#i feel like I'm drowning under the weight of too much responsibility | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

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Hiii I have a request for you. Can I pls have a princess!reader x Max Verstappen. Something happened (maybe like too much royal duties) and she had to get away for a bit. And she ran across Max and they ended up hanging out together. And then he made her feel normal so she kept sneaking out to see him.

Maybe you can make it a little angsty with a HEA pls.

Ps, I love your writing! Can I be 🐴 anon?

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT1 | MV1

an: thank you for this request and yes of course you can be 🐴 anon! i'm having way too much fun writing this and i've yapped my buttocks off, i'm already at 14k words so i'm going to split this into a few parts and i hope you enjoy it! <3

wc: 6.4K

The Princess had spent the evening pretending everything was fine. She’d smiled through the formal dinner, nodded politely at endless conversations, and held herself with the grace expected of her. But as the night wore on, the weight of it all pressed down on her chest like a tight corset, squeezing the air from her lungs. Every curtsy, every forced laugh, had added another layer to the suffocation.

By the time the palace halls had grown quiet, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She needed to get out—away from the golden chandeliers, the careful whispers, and the constant eyes that watched her every move. It felt like she was drowning in expectations, and the only way to breathe was to leave, even if just for a few hours.

The stables were her refuge. She’d discovered that long ago, as a child, when the pressures of the court were less heavy but still present, lurking in the background. Now, as she slipped into the stables’ cool shadows, she felt her heartbeat slow just a little, her muscles loosening in the familiar surroundings. The smell of hay and horses grounded her, bringing her a small sense of peace.

She walked softly, the thick, polished soles of her boots barely making a sound against the stone floor. The horses stirred as she passed, their gentle snorts and soft whinnies acknowledging her presence but not alarmed. She stopped for a moment by her favourite, Orla, a chestnut mare who nudged her shoulder affectionately. She stroked the mare’s mane, whispering a quiet apology for not taking her out tonight. Orla would understand; this wasn’t a night for riding.

Moving to the back corner of the stable, she crouched down and brushed away the loose straw to reveal a wooden panel in the wall. With a soft grunt, she pried it loose, the way she had done so many times before. This was her secret—a gap that led to the fields beyond the palace grounds. Not even her personal guards knew about it. She had discovered it as a young girl, slipping through the hole in search of adventure when the confines of the palace walls grew too small.

Now, that same urge pulled her through the narrow opening, but it wasn’t adventure she sought—it was escape. The cold air hit her face as she emerged on the other side, the smell of grass and earth filling her lungs. For the first time all night, she felt like she could breathe.

The field stretched out in front of her, wide and dark under the night sky. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow on the tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. She pulled her hood over her head, hiding her most definitely recognisable hair, and stepped forward. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, the soft squelch of mud and grass a welcome contrast to the polished marble floors of the palace.

As she walked, the palace grew smaller behind her, its golden lights dimming until it was just a distant glow on the horizon. She paused for a moment, turning back to look at it—a fortress of expectations and responsibilities. It felt strange to see it from here, like it was part of someone else’s life. Someone who wasn’t her.

Turning away, she continued across the field, when she saw it. A karting track lay just beyond the hill, the faint hum of engines already audible in the distance. She had heard the sounds many times before while sneaking out but had never been, the laughter and cheers carried on the wind, but had never dared to go closer. Tonight, though, something was different. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the desire to feel something other than the heavy weight of duty. She wasn’t sure. But tonight, she would go. She would see what it was like to be just... normal.

The lights of the track grew brighter as she crested the hill. From here, she could see the racers whizzing by in small go-karts, their faces blurred by speed and excitement. A group of people stood by the sidelines, watching, some laughing, some leaning against the fence with drinks in hand. It was a world apart from hers, and yet it called to her.

She lingered at the edge of the track, keeping her hood pulled low as she observed. No one paid her any attention, and that in itself was a relief. She wasn’t a princess here. She was just another person, another face in the crowd. The knot in her chest loosened slightly, the familiar ache of expectation easing.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice someone approaching until a voice broke through the hum of engines.

“First time?”

Startled, she turned to see a man standing beside her, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He had a relaxed posture, his expression open and friendly, like talking to a stranger was the most natural thing in the world, but he too had a hoodie fully covering his face. His eyes were bright, but not with recognition. There was no flicker of surprise, no hint that he knew who she was. Just casual curiosity.

“Uh… yeah,” she replied, her voice hesitant. She tugged her hood a little lower, instinctively trying to hide.

The guy turned around and she could see his face properly, he was gorgeous as he smiled at her, a lopsided grin that was both easygoing and warm. “It’s fun,” he said, nodding towards the track. “You should try it.”

“I’m not really dressed for it,” She said, glancing down at her boots. They were sturdy but far from practical for something like this.

He shrugged, still smiling. “Doesn’t matter. Half the people out there don’t know what they’re doing either. It’s just for fun.” He paused, then added, “I’m Max, by the way.”

His name hung in the air for a moment, simple and unassuming. He didn’t ask for hers, didn’t press. It felt strange—refreshing, even. No titles, no formalities. Just... Max.

She hesitated, glancing at the track. The racers zoomed by, their shouts of excitement echoing in the cool night air. For a moment, she could almost imagine what it would feel like—no duties, no one watching, just speed and laughter. It was tempting. More tempting than she wanted to admit.

“I don’t know...” she started, but her words trailed off as Max leaned casually against the fence beside her, his posture easy and unbothered.

“No pressure,” he said, with a shrug that was so natural it almost made her laugh. “You can just watch if you want. But trust me, once you try it, you won’t want to stop.”

She looked at him, studying the relaxed set of his shoulders, the comfortable way he seemed to fit into this world. He didn’t have that tight, rigid way of standing that she saw in the palace—where everyone was always conscious of how they looked, of what others thought of them. Max was... easy. Uncomplicated.

It was such a stark contrast to the world she’d just left behind.

“Is it always like this?” she asked, her voice softer now, more curious than hesitant.

Max turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Just... fun.” She felt a little silly asking, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Depends on who you ask. Some people get real competitive out here, but for most of us? Yeah, it’s just a way to blow off steam. No big deal.” He glanced at her, a hint of curiosity in his eyes now, though still no recognition. “You from around here? Never seen you at the track before.”

Her heart skipped a beat. For a second, she almost blurted out the truth, but the words caught in her throat. No, I’m not from here felt too close to I’m the princess of this country, and she wasn’t ready to give up her anonymity yet. Not here. Not when it felt so good to be invisible.

“I don’t get out much,” she said, keeping her answer vague. It wasn’t technically a lie.

“Figured,” Max said with a teasing grin. “You’ve got that ‘I’m-too-good-for-this-place’ look about you.”

She blinked, then laughed, the sound surprising even to her. It wasn’t the forced, polite laughter she had perfected for royal gatherings. This was real—spontaneous, like the feeling of breaking the surface after holding your breath for too long.

Max grinned wider at her reaction. “See? Already starting to loosen up.”

She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop smiling. She liked this—liked how easy it was to talk to him, how he had no idea who she was and didn’t seem to care. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could just... be.

“I guess I could give it a try,” she said after a moment, surprising herself with her own words.

Max’s eyes lit up. “That’s the spirit! Come on, I’ll show you how it works.”

He led her towards the pit area, where a few go-karts sat idle, waiting for the next round. Her pulse quickened as they approached. The karts looked small, but the thought of actually getting in one and racing felt exhilarating—and a little terrifying. She had never done anything like this before. Her life was too controlled, too polished. But here, surrounded by the hum of engines and the laughter of people who didn’t care about titles or status, it was easy to forget all that.

Max handed her a helmet. “Here, put this on. And don’t worry—everyone’s a little nervous their first time. Once you get going, it’s a blast.”

She took the helmet, her fingers brushing against the cool surface. For a moment, she hesitated, the weight of her real life lingering at the back of her mind. But then she thought of the palace, of the endless duties and expectations that would be waiting for her when she returned. Tonight, she didn’t want to be a Princess. She wanted to be someone else. Even if it was just for a little while.

Slipping the helmet on, she pulled the strap tight and climbed into the kart. It felt strange, sitting so low to the ground, the engine rumbling beneath her like a living thing. Max knelt beside her, adjusting a few straps and showing her the pedals. His voice was calm, instructive, and for the first time in a long while, someone was teaching her something without being stiff or overly formal. She liked it.

“Alright,” Max said, standing up and giving her a thumbs up. “You’re all set. Just take it easy on the first lap—get used to the feel of it. After that, let loose.”

She nodded, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Her heart pounded in her chest as the flag waved and the others sped off, leaving her sitting still for a beat longer. But then she pressed down on the gas pedal, and the kart jerked forward, the wind rushing past her face.

At first, she was cautious, her fingers gripping the wheel tightly as the kart bumped along the track. But as she rounded the first corner and the engine roared, a spark lit inside her. The fear melted away, replaced by a thrill she hadn’t expected. The sensation of speed, of being in control of something that moved so fast—it was intoxicating.

She leaned into the next turn, feeling the kart glide smoothly along the curve, the tension in her shoulders easing. The wind whipped against her face, but she didn’t care. She laughed—loud and unrestrained, the sound swallowed by the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so free, so... alive.

Max was right. Once you started, it was hard to stop.

When she finally pulled back into the pit area, her heart was still racing, her breath coming in quick bursts. Max was waiting for her, his grin wide and approving.

“Well?” he asked, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the fence. “Not bad for a first-timer.”

She took off her helmet, her hair wild and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t care. “That was... amazing,” she admitted, unable to stop smiling.

“See?” Max said, laughing. “Told you.”

For a moment, standing there with the wind still rushing through her hair and her body buzzing from the ride, she forgot who she was. She wasn’t the princess here. She wasn’t responsible for the weight of an entire country. She was just a girl, laughing at a racetrack with a guy who didn’t know her, and it felt... perfect.

She leaned against the kart for a moment, still catching her breath. Her pulse was racing, and not just from the speed. She couldn’t shake the pure, unfiltered exhilaration that had coursed through her veins. The feeling of freedom, of shedding the weight of expectations, even if only for a short time, was unlike anything she had felt in years.

Max was watching her with a casual smile, clearly amused by the joy lighting up her face. She caught her breath, realising how utterly at ease he seemed, as though this was his world and everyone else was just passing through it.

“Not bad, right?” he said, his voice still warm and relaxed.

“Not bad?” she laughed softly, shaking her head. “That was... incredible. I didn’t know something so simple could feel that good.”

“Simple?” Max grinned, looking genuinely entertained. “You’ve never been karting before, huh?”

She shook her head, wiping a loose strand of hair from her face. “No. Never.”

He leaned closer, his expression still friendly but with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “You really don’t get out much, do you?”

The question was casual, but it hit closer to home than she cared to admit. She shrugged it off, pulling her hood back over her head, as though it would somehow shield her from further questions.

“I guess not,” she said, her voice softer now.

Max nodded, seeming to accept that without prying. “Well, if you liked that, you’d probably love a real race. You ever watch Formula One?”

The mention of Formula One caught her off guard, and she shook her head. “No... not really my thing.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “Really? You don’t even know any of the drivers?”

She could only smile awkwardly, realising that she had no idea how big of a deal Formula One was, let alone the names involved in it. “Nope. Can’t say I do.”

Max let out a soft laugh, as though the idea of someone not knowing about Formula One was a little unbelievable, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he smiled again, more to himself this time, and shrugged. “That’s refreshing, actually. You’re not missing much, anyway,” he added with a wink, making it sound like an inside joke she didn’t quite understand.

Just as she was about to respond, the faint chime of a clock echoed in the distance. It was so far away, nearly drowned out by the hum of engines, but it pierced through her, pulling her back to reality. She froze for a moment, the fun of the evening abruptly replaced by the realisation of what time it was.

“Oh no,” she muttered, standing up straight and glancing toward the palace grounds, hidden behind the field and trees.

“What?” Max asked, his brow furrowed.

She gave him a tight smile. “I should probably go. It’s... getting late.” She didn’t want to leave. Not yet. But she knew she had to.

Max studied her for a moment, his playful grin fading into something softer. “You sure? I can walk you back if you want.”

The offer was kind, but the last thing she needed was Max seeing the palace guards and connecting the dots. She could only imagine how complicated things would get if he found out who she really was. She shook her head quickly, hoping her refusal didn’t seem rude.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Really.”

Max didn’t press, though something in his eyes told her he was still curious. “Alright,” he said with a small nod. “But hey, I’m gonna be in town for the next two weeks, so if you feel like sneaking out again, I’ll be here. Same time, same place.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. The idea of doing this again—of stepping back into this world where no one knew her, where she could just be—was more tempting than it should have been. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice soft but genuine.

She turned to leave, feeling the cool night air brush against her skin, but something made her glance back. Max was watching her, leaning casually against the kart with that easy smile, as though none of this was out of the ordinary. It was strange how comfortable she felt with him—a stranger—and how much she didn’t want to go.

“See you around, stranger,” Max called after her, his tone playful but sincere.

She gave him one last wave before heading back across the field, the lights of the track slowly fading behind her. The palace loomed ahead, a reminder of everything she had to return to—her responsibilities, her duties, her carefully controlled life. But even as she slipped through the hidden passage in the stables, the thrill of the night lingered, like a secret she carried with her.

Once inside the palace walls, she moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. Her heart was still racing, but now it was from the fear of getting caught. She slipped back into her room unnoticed, quietly closing the heavy door behind her. For a moment, she stood there in the silence, the warmth and grandeur of her surroundings feeling strangely suffocating after the openness of the track.

Kicking off her boots, she padded to the window, pulling aside the heavy velvet curtain to look out over the darkened palace grounds. The karting track wasn’t visible from here, but she could still imagine it, hear the hum of the engines, and feel the wind on her face. She hadn’t felt so alive in years.

As she changed into her pyjamas and prepared for bed, her mind kept drifting back to Max. The way he had spoken to her so easily, without hesitation, without any of the reverence or caution people usually showed her. It felt like they were equals. No expectations, no carefully chosen words. He had no idea who she was. And she hadn’t known him, either.

The following evening, she sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. Her hair was pinned perfectly, her skin glowing under the soft light of the chandelier. But all she could think about was the wind in her hair, the roar of engines, and the unfamiliar freedom she had tasted the night before.

She was expected at dinner in an hour, a formal affair with visiting dignitaries—yet another night of forced smiles, stifling conversations, and the suffocating weight of being a Princess. The thought of sitting through it made her chest tighten with the same anxiety she’d felt the previous night. She couldn’t do it, not tonight.

Her heart raced as she made her decision. She needed to feel that freedom again.

Standing up, she walked toward her door and opened it just enough to see the palace corridors beyond. Quiet. Perfect. She padded down the hallway to her parents’ private chamber and knocked softly.

Her mother’s voice answered from inside, “Come in.”

She entered, finding her mother seated at a desk, reviewing documents. The Queen looked up with a warm but distracted smile.

“Hello darling. Ready for dinner?”

She hesitated for just a second, but her face betrayed nothing. “Actually, Mother,” she said softly, “I’m not feeling well. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Concern flickered across her mother’s features. “Oh no, my dear. Is it serious? Should I send for the royal physician?”

She quickly shook her head, her heart pounding as she forced a smile. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I think I just need to rest. A quiet evening in my room should help.” She tried to sound as casual as possible, hoping her mother wouldn’t press further.

The Queen studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Take care of yourself, darling. You can join us tomorrow.”

“I will,” she promised, relieved that it had been so easy. She gave her mother a small smile before excusing herself from the room, and the moment the door was closed, her heart began to race for an entirely different reason.

She wasn’t going to her room. She was going back to the track.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she was once again slipping through the hidden gap in the stable wall, her pulse quickening with every step she took away from the palace. The familiar field stretched out before her, bathed in moonlight, and the sound of distant engines filled the air as she drew closer to the track.

A thrill surged through her. She hadn’t felt this kind of anticipation in so long—years, maybe. As she crested the hill, the track came into view, the floodlights illuminating the karts zooming around the circuit. Laughter and shouts echoed in the night, and there, standing by the fence again, was Max.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but something about the sight of him—so at ease, so comfortable in this world—made her heart race. For a moment, she stood still, wondering if this was a terrible idea. But then Max turned his head and spotted her. His face lit up immediately, and before she could second-guess herself, he was walking toward her.

“You came back,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of surprise.

Before she could respond, Max pulled her into a quick, unexpected hug. It caught her off guard, but the gesture was so natural, so friendly, that she relaxed into it. It wasn’t formal or calculated like the stiff embraces she was used to. It was warm, real, and surprisingly grounding.

“I’m glad you came,” Max said as he pulled back, his smile still wide. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

She smiled, a little breathless from his easy affection. “I wasn’t sure either,” she admitted, though a part of her had known she would return the moment she’d left the night before.

Max gave a playful shake of his head, as if amused by her uncertainty. “Well, you’re here now, so I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?” She blinked, confused.

Without a word, Max walked over to a nearby bench where his gear was piled, rummaging through the bag until he pulled out a sleek black helmet. It gleamed under the track lights, the design simple but stylish. He turned and handed it to her, a grin tugging at his lips.

“For next time,” he said. “Consider it a welcome-back gift.”

She stared at the helmet, her fingers brushing over its surface. It felt substantial in her hands, the weight of it unexpected. “This is... for me?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, his expression softening. “I thought you might like your own, since it seems like you’re gonna be coming back more often.” He paused, glancing at her. “Unless you’re planning to disappear?”

She felt warmth rise in her chest. The idea that Max had thought about her after last night—enough to get her a gift—was strangely touching. She didn’t know what to say at first, only that her heart was doing a strange, excited dance in her chest.

“No disappearing,” she said with a small smile. “At least, not yet.”

Max’s grin widened. “Good. Because I think you’re a natural at this. You belong out here.”

The words struck something deep inside her. Belong. She wasn’t sure where she belonged anymore, but for the first time, standing here with Max, holding a helmet meant just for her, she felt a flicker of that feeling—like maybe she did belong somewhere outside the palace walls.

She turned the helmet over in her hands, then looked up at him. “Thank you. Really.”

Max shrugged, the gesture so casual it made her smile. “It’s just a helmet. But hey, now you’ll have no excuse to not race me next time.”

The princess laughed softly, shaking her head. “I think you’d have a pretty big advantage.”

Max winked. “Maybe. But who knows, you might surprise me.”

They stood there for a moment, the sound of engines and laughter filling the space between them. She clutched the helmet a little tighter, feeling the pull to stay here with him, to keep being this version of herself. But she knew she couldn’t stay long—not tonight. There would be questions if anyone realised she hadn’t been in her room all evening.

She stared at the helmet in her hands, her fingers tracing the smooth curve of the visor. Something about the gesture—Max giving her something that was entirely hers, something from this world—made her feel bolder than before. Maybe it was the way he had smiled at her, or the fact that she didn’t have to be anyone other than herself around him. Whatever it was, a playful spark ignited inside her.

She looked up at Max, who was watching her with that easy grin, clearly amused by the way she was studying the helmet. Without thinking too much about it, she raised her chin and asked, “How about that race, then?”

Max blinked, surprised, then his grin widened. “You serious?”

She shrugged, her smile growing. “Why not? You said I’m a natural, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean that natural,” he said, laughing softly. “You sure you’re ready to take me on?”

The challenge in his voice only fueled her. She had tasted the thrill of the track last night, and now, with the helmet in her hands, the idea of racing Max—even if she was far from a professional—was too tempting to resist.

“I’m sure,” she said firmly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Unless you’re scared you’ll lose.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, princess,” he teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue in a playful, light-hearted way that made her grin. He didn’t know how close to the truth that was. And while it would usually make her panic, it was clear he didn’t know who she was. “Let’s do it.”

She felt a rush of adrenaline as she followed him over to the karts. Max helped her adjust the helmet and get settled in the driver’s seat. The moment she gripped the steering wheel, that same electric thrill from last night returned, only now, it was heightened by the fact that she was about to race him.

Max hopped into his kart, giving her a wink from across the track. “Alright,” he called, his voice muffled by his own helmet, “just remember, it’s all about control, not speed. Don’t push it too hard.”

She nodded, her heart pounding as the engines roared to life around them. The buzz of excitement in the air was contagious, and she found herself gripping the wheel tighter, anticipation humming through her veins.

“Ready?” Max shouted over the noise.

“Ready!” she called back, her voice filled with a mix of nerves and excitement.

With a sharp rev of the engine, they were off.

The first few moments were a blur of motion and sound. She felt the kart lurch forward, the wind whipping against her as she sped down the track. Her nerves spiked, but she quickly remembered Max’s words—control, not speed. She focused on keeping steady, her hands firm on the wheel as she navigated the turns.

Max was ahead, of course, but she could see him glancing over his shoulder, slowing down just enough to let her keep pace. She knew he was going easy on her, but she didn’t mind. The thrill of racing him—of racing anyone—was more than enough to make her feel like she was flying.

The world around her blurred into a mix of bright lights and the roar of engines. For the second time in her life, she wasn’t thinking about the palace, her duties, or the expectations that constantly weighed her down. It was just her, the kart, the track, and the rush of adrenaline surging through her veins.

Max pulled ahead slightly as they rounded a sharp corner, but she was right behind him, her competitive spirit kicking in. She leaned into the turn, feeling the kart respond beneath her, and for a brief moment, she let herself push just a little harder.

She caught up with him, and when he looked back, his eyes met hers through their visors. There was a flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or pride. He grinned, then slowed again, letting her pass him just before they hit the final straightaway.

She laughed, the sound muffled by her helmet but still filled with pure, unfiltered joy. She knew he was letting her win, but the thrill of it was real, and she couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride as she crossed the makeshift finish line.

She slowed to a stop, pulling off the steering wheel as she’d seen Max do, her laughter bubbled over. Max pulled up beside her, his own helmet off, his face lit up with a grin.

“Well, look at you,” he said, hopping out of his kart and walking over to her. “You actually made me work for it.”

She climbed out, still catching her breath, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “You’re lying. You let me win.”

Max shrugged, clearly not about to deny it. “Maybe I did,” he said, smirking. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you were pretty good out there.”

She beamed at the compliment, still riding the high of the race. “That was amazing. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

Max leaned back against the fence, watching her with an easy smile. “Yeah, it’s a rush. You looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“I was,” she admitted, her voice softer now. She hadn’t felt this free, this alive, in... well, she couldn’t even remember. “I really was.”

Max’s expression shifted slightly, his eyes studying her for a moment, as if he could sense there was more beneath her words. But he didn’t push. Instead, he smiled and got close to her, pulling up her visor so he could see her eyes better.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“We’ll see.” He winked, leaning back on the kart again, clearly in no rush to leave. “So, you coming back tomorrow?”

Her heart skipped at the idea. “Maybe,” she said, feeling the tug of responsibility from the palace, but also the undeniable pull to return here—to this track, to Max, and to the freedom she had only just started to discover.

“I’ll be here,” Max said, giving her that same playful smile as the night before. “Same time, same place.”

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “I’ll think about it.”

As they stood there, the night air cool against her skin, she felt something shift inside her. For the first time in a long time, she had something to look forward to—something that wasn’t bound by duty or expectation. She had this—this world, this track, this chance to be someone else, even if just for a little while.

And as she walked away, the helmet tucked under her arm, she knew she’d be back. How could she not?

Her pulse was still racing as she slipped through the gap in the stable wall, her heart light with the thrill of the night’s race. The cold night air stung her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. She hadn’t felt this alive in years—her mind still buzzing with the memory of the wind whipping past her as she sped around the track, Max’s teasing grin as he let her take the lead, and the helmet now tucked securely under her arm.

She quietly crossed the stable yard, the moon casting long shadows over the cobblestones. The palace was still, its lights dimmed, as if it, too, was resting from its heavy burdens. She let out a breath of relief, thinking she’d made it back undetected.

But as she rounded the last corner towards the servant’s door leading into the palace, a figure stepped out of the shadows.

She froze, her heart plummeting to her stomach.

“Princess,” came a low voice, steady and unmistakable.

Her personal guard, Lukas, stood there with his arms crossed, his expression stern but not angry. The tall man’s silhouette was familiar—broad-shouldered, dressed in his midnight-blue uniform, with the polished silver crest of the royal family gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He had been her personal protector for years, and though he had always been professional, there was a softer side to Lukas that she had come to trust.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing for an excuse. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone, much less Lukas. She opened her mouth to say something, but her words stuck in her throat.

Lukas stepped forward, his sharp gaze landing on the helmet tucked under her arm. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, she feared he might drag her straight to the King and Queen.

Instead, he sighed, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Out racing, were we?” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the disapproval in his tone.

She winced, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I just needed to get out for a while,” she admitted, her voice small, but she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at her lips. Even now, standing in front of Lukas, knowing she was about to get a lecture, she couldn’t help but feel a lingering joy from the night.

Lukas’s sharp eyes softened as he took in her expression—the light in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks. He sighed again, longer this time, and his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Your Highness,” he muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Then he looked back at her, his tone a little gentler. “You can’t keep sneaking out like this. It’s dangerous. If the King or Queen found out...”

She bit her lip, feeling the weight of his words, but the exhilaration of the night was still thrumming beneath her skin. “I know, Lukas,” she said softly, her smile faltering for the first time. “But... just for a little while, I needed to be something other than...” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence, but Lukas understood.

“Other than the princess,” he finished for her, his tone quieter now.

She nodded, her eyes dropping to the helmet in her arms. “I just... It felt so good. No one recognised me. No expectations. I was just... me.”

Lukas studied her for a long moment, his stern expression softening further. He had been by her side long enough to understand how heavy the crown weighed on her, even though she wasn’t Queen yet. He saw it in the way she carried herself, always poised, always controlled. But now, standing here in the moonlight, he saw something else—something he hadn’t seen in her for a long time. Happiness.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and this time it was more resigned. Without a word, he reached out and gently took the helmet from her arms. She watched, surprised, as Lukas examined it for a moment, running his thumb over the smooth surface. Then he looked up at her, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’ll cover for you tonight,” he said quietly. “If anyone asks, you’ve been in your room since before dinner. But,” he added, fixing her with a pointed look, “you absolutely cannot sneak out again. Not this week, not ever—not like this. It’s too risky. Do you understand?”

Her heart swelled with a mixture of relief and guilt. She had expected anger, a stern reprimand, maybe even being dragged straight to her parents. But Lukas’s understanding, his willingness to protect her, caught her off guard.

“I understand,” she said softly, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas. I— I’m sorry.”

Lukas’s expression softened even more, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’ve watched you grow up. I know what this life asks of you. But you need to be careful, princess. You can’t take these kinds of risks.”

She nodded, her throat tight. “I won’t. I promise.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them easing. Then Lukas glanced down at the helmet again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You’re getting into some interesting hobbies, Your Highness. Kart racing, huh?”

She grinned, a small laugh escaping her. “It’s... different,” she admitted. “But I love it.”

“I can see that,” Lukas said with a rare hint of amusement in his voice. “Just—if you’re going to be tearing around tracks at night, maybe let me know first. That way I won’t have to worry about losing you to some street racer.”

Her eyes widened, her heart skipping at the thought of Lukas discovering who she had been racing with. She quickly shook her head, laughing nervously. “No street racers,” she said. “Just... fun.”

Lukas gave her a knowing look, but he didn’t push. Instead, he held up the helmet and gestured toward the stable door. “Go on. Get inside before someone else spots you.”

She nodded, stepping past him, but before she could go, Lukas added, “I’ll keep this for now,” referring to the helmet in his hand. “Safer that way. I’ll give it back to you when it’s... less suspicious.”

She smiled, grateful. “Thank you, Lukas.”

Lukas just gave a small nod, watching as she slipped through the door into the palace, her heart still pounding with the remnants of the night’s excitement.

As she quietly made her way back to her room, she couldn’t help but smile. She had managed to keep her secret—thanks to Lukas—and despite the risks, she didn’t regret a moment of it. The track, Max, the rush of the race—it was all worth it.

But she knew Lukas was right. She couldn’t keep sneaking out like this. Not without being more careful. Yet even as she crawled into bed, the memory of the night’s freedom stayed with her, lingering like the glow of the moon outside her window.And as her eyes drifted closed, a small, rebellious thought crossed her mind: Maybe just one more race.

part two

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valkyriexo · 7 months ago

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‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Late night thoughts 001☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Chan, who one day steps in through the door, his usually vibrant and bubbly energy drained, replaced by a heavy weight on his shoulders. He offers a faint smile in greeting, but he doesn't quite meet your eyes, and you can sense something's off immediately.

Concerned, you abandon your cooking momentarily and approach him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Channie?" you ask softly, noting the tension in his posture. "Are you alright?"

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping as he leans into your touch. Tears shimmer in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he remains quiet, his emotions simmering beneath the surface.

The silence between you is heavy, with the tension building as the seconds go by.

Slowly, he meets your gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. You can see the thoughts raging within him, the struggle to keep his emotions in check, his body trembling.

"Baby," you whisper gently, your voice barely above a murmur, "Please, talk to me. Let me help you." You reach out to rub his hand soothingly, feeling the tension in his grip. Your fingers glide over his, tracing delicate patterns as you offer a comforting touch

"Please," he pleads quietly, so quietly you almost miss it. "Just... just hold me? I need you so much right now." His voice is raw with desperation, each word carrying the weight of his pain.

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, feeling the weight of his exhaustion and the burden of his responsibilities, pressing against you. Chan's shoulders shake as he finally succumbs to the torrent of emotions that have been building inside him. Tears stream down his cheeks in earnest now, his facade crumbling in the safety of your embrace. You hold him tighter, your own tears mingling with his as you whisper words of comfort into the quiet of the room. Your heart aches as Chan's tears soak into your shoulder, his anguish echoing in the hushed atmosphere.

"I-I can't," he stammers, his voice choked with tears, "I don't even know where to start. I feel like I'm drowning, and I can't... I can't breathe."

You stroke his back soothingly, trying to offer whatever comfort you can.

"I try to be strong, to keep it together," he continues, his words barely audible amidst his sobs, "but some days, it feels like too much. Like I'm suffocating under the weight of it all."

Your heart aches at his words, the pain etched in every line of his face.

"I didn't want to tell you," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, "because I didn't want to burden you. I'm supposed to be strong. I'm supposed to be..... to be the one people rely on."

You cup Chan's face in your hands, drawing his gaze to meet yours. "But who's there for you, Chan?" you press, your eyes searching his. "You need someone to rely on, too."

"I... I never thought about it," he replies, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I didn't want to admit I needed help."

His words hang heavy in the air.

"I'm scared," Chan finally admits, his voice raw, "scared to show weakness, scared to let people see me struggle."

You hold him even tighter, enveloping him in the warmth of your embrace.

"Showing your struggles doesn't make you weak. It makes you human Chan," You say rubbing circles on his back.

"And I love every part of you, even the vulnerable ones. You don't have to hide from me, Chan."

In the quiet of the room, you hold him close, and you can feel his tension gradually going away, his body relaxing against yours. With each passing moment, his rigid posture softens, his breaths steadying against the rhythm of your own.

In the silent embrace, he realizes: all he ever needed was you.

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pulisicsgirl · 1 year ago

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silence is deafening - mason mount

summary: after a fight with Mason digs up memories she'd rather forget, Y/N is left to deal with trauma from her past and decide if she will let Mason in

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 5.1k

warnings/tags: angst, hurt/comfort, couple fight, !! in-depth description of childhood trauma !!, lack of communication, supportive Mase, everything will eventually be okay-- you all know I can't write a sad ending, not proofread (I'm so sorry)

requested: yes!! here

notes: back with another request!!! This one has been sitting in my inbox for a LONG time!! I've had the draft halfway written for SO long, but couldn't decide how to finish it until I was struck with a bit of inspiration earlier this week! I hope you all enjoy it!!

You rested your elbow on the counter, forehead placed in the palm of your hand as you used the other to scroll and click through the numerous emails in your inbox. You had a big deadline coming up for your work, and it seemed that the brunt of the responsibility for it had fallen unexpectedly on your shoulders. As a result, your coworkers were coming to you with all of their questions, new emails popping up in your inbox every hour. So here you were, sitting at the bar in the kitchen, legs tucked under you as you continued to work even after arriving at home from a full day’s work.

Your boss had been on your case for a few weeks now for a reason unknown to you, which put you on edge each day that you went into work, nervous to step a toe out of line and be reprimanded, or worse, fired. You feared that this project could be the breaking point if it didn’t work out, which only added to your nervousness. You had never let a project like this fall apart before, but the anxious thoughts swirling around your mind convinced you that this would be the day that you failed.

You were just closing the browser to open a spreadsheet when you heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. You vaguely heard Mason call out into the house and the sound of his keys dropping into the bowl by the front door, too focused on your work to comprehend what he had actually said.

The nerves seemed to have settled in your chest like a heavy weight, pressing onto your diaphragm as your eyes flicked between the seemingly endless list of numbers and data on your screen. Your head was beginning to ache, and you imagined that this is what drowning would feel like.

You were pulled from your thoughts as two hands slipped around your waist as Mason pulled you tightly into his chest.

“How’s my baby?” Mason mumbled into your neck, pressing kisses to the skin there, and as much as you usually enjoyed being greeted this way, you were feeling overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

“ ’m okay,” you mumbled in reply, wiggling a bit to try to pull from his grasp, but Mason didn’t get the message, keeping your back pressed to his firm chest, continuing to place kisses on your neck and shoulders, his beard tickling your skin. “Mase, please…”

“What are you working on, sweetheart?” he mumbled softly, pressing his nose into your cheek.

“It’s just a thing for work. The deadline’s actually coming up pretty soon.” You tried prying his hands from your waist, beginning to feel suffocated, but Mason didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he ignored it. “So I really need to work on—”

“Come on, just give me five minutes,” he spun your chair toward him so he could see your face. Placing his hands on your cheeks, he began peppering kiss all over—your forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. “Haven’t seen you all day. I just wanna –”

“Mason please!” Something in you snapped and you pushed his hands away from you. “Why can’t you just leave me alone for two seconds! I’m trying to work! Can’t you see that?”

Mason stumbled back a couple of steps, caught off guard by your outburst. You never called him by his full name, and you certainly never shouted at him. A look of hurt washed over his face, the grin that had previously played on his lips falling into a frown, eyebrows drawn together, and you instantly regretted your words. You didn’t mean them, but you were overwhelmed and simply lost your cool.

“Mase, I’m sorry, I-“ You rose from your chair quickly to apologize to him, reaching a hand out toward him, but he was already halfway out of the kitchen by the time you could move in his direction. Your heart sank in your chest as you watched him round the corner, heading down the hallway.

You dropped yourself back into the chair, resting your head in your hands as your eyes began to sting with tears. If you thought you had felt miserable before, you had surely made it worse now. You cursed yourself for letting your stress get the better of you and letting your job come between you and Mason. The despair that you felt sat on your ribcage like a weight as a few tears slipped down your cheeks.

You decided maybe it was best to give Mason a bit of space before you tried to apologize. You knew you had hurt his feelings. He often expressed to you that he feared being too clingy or smothering the other person in his relationships, but you had always reassured him that you loved it, finding solace in his presence and his touch. Until today, when you had snapped at him for doing the very thing you told him brought you peace.

It truly wasn’t that you didn’t want him to touch you. In fact, in this moment, there was nothing you wanted more. You were feeling overwhelmed and had failed to communicate that.

With slightly puffy eyes you wiped the tear streaks from your cheeks, pulling your computer in front of you, determined to finish the work you had laid out for you so that you could spend the rest of your evening making it up to Mason. That proved difficult, though, with anxious thoughts about your relationship swirling around your head, now contributing to the anxiety you felt over your job.

You felt things getting progressively worse—your heart speeding up, the shaking in your hands getting more intense, and you were having trouble concentrating at all.

After about a half an hour, you heard Mason’s soft footsteps as his sock-clad feet padded down the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat, trying to quickly collect your thoughts so you could articulate to him just how sorry you were for what you had said and how you had acted.

But as Mason turned the corner into the kitchen, it was clear he hadn’t come to talk to you, not even sparing you a glance as he walked over to the fridge. Your voice caught on the lump in your throat, surprised by his cold demeanor.

“M-Mase?”

Your call to him was left unanswered as opened the refrigerator door, bending down to grab a bottle of water from the shelf. He uncapped the bottle, taking a drink from it as he walked back out of the room without a word.

Your lower lip wobbled, and you felt the tears welling up in your eyes. You closed your computer, knowing that you were going to get nothing more done, dropping your head to rest on your forearms on the countertop. You tried to muffle the sobs that shook your body, not wanting to guilt Mason into comforting you. You got yourself into this situation and would have to figure out how to deal with it.

It took another half hour for you to calm yourself, your crying finally ceasing. You took a few minutes, trying to make it appear as though you hadn’t spent the last 30 minutes crying in the kitchen before you decided to “pull up your big girl pants” and go find Mason.

You walked slowly and reluctantly down the hallway, first checking in your shared bedroom and finding both it and the ensuite bathroom empty. As you walked back into the hallway, you heard a noise coming from Mason’s gaming room and decided that must be where you’d find him.

You knocked softly on the door to alert him to your presence before you pushed the door open slowly. Mason was facing to your left, looking at the TV where he was playing FIFA, and only the side of his face was visible to you. Once again, he didn’t look toward you, focusing on his game without so much as a glance in your direction.

You took a couple of steps toward him, playing with your fingers in front of you as you moved to a position where you knew he could at least see you out of the corner of his eye.

“M-Mase? Can w-we talk?” Your voice was shaky as you spoke, but you took a deep breath, determined not to cry again. “Please?”

You waited, but there was no response. The clear shakiness of your voice earned a brief glance in your direction, but nothing more.

“Mason?”

Nothing.

All at once, a wave of emotions and painful memories hit you, the silent treatment from Mason taking you back to a time in your life that you had resolved to leave in your past.

Before you could stop it, a sob left your lips, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to silence it, rushing out of the room. You closed the door a little more harshly than you had intended to, soft cries leaving your lips as you raced down the hallway to find somewhere—anywhere—where you could get some fresh air and breathe for a moment.

Before you could even think, you had rushed to the front door, slipping on the trainers you had left there and grabbing your keys. You were out the door quickly, fighting back tears as you turned the keys in the ignition. You weren’t sure where you were even going to go, you just needed to find somewhere to be alone.

Almost as soon as you had left him alone in his gaming room, Mason knew something was really off. The two of you had fought before, but you had never reacted to it the way you had when you ran out of the room.

He had resolved to give you the cold shoulder, feeling hurt by the way you had pushed him away so harshly. But his concern for you outweighed his need to get you to apologize. He hadn’t been able to keep himself from glancing in your direction when your voice shook as you spoke. You had never sounded so afraid to address him, and that simple fact was eating away at him. He had soon after turned off the console, wandering out of his gaming room in search of you.

The house was eerily quiet as he moved through the hallway, checking in each room that he passed to see if you were there. When he entered the kitchen, noticing your computer lying closed on the countertop, he furrowed his brows. After not finding you anywhere else in the house, he had been sure you would be back in the kitchen, working on whatever it was that had you so stressed out.

Your shoes and keys missing from the walkway told him you had left, and he felt his heart sink a little. He had been hoping to find you and work this out quickly, hating the way he felt when there was distance between the two of you.

After debating whether to text or call to check on you, Mason settled on a quick text, afraid of suffocating you further. He wandered into the kitchen, aimlessly rummaging through the fridge and the cabinets as he waited for you to reply. He was restless, checking the screen of his phone every few seconds to see if a text from you had popped up, but nothing came through.

It wasn’t long before he threw caution to the wind, dialing your number without caring if you would be frustrated with him. The nerves caused by your brief argument and not knowing where you were was causing his worry to spike and he couldn’t keep himself from calling.

The line rang for several long moments before the automated voice began telling him you were unavailable.

He hung up, blowing air out in frustration and tossing his phone onto the counter before he plopped down in one of the chairs at the countertop. For a few moments, he just stared at the chair you had been sitting in when he had first arrived home—the place you had been sitting when you’d shouted at him.

His heart clenched in his chest at the recent memory. You had never reacted that way to him before, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. The negative thoughts began to swirl in his mind, feeling like a cloud of despair.

He felt small. He felt like he was overbearing. He worried that you had grown sick of him and simply didn’t want him around anymore.

As tears sprung to his eyes, Mason’s level-headed side began to prevail.

Yes, you had never reacted that way to him before, so that had to mean that something had triggered it.

Everything had been fine when he’d cuddled up to you in bed that morning, and he was equally as touchy and clingy as the two of you had gotten ready for the day, so something had to have changed between then and when he got home.

As he wracked his brain to remember what you had been saying before you’d snapped at him, he realized he couldn’t really recall what you’d told him. He hadn’t really been paying attention, he realized.

He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the countertop, as the shame washed over him. Perhaps this all could’ve been avoided if he’s just paid attention to what you had been trying to tell him.

With another sigh, Mason picked his phone up from where he had tossed it on the counter, dialing your number again.

And again, he was met with no response.

You hadn’t actually gone far on your drive, only making it about 10 minutes before you pulled off into a mostly empty parking lot, parked at the back where it was the most deserted, and broke down into sobs.

You felt silly for crying so much about receiving the cold shoulder from your boyfriend, but it had brought up so many memories and feelings you had done your best to repress.

The environment you had grown up in was… less than inviting. In your house, children were treated as more of a nuisance than a blessing. You were made to feel that unless you were bringing some sort of value to others, you didn’t deserve anything. Love was something that had to be earned, not something unconditional that was shared between a parent and child.

Silent treatment was something that your mother had often used to signal that she was upset with you. From a very young age, longer than you can remember, when she would begin to ignore you when you spoke to her or tugged at the hem of her shirt to get her attention, it meant you had to scramble to find a way to earn her love.

So, seeing Mason doing the very same had taken you right back to that time. You had once again felt like a young child, scrambling to prove that you deserved the love of another.

Of course, you realized that there was no way for Mason to know this would have bothered you the way it did. He knew that your relationship with your parents was now non-existent because of the circumstances of your upbringing, but he didn’t know the full extent of what they had put you through. You hadn’t gathered the strength to tell him all of those details yet.

So you had done the only thing you could think of to do in that moment, and you ran away—something you most certainly regretted now. But you didn’t want Mason to feel guilty for making you cry when you knew you had been in the wrong, so you sat in that empty parking lot for as long as it took you to calm yourself down.

You allowed yourself to sit there and feel miserable on your own for a while, but you knew you’d have to go back to face Mason soon. You knew he was probably worried, but you had turned your phone off after his first call came through. You felt even more guilty as a result, but you had been unable to deal with reassuring him of your safety at that moment.

It was dark outside by the time you walked back in the front door, closing it behind you quietly. You slipped your shoes off, placed your keys in the bowl, and hesitated a moment in the entry.

The soft jingle of your keys had alerted Mason to your presence, and he practically jumped up from his seat at the counter where he had remained the entire time, feeling miserable as he tried to call you nearly every 30 minutes.

Mere seconds passed before Mason darted quickly around the corner to find you standing there, still about 10 feet away from him.

His stomach sank to his feet at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. It was clear you had spent the entire time you were gone crying.

At the sight of him standing carefully at a distance, the feeling of guilt overwhelmed you, and tears sprung to your eyes.

“M-Mase, I’m so sorry, I-“ you stumbled over your words, the first tears spilling down your cheeks. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Mason was standing in front of you in an instant, cradling your face with his hands. His thumbs swiped over your cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You-“

“No,” you asserted, shaking your head as you held onto his forearms to steady yourself. “No, it’s not okay, please let me apologize.”

Mason’s heart squeezed as you gazed up at him with wide eyes, and he could tell you were trying to stop your lower lip from quivering, but to no avail.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and blowing the air out slowly through your mouth to try to gather yourself, wanting to be sure that you remembered every part of the apology that you had mentally composed on your way home.

“Mase, I’m so sorry for snapping at you,” you looked up at his face as you spoke, watching as he drew his brows together with a sad expression on his face. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did, and I shouldn’t have shouted. Work has been awful these last couple of weeks, and my boss has been giving me absolute hell. I think it all just built up.”

Mason nodded at you, and you could tell from his soft expression that he understood what you were saying.

You continued, “It’s not an excuse, I just want you to know that it wasn’t you that was bothering me. I just unfairly took my bad day out on you. I don’t feel like you’re too much—ever—I just… I needed a bit of space, and I should’ve just told you that.”

You could see his face physically relax as the relief washed over him, and you felt even more guilty knowing he had been sitting with those thoughts of self-doubt ever since you had left.

“I’m really sorry,” you finished with a whisper as Mason brushed his thumb softly over your bottom lip.

Without warning, Mason pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, making you feel completely enveloped by him—and the feeling was the greatest relief you could ever remember feeling. He buried his face in your neck, and you could feel a couple of warm tears against your skin.

The two of you stood there in the entryway, clinging onto each other like you’d vanish into thin air if you let go. Mason’s hot breath fanned against your neck, and you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of being so close to him.

“Thank you,” Mason whispered after a few moments. “Thank you for talking to me.”

You squeezed him in response.

“And I’m sorry for being so childish,” he pulled his face back, still holding you in his arms. “I shouldn’t have just ignored you like that. I should have told you how I was feeling, too.”

You brought your hand up to cradle his cheek, pressing a smile to your lips despite the your eyes still being wet with tears.

“It’s okay, Mase, you couldn’t…” you hesitated for a moment, struggling with the idea of opening that part of yourself up to him. But you knew it was a conversation that was well overdue, so you pushed out of your comfort zone. “You couldn’t have known that it would bother me so much.”

Mason remain quiet, turning his head to place a gentle kiss on the skin of your palm, sensing that you had more to say.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Um… so y-you know that my relationship with my parents really fell apart after I was able to move out, and… um…”

You hesitated, feeling frustrated with yourself for struggling to open yourself up. Here Mason stood—the perfect boyfriend, really. He had never judged you for any of your struggles or for anything from your past. He had been nothing but supportive and compassionate since you had first met him. Despite all of this, those nagging thoughts that you weren’t deserving of it all would persist no matter how hard you tried to push them away.

As Mason realized that this was becoming a conversation that would likely require a lot of time, he pulled away from you slightly, taking both of your hands in his as he led you to the living room. He sat down on the couch, opening his arms up to you so you could sit however you felt most comfortable, wanting to put your troubled mind at ease however he could.

Feeling a desperate need to remain close to him, you wound up placing yourself on Mason’s lap, facing him with your knees settled on either side of his hips. Your arm naturally found their place wrapped loosely around his neck, and he placed his hands on your hips, alternating between brushing his thumbs against your waist and rubbing his hands over your thighs.

You took a minute to compose yourself again, staring at the front of Mason’s t-shirt as you didn’t feel confident enough to look him in the eye. Mason remained quiet, continuing his gentle pattern over your legs as he allowed you to have that moment. He could tell that there was a lot weighing on you, even beyond the stress that your job had been causing you.

When you were able to gather your thoughts, you began speaking softly, and you told Mason everything.

You told him about your childhood and the nature of the relationships you’d had with your parents. You told him about the sudden changes in your mother’s disposition and how she would be happy one moment and hateful toward you the next. You explained your long history with the “silent treatment” and how you now realized that was a trigger for you. You were honest with him about the uncertainty that you felt about yourself and about your relationships as a result of this kind of upbringing.

“My mother, she… actually reached out to me last week,” you mumbled. By the time you had finished recounting your life story to Mason, you had cast your eyes down to your lap where you were playing with your fingers, unable to bring yourself to look at his face. “It’s the first time she’s done that since I left home years ago. I don’t really feel like I’m ready to reply to her yet, but I think it’s just dug up a lot of feeling and memories that I tried to bury for so long.”

Mason’s silence as you stopped speaking only made you more nervous. Hesitantly, you looked up to his face, but the pity you expected to find in his eyes was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, Mason had a look of pure admiration in his eyes.

“Please say something, Mase.”

He brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing your skin gently as he gave you a tearful smile.

“You’re so incredibly strong, Y/N.”

His reply took you by surprise, as, for seemingly the hundredth time that night, tears spring to your eyes.

“Really?” your voice shook as you spoke.

He nodded. “You went through all of that, and you’re still the kindest soul I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.”

You couldn’t stop the sob that left your lips as you fell forward into Mason, tucking yourself into his chest. His arms immediately were wrapped around your body, your shoulders shaking as you cried into his neck.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there. Your cries eventually diminished into soft sniffles as you remained with your face tucked into Mason’s neck. He slowly trailed his fingers over your back, rubbing soothing shapes and patterns, and after all of the crying and how emotionally drained you felt after reliving the trauma of your past, you felt like you could fall asleep right there.

When you had finally settled a bit more, Mason enveloped you in his arms again, squeezing you gently as he pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Thank you, Y/N,” his voice was no higher than a whisper. “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

Lacking the energy to reply in that moment, you shifted slightly so that you could place a kiss on his collarbone in a silent thanks for listening and understanding you on a level that no one else ever had.

You sat there for a while, allowing yourself to just relax into your boyfriend’s body as he held you. As you rested there, you knew that there was nowhere else in the world that you’d rather be.

Feeling your muscles soften and noticing that your eyes had slipped closed, Mason knew you would soon fall asleep and decided that the two of you should go on up to bed.

He shifted you off of his lap gently, trying to disturb your peace as little as possible. He stood, bending over to pick you up from the couch, and carried you bridal style toward the stairs and up into your shared bedroom.

He took you into the ensuite bathroom and placed you gently on the counter. After grabbing the skincare products he had observed you using over the many nights that you had spent together, he set out, following your nighttime regimen as closely as he could remember. He took a couple of cotton pads, dampening them with your cleanser and swiping them over your cheeks, forehead, and nose. He pumped a bit of the moisturizer on his fingers and gently rubbed it into your skin. Your eyes slipped closed, and his soft touch nearly lulled you back to sleep, sitting there on the countertop.

Mason only left you alone for a moment as you brushed your teeth and he wandered into the bedroom. You could hear him moving around but didn’t have the energy to find out what he was doing. Just as you had finished rinsing out your mouth in the sink, he reappeared behind you, having changed into a loose pair of joggers and discarding his shirt, sliding his arms around your waist as you stood up straight.

You relaxed back into Mason’s touch, pressing your back into his bare chest and letting your head fall back onto his shoulder.

For a moment you stood there, drinking each other in. Mason swayed you gently back and forth as he pressed his cheek to the side of your head, his body radiating warmth from behind you. With your eyes closed, you focused on the feeling of him pressed up against you, arms holding you securely as the gentle pace of his swaying calmed the remainder of the racing thoughts in your mind.

Even with your eyes closed, you could feel the tears springing to them as you thought of how thankful you were to have Mason in your life—how thankful you were that he was your person. You had always known that he was someone special, even from the first moment that you met him. But now, having explained to him the entirety of your childhood and all of the difficulties that came with it, you just felt that much close to him and that much more appreciative if who Mason was.

Kind, forgiving, understanding, gentle—you could have gone on for the rest of the night listing all of the characteristics that made Mason the most perfect man you’d even known.

You twisted in Mason’s hold, tucking your face into his neck so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling over once again. You folded your arms between your bodies as he held you close, allowing him to completely envelop you in his hold.

After another moment, Mason placed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Come on, love. Let’s get to bed.”

You nodded, shivering from the cold as he unwrapped his arms from you.

You followed him back into the bedroom, noticing that the sheets had been pulled back, the pillows arranged just how you liked them, and the shirt that Mason had previously been wearing just before was folded on your side of the bed. Your heart warmed at the small acts of service Mason had done for you.

After you’d undressed yourself, slipping Mason’s t-shirt over your head, you crawled into the bed and placed yourself right next to Mason, who was now clad in only his boxers. He pulled the sheets and the duvet up, tucking them over your bodies before he lay down and pulled you into his arms.

With Mason’s arm wrapped around your body, you lay with your head on his bare chest, listening to the soft and steady beating of his heart. It only took a few seconds of you laying there before Mason had slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt, trailing his fingers over your back and reveling in the feel of your skin against his. Your legs were tangled under the sheets as the two of you lay in silence, content to be completely wrapped up in one another.

The silence was only broken as you whispered into the night air a few moments later. “Thank you, Mase. For everything.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his chest.

“Anything for you, my love,” he replied softly, squeezing your shoulders. “Anything at all.”

tag list: @landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

Feedback is always appreciated!!!

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fic #footballer fic #footballer imagine #mason mount fluff #mason mount angst #mason mount fanfic #mason mount one shot #mason mount blurb

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bloodiedrogue · 10 months ago

Text

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells.

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes.

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight.

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.”

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.”

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff.

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.”

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over.

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.”

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.”

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful.

“You an adventurer?”

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own.

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff.

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.”

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off.

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip.

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof.

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.”

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye.

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in.

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t.

“Course.”

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks.

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance.

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.”

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again.

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat.

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back.

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.”

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.”

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips.

“And you’re too smug.”

“Well, that’s because I have to be.”

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.”

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier.

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again.

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of—

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning.

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.”

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming.

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?”

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal.

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face.

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?”

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.”

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour.

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter.

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips.

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair.

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure.

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time.

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone).

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again.

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone.

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it.

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

#thanks lass!#rugan x tav #rugan x female reader #rugan x reader #rugan smut #summer writes

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celaenaeiln · 11 months ago

Note

Okay, so I've been scouring your blog these past few days, and ughh, it feels so good to find someone who actually seems to understand who Dick is! His eldest daughter complex is something I relate to so much, and was the thing that really drew me in. A lot of people look at the mediation and emotional weight lifting, (and those are huge parts of it, don't get me wrong,) but something else I find very eldest child is the way his own relationship with Bruce has continued to take hits all so Bruce can have better relationships with the others. Like when you're the oldest your parents make so many more mistakes with you. I also can't help but feel like it's got to be so hard as Dick to look at the way Bruce is with Tim/Dami/Cass, and wish that he could have that kind of relationship with his Dad. They want to be jealous of the trust, think he's the golden child, and yet at the same time, he's wishing he had something more resembling the true parent/child relationship the others got. (Idk maybe I'm projecting, but oh lord I go absolutely feral for eldest daughter Dick, it just hurts so good)

og post in reference

Yes! I'm so glad you brought that up!!

In terms of parenting, and why I don't really write about Bruce being a parent to Dick, is because Dick is kinda a guinea pig, as my engineering teacher put it once.

He was the Bruce's first for everything. First friend, first partner, first son - he just took responsibility for all roles. It makes things even worse because Bruce at the time he took in Dick, he had only been Batman for three years. Three. And he was literally drowning under the weight of the mask until he found Dick. There's a reason why Dick is Bruce's is right hand man and that's because Dick's been with him through everything. When Bruce was struggling and almost giving into his obsession, Dick was there to pull him out of it.

He quite literally mothered Bruce through his feelings, asking if everything was okay, what's wrong, watching him constantly and guaging his mood. This is exhausting work because Dick's mind was always on Bruce's mental state, much like a mother worried constantly about her teenage daughter or a father about his son.

That adoption scene where Dick asks Bruce, "why didn't you adopt me?" That's the realization of eldest daughter syndrome brought up.

Up until then, Dick was completely fine with being the caretaker for Bruce and lifting him up. He parented Bruce for so long and so smoothly, neither fully realized how much Dick was doing for him until he left. When Bruce adopts Jason, that's when Dick realizes there's something wrong with their dynamic.

I don't know if at that time Dick really wanted to be adopted or if he felt neglected because that he's wasn't while another was. But one thing he feels isn't jealousy, he's very clear on that, but Dick feels hurt.

Was there something he did wrong that caused Bruce to do that? What he do differently? What could he have done better? These types of questions constantly cloud his brain because he's gotten so used to taken care of his guardian for two decades now that he must feel hurt on some level even if he never expresses. He wouldn't begrudge his siblings because he feels happy Bruce isn't making the same mistakes to them that he did with Dick but at the same time, it's just exhausting for him.

Bruce might have improved but he isn't the best, so now he's busy taking care of both his brothers and sisters and his father. He also has to take care of his friends too.

He has the weight of the world on his shoulders but the worst part for him isn't the actual the weight - it's the realization that he's holding the weight. Because before he could live on in ignorance and bliss that Bruce was always going to be this way, and taking care of him would naturally just be Dick's job. He's so used to it, he's been doing it since he was eight.

But now, he knows what he's doing, he knows he's not supposed to, but he must. Because they rely on him, but also because that's what Bruce made him into. And I think that hurts the most for him.

He'll feel conflicted about it because on one hand, he loves Bruce. He loves him so much, he'll do anything for him. But also what about all those missed opportunities? Could he have been something different? Maybe he could've hung out with the Titans more if he didn't have to deal with bruce constantly demanding his presence. Maybe he could've joined a new class he never thought he would try.

Dick doesn't regret what he did and if he could go back in time, he would do it all over again but...he probably feels melancholic again. To love a parent so much you sacrifice your happiness over and over again so they can be happy while you're forced to grow up early. Dick's personality itself just lends itself to helping others but constantly taking care of your parent?

He's happy but he feels helpless and sad so he stays silent about it all.

It's said that Eldest Daughter Syndrome can make women feel overburdened, stressed out, and constantly responsible for others.

More signs include having a strong sense of responsibility (leading the batfam and hero teams), feeling a need for control (him fighting for his independence against Bruce and fighting to take care of his own teams), carrying the heavy weight of parents' expectations (his entire monologue in Nightwing 1996 about his feelings towards Bruce), perfectionism (Roy grouching about Dick's perfectionist tendencies to Kori in Outsiders and Roy yelling at Batman for it in Batman Plus), struggling with same-age relationships (dating older), and feeling resentment towards family (his outsiders era was him just resenting Bruce in the beginning).

He's been parenting Bruce for so long he was forced to grow up prematurely. I mentioned in my compartmentalization post when Dick's parents have literally just died. And he's forcing himself to act happy because he doesn't want Bruce to feel guilty and upset about not catching their murderer yet. That's not a responsibility a child should have - pretending everything is fine so as not to worry their family. That's the role of a parent. He's taking parenting his own parent because his actual one is incapable of doing so.

But Bruce's greatest fear is that by taking in Dick, he deprived Dick of opportunities to shine. To live in the limelight. And Dick knows everything about Bruce, so he knows Bruce's worst fears. And for this reason, out of the love that he has in his heart, Dick will never tell Bruce if he's hurt him because this is directly connected to his worst fear.

And that hurts. Because vocally releasing anger and sorrow is cathartic but to have it build up silently inside and letting it sink beneath the waves each time is painful.

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #eldest daughter syndrome #anon I can't begin to tell you how much I understand #it's exhausting #cl anon asks #thanks for the ask!#anon you inspired me to make a post about this that I'll upload later

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le-panda-chocovore · 6 months ago

Note

What do you think are Gojo and Geto’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic?

Until now, have you found any couple (canon or non canon) from any media (books, tv series, movies, anime/manga, etc) that the dynamics remind you of Gojo/Geto?

Thanks if you want to answer....

(I forgot this ask in my drafts sorry)

Asking me to ramble about my hyperfixation when I'm too tired to write in correct English is cruelty actually /j

I think their strengths are mostly the same as their weaknesses. (It's only my take on them, everyone has a different opinion)

Geto's empathic, he understands people, he likes helping, giving advice, protecting, and caring ; he makes a point to ensure that everyone around him is fine and safe. He's strong so he can bear with painful tasks, he knows he can, so he doesn't complain about it. He has a great sense of morals and responsibilities. It's all amazing qualities, until it became too much. He was caring too much, worrying too much, enduring too much, and he drowned under the weight of everything he fought so hard for. His morals contradicted his will to help people and he had to make a choice. He loved people so much he couldn't bear to see his friends die, so he sacrificed the entire world to protect them. I think his greatest weakness is that he loved his close ones more than he loved himself, so he didn't even think about asking for help because he didn't believe people would care about him as much as he cared about them.

Geto, like everyone else, would say that Gojo is selfish, which is ironic because Geto is the one who kept everything to himself and didn't let people worry about him. He tried to fix himself alone, then decided he didn't need to be fixed.

Gojo's selfish, egocentric, forgetful, defiant, and is very much in love with his best friend. Those are weaknesses, to be clear. He's also kinda naive, because he believes things will be fine no matter what, but this is just another side of his arrogance. He hates authority figures but he needs to be told what to do because he is not able to regulate himself. He needs someone to draw a line for him, but he cannot express the importance that person has because he doesn't think it matters. Not that he doesn't believe they'd care but because he thinks they already know. (They don't- again, it's because of his arrogance). He doesn't realize nor understand how other people feel, but that doesn't stop him from reacting accordingly. Because he knows what it's like to suffer, to be lost, to be betrayed, to be lonely. He is not empathic, he doesn't feel what people are feeling, but he was so self-centered that he lost the person he loved the most, and now that he knows the pain he can project his own emotions on others. He's selfish and egocentric, so he saw people he could take care of and decided it'd be his responsibility to ensure they'd grow up happily. He doesn't care what the higher-ups think, he will do whatever pleases him. He also doesn't care what those people he takes care of are thinking, he forces himself into their lives because he truly believes he can make it better -and he does. (arrogance, the good side).

Gojo is arrogant and strong, he thinks he can change the world and deal with the consequences. He knows he can fight anything, so he doesn't actually worry about threats, even though it sometimes hurt his students. He proposes a status quo because he knows no one can fight him. He manages to keep Yuuta and Yuuji and Megumi safe by pure defiance.

Also it's canon that Gojo's mortal weakness is Geto himself.

What I love about them is perhaps the metaphors, the parallels, and the co-dependency. They're literally soulmates, they're a perfect match, they value each other so much it's overwhelming. They're also dumbasses and I love that kind of ship. They're handsome and pretty and gorgeous. They're smart and stupid at the same time. They're so in love that 9 years apart weren't enough to kill that. They're both little shit but one knows how to pretend to be nice. Literally EVERYTHING Gojo does as an adult is because of the influence Geto had in his life. They know each other so deeply that a simple glance is enough to recognize the other. Geto's body broke through Kenny's control because Gojo was in danger and it was the FIRST TIME it happened in CENTURIES. Hell, what is there NOT to love about them ??

Anyway. They make me think about Orpheus and Eurydice from the Greek mythology (He looked back. He knew she shouldn't, but he looked back because he loved him). I recently read a post that compared them to Achilles and Patroclus and I was like, oh, yeah, that could work. Also, they kinda have a vibe of Steve and Bucky from MARVEL. Like, childhood friends who liked messing around together until one got lost and followed a dark path while the other had to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders and was so praised and admired that he wasn't allowed to have a life by himself. Years and years later they met again and memories came back and the world fell apart. They're enemies know, opposite sides, there's only one way to stop the other. But. But they still love each other. (I'm going to make myself cry)

I could write so much more but I'm going to stop here because I have the feeling that I'm already annoying lmaooo

#analysis #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu #sugusato #jjk #answering ask #answering asks #jujutsu kaisen #character analysis #anon ask #gego #goge

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httpsdana · 2 years ago

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omg, can you please do 137 on your prompt list with rashford 🫶🏽🫶🏽 ?

My Own~Marcus Rashford

*GIF is not mine. credits to the owner*

Finally got requests for someone other than Pedri and Gavi. Keep sending in your requests

you can request from my prompt list

this is my master list

players/drivers I write for

137-"Did you just lick me?"

"babyy are you done?" Marcus whined flopping on the bed next to y/n

It was exam season and she was studying her ass off because she really wanted to get good grades

"mhm what?" she mumbled not looking up from the papers and books that were scattered in front of her

"I need cuddles" he whined again, leaning to put his face in her neck

she ignored him and tried focusing back on her studies

"babe" he said sternly, while she hummed in response

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her chin forcefully, turning her head towards him, causing her eyes to snap to his.

"princess. I came from practice worn out. All I have been thinking about is you. I've been craving you all day. Yearning for your touch. And when I come home, I find you drowning in your studies, when you already reviewed then like a million times already. so you better drop everything and come spend some time with me or else I'm not responsible for my actions afterwards" he said

His eyes were dark, full of lust and desperation. They didn't leave hers making her swallow the lump that has formed in her throat

"okay" she managed to breath out, nodding her head making Marcus' lips curve upwards into a smirk

"brilliant. I'll be waiting in the room while you finish organizing your stuff" he got up and walked up the stairs, leaving his girlfriend flushed and flustered in the living room

She huffed and quickly put her books above each other before she ran upwards to their shared room.

The door was closed, so she knocked softly before opening it and slowly peaking her head inside.

Marcus was sat shirtless on the edge on the bed, with his phone in his hand. When he heard her coming, he looked up.

He smiled and dropped his phone on the bed. He patted his lap and mumbled a low 'come here darling'

She walked slowly, small steps before she reached him. He pulled her down on his lap, her hand subconsciously wrapping around his neck while, he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other was placed on her thigh

"how was your day sweetheart?" he asked, rubbing her thigh with his thumb, making her shiver under his touch

"it was good. just studying all day" she mumbled playing with her fingers, feeling so vulnerable under his intense stare

He grabbed her chin softly, making her look at him. He rubbed her chin with his thumb, a small smile on his face

"I missed you so much today. you have no idea" he murmured, his eyes fixed on her lips, that curled into a smile

"me too" she mumbled back, her gaze dropping to his lips too

He leaned in and placed his lips on her softly. Passionate and desperate was the kiss. His hand finding its way to the back of her neck, while her hand was on the side of his face, rubbing his jaw.

Marcus deepened the kiss, pressing his chest so it was nearly touching hers. His hand that was on her back pulling her closer to him. Her lips parted slightly, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Soon enough they were both out breath causing them to pull away. But before y/n got the chance to open her eyes, she felt something wet across her bee-stung lips

She opened her eyes and saw Marcus looking at her with smirk

"did you just lick me?" she asked, tilting her head to the side, with an amused look on her face

"mhm I just marked you as my own" he said, leaning backwards and putting his weight on one of his hands

She laughed at him while shaking her head, making his smile widen.

"you're unbelievable" she said through laughs

"but you love me" he said shrugging his shoulders making her nod

"unfortunately I do. so much" she said

"and I love you more sweetheart"

#football #football blurb #football imagine #football one shot #football x reader #footballer imagine #manchester united #man united #marcus rashford #marcus rashford x reader #marcus rashford imagine #marcus rashford one shot #marcus rashford blurb #marcus rashford fanfiction #marcus rashford x y/n #rashford

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cordyce · 2 years ago

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hello ollie ollie…i picked “stop saying i’m jealous. i’m not— i just. i don’t like having to share” from the prompt list and im thinking with either jake or joel !!! yiu can choose from the two kisses ur wrinkly brain

containing your–excitement? giddiness? thrill of finally having dirt that will weigh in your favor on a scuffed up scale? the specifics aren't important–is not easy. you're just catching your breath from dancing, something joel has opted out of doing in favor of playing a game of poker with his brother and a few others. so, really, if anything he's the reason for his own demise.

"a little birdie just dropped a message in my pretty little hands," you muse as you plop yourself across his lap. and he doesn't hesitate to snatch his arm around your waist so you don't fall backwards, but he doesn't look up from his cards.

a tell, if you've ever seen one.

"grimy, more like," he huffs, and it earns him a few chuckles around the table. not in the notion of poking fun at you, but because they, much like yourself, can see through his little puckered up facade.

(you bet it's because they've already gotten a grumbled out earful of it before you made your way over here. in fact, you'd put money on it. maybe the boys would let you borrow a few of their poker chips.)

"rude. anyways," you move right along, fingernails making work of scratching at the nape of your lover's neck. something like his achilles' heel per se. though you'd argue you're the entirety of his heel alone, regardless. "a little birdie told me you've got your panties in a wad over me. maybe stirred yourself a little bit jealous?"

this time, it's tommy who snorts out a laugh, placing his cards on the table and looking over to await his brother's response. joel's jaw ticks, the permanent crease between his brow deepening. you fight the urge to lean forward and kiss it.

"y'tell ellie to mind her own," he differs, placing his own cards down and sliding a single chip to the middle of the table, "and i ain't jealous."

"aht aht, i said birdie, not ellie. i won't incriminate my source," and out of the corner of your eye you can see said source listening in from the edge of the dancefloor herself. "and it's okay to be a little jealous. it just goes to show how much you love me."

he clenches his teeth. "i'm not."

"you sure are, and that's okay. i mean, jealousy is a totally normal feeling when seeing someone else dance with your partner. especially when it's someone like marcus. he's so good on his feet. did you see? the spin move he did with me? yeah, i'd probably be jealous too. in fact, i think i'd be so jealous that–"

"stop it," joel interjects, low voice cutting through in a way that sends shivers all the right places. you've done it; poked the bear until he roared. how uncouth of you. and joel wonders where ellie gets it. "stop saying i'm jealous. i’m not— i just.."

he takes a breath, tightens his grip on your waist and slides his free hand up and over your thighs that are draped over his legs. he levels you with a stern look, but it isn't mean, or callous, or overtly commandeering. it's grounding.

"i don’t like having to share."

and somebody else, a lesser person maybe, might find it hard not to shrink under his stare. but not you. no, you simply wind your arms a little tighter around his neck, lean in real close. you test the waters like you have no fear of drowning. and maybe you don't—not in the deep abyss that is joel.

"you wouldn't have to share me if you would simply come and dance."

honestly, it's meant to be just another tease. so maybe that's why a yelp squeaks out of you as joel stands up from his seat with zero hesitation, your weight being nothing to the arm he still has secured around you.

there's hoots and hollers from the poker table as joel whisks you off to the (previously forsworn and abhorred) dance floor, and ellie bubbles up a laugh and shout of her own as joel side steps a little awkwardly to the song they have playing. and you, well. you find that jealously is ironically a bit cute coating his worn and dejected features.

#ohhhh he makes me sick #blurb #joel miller x reader #joel miller blurb

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no-shxme · 3 months ago

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there's this one talsett premise i drabbled a lot in private and i still think about it bc its so fun. i'm gonna ramble about it at length under the cut bc... idk... its basically the full summary.

the basic premise was canon runeterra where sett learns about some sorta magical artifact from some dude at the pit that grants a wish. apparently its somewhere deep in the ixtali jungle. sett hates how sad his ma is about his pa leaving, so he decides to make a trip over to wish her pain away.

so he makes the trip over and gets pretty immediately captured by demacian soldiers that are camped out at the start of the jungle (south of piltover) for some reason.. sett doesn't get it, but either way he's interrogated bc demacians are going after this artifact too apparently, (it only becomes available once ever xyz years or smth, some sort of time crunch.) the demacians are led by lux's aunt, tianna crownguard, but sett doesn't know who any of these people are ofc. one of sett's arms is locked in a petricite handcuff and the other end is locked to another captive's arm. and of course it's talon.

talon has been sent to retrieve the artifact on his own, after failing another one of the general's errands. he also got captured (bc really who would expect a bunch of demacians all the way out here) and has tried and failed to escape twice now. then because sett's so big and hard to miss, they're handcuffed together to be each other's ball and chain. sett hates noxians, talon likes personal space, and they both want the same thing. this will be a problem.

they do escape with the help of sett's strength and talon's ability to lockpick doors one-handed and thus begins a mad scramble into the jungle, running from wild animals, demacian soldiers, and other hazards.

problems they encounter include:

the fact that petricite is notoriously impervious, and neither of them can get their cuff off short of cutting off somone's arm. (talon isn't opposed to this.)

the fact that talon can't MAKE sett go anywhere, even at knifepoint, because he dwarfs him in size, weight, and strength. But Sett can drag him wherever he wants, through tall grasses and uphill.

speaking of which, sett drags talon through a river at the end of day 1 of being together, in which talon nearly drowns bc he can't keep up and afterwards that's pretty much talons limit where he has a panic attack bc he just NEEDS some level of control like this is a fucking nightmare. this is also the first time sett feels pity for him.

sett and talon learning to compromise in some ways (also known as talon climbing a tree and hanging on until sett caves to his demands. (his arm is sore.) sett learns that talon has been assigned to steal the artifact on his own, which seems kinda crazy for one lil guy, and sett explains his own reason for finding it. he thinks that his reason is clearly 10x more just and noble but talon's not responsive and it pisses sett off.

they encounter random other champs. kayn (with scythe rhaast) are also looking for the wish, but they part ways more amicably. they also meet neeko just tooling around having a grand time.

sett asks neeko to transform into talon and she does, and then he asks her to smile and is immediately weirded out bc 'talon' smiling like that looks unnatural lol.

talon slowly reveals more information about his father and sett decides he sounds like a fucking asshole.

sett getting ticks on his ears that talon has to cut out bc he's freaking out.

sett carrying talon like a bag of sand over his shoulder.

eventually they reach qiyana's kingdom and i honestly can't remember why they get to live but they do, and they FINALLY get their shackles removed and also a bath. by now they've gotten pretty good at working together, though the problem of who gets the wish boils over. sett gets pissed off bc talon still wont concede the fact that he should totally get the wish for his ma. talon is still adamant that he needs it, and sett tells him he's stupid cause his dad's an asshole and talon snaps that he knows that. and sett realizes that talon actually just wants the wish for himself because he sees it as the only way to 100% escape his abusive circumstances. his dad just sent him to the jungle after his latest failure, basically dooming him to a wild goose chase with no real chance of success.

there's a little backstabbery at the end. a race between talon and sett (now uncuffed), and kayn and the demacians. (tiana crownguard wants to wish her niece's magic away, since she'd discovered lux's secret and wants to do it for her own safety). at the very end sett tries to make a deal with talon to help him get away from his father but talon doesn't trust him and instead sticks him with some natural paralytic (doesn't kill him) and goes on without him. sett recovers quickly due to size and natural resilience. by the time he gets to the spot, high up in a perilous cliff-side he's basically in the thick of it. the ending conflict forces him to make a choice between saving talon from falling to his death even though he betrayed him, or getting his wish. and ofc he ends up saving talon. he's learned to empathize with him. kayn gets the wish (and rhaast gets his own body.) and sett ends up taking talon home anyway like he'd offered to, even though he betrayed him. demacians just lose lol.

that's basically the whole thing. my god this was long sorry. i decided not to write it bc i dreaded writing the environments and i knew itd be long, though i did write some scenes from it. i just love the premise of sett and talon handcuffed together so bad. if i ever have the chance to sneak it into another fic i totally will.

#talsett #talon du couteau #sett #talonposting #this is the whole fic premise #infodumping on niche aus (sob)

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just-horrible-things · 6 months ago

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‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: A Girl Called Spider Timeline: The day of Rayce’s unboxing

Talking [Prev]

Rayce wakes with the missed-step lurch of not having known he'd even fallen asleep. A sharp, involuntary inhalation turns instantly into a coughing fit as the air itself seems to scrape his throat and lungs raw.

It's dark – or it was, until the new light woke him up – and that new light is warm like a normal lamp, not Facility white. For a few heart-thudding seconds, he isn't sure he isn't home, isn't waking from godawful nightmare into safety.

Then the Pet is there. The one who drowned him.

He still can't believe it. A Pet – one of his own sweet trainees even – turning fucking – psycho horror villain? If it weren't for the burn in his lungs with every hacking cough, he'd think it was another drugged, disjointed nightmare.

He swallows wet, sticky phlegm and tries to get his breathing under control. The light from the door at the top of the stairs behind her isn't that bright, but after the darkness it still leaves Rayce squinting through watering eyes.

The shadow casts the Pet’s face into darkness, and for a second she could be Handler Sharan – they're about the same size – except Sharan would never move like that. She stops about a body's length from Rayce, and looks down at him. The metal edge of the shelf behind him digs harder into his back.

The Pet is freshly washed, again, long hair still wet and heavy and clinging to her skin. The slight tousle to it is deliberate, they taught her that in the same classes as makeup. “I think we started out on the wrong foot, Handler.” Her voice is skin-soft and full of gentle contrition. “Can we start over?”

It takes Rayce a groggy second to realise she expects a response, and another few to remember all over again that there's no bit between his teeth. He opens his mouth, feeling the cracked scabs at the corners shift, then closes it again.

What does she want him to say? Start over? She drowned him. What does she want from him?

When he swallows – painfully – the collar feels very tight around his neck.

The Pet folds her hands behind her back and settles her weight onto one foot. Her pose is straight out of the manual, hips canted, back subtly arched to push her breasts forward. They worked hard on making it look thoughtless.

“I know,” she says. “I hurt you.” Soft voice, soft doe eyes in the gloom, soft regret on gently frowning lips. Everything soft, but Rayce can still feel the semicircles her nails dug into his skin. “But… you hurt me, Handler. Over… and over. I don't think it's unfair of me to be upset.”

The things she said before are starting to come back to him. Her anger.

“It was my job.” His voice comes out as a wavering croak. “I'm sorry, I tried to be as –” cough “-- as nice to you as I could. It’s the job, it's how Pets are trained, I didn't –” cough “-- hurt you much, only when I had to.”

He never hurt her like they hurt him, he never hurt any trainee like that, he would never.

The Pet is silent for slightly too long – or maybe his idea of time is still just fucked, he isn't sure.

“I know,” she says at last. Softly still, softly. He doesn't trust that softness. “You were nice to me. But you still hurt me.” “Only to teach you.” Cough, cough, swallow. “I just wanted you to be the best Pet you could be, to do well.” The words are thick and coarse and lumpen in his aching throat, like trying to swallow a mouthful of dirt. “It's what you signed up for.”

“Handler.” There's a new note in her voice, something sharper and almost sing-song that makes his gut clench. “Pet. Didn’t you sign up for this too?” “No. No, no, listen, pretty girl, I’m not – can’t you tell, I still remember you, I’m not a real Pet –” “Oh, Handler. Didn’t you always tell me I was clever?” Did he? You’re not supposed to tell them that, they’re not supposed to believe that, but – she was clever. He might have said so. He didn’t think it was important. “Do you really think I didn’t know that I didn’t sign up to be hurt?”

She kneels elegantly in front of Rayce, pushing wet hair back from her face with practiced grace. He hasn’t got an answer. His lungs ache, leaving him breathless but afraid to breathe too deep.

“Did you really think I didn’t know that it doesn’t matter?” “I’m not supposed to be here,” he repeats plaintively. “I’m not a real Pet…” “You are.” Her soft almost-sympathy is nothing like Sharan’s hard, contemptuous certainty but it’s exactly the same. Rayce almost can’t hear her next words through the wall of buzzing static rising abruptly in his brain. “Bought and paid for, just like me.”

Tears sting the backs of his eyes. His teeth clack against each other where he expects hard rubber to bite down on. His insides churn and he can’t breathe.

The girl – the trainee – the Pet inches closer, wide dark eyes holding his with suffocating intensity.

“Where’s –” he tries “-- where’s your – our – owner…” “I don’t know. I don’t tell him where to go.” “I want …” But even the thought peters out. She doesn’t have to tell him. Pets don’t get to want.

She reaches out to his face, and his flinch knocks his head back against the stacked cans behind him. A wave of paralytic dread floods through him, drenching his skin with yet another layer of sweat. The Pet flinches too, just a hesitant twitch of her hand. Then, as Rayce holds statue-still and not breathing, she lays her fingers gently against his cheek.

He thinks of biting her. He feels sick. He doesn’t move a millimetre.

“There’s so much I’ve wanted to say to you,” she breathes. “Now that you’re here… I don’t know where to start.” She leans in. Her lips ghost across his. His skin crawls. When she takes her hand off him he gasps for air. The metal shelf bites deeper as he slides himself sideways, away from her.

#my writing #bbu #a girl called spider #654261: spider #handler rayce #I realise nothing much happens in this one #but I ran out of words #and figured better to post half a thing than leave half a thing in my drafts with all the other wips

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divine-misfortune · 1 year ago

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rain and kitty dew <333

give the people (sphy and i) what they want

Ah, shit I guess the people do be asking.

@sphylor bestie wake up kitty time.

By the time the weight of his guitar was lifted off of him, Dew was struggling. Perhaps struggling was an understatement. He was fighting for solid ground but just couldn't seem to find his footing. From the flashing lights to the smell of sweat and adrenaline, Dew was barely holding on.

His breathing came with a bit of difficulty like there was a rock settled squarely on his chest. He was counting each inhale and exhale in some vain attempt to keep himself tethered. Everything felt uncomfortably close, his clothes far too tight and heavy, his skin sticky with sweat, his balaclava suddenly suffocating.

Dew needed out.

The second he'd run out of picks to toss halfheartedly into the crowd, he was slinking off stage with a growing tension in his jaw. He couldn't even bring himself to stay for final bows, not like this.

Minutes felt like hours. Curled up in some semi quiet corner backstage, Dew kept his hands clamped firmly over his ears to drown out the distant sounds of the audience. His helmet had been thrown somewhere in his haste. Someone would probably find it, he couldn't find it in himself to care about a hunk of leather and metal. He was too busy trying not to claw his glamor off, desperate to escape the confines of the magic buzzing on his skin.

At a certain point, he's certain he checked out entirely. His body moved on a well memorized auto pilot. It was like being just outside of his body, connected, but floating somewhere unsafe. It was a blur of bodies. Dew can't even remember changing from his uniform. Only registering a much softer cotton under his fingers.

Even safely locked behind a hotel room door where the rest of the world was far away, Dew could barely hold onto himself but he also didn't want to let go. It was like trying to mentally barricade himself but the brain fog still steadily managed to seep through the cracks.

"Baby?"

Dew ran the tip of his tongue over the back of his teeth, still artificially kept straight and dulled down. He didn't want to give into the nagging behind his eyes and feared tugging at the seams of his glamor would cause him to unravel.

He forced his unfocused eyes to tune back in even slightly to settle on the water ghoul exiting the bathroom. His hair was still dripping, towel draped over his broad shoulders and bare chest.

"What?"

"You haven't said a word since we got on stage."

"I know."

Rain's neutral expression creased. Concern etching itself in harsh lines as he moved closer to him. Dew felt his stomach flip unpleasantly but remained in still.

"What's going on up there?"

He gestured towards his own head, tapping a clawed finger against his temple. His voice was soft, low and sweet and Dew mentally tried to dig his fingers in. Rapidly losing ground when he caught Rain's scent. It was comfort. It was a weak point. It was undeniably home.

"....Stressed."

"Seems like a little more than just stress. Look at me," Dew didn't think he could meet his gaze. "Can I touch you?"

"...Yeah."

Rain cupped his face in both hands and his breath hitched. The walls were cracking, he could feel it. He lifted his face up and Dew blinked slowly when their eyes met. The sharp edges felt softer when Rain did the same in return, a slow blink and a weak smile.

"Long day, huh?"

"Mhm..." His head felt heavier in Rain's hands, like he was the only thing holding him up. "Too long."

"You don't have to hold on for my sake, cattail."

Dew frowned a bit, the words taking too long to register. Response came to him slower when Rain stroked his thumbs gently over his cheeks.

"Not-"

"Hush," Rain whispered and kissed the space between his eyebrows. Dew couldn't help but let the tension slip from his face. "You're safe baby, I'm here."

Every second in Rain's embrace was a losing battle, one he didn't know why he was fighting anymore.

"It's okay, I've got you."

"You...Um," Dew had to blink a few times. Wade through the puddle his brain felt like it was melting into. "Sure?"

"Of course I am. You wanna be my good kitty for a bit? No more stress?"

The mere idea of falling into it managed to pull a little trill from the fire ghoul. One that he didn't entirely register. Rain chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose this time.

"Just let mousey take care of you tonight."

Dew hummed, distantly, in agreement. He allowed Rain to guide his heavy body into bed, and it was only tucked carefully into his mate's side did Dew finally let himself crumble. He could feel the tears prick in his eyes but Rain held him close. There was no need to build walls, not when Rain had him in his arms.

So, Dew let himself be cared for. He allowed himself to relinquish his desperate grip on the reigns because he was safe where he was.

#void writing #answered #kitty dew #dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #rain ghoul #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #the band ghost ficlet #ghost the band #ghost bc #writing

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spyridonya · 1 year ago

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So, here is a rewritten take on this response. I've no idea if I'm going to turn this into something longer with Daeran and Kadee, as I never quite wrote their first time together. What might stop me is considering my headcanons for Daeran that have formed in the last several months, and if I want to share them. Until then, please enjoy.

"I'm a virgin."

Daeran pauses in his steps, the heel of his boot a soft click on her bedroom floor. The very sound of it sent a stream of ice down Kadira’s back and made her thick tail curl almost defensively, the tip of it still despite the clattering through her nervous system.

The pause is heavy, just so heavy, and Kadira knows she can't take it back. Almost as if she's caught in a dream, she watches the count turn his golden head to look over his shoulder at her with his face held in a mask that he might very well wear at court. It's new though it isn't known, she's listened to his conversations and watched his manners - for Shelyn's beating heart, he lied to Hulrun Shappok and lived to tell the tale. If he couldn't read it well enough to justify taking a boy to the gallows, then she couldn't even begin to read it.

But she can't take the silence, for once in her damn life, she just can’t. "I'm not a virgin so much by inability as availability,” The commander feels that silence pressing down on her shoulders like platemail, the weight squeezing out the words from her. “I don’t... Maybe I’m not a virgin. I can’t remember.” She whispers, her only wish was being able to jump into the bath Daeran had prepared for her and drown. Wishing she hadn't found that pretty feather tucked in her old bed, right between mattresses and now logged between pages of her spellbook, “I don’t want to think I lost my virginity ther-.” Her voice breaks and her eyes go to the floor, where her dark hooves peek from under the skirts of her simple dress to gather herself.

Memories of a demon haunted world crawled across her brain like a spider’s dance. The cold, dark lab filled with fiends for company, alone with her rag doll which deteriorated as the decades inched by. “I don’t know if that’s attractive to you or if it’s a turn-"

A hand skims over the apple of cheek, the touch smooth and warm, and she lifts her eyes to the count's face. His too bright eyes are unreadable and his full lips are pressed together. “I don’t find virginity attractive.” Daeran said quietly.

The ice fell through Kadira’s stomach and all the way to her toes, the disappointment shocking to her veins as she sought the silver lining. This all began due to keeping a closer eye on him, after all. All those moments of a broken boy that she had seen at Heaven’s Edge were stolen, nothing that Daeran could truly tell her, not without risking his death or bloodbath. There’s little to believe he would even tell her, if he could.

Besides, why begin something - anything - when she couldn’t finish it?

“Which you are, of course,” He continued softly, "However, I find you attractive." And Kadira realized his hand wasn't lifting away, rather, delicate fingertips trace at her hairline, melting the ice that had formed in her body. “Though I have to confess, there are certain expectations of taking another's virginity.”

“Which I don’t have and you shouldn’t have, Daeran,” She whispers as her eyes search the count's face, “Whatever this is, courtship or not, I am not forcing anything on you. I walked into this with my eyes open, I know how you are, I'm not blind. I wanted it to make sure you could see, too. It’s only fair.”

The count looks at her, that mask of nobility so beautiful on his features, “Life, Kadira, isn’t often fair.”

"No," She found herself swallowing, "No, it's not fair." But let me make this fair. Please.

"Not at all," Daeran agrees, and his hand leaves her cheek, warm from his touch, to gently tuck a stray lock of hair back into the mass of her curls. The gesture is fleeting, quick, and once more she finds herself not entirely sure how to read it. But it doesn't leave ice this time, "But us? Courting? Surely not!" The tone becomes bright and almost tart with that sardonic tone behind it, the mask falling into his smirk that teases one of his dimples.

Kadira finds her shoulders relaxing even as he steps away, "Of course. This is simply just... a?" She knows this routine and welcomes it, even if it befuddles her almost as much as it befuddled Ember. "A bath and you telling me I need to wash. I'd say this might even be a cruel gesture, giving a girl a bath of herbs and a bucket of wine without offering to wash her back but-" Her tail flicks as she lets it rise up from under her skirts, "This girl knows how to reach it. So, I suppose your cruel park has failed."

This was his way of saying nothing had changed, and she knows it.

"Mmm, I believe you're right, Knight Commander." The dismay is light on his tone as he shrugs dramatically, looking at her under his thick eyelashes, "And with that, I should bid you a good bath a second time as I consider my next vengeful scheme.”

Once more the count turns on his heel, but the commander doesn't say a word this time as she watches him out the door. However, when he reaches the door, this time he stops and looks over his shoulder. There's something fleeting in his eyes, something vulnerable, and his lips look pursed to speak. But then he smiles, sliding out the door as if nothing happened.

And that is when the Knight Commander began to undress, a smile light on her lips.

#angels would fall: kadira x daeran #pwotr pals #commander x daeran #daeran arendae #character: daeran arendae

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asilentguardian · 1 year ago

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Hey friends! Long time no see!!

Just wanted to pop on here to let you know that the fanzine I was apart of (@thebatmanfanbook) just announced that leftover sales will be available later this month!

This means that I can post the piece that I wrote for this zine! This was my first fanzine and I really loved the experience. The book and all of the merch items are truly beautiful and there are so many wonderful artists attached to this project. If you didn't get the chance to grab one the first time around, please consider checking out the left over sale!

My piece is written from Alfred's perspective, which was actually really challenging for me. I'm not used to first person. I'll probably post it on Ao3 later, but for now it's below the cut!

Thursday, November 7th

Bruce came back.

The city has flooded, but Bruce came back. Only for a moment. I could barely see him, crouched in the window of my hospital room. I couldn’t tell if he was injured, but at least he was alive. If I hadn’t been watching the window, I may have missed him.

The hospital has been in overdrive since the explosions rang out around the city.

I can no longer see the streets from the safety of my room. The news has mentioned the Batman a few times, so I know he’s still standing. I don’t doubt that he’s working himself to the bone to try and fix this in any way he can.

I know that Gotham needs him. That his presence is doing more good than he knows, but I can’t help but feel that I need him here more. I fear that he’ll collapse, that he’ll push past his limits and drown in that wretched sea.

He’s always looked more like his mother, but I suppose he’s more like his father than either of us realize. Thomas always loved Gotham more than Gotham loved him—he was committed to the city in the same way he was committed to his family. It seems that Bruce has inherited this. Perhaps he’s inherited that particular brand of Wayne stubbornness, too.

Once Thomas got an idea in his head, it was impossible to sway him. I saw it in Martha, too, and now I see it in Bruce. It scares me how much Bruce reminds me of Thomas. I worry he’ll make the same mistakes.

Thomas was a good man, but he was blinded by his belief in other people. I often wonder why he didn’t come to me before going to see Falcone in the first place. I knew he was worried, agitated by what they were digging up about Martha, but he didn’t say anything. He was never overly candid with me, and I’m afraid that’s another trait he’s passed to his son.

Death has always followed the Waynes, and I fear that it will follow Bruce into this madness. Bruce, who once spent his evenings rescuing bugs from the manor halls, even after being told that they would only find a way back inside. I can’t imagine him committing the kind of violence that lesser men have. But I never imagined Thomas to be one to inflict violence, and, indirectly or not, he was responsible for a man’s death. Perhaps he was even responsible for his own and Martha’s.

This path that Bruce has chosen is not one that will remain bloodless. The weight on his shoulders has already permanently changed him. How much more weight until he breaks under it? How long until I attend another funeral?

I am not a young man, but I have many years left to live. Martha once confided in me all that she had sacrificed to become Bruce’s mother, and that she would do it all twice over. If Bruce has chosen his path, then I must stop shielding myself behind my title. To be truthful, I stopped thinking of myself as Bruce’s butler many years ago. I do not wish to bury my son.

I fear for him. I’ve always worried for him, as parents are wont to do, but this helpless worry is a beast that is still unfamiliar to me. And yet, also as unfamiliar is the bright hope he’s unearthed in me.

I am proud of the effect Bruce has had on Gotham, however small it may be. I know that he can do more, if only he would get out of his own bloody way. Perhaps if he sees the good that Bruce Wayne could accomplish his weight would lessen.

I know he’s made some vows of his own, to his parents and to his city. If this is the path he’s chosen, then I vow to follow him and keep him on the right path. If not for his parents, then for me. If not for his parents, then for himself.

#my writing #alfred #the batman #batfam #aspeaks

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hazelira · 3 months ago

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Alexa, play atlas by keshi on Spotify

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ᴖ̈ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Sunoo stared at the screen, his heart sinking as he read through the comments under the achievement video on ENHYPEN's YouTube channel. Each remark about his lack of individual accomplishments stung, reinforcing the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. Despite the overwhelming support from ENGENEs, the negative voices always seemed louder.

I can't take it. Tired, I'm falling to my knees. I'm weighted. Carry me home like you used to.

He sighed, closing his laptop and leaning back against the couch. He felt the weight of expectations pressing down on him, suffocating and relentless. The mistreatment from the company, the harsh grip of the bodyguard, the constant comparisons to his members—it all built up until he felt like he was drowning.

When I burn my organs, pour the Bourbon. Bear my burdens for the moment. Can I get some help? That's a hell no. But I bet she'd break her neck for that cell phone.

Sunoo remembered the incident with the bodyguard, how he was roughly pulled aside while the others were treated with care. It had happened in front of fans, their outrage palpable in the comments. Yet, the company remained silent, and Sunoo's pain was ignored.

Atlas shrugged his shoulders and said he'd drop that boulder. Call me in the morning when I'm sober. Find me in the corner, in a coma.

He looked around the empty dorm, his members out for various schedules. He was alone, left to grapple with his thoughts and emotions. He wondered if this was what it felt like to carry the world's weight, like Atlas, with no one to share the burden.

Bottoms up, never stop. I don't think we had enough. Out of touch, maybe I don't give a fuck. Probably not; yeah, I think I'm falling off. Falling off, yeah.

Sunoo stood up and walked to the window. He stared out at the city lights, feeling disconnected from everything and everyone. He felt out of place, like he didn't belong there. The expectations, the pressure, the constant scrutiny—it was all too much.

I don't belong here, lemme start over. I want to sleep, so wake me up when I'm older. Please do not disturb me; I'm lost when I'm dreaming. Kick to the curb all my angels and demons.

He closed his eyes, wishing to escape, even for a moment. The thought of starting over, away from all this, was tempting. But he knew he couldn't leave. He had responsibilities, fans who believed in him, and members who cared deeply about him.

Guess I'm a little bit scared of things I don't understand. Finding a semblance of comfort that nothing will go as I planned.

He opened his eyes and smiled bitterly. Despite everything, he couldn't let himself fall apart. He had to keep going for the sake of those who depended on him. He had to keep smiling, even if his heart was breaking.

Atlas shrugged his shoulder and said he'd drop that boulder. Call me in the morning when I'm sober. Find me in the corner, in a coma.

Sunoo turned away from the window, taking a deep breath. He could hear the sound of the door opening and his members returning. He quickly wiped away the tears that had escaped and smiled. They couldn't see him like this. If he were sad, they would be too. And if he were happy, they would be happy too.

Bottoms up, never stop. I don't think we had enough. Out of touch, maybe I don't give a fuck. Probably not; yeah, I think I'm falling off. Falling off, yeah.

He greeted his members with a bright smile, pretending everything was fine. They laughed and joked, their presence a temporary balm for his aching heart. Sunoo knew he had to keep up the facade for their sake. Even if he were falling apart inside, he would continue to smile through the pain.

Because that was what he did, he carried the weight, just like atlas, and he would keep holding it, no matter how heavy it got.

#engene #enhypen #hazelira #pov #enhypen angst #kpop fanfic #enhypen oneshots #enhypen sunoo #sunoo oneshots #sunoo angst #keshi #atlas

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prismaticpichu · 2 years ago

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Happy Wednesday y’all!! We’re halfway there! (No, no I’m not say—) OOHHHH living on a prayer!

Anywho, school sucks and I wanna be writing more! For now, I chuck at you this WIP that’s been in the waiting room playing Where’s Waldo for a solid chunk of time now. I’m having fun with it, so why not?? Maybe you’ll too!

Takes place in the middle of the fic. A little puzzle piece :3c

Zack was completely powerless. He couldn't will words from his mouth, he couldn't run away, and he could do nothing as Seph's firm grip rolled up his sleeve.

So much flashed through the jade eyes in such a short, painful jolt of time. Widening and narrowing, freezing and thawing, an electric spectrum of emotion that filled his gape before that too vanished into a glassy, distant scowl.

And Zack had a front row seat to it all. Seeing every flicker. His heart constricted in his chest, racing in its twisted shape. "Seph... Seph I'm sorry. I didn't want you to--"

"How long has this been here?" Sephiroth glared, at both him and the red flaring on his shoulder. Demanding an answer. Professional.

"...Since yesterday," Zack admitted, his voice three-inches tall; he did everything in his power to ignore the additional centimeters Sephiroth's eyes narrowed then. He couldn't. They were riddled with so much... so much bitterness, and it was all directed at him. He could barely stand it. He would rather be eaten by the cold training room floor than stand at the receiving end of his best friend's anger.

Concerned, shock, fear... that's all Zack thought he would feel. It was what he had spent every second of the past twenty-four hours trying to avoid.

"You were not going to tell me?" Sephiroth snapped, pupils needled, irises aflame, and another piece of Zack's soul was hacked away

"I didn't want you to worry!" he tried to defend himself. "I... I thought..." His voice was suddenly trickling through his fingertips like water. All his paling arguments did. What did he think? That Seph would never find out? That it would all heal before he ever did? That it would magically go away like it exactly hadn't done for Genesis? Gaia it was just such a mess... such a mess... and he didn't even has his shelter to comfort him right now.

There was a beat of fuming silence before Sephiroth gripped his sleeve tighter. "And so your solution was to slowly rot?!"

Rot... the horrid imagery made Zack's entire body churn, a sickening amount of disgust drowning his organs in acid. It was horrible, awful, especially when he had such a clear image of what it meant to rot. Crystal clear. Thorns began to prick at his eyes, his voice shuddered.

"I'm sorry, Seph..."

He felt the weight lift from his sleeve--a confusing, cold motion that Zack didn't know whether he wanted back or was glad that it was relieved. Seph was still in front of him; he heard his jagged breath, trying to level himself. It was the only thing to stew with the silence.

"Do you know how many times I asked Genesis if he was alright?"

The response caught Zack's next snuffle in his throat. He dared to look up then, meeting with his friend's crackling gaze. And like a veil being lifted it hit him all at once.

Gaia... Seph had lived through all of this before. He had a friend who was wounded and refused to say anything until it he was. Someone he cared for who was hiding things, leaving him to rot alongside Genesis with no answers. He had been helpless. Gaia... no. He wasn't protecting Seph from feeling those horrible, empty things. He was repeating history.

He had betrayed him.

The realization brewed an entirely new disgust in him, and now he stood under what Zack knew to be ache in his friend's eyes.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Seph. I... thought it would take over or something--like, like how it did for them." Things were just bleeding from his mind now, shaking his head. He couldn't control it. "I didn't want you to have anything to do with it--not all over again. You didn't deserve it. I didn't mean to hide it... I'm--I'm so sorry, Seph. And now I'm scared and freaking out and I'm gonna hurt you and you're gonna have to stop me." Zack hiccuped on his breath, a teary choke breaking through cotton.

In between breaths, he felt Seph's hand return to his shoulder. Except it wasn't his crumpled sleeve that he was touching; it was his other shoulder, the unblemished one, where there was room to be squeezed. Misty eyes glanced up. Suddenly it didn't burn so much to stare at his friend.

"You're not going to hurt me," Sephiroth said, and his voice was quiet now, that single, delicate concern having smothered his gaze to embers. "I know you aren't."

"But... Genesis..." Zack bit his lips to keep them from trembling. "I don't..."

"What Genesis did--what Angeal did--it was on their own volition, Zack. Degradation did not help but they were driven by the anger and shame they couldn't handle anymore. Angeal," Sephiroth paused, but he willed himself onward, "he chose to fight you. Genesis did too. Your fear is enough to prove otherwise."

Zack tried to absorb everything his friend was saying. Angeal's name didn't even graze him; everything was too numb, too buried in the moment to be cut by the past. And still... still he wasn't assuaged. Not really.

"You're not afraid I'll hurt you...?" he asked hollowly.

Sephiroth shook his head, the movement so slight that only his bangs quivered. "No. I never will be."

Zack could only snuffle through the next swathe of silence. And this time, amid the revelation, under the layer of tension that had been lifted, staring into his best friend's kind eyes, all that was left was the severity of it all. And everything became very clear--right then. The path he was on. The control he didn't have. The ticking time bomb he couldn't stop.

"Seph," he squeaked. "I'm scared..."

He launched himself into the older man's coat, clutching with all the strength he had. All the strength that was eventually gonna bleed out. He clutched before his body withered and his eyes paled to nothingness, like he was gonna go blind and never see Seph again, like he would never recognize him, like he wouldn't remember he existed, like a giant wing was going to erupt from his shoulder and drag him into the sky.

Sephiroth wound his arms around the boy, in instinct, before the same reality crashed down on his shoulders. He was suddenly clutching Zack fiercely, his heartbeat having burst into thunder against his chest.

"I'm gonna degrade... oh man I'm gonna degrade..."

No. You're aren't. The same words echoed from before, but Sephiroth couldn't make them leave his lips. He... couldn't tell lies. He had seen what had become of Genesis and Angeal, how blanched and bloodless their skin was, how leeched of color their hair had become, how skeletal the disease had left their bodies. A wildfire ravaged through healthy, strong SOLDIER Firsts. And if the same was truly happening to Zack...

To Zack...

Sephiroth tightened his hold. Protective. Desperate. To even imagine Zack succumbing to the same fate... it was too much. As much as it undoubtedly, cruelly was to Zack.

"Buddy..." Zack sucked in his breath. "Oh Gaia... oh Gaia this can't be happening... No..."

Sephiroth rested his chin against his hair, the only trace of grey coming from his own hair twining around the spikes, weaving through the pure, righteous blackness like milky starlight.

"I know..." he murmured, even if he didn't. Is this an inevitable fate for all SOLDIERs? For anyone with Mako? Firsts? Was he next? He swallowed that bile as quickly as it rose, holding Zack closer. The only thing that mattered was Zack. The present. The future... but a future that wouldn't turn out as the others. It couldn't. They had already diverged, just now, when he had discovered Zack's wound. They were both aware.

He couldn't tell lies... but he could echo what Zack had told him so many times.

"You will not brace this alone." Sephiroth pulled away to meet with Zack's eyes, maneuvering his hand carefully around his shoulder as he held them. "You will not. I promise."

Zack found himself again staring at his friend, pearls of mist winking under the fluorescent lights of the training room. The words sank in much easier than before... like balm grazing him just enough to feel its warmth.

Sephiroth nodded, and watched a thin, lonely river trickle down Zack's cheeks. There was still more he needed to say; there were still concerns shrouding his friend's mind, even if Zack knew better than to voice them.

"You will always be Zack Fair. I don't care what happens to you, or what you may gain." He gazed into his friend's rippling eyes, watching his reflection in the currents. The catlike pupils drifting in the sea. Abnormally shaped. Inhuman. Accepted. Loved. "You will never be a monster. You are my friend... you always will be."

#ffvii #crisis core #zack fair #sephiroth #I actually DO have other stuff that’s not abt them also in the waiting room reading magazines #fangirl #writing things #it’s actually a humor fic heheh #weenie hut jrs

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