives are foiling

[teardropsonsmyguitar]

.

[hobisexually]

long winded rant in the tags coming that’s partly about weight but in a very unfiltered sad way so if that triggers you do Not read on

[heartbreakfeelsogood]

[peppermint-candy]

I kind of want to write a cute little fic where the reader is a guitar shop employee who’s bored of their mundane life and dreaming of some excitement. Wes is a customer that comes in all the time. The reader has a crush on him and they start to make small talk whenever he comes in and then one day to their surprise he asks them out. After the reader gets off work they go on their first date and well I could go on but you get it

[sammygender]

like okay. i know this is the excusing mass murder for your fictional blorbos site. so what i’m about to say may seem strange. but there’s still SUCH a societal issue where we just… reject someone as soon as they cross a specific boundary. doing some bad things is sometimes okay but if you do a specific one (insert whatever here!!) you’re automatically irredeemable. and obviously in personal relationships i think this is usually completely justified and fine? you’re always entitled to not want to be around someone if they do something that hurts you or other people. or even just like. ever. but on a societal level it’s horrific. no one is beyond help (yes, not even that person you’re thinking of now) and no crime or act is “too bad” that the person who committed it deserves to be condemned forever as completely unable to change. our justice system is punitive and unempathic and our society frames mental illness as personal weakness and no one really gives a shit about victims unless they’re absolutely perfect. and these acts that push people “beyond redemption” in the eyes of the public or whatever depend so much on the person as well, obviously, their general social status. generally minorities tend to have to be so much More Perfect than anyone else. and, anyway, i don’t have a solution to it all, really, not our fucked up justice system or the mentalities that make us condemn people with our pseudopsychiatric armchair diagnosises of ‘narcissist’ and ‘psychopath’ or the way that everyone’s so hellbent on vengeance when that doesn’t actually help anything least of all victims. Idk. i just find it really depressing sometimes

[urmomsfavelesbian]

are the people on twitter who like daya okay……..the answer is no but oh my god the drama is fucking insane 😰 and all with their faces attached somewhere daya can see it 😰 these are people fully in their 20s 😰

[heavenbarnes]

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

[strawbebyjam]

thinking about how patient my kindergarten best friend was with me for so many years

[onceinablueberrymoon]

made for this | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

part 3 | part 4 | part 5 is up! scenario: pregnant!reader has a doctor’s appointment and wants to help husband!salesman by recruiting some new players at the clinic. the salesman has a different idea in mind… setting: a couple months after the events of season 1; sequel to this but can be read as a stand-alone fic warnings: pregnant!reader; a bit of spice and a lot of fluff; both reader and salesman feel morally superior to others; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 931 notes: thank you all for the love on the first part! i hope i didn’t make the salesman too ooc, i try to keep things as accurate to the show as possible! but i think he is somewhat capable of having soft moments, although very rarely. i have at least one more idea for this series (if it can even be called that), so be on the lookout for that ٩>ᴗ<)و (also if anyone has any ideas for this ship, send them my way!) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Hey, can I borrow some business cards? I have an appointment at the clinic today and thought I’d pass some out.”

At your call, your husband walked into the bedroom to find you standing in front of the mirror next to your shared bed, adjusting your outfit for the day. He crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so. Any public involvement with the Games could endanger you,” his gaze lingered on your swollen stomach. He sighed, “You can’t defend yourself in your condition, no matter how much you think you can.” 

You just rolled your eyes and shot him a piercing look. 

“My pregnancy doesn’t impact my job, though. I can take care of myself just fine.” You took a couple steps towards him. “Who’s the one who befriended Gi-hun again? You?” You looked around the room before you pointed at yourself. 

“Me, that’s who,” you grinned proudly, only for your husband to cover his face with his hands, his patience clearly running thin.

“Besides,” you shrugged, “it’s not like I’ll be playing ddakji and smacking people. No, my dear husband, that’s your thing.” You brought a finger up to your lips. 

“I have my own ways to play.” You flashed a wicked smile towards your husband, causing him to shiver. 

Right there and then, you knew that you had won the battle.

…or so you thought.

In the blink of an eye, your husband swept you off your feet and pinned you on the bed with only one arm. Your startled expression pleased him judging by the wild look on his face. His unoccupied hand came to gently press on your growing stomach, adding to the tense situation. He brought his lips up to graze your ear.

“See how vulnerable you are? Just think,” he lightly bit at your helix, “others won’t be so nice.”

It was your turn to shiver. 

When you didn’t respond, he continued nibbling at your ear with his hand still firmly planted on your belly.

Soon after, he lifted his head and asked, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He kissed you deeply, only breaking away to gasp for air. The most smug expression was plastered on his face. 

“Oh wait, I do.”

How cheeky of him. And cheesy, too! 

You huffed, “Wow, already starting with the dad jokes? And not even the good ones either.” His eyebrow quirked upwards before he bent down to press his nose against yours.

“Do you really want to play this game?” He whispered softly, causing you to shudder. “You know I always win.”

Turning your head to the right, you let out a small chuckle.

“Oh really?” You retorted, “Prove it.”

This sent him into a borderline frenzy as he started planting kisses down the side of your neck. You threw your arms around his neck, a smile on your face. Sometimes it was just too easy to manipulate him.

As he was about to leave a mark, a sharp movement stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, snapping out of his trance. You were both confused when there was another movement, although not as sharp as the first.

The two of you looked down at your rounded stomach, and your husband removed his hand. The baby’s kicks continued nearly every minute, while you both just watched, not moving a muscle. Then, your husband lifted himself up off of you, moving to sit on the bed beside you. You sat up and, taking one of his hands, gently laid it on your stomach. Your husband carefully wrapped an arm around you, now acting as if you were made of glass.

“They’re so active. Do you think,” he paused, then in a whisper, asked, “Do you think I hurt them?” 

“No… I think they’re just making themselves known,” you kissed him on the cheek. 

Both of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, only to soon realize that you were now running late for your appointment.

“Is there any chance I can still get those business cards?” You pleaded. 

Your husband chuckled, “Absolutely not. In fact, I’ll accompany you.” 

“I thought we weren’t allowed to be seen together in public?” You furrowed your eyebrows. 

He let go of you and turned to open his briefcase at the foot of the bed. Pulling out some files, he nodded, “There’s quite a few prospective players residing at that hospital. You attend your appointment, I’ll recruit more players.” He flashed his signature smirk, putting the files back in his briefcase.

“Wow, I thought you wanted to come to my appointment with me!” You laughed, giving him a light shove.

Your husband gave you a knowing look, “I can’t do that. But I expect a copy of the sonogram.” He stood up, holding out a hand for you to take.

“What a gentleman.” You took his offer and stood up.

Placing a hand on your husband’s chest, you teased, “Try to take it easy at the hospital, hm? Most of the prospects there are already on the verge of cracking. We don’t want to break them before the Games – it wouldn’t make for a good show.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist, your husband pouted, “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Giving them a tiny sliver of hope, only to eventually rip it away…” You looked him straight in the eyes. “The suspense is so thrilling, don’t you think?”

“And here I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for the job,” he chuckled. He checked his watch, noting the time.

“We should get going – it’s rude to be late.” 

a/n: by the way, i don’t think i have it in me to write full-on smut, the most i can probably do is a bit of lime lol

tags: @preppyfella

[yourmidnightlover]

forever?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

summary: after being forced into a marriage you didn’t want, you become very cautious of your new husband out of fear of what he’s capable of when one of his employees makes a move at a dinner meeting.

warnings: anxious reader, threat of domestic violence (reader is just worried abt it), groping, please let me know if i missed something or need to add anything!

a/n: reader is very timid in this. i know a lot of people like a reader who doesn’t take shit and stands up for herself, but i often find myself in situations where i just shut down and don’t know how to respond… so this is kinda inspired by that feeling

pt 2 -> control

two months out of forever.

two months of what seemed like wedded bliss from the outside.

in reality, that “bliss” included sleeping in separate rooms, never even seeing each other unless necessary to make appearances for either of your parents. 

the ones who arranged for this to happen in the first place. 

you were just glad you were able to have your time for yourself. you thought you would use the time to continue writing for your book, but you’ve hit a serious case of writers block. so lovely. 

on the bright side, he wasn’t as controlling as your few friends had made it seem he would be. 

they had painted this picture of a monster in your head. a man who would loom over your presence during every waking second. a man who was controlling and wouldn’t let you have a personal life or secrets.

so far, he’s been the opposite. 

for some reason, that still leaves you unsteady. 

because they also painted him in a very violent, angry, red light. 

but maybe he had a mistress. if that were the case, he truly didn’t respect you or your family. it didn’t seem like bucky to do that, though. he wouldn’t ruin a business deal that benefitted him so much. 

the reason you married him was because your father’s finance business was going under, drowned in debts while the only options were to sell to the barnes’ or the rumlow’s. the barnes’ seemed the lesser of two evils.

the only way to smoothly transition your father’s business to be under the barnes’ control without raising any question of your father’s capability was to marry. if any questions were asked about why your father sold his company, the not so good side of the finance industry would trample after your entire family. the barnes’ would get a new company and their many clients, while your family wouldn’t become entirely blacklisted by the entire country, would be putting your family under the barnes’ protection, and there would be less questions asked as to why the company had been merged.

you had a few months of “leaking” images of you and bucky together into the tabloids to prepare the public for the news of such a big marriage. some were photos of you and bucky holding hands while walking. a couple of you at a restaurant smiling. a few staged kissing photos… those may or may not have been your favorite.

those times spent with him, in all honesty, weren’t bad at all. going for walks together at sunset, dinner dates, feeling his lips against yours…

you had gotten to know more about his childhood that the tabloids didn’t feel was important to cover. his favorite subject in school and how he actually lost his arm so many years ago. you learned each others’ fears and worries in life. your favorite thing to learn about him, however, was what he truly wanted in life. 

peace.

a couple weeks after the wedding, a few photos of the reception were once again “leaked” in order to sell the “too in love to wait” bit that everyone had started assuming upon seeing the first few photos of you and bucky together. 

but all of your history with him flew to the back of your mind as bucky knocked on your office door. 

“come in,” you replied hesitantly, not sure what he wanted from you for the first time since your wedding. he stepped through the threshold and stood at the doorframe. 

“there’s a work meeting tomorrow,” his hand remained on the doorknob, so stiff you’d think he might rip it off the precious white wood in seconds. “the men are meeting at the house. i wanted to let you know. the men in this business, they expect marriages to be of the… traditional values.”

you nodded with understanding, turning to face him with a forced grin. “so i should play the part of the doting housewife, huh?” no smile in return, so you bit back your humor in turn for matching his serious tone. “what food should i prepare, then? and uh, how many guests will we be expecting?”

“whatever’s easiest for you,” he shrugged lightly. “there will be 9 of us there.” with one final look in your direction, he left the office and didn’t return to say goodnight. 

-

the next morning you got to work setting the house up for the 6pm meeting your loving husband was hosting. 

you had decided to set up a buffet-style table outside of the main dining room where the meeting would take place. for the menu, you settled on simple grilled chicken with quite a few side options. roast potatoes, asparagus, sauteed carrots, green beans, and rolls. 

you were putting the rolls in the oven when bucky got home, seemingly entranced by the smell of all the food, heading straight to the kitchen.

“it smells amazing in here,” bucky called from the archway of the kitchen. you jumped slightly from the surprise, but swallowed down the shock and another weak smile. 

“thanks,” you nodded to the edge of the island where a large chalkboard sat, your handwriting neatly displayed on the board that listed all the food to be had. “the menu. i figured a variety would be nice, and who doesn’t like chicken, right?”

“vegetarians,” if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was telling a joke. but you knew better than that. “the men are coming in a little less than an hour. do you maybe want to change before they get here?”

you looked down at what you were wearing, a pair of blue jeans and a loose t-shirt clearly not worthy of someone who had married a barnes man. “right, of course. i’m sorry,” you finished setting the timer on the oven and ran upstairs to get yourself put together before bucky saw the tears trying to seep past your waterline. 

you settled on a black cocktail dress you had worn to one of your dad’s company events before the downfall… quickly swiping some makeup on to cover the exhaustion in your eyes and pulling your hair up to a more respectable updo rather than your typical messy bun. 

luckily you had become an expert at quickly getting ready from your time in university, as you were back in time to pull the rolls from the oven, but not before pulling on your apron. you’d be dammed if you got this stunning dress dirty right before this prestigious meeting. 

t-5 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin and you could already hear lots of rustling from the formal dining room. you knocked on the closed doors before bucky opened the door for you. 

the men went silent as their gaze rested on you in the doorway. 

“the foods ready. buffet style?” your eyes didn’t leave bucky’s pretty blues, too scared to do anything wrong in front of his men. 

“that’s perfect, my love,” his hands gravitated to your waist before pulling your body taut against his, one hand moving a stray hair behind your ear before leaning in to whisper. “you look ravishing…”

as he pulled back, you were sure your blush was evident across your cheeks. you tried to hide it behind a smile, shrugging with a shy ‘thanks’ leaving your lips. 

“what do you say to my stunning wife, boys?” his hand squeezed your waist once more before turning to the other men, ‘thank you’s being echoed throughout the room as they stood and made their way to the kitchen to make their plates. 

in a matter of minutes, all the food was gone. you figured it was best they liked the food, even if you didn’t get to try any of it yourself like you had planned. 

you got started on cleaning everything up with earbuds in your ears, starting with the dishes already in the sink from when you were cooking. then, you were sure to place the dishes that the food was in inside the sink for you to clean before starting on wiping the counters, then sweeping, then mopping, and then back to the dishes. 

you didn’t realize that bucky had called for a break in the meeting, however. you were in for quite the rude awakening when you felt a pair of hands on your waist, but not the ones you were semi-familiar with. 

you turned around with a gasp, shock evident on your face as you tried to piece together whoever this man was. blond hair, blue eyes… definitely not steve though. you knew steve well and had seen him often. 

you pulled your earbuds from your ears in attempt to better understand what was going on. his hands were still gripping your sides, but you couldn’t necessarily escape his touch. you were backed against the sink. even if you could fight him, you’d likely lose to his strong grip. 

“is the meeting-is it over already?” your voice was so much more cowardly than you’d ever expected yourself to be. 

“no, no,” he shook his head. “just a little break, some of the guys were getting antsy.” you leaned back further, trying to create some semblance of space between you. “i figured i’d say a special thank you, on behalf of all of us guys in there.” he let one hand cup the side of your face and neck, his other hand trailing down from your waist, firmly grasping your ass with a sqeeze before you jumped at the invasion.

“i don’t-i’ve got it…”

“john,” he smiled grossly, as if he could convince you to go to bed with him.

“no need for a thanks,” you tried to remind him. “i did this for bucky. for my husband.” your eyebrows rose, trying to emphasize that his boss was also your husband. 

“i’m sure he won’t mind you getting a little bit of extra special attention, don’t you?”

then, a growling voice cut through the fear running through your veins. 

“i think he might mind.”

you turned to face bucky with wide eyes before facing john, wishing the tears welling in your eyes would just go away. 

his hands slowly retracted, stepping back with a chuckle.

“sorry, sir,” he smiled before turning to face your husband. “she was just telling me how she wanted some extra attention, weren’t you, toots?” he tilted his head expectantly.

your mouth opened, nothing leaving in spite of your brain screaming at you. what would bucky do? would he take his side? would he believe you? would he hurt you? 

you’ve embarrassed him now… humiliated him in his own home. surely he’ll take action against you for this. 

your mind replayed stories your old friends had told you about him. how he would lash out at men that betrayed him. how he never took shit from anyone who showed him any disrespect. how he was the kind of man to shoot first and ask quesitons later.

and now, in a way, you’ve both betrayed and disrespected him. or at least, that’s what he’ll think. 

you didn’t even realize tears were flowing down your face until your sobs were interrupted. 

“enough!” you finally looked at bucky before his eyes softened for a second before walking closer to you. “go to the room.” he ordered sternly. 

“but the dish-”

“i’ll take care of it,” he interrupted gravely, “go. to. the. room.” 

“yes, sir,” you nodded and swiftly left the room entirely, collapsing against the door once you had shut it, sobs wracking your body. you held your knees against your chest before trying to regulate your breathing.

he won’t hurt you.

he has to protect his image.

you’ve embarrassed him.

you’re his wife.

you’re his business deal.

you’ve humiliated him.

he’ll hurt you.

you didn’t know how long it had been since the incident. 

your sobs had subsided. you had, at some point, moved to your bed. you were still rocking your body back and forth, trying to self sooth. 

and then there was a knock at the door. 

your body instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, although it wasn’t harsh in any manner, at least not one that you were expecting. 

he twisted the knob, slowly opening the door with slow movements. 

“i-i’m so sorry,” you began apologizing as soon as he stepped through the threshold into your room. “i swear-i swear i didn’t tell him that. i didn’t even realize he was there, i promise. i wouldn’t lie to you. i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry. please believe me.” your body was still rocking and you didn’t even notice he was as close to you as he was until you saw his hand moving by your head.

automatically, you assumed the absolute worst, your head ducking into your body like a fucking turtle, the meekest squeal leaving your lips mixed with a sob. your arms went over your head protectively, as if a bomb were about to go off.

“sweetheart,” his voice sounded so broken, so torn, so unexpectedly soft. 

you finally looked at him for the first time since he came in your room. his flesh hand was holding his metal one as if it were something that could kill. in ways, it was. 

“you-there’s no need to…” after looking at him for a second longer, you noticed that his eyes had tears that almost mirrored your own. “i would never, ever lay a hand on you. i’m so sorry for scaring you. i can’t…” he sighed. “i can’t believe i made you believe i’d ever hurt you.”

“i’m sorry,” you pleaded with him once again. 

“you have nothing to apologize for,” he hesitated to reach for your hands before settling on simply grabbing a spare pillow. “i came up here to apologize. for my tone earlier… i know john. he never knows his boundaries. i should’ve… you never should’ve been put in that situation. that’s my fault. that’s on me. and i will spend the rest of forever to make it up to you.” 

“you don’t have to-”

“no, my love,” he shook his head. “can i-can i hold your hands? please?” you, without hesitation, grabbed his hands yourself. “i need to make it up to you. you’re mine. you’re my wife. it’s my job to protect you, to keep you safe. and to have someone ruin that? to touch what’s mine in my own home? i’m so sorry.” he brought your hands to his lips, pressing at least ten kisses to each hand. he was so gentle and careful it was a good thing you knew better than to think it actually meant anything.

you were surprised, to say the least, at how tender he was being with you. 

how could you have ever thought he would hurt you? that he would raise his hand and swing? that he would cause you harm? he was here declaring that he would make up this incident for the rest of eternity when it wasn’t even his doing… 

“will you stay with me tonight?” his eyes lit up at the request.

“are you sure you want that?” he became a touch more reserved. “i don’t know if it’s a good idea since you were worried i would…” his voice trailed off.

“i’m sure,” you nodded before scooting over in the bed. 

sure, your marriage was arranged and didn’t stem from true love. you may not have talked outside of when absolutely necessary. you might have even been terrified of him at one point. 

but now, the thought of forever with bucky barnes didn’t seem half bad.