#recovered memory 15

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

For anyone who's wondering or anyone who just wants to watch a good friggin musical: here's the official link to the Next to Normal 2024 Proshot from PBS. It is streaming until June 30. Do yourself a favor and skip to 01:15, PBS added a bit of an intro but it's got some light spoilers.

Other important things to note:

The actual musical has a lot of "shit" and "fuck", they got edited out for the TV broadcast and you can really tell where they were supposed to be aghjkadhs.

More importantly, there are a SHITTON of trigger warnings for this one. Putting them under the cut for spoilers but the main one is Discussion of Mental Health, its Treatment, and its affect on both the individual and those around you. As such, it's a HEAVY musical with a lot of serious topics.

Infant death and Prolonged Grief- the infant died years prior to the start of the story and is hallucinated as a teenager

Suicide Attempt (offscreen but heavily discussed, blood and bandages are shown)

Drug Misuse, including teenage drug addiction

Electroshock Therapy and Memory Loss (memory is recovered)

[priestess777]

My MAY success list:

1. Main focus was money, so I’ve manifested 65k for myself.

2. Huge family issues resolved.

3. Lots of gifts for my birthday, it was a perfect birthday.

4. This month I saw too many angel numbers. At one point it was mind boggling.

5. Had psych practicals, got the ones that I wanted and my external viva went sooooo good! Just how I’ve imagine.

6. iPhone battery was not working but it worked after few affirmations.

7. My English viva went so good too! My teachers and examiner praised me!

8. Ate dishes that I wanted to eat.

9. New phone accessories. Even though I didn’t specifically wanted to manifest but it happened anyway 😛 my father got me.

10. Everything working out in my favour, literally everything! I have saturated way too much.

11. I have received good karma in so many ways, I felt so blessed 😇

12. I was able to help so many people this month. This was one of my main goals too and I’m so grateful I was able to help people.

13. Stopped diarrhoea 🥲

14. A friend who deeply understands me without even uttering a word. So grateful 💕

15. Got new clothes for my birthday, they are perfect!

16. My papa was going to have a huge loss in trading but I manifested in recovering the money, it was a huge amount 🥲

17. Photographic memory for my exams. Helping me a lot.

Happy manifesting! 🍸✨

[moonlit-imagines]

Preferences for going clubbing with the Thunderbolts

Thunderbolts x reader

warnings: drug mention, alcohol, throwing up. there are not really spoilers i dont think? nothing disney hasn’t already spoiled?

a/n: silly shit lol

prompt:

Alexei is drinking a lot. Like, people are chanting for him to “chug, chug, chug!” an entire bottle of vodka. You are watching in pure horror as he asks for another bottle. He assures you he is fine and loves the attention, asking you to record the next one. His dancing skills are okay, he keeps doing the “Rasputin” dance, his record was 15 seconds before he fell on his ass—everyone loved him anyways. He was trending on Twitter the next day. #RedPartyingGuardian?

Ava was a little uncomfortable at first, but once she got enough drinks in her (you ordered her fruity drinks because she was too embarrassed to order them herself), she was on the dance floor with you. The suit she was wearing to keep her in one piece felt awkward, but you made an effort to accessorize her and hype her up. “You know, I could get used to this!” Ava told you while swaying to the song playing. “I told you!” You yelled back over the music, “I’ve been trying to get you to come out with me forever! We’re killing it!” You guys danced together all night and walked home giggling messes, planning your next outing now that she felt she could be close to “normal.” Karaoke was next on the roster.

Bob is a recovering addict, so he stuck to a glass of coca-cola and then proceeded to lie to everyone around him telling them he was drinking rum and coke. “It’s just coke—the drink kind, I didn’t snort anything.” He admitted to you aside. “Hey—I didn’t snort anything!” Bob cheered for himself and you quickly joined him in support. “That’s great! Are you ‘coked’ out enough to dance with me?” He snorted at your joke, obviously having a sense of humor about it and took your hand so you two could “feel the music” together.

Bucky was agonizing over the fact that everyone was so young. “Y/N, I do not fit in here.” He grumbled, not budging from his seat at the bar when you started yanking on his arm. “Oh, for God’s sake, Bucky! Will you cut the ‘old man’ routine and live a little?” You pleaded with him and he waved at the bartender to get him another whiskey. After a quick shot he grunted out of his seat and let you lead him away—and after a few minutes of urging him to—and I quote—“shake some ass,” he started to crack a smile and move a little. It didn’t remind him of old times in the slightest, but it did make him miss them. You promised you’d take him somewhere a little more “old fashioned” next time.

John was trying to get attention, you turned it into a drinking game. Every time he talked about how “badass” he was, or his time as Captain America, or embellished his role as a New Avenger, he bought you a shot. Between shots, you and him got into it on the dance floor. John knew how to party and knew how to dance with a friend. Regardless of your efforts to distract him from vanity, you were shitfaced by the end of the night. He carried you home. You threw up. He spent the rest of the night cleaning up puke, feeding you bread and water, and apologizing for “being so interesting.”

Yelena is a party girl! She loved hanging out with you at the club and knew how to make any night fun. Drinks were on her (on the “company” credit card) and she was the one to initiate dancing. Genuinely her favorite part of getting shitfaced. It was nothing like drowning her sorrows with a bottle of vodka in her empty apartment—this was genuine human connection with a friend and actually enjoying life, making memories she couldn’t dream of in the Red Room. “Y/N, you are my favorite.” Yelena slurred. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.” You giggled, poking her nose as you were drunk, too. Yelena gasped. “Y/N! Do you think I would still have good aim when I’m this drunk?!” She asked, and as you started giggling, she pulled out her gun. “OH! Oh, my God, Yels—put that away!!” Her eyes widened and you both broke into a fit of giggles. “Oops, no guns at the bar! Oh, shit, the safety was off.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 // @lenaelleu //

[jks1uv]

𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ; jason todd

summary: a very fucking big small side effect of being baptized in the lazarus pit is retrograde amnesia. however, love is the dimension that transcends everything; even the loss of memories.

pairing: fiancée!reader x fiancé!jason todd.

trope: partial memory loss + both parties learning to falling in love with each other again + boy who thinks he’s unworthy of love x girl who loves him like it’s breathing + she fell first but he fell harder.

genre: fluff + angst + mild hurt / comfort + slow-burn & rekindling romance.

warnings‼️: crude language + mentions of his murder + mentions of violence + reader’s 24, jason’s 25 + jason’s a drug / crime lord + reader & jason are yearners.

word count: 9,622.

random disclaimerrr: it can take somewhere between days to years to recover from retrograde amnesia & gain your memories back. for fanfiction purposes, i’ve dramatized the recovery. italics = inner thoughts, bold italics = flashbacks. i love this song, i breathe this song. nobody fw this song like i do. canon states he was 15 when he died but i changed things up. i haven't read a single comic & all the lore ik is from google, tiktok & this app lol. pls lmk on how i can improve! happy reading! ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ ♡ © 2025 @jks1uv

Here you are; face to face with the man whose warmth you were sure could no longer feel in the dark of the cruel, lonely night. You were sure the thread of his love was no longer in the stitches of your heart.

The one man you’ve ever loved that much and hard, is limp and unconscious. It doesn’t need to be said how he’s also very much alive this time around.

He's weighing down on the shoulders of his beloved brother, in the way eldest sons gently cradle their brave-faced youngest brothers in times of need.

Dick looks at you and you see him. For the first time, you truly see who Richard Grayson-Wayne is.

The dutiful, eldest son, yes. But more than that, something he will always be no matter the consequence of life; a brother.

You recognize that bleeding, aching heart of his and understand that it was bleeding and aching with yours too.

He’s still a brother even if he lost his. That title doesn’t just go away, lost in the wind like the smell of freshly cut grass and 2015.

You step aside and Dick wordlessly carries his little brother into your house.

“I... we can't talk here.”

You can't stop staring at the larger body of muscle on your couch. You can't believe he's just lying there, on the couch.

Suddenly, you can't seem to remember the misery that left you incapacitated. You don't taste the grief in the salt of your tears on your tongue.

Those years seem so far away, it's disorienting.

“Y/n?”

You're broken out of your trance and you swiftly move your head towards the older brother.

He sympathizes with you. He takes you by the hand and leads you to your bed. You sit down and he follows suit right next to you.

It's silent for a few moments, he's trying to find the right words to explain what you see.

“We found him, Bruce and I.”

You look at him but he refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he finds feigns interest in the scratches on his knuckles.

“Have you heard of a the new drug and crime-lord in Gotham, recently?”

You nod. You'd about of him; the man in black who hides himself under a red hood. Ironically, that's also his name: the Red Hood.

“…He’s actually Jason.”

And with the way he says it so quietly, so softly; you'd almost think you imagined him saying those two words.

Almost.

But almost is never enough, especially not in this moment. You need more.

“What?” You whisper harshly.

He still refuses to look at you but you won't have that anymore.

“Dick, look at me.”

He reluctantly looks you in the eyes and you can tell he feels awful. He feels that way because this isn’t how life after Jason’s death was supposed to be.

He was indescribably euphoric as any loved one would be, but it all came crashing down just as fast and fleeting the feeling was.

He didn’t want it to be this way but alas, when life gives you lemons.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n.”

He can’t imagine how life was like for you but he knows it wasn’t pleasant.

You look at him with gratitude and squeeze his hand in thanks. He squeezes it back and you lay your head on his shoulder as he explains everything.

Jason grumbles and groans half in pain. The other half in disorientation.

Even though your curtains are closed, they don't block the sunlight from coloring in your once-dark living room.

Dick’s lying on his stomach and snoring away.

Jason carefully gets up and sees the older man not so gracefully splayed out across his air mattress (yes, he's one of those people) on the floor.

Jason's gaze follows the confines of your living room. He scopes out the unfamiliar space and he soon finds himself in front of the fridge.

He's staring at the notes and magnets among other things you have hung up. However, his eyes stop in front of a collage of pictures.

You made a photo strip out of the pictures you took with him at this specific photo booth.

There were 5 photos that consist of the strip, each from 5 different dates.

Jason can't figure out why he feels a strange, magnetic pull towards this woman.

She shouldn't mean anything to him but that doesn't sound right.

It's like deep down, he knows- feels like there's something missing. It’s weird; feeling something’s wrong but not knowing what could possibly give that inclination.

He studies the woman that he's sure is the sun. Jason's sure this woman's smile and joy are willing and radiant. In fact, he's so sure this woman is the quintessence of all he's been missing.

A home.

Jason feels a pit of emptiness open up in his stomach that fills up with dread just as quickly.

Jason couldn't remember much of his life before the Lazarus pit breathed it back into his mangled body. His painful rage and sadness were the only evidence tying him to a life beyond revenge and strife.

When and Dick and Bruce realized who the red hood truly was, they did everything in their power to convince the broken boy to come back with them, even if it was just for a little while.

Back at the Wayne manor, he discovered a few memories of what he presumed was a better life, but he also found some things that he didn't think was possible for a man like him.

On his dresser he found what appeared to be a golden wedding band, a Revlon hairbrush, and a key with Buttercup from The PowerPuff Girls printed on it.

He asked Stephanie Brown if those items belong to her or Cassandra Cain but she dismissed the notion. She told him who those items really belonged to but he couldn’t believe it.

A woman he’s romantically involved with? His fiancé?

Yeah, right.

There wasn’t much evidence to make her claim viable, until he found a couple of words engraved inside what he found to be his golden band.

Always — Y/n

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like it was a secret only for him to know.

He stared at the band for a bit, not believing he found something so delicate and pure. A love so strong, it made him want to get married.

Stephanie got to know her older brother through the retelling of memories. Memories that people seemed so fond of. Through them, she learned what he liked, disliked. How Bruce was going to break his rule, bend his code of ethics for him.

Jason talked to her, cared for her. But he never really opened up about himself and what goes on in his head. At the very least, he was there for his little sister when times were tough and that was enough.

He was immortalized by his grave but seeing him in the flesh— at this moment, made her overwhelmingly emotional.

She hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder and he looked at her.

“It was your idea.”

“…Really?”

His heart warms with an unfamiliar fondness.

Jason never thought of himself to be a romantic but this revelation forces him to look at this ring and himself in a different light.

Now as he stands in front of your fridge, Jason thinks this must be you. The woman in these photos, the woman whose name is engraved on the inside of his wedding band, the woman of his dreams. It must be you.

Jason turns around to wake Dick up and tell him about his epiphanies but here he is. Face to face with you, instead.

Your lips part to sharply exhale and you're about to say something but your mind betrays your tongue. You don't want to say what you want him to hear because of the way he's looking at you.

His eyes are wide in surprise. It's her he thinks.

Jason slowly stalks his way towards you like you’re a doe he doesn't want to scare you away.

There's a tremble in your bones. The kind that vibrates with a desperation to pull him into you and never let go.

You want to hug him, kiss him and stare into his once-blue eyes until you count the different flecks of green in them.

But you can't. You can't touch him yet, you can't talk to him like he's your soon-to-be husband yet. You can't softly sing him to sleep when he needs it yet.

So, you’ll settle on yearning for him. You’ll brave a smile when you're wistful and you'll hold on to the hope of him coming back to you.

You're determined to make him remember you no matter how long it takes.

He's in front of you now, there's an almost dazed look on his face.

His eyes are a a grayish-teal, making you question how much of him has truly changed.

“Hello.” Your voice is a bit shaky and breathy.

Jason half-blinks and tilts his chin to the side a bit. “Hi.” He murmurs.

“Why are you two acting like side characters in a high school romance anime?”

His name ain’t ‘Dick’ for nothing!

You've spent the entire afternoon cleaning the guest bed and bath room to make space for Jason.

In the meantime, Jason is trying to figure out how not to make a fool of himself.

“I dunno… what if she's changed her mind?”

Jason’s getting cold feet but he'd never blame you if you did.

“Dude.” Tim sighs. “You were literally the loss of her life all this time.”

And he’s right, Jason knows that.

He’s just really anxious and his insecurities are bubbling up. It's inevitable when it comes to the matters of the heart.

You're not just any girl— you're his fiancé.

In his heart, you’re an integral part of him but in his mind; you’re a woman who deserves so much better.

You can't possibly want to grow old with him.

“It must mean something if she's spent years of her life tolerating you.”

Always count on Damien Wayne to say the thing(s) nobody else will.

Dick quirks up an eyebrow at his baby brother's opinion but when he looks at Jason, they both know he means well.

Stephanie and Cassandra offer him words of advice and encouragement. Though, he's not sure how helpful they'll be as they don't personally know you but apparently, ‘that's besides the point’.

“Just remember what we said and you’ll be fine!”

Duke hands Jason a small lotus plant as he ‘shouldn't show up empty-handed’ if he wants a chance at a great first— well, second impression.

Jason appreciates the gesture as the lotus sends a message of a new beginning, something he’s longing for.

He secures the plant, puts on his helmet and drives his motorcycle back to your house.

“Okay, you got this. Just be cool.”

He rings the bell and you swing open the door without even looking through the blinds. You just knew it'd be him.

You're a little breathless but you suppose he just does that to you.

The two of you lock eyes for a moment until he clears his throat awkwardly.

“This is for you.” Jason smiles politely and you swoon over the baby pink plant.

“Oh, wow.” You beam. “You really didn't have to.”

He disagrees. “I did.”

Your lips split open with a grin, touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Jason.”

He’s nonchalant when he nods, ignoring how nice it felt to see you smile because of him.

“Um,” You point at his shoes. “Could you place them on the rack next to you?”

“Oh! I-I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You say calmly.

You don’t want him to walk on eggshells around you so you won’t mind teaching him how to be familial.

He coughs, still slightly embarrassed at himself (and at how fast his nonchalant streak came to an end).

“This is your room, the bathroom is right over there and, uh, I moved your things in… I hope that's alright?”

You didn't want to overwhelm him but you also wanted him to know that he has a say in things, even though he’s living in a place that used to be a part of him.

He’s touched at your gesture but he feels… disappointed? He’s not quite sure where he wants to be but doesn’t know what the feeling of belonging is like, either.

It’s confusing, but he expresses his gratitude nonetheless.

“Yeah, that’s great. Thank you.”

You nod with pursed lips.

He looks around at the materialistic things that describe him. Posters, collectable figurines, books. He loved his books.

Jason runs his fingers along the spines of the books neatly organized on a shelf.

It's quiet, you almost leave as you deem it intimate; becoming familiar with yourself. Jason is making up for all the time he's lost, not just with you but a part of himself as well.

“I remember when I read Hamlet for the first time.” He says after a while.

You smile knowingly.

“Alfred and I would read and discuss Shakespeare together at our own little private book club.”

Jason picks the book up and randomly flips through the pages, he comes across written annotations on transparent sticky notes.

“What’s this?” He asks, curious.

“Oh,” you walk up to him and he gives the book to you. “These are my annotations from when I read it for the first time.”

You admire the book fondly.

“You’d told me all about the book club so I asked for book recommendations. That way you could talk about your favorite literature with me.”

You're still looking over your notes while Jason stares into your side profile.

He thinks it's endearing; that you care enough about him to indulge in conversation about his hobby.

You also intrigues him.

How could you just so casually think of something so kind and thoughtful? How could you want to spend your time reading and truly understanding every reference, point, plot and quote; just to understand a part of him?

Can someone really care about another person that much?

Jason doesn’t find his answers in his beloved books but something tells him he’ll find out soon enough, in you.

Jason is banned from going out on patrol for the time being.

He was actually supposed to quit altogether when he proposed to you but Joker just had to follow the instinct of his passion: inflicting misery.

Dick insisted that the rest of the members will take care of patrolling as all Jason should focus on is you.

Kinda hard to do that when you're so... well, you.

It’s been a couple of days and he still thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Your beauty shines through your smile and the way you care for him. He feels it under the long, jagged scar carved atop his chest.

He’s distracted when he's reading in the living room.

There you are; in a large t-shirt that drapes over your frame and the neckline is cut. It hangs over one side of your shoulder and the sight takes his breath away.

You're cooking something you know he likes, just because you know how much it comforts him. But he doesn’t realize this yet.

“Jason?”

He averts his gaze and pretends he wasn’t staring at you since you stepped foot into the kitchen, half an hour ago.

“Hm?” His voice cracks just a bit but he hope you don’t notice it.

You turn around at his hum and walk towards the couch.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes, would you like to watch something while we eat?”

You and Jason used to watch movies and shows all the time together, courtesy of one of your love languages being quality time.

He bookmarks his page and sets his book down.

“Actually, I wanted to talk.”

You blink and show you’re listening intently.

His fingers rake through his hair nervously. “I was wondering if we could talk about stuff that would help jog my memory.”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod and smile at him.

He smiles back, albeit small but he does.

“Okay.” He claps his hands together and goes to the kitchen to wash his hands.

As you set the table, Jason watches you carefully. He wanted to know everything. Every chore, every part of your routine, every detail. He wanted to help with dinner but was nervous to be near you.

What if he made you uncomfortable? He’d thought about it; his size, his demeanor, the fact that he’s not the man you’ve been around.

Everything’s changed since his… rebirth.

Life’s been hard and Jason doesn’t understand how to cope with the new set of incongruous events.

He sits across from you, a knee bouncing up and down under the table as you sit down.

You look at him expecting to start eating but find he’s not.

“Do you not like it?”

Along with his physique and mental health, you were afraid the liking to his most favorable things had changed, too.

He blinks in confusion. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He quickly realizes how that sounds.

“Wait, that’s not—” His eyes are wide, head shaking a bit in refusal with his hands up. “I meant, no, as in… I haven’t tried it yet.”

You don’t want to laugh but you think it’s kind of funny watching him trip over his words.

The mannerism brings you back to a kinder time.

“Are you nervous?”

His smile is a bit lopsided when he picks up the fork.

“A little..?”

You can’t tell if it’s a question but you nod, trying to make him feel as welcome as possible.

“It’s alright.” You assure. “This is all very new for you so, please don’t feel as though you have to be polite to make me feel better.”

You offer him an encouraging smile before looking away, afraid you’ll burst into tears.

He stares at you for a moment, a bit stunned at your kind and refreshing candor.

Jason begins eating and has to hold himself back from emitting sounds of surprise and approval.

As he chews, he thinks about the flavor. He believes the taste of the spices blended with the taste to be familiar but is doubtful.

“Have I…”

You look up at the beginning of his line of questioning.

“I feel like I’ve had this before.”

You hum and nod in agreement. “You have.”

You think about quoting him back to himself, hoping that would be a good start.

“You used to say it was one of your-”

“Comfort foods.” He completes.

The relief that fills your being makes your heart speed up in excitement.

There’s a glint of excitement in your eyes. One that could easily be characterized as hope.

Jason feels it, too.

When he takes another bite and lets the flavors melt on his tongue, he lets himself feel the precise taste you so carefully measured with your mind.

Jason wanted to stop by the local farmer’s market so you decide to get some laundry done.

You’re folding your clothes and are deep in thought about him.

There’s potential, you think. A lot of potential to recover lost memories and make new ones along the way.

It’s the matter of whether or not he wants to do them with you that has you stuck.

The hopeful side of you believes he’s stayed this far, surely he feels the same.

The rational part of you doubts it.

You can never find the same person twice, not even in the same person.

You think about the lost look on his face you catch at times. You see it when he thinks he’s hidden it well beyond your gaze. You see it when he’s all alone and has his mind to himself.

You’re afraid to lose him. Again.

Your vision blurs with the unshed tears pooling in your eyes and you look down to blink them away. They plop to the ground and you quietly sniffle, not wanting to break just yet.

There's an ache in your left shoulder blade and an insistent ruckus of doubt swirling in your head.

You can't sleep soundly anymore, not that you ever did since his death.

His death, you think.

It still hasn't hit you, that he's alive. He's here, in the flesh and in your home. You're able to talk to him, see him.

You remember how you'd piece your heart back together the next morning after letting it break the night prior.

You bite your tongue when the emotions overwhelm you, when you feel as though you'll die if you don't speak. So you bury those words deep in your journal, where ink meets paper and stays far away from his eyes.

Your eyes quickly gather more tears than you can keep from shedding and soon, you’re crying silently to yourself. For the umpteenth time.

It hurts. Your heart hurts and your throat hurts. Hurt is the only other feeling you’ve come close to familiarizing yourself with other than hope.

You don’t hear Jason’s motorcycle engine when he’s outside. You don’t hear his heavy footsteps mark their way onto your floor once like how they used to.

He stands outside but doesn’t have the heart to see you. Hearing how wrecked you are was enough.

It hurts him, not being able to remember from the jump but he knows how patient you are. How understanding you are.

He figures the most kindest souls are the ones that hurt the most.

So, he leaves. He spends another hour and a half out and decides to get you your favorite things.

Walking through the aisles, the plastic bags of grapes catch his attention the most.

“She loves these.” He says as he picks up the biggest, juiciest batch.

The assurance in his words gives him a confidence that rivals your doubt.

A short flashback of you munching away on the grapes as you study enters his mind.

You’re sitting by a windowsill and you’re typing away, pausing every few minutes to snack on the round fruit.

He smiles to himself and grabs a bag along with some sliced pineapples and mangoes.

“Cherries… with salt.” He hums to himself.

Yes, you like to eat your washed cherries with some salt sprinkled on top.

Jason chuckles as the memory of you whipping up that treat comes to mind.

He picks up a bag of those round, tangy red rubies and goes to checkout.

He’s practically buzzing with excitement as he can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see how much he’s gaining you back.

He returns with the sight of laundry done and put away, the dishes are washed and your lotus plant watered for the week.

But no sight of you.

Where are you?

Jason debates calling your cell.

Would it be weird?

You’re not his, well, anything. But you used to be.

Your caller ID tempts his thumb but he ultimately clicks off his phone.

You’ll show up sooner or later, wherever you are… right?

You’re a grown woman, you can take care of yourself.

His breath staggers in his throat at the thought of you by yourself.

What if some asshole creeps up on you? What if you run into some kind of problem but your phone’s drained? What if you get lost?

He groans as if the noise will silence those nightmarish scenarios. Jason’s hands pull at his hair and he paces back and forth in thought.

“Fuck it.” He grumbles.

He throws his black leather jacket on, keys and helmet in hand. Tying the laces to his boots, he twists the knob and opens the door.

“Y/n?!”

His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull.

Your eyebrows jump at his sudden shout, clearly not expecting this welcome.

“Umm… expecting someone else?”

He shakes his head vigorously, depicting a relieved expression.

You chuckle at him and step inside. Jason never takes his eyes off of you, he locks the door with muscle memory.

“No, God, no. I was just worried— where were you?”

You feel the butterflies swarm your belly at his concern.

“I had to throw the trash out and it wasn't too far so I didn't take my car.” You point at the small bowl by the door and sure enough, your keys are in there.

He follows the beeline from your finger and can only say one thing.

“Oh.”

Oh? Oh?? You were losing your mind over some simple chore and all you can say is ‘Oh.’?

Jason feels stupid.

How could he not try to look for the one obvious thing you can’t go anywhere without? Just jumping to the worst conclusions without thinking straight.

He chuckles in disbelief, bringing a hand to cover the top half of his face in embarrassment.

“I’m so fucking—”

“Altruistic.”

You knew he was going to berate himself in humiliation and think of himself as stupid or some second thing so you brought it upon yourself to dismiss that notion.

Jason is floored by your ability to see things in a different light, one that makes others orientate their original position.

He never thought about it that way. Not once did it occur to him that he was being thoughtful, caring, considerate. Altruistic.

It's true that he's a vigilante. An anti-hero, if you will. Protecting others and being altruistic are synonymous.

However, to him; it's a foreign concept to be on the receiving end. He thinks it's suffocating to be looked after as if he were a child. Especially when people (his father) do things that they (bruce wayne) deem best for someone (him).

Well, he used to up until a week and a half ago. Until you came along.

“Altruistic.” He repeats, feeling the word roll off his tongue.

“You know, the term used to describe people who go out of their way to do something for someone?”

You're only joking, playing around with him.

He sees it, though. He knows you're trying to lighten the mood because of what you don't know.

Jason just nods, a short chuckle sounding as he responds to your dry wit.

“Right, right. Yeah. I think I've heard of that somewhere.”

You laugh. You laugh and it feels nice. Probably because it's the first time you've truly laughed in some time.

Jason wants to encase some of your laughter in a jar and shake it around when he feels down.

It’s a lovely sound, he notes. Like a satisfying tinkering that makes your mind just slow down for a bit. Relax and take a moment to just breathe.

Your short huffs of air dissipate. “You catch on pretty fast.”

“That I do.”

If only you knew. he thinks. He wants to tell you that it's okay to cry, to let the part of yourself break and piece back. He wants you to know that you don't have to pretend nothing's wrong and that the obvious elephant in the room can be addressed.

Instead, he doesn't do either of those things. Jason doesn't think he's earned the right to reassure you of things like that. He doesn't think it's his place but oh, the irony.

Jason Todd feels like a 16 year old boy again.

Not in the sense of being immature, stupid, and reckless. More to do with the matter of his growing body and the feelings that come with it.

He’s big, huge, even. He knows he takes up more space than he means to occupy so he does what he thinks is the least he can do.

For example, he eats more than the average man so he insists on helping with the groceries by paying for them sometimes.

You argue, and boy do you lock it down; but it’s in vain when he looks at you with those deep eyes and mutters a small, ‘just let me do this for you’.

For me.

You’re weak when he asserts himself against your judgement.

He feels 16 again when you look at him with nothing but unwavering care and respect.

He used to get those looks, he remembered. Once upon a time where he wasn’t undead.

It was from the boy he respects the most; his older brother.

Jason started getting dreams since the first night he slept in your apartment.

Usually, he can’t sleep and when he did; he’d get nightmares. But not this time around.

He dreams of a time in the past, one where he’s not beating on a lowly thug or vice-versa.

It’s oddly bright but not blinding, the daylight fills in color nicely.

You’re sitting on a bed— he believes it to be your old one— and you’re making something out of nothing.

“Whatcha doin’?” You say without breaking eye contact from the scissors cutting a heart shape into the cardboard paper.

Jason registers you’re talking to him but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Is this real?”

You snort and shake your head.

“No, Jace. You’re in a sleep-induced coma and I’m the light that’s come to finally take you away.”

A wide grin has slowly etched itself onto his lips, it lifts his cheeks and creases his eyes.

He sees your excellent timing for witty quips is still there. He also notes the way you carry yourself around his presence. You’re relaxed, calm.

You’re still the same you.

He sits at the edge down of the bed and you look at him with offense.

“Why’re you sitting so far away?” You pout

“But I’m right here.”

You lightly groan and reach out to pull him closer to you, his knees touch your thigh and only then are you satisfied.

“Better.” You express to him.

Jason takes this moment to get a good look at you.

He’s sure you’ve grown into your features now, time and style enhancing your appearance.

Everyone changes physically but he realizes it’s the inside he’s looking for.

“Jay?”

“Hm?”

“Wake up.”

That makes his heart drop out of his ass. He nervously blinks. “What?”

You look at him like you know. Like you know he doesn’t belong here, in the past.

“Wake up.”

You say once again but your lips aren’t moving. Why aren’t your lips moving?

“Hey, Jason. Wake up.”

He sharply gasps when he sits up, soft pants escape his throat and you’re here.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You reassure.

Your hands are on his shoulder and you’re sitting on the bed.

There’s a small nightlight plugged in beside the door to the bathroom and it illuminates your figure.

He makes out your face in the dark and once he realizes, he winds down.

“I couldn’t breathe.”

You nod. “I know. I was getting some water when I heard you wheezing.”

You were scared. You were worried and he knows it. He hears it in your wavering voice.

“I’m okay now.”

Jason doesn’t know why he feels the need to comfort you but he does.

Your hands aren’t on his shoulders anymore but he feels the warmth your touch leaves behind.

“I’m fine.” He murmurs again.

You just nod and get up to leave when his hand darts out to wrap around your fingers.

“…I had a dream. Er, nightmare? I dunno… A mix of both, I guess.”

You sit down and he wonders why he’s telling you this but the need to tell you overshadows his want to keep it inside.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

You hope asking him won’t trigger anything because the last thing you want is to be nosy.

“We were in your room, I’m pretty sure. You were younger, though. Fifteen.”

You recall the moments Jason would sneak in from your bedroom window in your youth. He was 16 and you, 15.

Good times.

“You were making something… I don’t remember what, exactly.” He squints and moves his hands around, trying to recall the events leading up to the imagery. “I heard your voice telling me to ‘wake up’ but your lips weren’t moving.”

He looks at you, coming to an understanding. “Because you were telling me to wake me up in real time.”

You look at him and can’t help but feel sad.

“I'm sorry” You whisper, not trusting your voice.

Instantly, Jason cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the skin under your eyes tenderly.

“I’m not.” He assures. “If this is what has to happen to me to remember you then I'm fine with it.”

You close your eyes and sigh, your palms full with the bunched up material of your shorts.

He tilts his head closer to you, as if the distance is what's keeping you from truly seeing what's in his eyes.

“Look at me?” He gently asks.

You comply and he almost crumbles with how much you've managed to hide from him.

His eyebrows raise a little and come together in ruth. “Don't hide from me. Don't hide how you really feel.”

Jason doesn't know how he's doing this— touching you and saying all the right things. The words are just spilling out and for once, he can't stop himself.

Maybe because it's almost 3 am and that's when his tongue and spine meet; to relay all emotion without a hiccup. 3 am is when he's unabashed in his feeling, unafraid of his truth.

You stare. Your big, beautiful eyes pick at the spare parts of his woeful soul and you see. You see the windows of his soul tainted with an unimaginable sorrow.

“I can't.” You choke out.

How can you not hide yourself from him? How can you look at him and not want to open up your heart and let him see what's growing inside?

You're grief-stricken, he's melancholic. That isn't going anywhere.

“Y/n.” He implores you to reason with him. To give him a chance at witnessing you.

You feel like you’re drowning. You can’t breathe, your chest hurts and you feel your lungs constrict.

You can’t tell him how you really feel. He already feels guilty as is so how are you supposed to just let him read your mind?

To know how much you long for someone who can’t remember what you mean to them, to see how badly the lack of their presence has affected you.

Jason has no idea what realizing those things does to a person, what impact it’ll have on him.

He’s not ready.

“I… Good night, Jason.” You heave.

He watches you walk away, cutting him deep and leaving him to bleed dry.

The next morning can only be described as awkward. Tense awkwardness, actually.

There’s been no sign of you leaving your room since last night and it’s currently half past 2.

Jason hasn’t slept since you left the room. He was up all night evaluating all the possible outcomes from that point on.

Should he leave?

He knows you won’t ask him to but he wouldn’t abide by the request, anyway. He’s become selfish.

Yes, Jason Todd has grown accustomed to you and this little life of peace but he can’t be blamed. This is what he signed up for when he put a ring on it.

The ring. Your ring.

Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s seen you wearing it 24/7. Your left wedding finger is always donning the engagement ring, not once do you take it off.

Even when washing the dishes.

It is at this moment he has an epiphany. You were so close to letting your walls come down but seeing how afraid he was, painted in a foreign frame; you backed down.

He’s suddenly conscious of how much anguish you’re willing to put up with if it means for him to experience a minimal amount.

You want him to remember you without accepting the consequences of mental strain. You don’t want him to push past his anxiety, to make him face his fear of the unknown; but you’ll face your tears on your own.

A deep anger simmers inside him.

The amount of selflessness you’ve shown is incredibly unfair.

Isn’t marriage a united proposition? Isn’t his duty as your husband to make your problems his, to support you through all things good and bad?

You just backed away without giving him a chance to fully comprehend you.

How could you do that? Why did you do that?

Jason’s made a visceral statement in your life and he must know. He has to remember.

With a newfound confidence, he vows to try harder. He vows to push himself past the brink of frustration to remember you. He vows to do whatever it takes and replace that vacant look in your eyes with all those years of love and care.

He swings the door open and strides towards your bedroom. He knocks, a gentle rhythm of rapping. “Y/n? Are you there?”

He waits about 30 seconds before knocking and calling out your name again.

Nothing. No response.

Jason thinks about trying the knob but the last thing he wants is to scare you away.

Invading your privacy is a hard pass but he has to get through to you. He feels as if he’s running out of time.

In a desperate attempt to get a hold of you, he twists the knob but finds the space empty without you.

He goes to the bowl by the door and finds no sight of your keys but a sticky note, instead. Be back soon it reads.

Jason walks back to your room, standing in the middle of the doorway; unsure.

There’s a magnet inside that’s poking him, coaxing him to come in.

He knows he shouldn’t but would he find clues to a past life?

He tentatively steps inside, his eyes wandering around the interior.

Your color theme is fitting. Very you.

The walls are painted a nice color in coordination to your queen sized bedding. There’s a small bedside table with a couple of drawers with the most unique lamp he’s ever seen— a white lily of the valley flower and the bulb is inside!

It’s so you. He huffs out air through his nose and smiles.

He spots a halfway closed journal with a pen inside, marking a spot atop the desk.

No. I can’t.

But he wants to. He wants to know so bad what you’re really like. Who you are when you’re not performing for anyone else.

Jason wants to read the thoughts you keep buried so deep inside yourself, the secrets your heart closets. The pains your soul harbors.

But he can’t break the only trust he’s so worked so hard to build.

Jason runs his fingers across the spine of the book, feeling the embroidered thread run along.

There’s a poster above the table, one of your favorite movies.

A flash of color and sound hits his senses all at once. It looks like a memory of the movie.

Laughter, soft gasps, theatrical music to invoke foreboding feeling; only to be met with an emotional resolution from the unfortunate scene.

Tears run down your face as the beloved character faces his untime demise.

You couldn’t believe this. After all this time, all that character development, and he just… dies?

Jason doesn’t seem as tore up about it as you are but he feels for the character.

“He doesn’t deserve this.” You sniffle.

Jason nods, his arm around makes you close you in on his side and he rubs your arm up and down in a soothing manner. “I know.”

Jason exhales harshly, like he’d been holding a breath for too long.

He moves around, trying to find more things to jog his memory.

A glass jewelry box filled with pearls, gold, silver and rose gold jewelry catch his attention.

Where have I seen this before?

It’s like déjà vu except he can feel some kind of attachment to the object.

A finger lifts the lid and he finds a gold pole with a miniature ballerina glued onto it, separating the box into four sections.

“Happy birthday, Y/n!”

You’re surprised, of course a “simple dinner” wasn’t so simple. Nothing with Jason is, and that’s the beauty of being with him.

“Open my gift first!” Stephanie exclaimed.

You chuckled at her excitement and tore off the wrapping paper, ignoring everyone’s eyes gauging your reaction.

You softly gasp as the gift becomes visible, the beautiful glass case exceeding your expectations of a perfect jewelry box.

“Thank you, Steph.” You envelop her in a tight embrace, feeling oddly emotional.

“Welcome to the family.” She warmly congratulates.

It wasn’t official, not yet; but to be loved is to be seen. Feeling so loved by people who love Jason is fulfilling.

He watches as the two most important women in his life warm up to one another and he thinks of how blessed he is.

He blinks and is transported back into the present.

It’s working.

A joyous laughter exits his lips, the air filling his once empty lungs with a newfound hope.

A picture frame of you and him lies on your dresser.

He’s carrying you in his arms bridal style while your head is tipped back; an expressive look of joy on your face. He’s looking directly at the camera, donning a proud smirk in front of the apartment.

You two are in color while the rest of the background is in black and white.

There’s a small note at the bottom left, written in cursive. Congrats to our fav couple! with a smiley face next to it.

It’s like salt on the wound, seeing this photo.

He can feel his heart growing hands, scratching at the scar on his chest to be let out. To be freed from this torment of feeling.

The photo depicts everything he used to wished for, everything he had and everything that’s faded right now.

Your diamond ring shines brightly, competing with your smile and his eyes.

His index finger traces an outline of you and him. “I’m coming back to you.” He whispers.

You've been gone for quite some time, a little over 3 hours but you needed the time. You needed the hours to take a long reflection of the current state of things.

You kept thinking he wasn't ready but you realized that it was you. You weren't ready. Aren't ready? You don't know.

How does one find a way to cope with severe loss only for the pain and yearning to be diminished overnight.

Literally, overnight for you.

Events of last night come washing over your brain like a montage of your top 10 most embarrassing moments. It easily takes the place for #1.

You sigh, curling your fingers into your hair and gently tugging on them to punish yourself.

He didn’t deserve that. Just because you’re frightened of the future doesn’t mean he has to be on the receiving end of your cowardice.

You have to talk to him, to make this right.

You come back home at a reasonable time; right before you should start preparing for dinner.

It’s kind of dark, like a gloomy gray shadow blankets your living room.

But you see him. He’s sitting on the sofa waiting for your arrival.

“Jason.” You say his name so softly, he almost doesn’t hear it.

Another side effect from being baptized by the forbidden vat of acid are his attuned senses.

“I was waiting for you.” His voice is louder and clearer compared to yours.

“I know.” You nod.

“We need to talk.” He stands slowly, not wanting to alarm you.

“We do.”

“Then why don’t we?”

The desperation seeps into his throat but he doesn’t care. He can’t help it.

You shuffle your feet, feeling lighter on your steps.

“I’m afraid.”

Your admission is out of fear, anxiety, all things quiet. But it’s brave, sound, and all things hopeful.

Your sober judgement brings him closer to you.

“I can’t lose you again, Jason.”

You’re teetering on the edge of holding back and letting go.

He sees that.

Jason slowly brings his hands up, stopping at the length of your elbow. He’s still hesitant, wanting to touch you but nervous of the contact.

“You won’t.” He’s sure of himself. “I’m right here.”

He takes a hold of your elbows and his thumb subconsciously rubs up and down the skin.

You look into his eyes and all you see is the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

He’s still in there.

“I’m trying. For you… for us.” He whispers the two-lettered word and it weighs heavy with the connotation.

“I just need you to throw me a bone.”

Despite the plea, he gives you a lopsided smile. One that shows he’s not annoyed or agitated with you.

And it makes you huff through your nose.

“Please?” He tries once more, a cute demeanor taking the place of his more serious tone.

You nod with pursed lips. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He whispers back.

You sit next to him on the sofa, sitting upright and where he can your side profile. Jason leans back in a small manspread.

“Where do you wanna start?” You ask.

Jason sits on this for a moment.

There’s so much he wants to know and at very different points in time. He thinks to tell you about his progress, the fleeting reels of the entire picture he envisioned.

Ultimately, he decides to have a go at the start.

“What was I like? To you, I mean.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that he asked one of the most obvious questions but it does. It surprises you because he hasn’t changed much.

You smile softly to yourself as time turns back. “You’re kind, gentle. Soft-spoken, loyal and so easy to talk to.”

He notices how you speak of him in present tense and not past like how he initially asked.

“You’re still the same.” You point.

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head. “How do you mean?”

“I, uh.” He sighs deeply. “I don’t know how to go back to how things… were.”

It’s not an admission of guilt, so why does it feel like one?

“I don’t either.”

You bounce your knee, a subconscious habit.

Jason picks up on it though. Before he can control himself, it slips out.

“Stop that.”

You stop and meet his gaze.

He looks shocked at himself. “I- I’m sorry. I don’t know why... how—?”

“I do.” You say. “You used to say that when I’d get ahead of myself. In my thoughts.”

“In your thoughts?” He parrots.

You just nod enthusiastically, so happy with this sign of progress. “Yes! You could just tell what was going on with me.”

He nods, crossing one leg over the other.

“I didn’t mean to tell you to stop bouncing your leg.” He clarifies. “It just… it felt natural to say that.”

“It’s completely okay. I mean it.”

You titter and Jason thinks of wind chimes.

“What else?”

He hums in thought. “Our relationship.”

“I was fifteen and you, sixteen.”

Jason’s immediately reminded of his dream.

“Sorry to interrupt but was my dream real? Was that an actual memory?”

Your lips turn up at this attention to detail. “Yes. I was working on a project for my midterm and you came over to keep me company.”

“Woah.” He breathes. “We’ve known each other for that long.”

“Yeah, you asked me out a little after that and we’ve been together ever since.”

Jason thinks of his adoptive father. “Did Bruce know?”

You think of all the times you’d gone over to the mansion and acquainted yourself with its people.

“He said I was ‘probably the only good thing going’ in your life.” You quote his words and can’t help but feel a sadness for him.

You lost your lover, a piece of your heart. But he lost his son.

“Y/n?” Jason calls your name.

Your neutral expression shifts to that of being pulled from daydreaming.

“Yeah.” You blink.

Jason catches the swift switch up and wants to know if you’ll dodge him when he asks.

“Where’d you go just now?”

A lie sits on the tip of your tongue but you realize that you can’t keep him or yourself from the truth anymore. You can’t keep shielding yourselves from the inevitable reality.

“You made me think of Bruce.” You say honestly.

The man who’d gone to the ends of the Earth for vengeance. The man who was about to break his “no kill” rule.

Jason has yet to extend a helping hand in mending their fractured relationship. One person at a time he thinks.

“We got engaged young. I was nineteen.” You twist the ring around your finger.

“Was I romantic enough?”

His eyes are filled with mirth when your cheeks pull back and reveal your teeth.

Your smile is so beautiful. He takes a mental picture of it every time you show a variation.

The creases at the corners, the dimples, and lines all make your smile only that much better.

He wants to make you smile more. He’s so lost in the way your lips move that he forgets the original question.

“You proposed over a candlelit dinner at my favorite restaurant.”

He grows shy at the sentiment, hanging his head down and covering his face with a hand while his body shakes with mirth.

“Wow.” He muses.

You laugh at him, in the mood for some light teasing. “What, you getting shy Todd?”

His head snaps up at the fondness dripping from your tone at his last name. He’d never heard someone say his name like that before.

“No.”

He can deny it all he wants but the faint hue of red creeping up on his face says otherwise.

“You had the band play a song, too.”

You want to see if he can get this. It’s an incredibly important detail, one of which encompasses a very loving memory.

He racks his head around for this. A song. A song? There’s so many, which one could set the atmosphere for a promise of lifelong commitment?

Then, it’s like the whole room changes. An oil spill mirage of the restaurant paints the room.

You’re in a black dress, your hair’s done nice.

He closes his eyes and he can almost feel the air all those years ago.

The familiar melody of the tune rings in his ears and he knows he’s got it for sure.

Jason opens his eyes and is brought back to the present.

“The Flamingos.” He says.

It’s like he can still hear the song playing softly over conversation.

“I only have eyes…”

“For you.” You finish the lyric.

You two giggle, feeling silly and slightly awkward but it’s fulfilling. It’s like how it used to be.

He clicks his tongue, content with the shared experience.

“What about you?” He wonders.

“What about me?”

“Your life.”

Oh. Right.

Your eyelids flutter in a half-blink and suddenly the carpet is the most interesting thing in the world.

“My whole life fell apart. I didn’t know how to get through the day.”

I forgot how is left unsaid.

Jason eyes your mask slipping away.

“I was twenty when you were murdered.”

Murdered, he was murdered. That’s the truth.

The Joker was put away in jail for his crimes against humanity while Jason— your Jason— was lying the cold, hard ground. Barely breathing yet still alive

“I, uhh… quit college for a year. Couldn’t do it.” You pitifully chuckle at yourself.

You sharply inhale when your emotions come bubbling up to the surface again. “I eventually went back and finished my degree. Graduated cum laude at twenty-four.”

His eyes crease as his pride and joy defied the odds for her life. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” You shyly grin.

He drums his fingers along his knees.

It occurs to you that despite your life’s lost momentum, the momentum on Jason’s life picked up faster than it ever had.

“And you?”

He doesn’t expect to be interviewed. “What about me?”

“What were you doing for the past four and a half years?”

Sweat forms under his palms and he subconsciously rubs them along his pajama pant clad thighs. Jason feels his face turn warm, he prays the redness doesn’t bloom along his cheeks.

“…I’d rather not talk about that.”

You give him a knowing look. “Jason.”

He winces, an eye closing while he sucks in air from his teeth. “Why do you sound like an upset mother?”

An incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat. “I'm not upset, just don't want you pulling a me."

He relents. “Okay, okay, alright. Fine, you win.”

He deeply sighs, rubbing his eyes and you turn your body to fully face him. You're legs are crossed and you sit up straight.

“You know Talia al Ghul.”

You nod, Damien’s mother isn’t exactly a popular subject but he is.

“She resurrected me using the pit and brought me back to train under the League of Assassins and the All-Caste.”

He was training for all those years?

“Training… for what?”

A grim expression overtakes his features. “I wanted to kill Bruce because I thought he left me to die.”

Pity is the last thing he wants but you can’t help but feel bad for him. He was tortured for so long, in the worst ways possible only to be mislead like that in the end.

“And now?” You hope he’s changed his mind.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

You unknowingly smile. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.”

“I spent the last six months focusing solely on being a vigilante.”

“A vigilante.” You repeat.

Yes, you know there's more than what he's letting on but you want to hear his story from him. Isn't that what people who care for the other do?

“Yeah, I took care of the bad guys and started a little side hustle of my own.” He says it like it's no big deal

“I wouldn't call being a drug slash crime lord a ‘little’ side hustle.”

Jason's face blanks, he pales as you reveal the overall tone behind his cryptic message.

“You know.”

“Dick told me after he showed up with you.”

His eyes seemed to look right through you.

For the first time, you couldn't tell what was going on with him. You could no longer discern the distinction between his feelings and thoughts.

“Don't be mad. Please.” Your bargain comes rushing out.

“I'm not mad,” He voices in a hushed manner. “...’m just thinking.”

“Tell me.” You hesitantly put a hand on his. "I want to know what you're thinking."

A deep breath is sucked into his lungs. “I'm thinking about how much I want you.”

You dart back and forth between his eyes. He watches as your irises move between his slightly changed ones but contunues.

“I'm thinking about how someone like you can be with someone like me.”

He shifts his body slightly in your direction, wanting to close this space.

“I’m thinking about how despite everything, I've changed in more ways than one and you've still remained the same.”

“That's not true.” You shake your slightly.

“But it is, Y/n. My senses are heightened, my body isn't the same. I-I’m constantly feeling like I’m missing something and yet you're still here.”

Why wouldn't you be?

“Why, Y/n? Why haven't you given up on me?”

The answer to his questions are simple because it's the same answer. Yet, you're finding it difficult to say it it this moment.

“Why did you stop me from shutting you out?” You ask instead.

He stares at you, contemplating blurting out the thoughts and feelings that have plagued him since epiphany.

“Because I...”

You lean into him. “Because you?”

Jason looks away and shuts his eyes, trying to contain his brain running on a hundred thoughts per second.

“I… care about you, okay? And I’m not the same man I was before but I care.”

Your hands slide on top of his and the coldness of his knuckles diminish as your warmth spreads. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Tears fill your eyes and he melts. His eyebrows furrow and forms a wrinkle.

“I hate it when you cry.” He says as his palm encompasses the back of your neck and he pushes you into his shoulder.

You hold his arms as you sniffle lightly into his bicep as his other hand rubs your back up and down.

“I know you’re different but he still lives inside you. I can see it.”

Jason thinks about that. Is it possible?

If you didn’t change so much then could it be that there’s a chance for him to connect to that version of himself?

It was never about going back. It was never about denying his existence now and stick who he was onto his back.

It’s always been about adapting to change. Learning to let go what doesn’t serve you and accepting that with time, you must change, too.

Jason may recover the lost pieces of who he used to be but he still has to learn who he is.

“We can make new memories.” Your watery voice croaks.

You sit back and look at him, really take your time to absorb this moment. Him. Us.

“It doesn’t matter how long it takes for everything to come back. We can still make the best of what we have now.”

He stares at you and knows you’re on the same plane as him. You always were.

He cups your face and tilts your head towards him, pressing a kiss to your head. You close your eyes at his touch.

“We will.”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Adventures of Mary Darling

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in PITTSBURGH on May 15 at WHITE WHALE BOOKS, and in PDX on Jun 20 at BARNES AND NOBLE with BUNNIE HUANG. More tour dates (London, Manchester) here.

Science fiction great Pat Murphy has written some classics – including books that were viciously suppressed by the heirs of JRR Tolkien! – but with The Adventures of Mary Darling, she's outdone even her own impressive self:

https://tachyonpublications.com/product/the-adventures-of-mary-darling/

The titular Mary Darling here is the mother of Wendy, John and and Michael Darling, the three children who are taken by Peter Pan to Neverland in JM Barrie's 1902 book The Little White Bird, which later became Peter Pan. If you recall your Barrie, you'll remember that it ends with the revelation that Wendy, John and Michael weren't the first Darlings to go to Neverland: when Mary Darling was a girl, she, too, made the journey.

Murphy's novel opens with Mary Darling and her husband George coming home from a dinner party to discover their three children missing, the window open, and their nanny, a dog called Nana, barking frantically in the yard. John is frightened, but Mary is practically petrified, inconsolable and rigid with fear.

Soon, Mary's beloved uncle, John Watson, is summoned to the house, along with his famous roommate, the detective Sherlock Holmes. With Holmes on the case, surely the children will be found?

Of course not. Holmes is incapable of understanding where the Darling children have gone, because to do so would be to admit the existence of the irrational and fantastic, and, more importantly, to accept the testimony of women, lower-class people, and pirates. Holmes has all the confidence of the greatest detective alive, which means he is of no help at all.

Neither is George Darling, who, as a kind of act of penance for letting his children be stolen away, takes to Nana's doghouse, and insists that he will not emerge from it until the children are returned. He takes his meals in the doghouse, and is carried in it to and from the taxis that bring him to work and home again.

Only Mary can rescue her children. John Watson discovers her consorting with Sam, a one-legged Pacific Islander who is a known fence and the finest rat-leather glovemaker in London, these being much prized by London's worst criminal gangs. Horrified that Mary is keeping such ill company, Watson confronts her and Sam (and Sam's parrot, who screeches nonstop piratical nonsense), only to be told that Mary knows what she is doing, and that she is determined to see her children home safe.

Mary, meanwhile, is boning up on her swordplay and self-defense (taught by a Suffragist swordmaster in a room above an Aerated Bread Company tearoom, these being the only public place in Victorian London where a respectable woman can enjoy herself without a male escort). She's acquiring nautical maps. She's going to Neverland.

What follows is a very rough guide to fairyland. It's a story that recovers the dark asides from Barrie's original Pan stories, which were soaked with blood, cruelty and death. The mermaids want to laugh as you drown. The fairies hate you and want you to die. And Peter Pan doesn't care how many starveling, poorly trained Lost Boys die in his sorties against pirates, because he knows where there are plenty more Lost Boys to be found in the alienated nurseries of Victorian London, an ocean away.

More importantly, it's a story that revolves around the women in Barrie's world, who are otherwise confined to the edges and shadows of the action. In Barrie's Pan, Wendy is a "mother," Tiger Lily is a "princess," and Mary is a barely-there adult whose main role is to smile wistfully at the memory of when she was a girl and got to serve as Peter's "mother."

And Holmes? Apart from one love interest and a stalwart housekeeper, Holmes has very little time or regard for women. This is so central to the Holmes cannon that the Arthur Conan Doyle estate actually sued over Netflix's Enola Holmes movie, arguing that Enola displayed basic respect for women, a feature that doesn't appear until the very end of the Holmes canon, and – the estate argued – those final stories were still in copyright:

https://www.cbr.com/why-enola-holmes-has-nice-version-sherlock/

Murphy's woman's-eye-view of Peter Pan, Neverland and the Lost Boys dilates the narrow aperture through which Peter Pan plays out, revealing a great deal of exciting, fun, frightening stuff that was always off in the wings. She gives flesh and substance to characters like Tiger Lily, by giving her the semi-fictionalized identity of one of the many American First Nations people who toured Europe and Africa, putting on Wild West shows that won eternal fame and cultural currency for the "American Indian," even as the USA was seeking to exterminate them and their memory.

Likewise, Murphy's pirates are grounded in the reality of pirate ships: democratic, anarchic, and far more fun than Robert Louis Stevenson would have you believe. While Murphy's pirates are about a century too late (as are Barrie's), they are in other regards pretty rigorous, which makes them extraordinarily great literary figures.

If you read David Graeber's posthumous Pirate Enlightenment, you'll know about the Zana-Malata of Madagascar, the descendants of anarchist pirates and matriarchal Malagasy women, who pranked and hoaxed British merchant sailors for generations, deliberately creating a mythology of south seas pirate kings:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/24/zana-malata/#libertalia

This hybrid culture of bold, fierce matriarchal Malagasy women and their anarchist pirate husbands play a central role in the book's resolution, and Murphy's pirate utopia is so well drawn and homely that I found myself wanting to move there.

This is a profoundly political book, but it's such a romp, too! Murphy has a real flair for this kind of thing. Back in 1999, she published the brilliant There and Back Again, an all-female retelling of The Hobbit (in spaaaaace!) that was widely celebrated…right up to the moment that Christopher Tolkien used baseless copyright threats to get the book withdrawn from sale:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/There_and_Back_Again_(novel)

Billionaire failsons of long-dead writers notwithstanding, you can still read There and Back Again by borrowing a copy of the book from the Internet Archive's Open Library:

https://openlibrary.org/works/OL15436385W/There_and_back_again

Murphy's mashup of Holmes, Pan, South Seas pirate anarchists, and other salutary and exciting personages, milieux, furniture and tropes of the Victorian adventure story is an unmissable triumph, a romp, a delight.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/06/nevereverland/#lesser-ormond-street

[chaoticace2005]

List of why the Radio Demon disappeared for 7 years:

1. His fight with Vox ended really badly and he needed to recover.

2. He went somewhere to acquire more power.

3. He had a mission to do because of his deal.

4. Vox confessed his love for Alastor. Alastor had no idea how to respond to this so he ghosted Vox for seven years. But Vox had access to cameras everywhere so the best way to ghost Vox is to ghost the city.

5. Met a wise old man who taught him the secrets to life, he had a training montage.

6. Took a gap year(s) to “find himself”

7. Extended tea party at Rosie’s

8. His shadow got pissed at him and decided to swallow him, sending him to a shadow dimension that he drifted in for seven years.

9. His friends from the other side finally caught up to him and he had to repay his debt

10. His tailor went on sabbatical and he couldn’t leave his place without the proper amount of drip so he had to wait for him to return.

11. There was a shortage of red hair dye, he had to wait for them to restock.

12. Someone took a photo of him with his tail out. He went on a mission to hunt them down and DESTROY them.

13. He went to the Hellmart to cause $50,000 in TV damages (Tomota vid reference)

14. He was busy making diss tracks for everyone he knows and lost track of time.

15. Susan beat him in a bake sale and he had to hide out of shame.

16. Honeymoon with his cane.

17. Fell into a coma

18. Found out about the Alastor-Body Pillow Vox had and then had to ensure they were never manufactured again.

19. He accidentally saw part of one of Angel’s pornos and was traumatized. He had to leave Pentagram City because everyone he went he saw his face.

20. Hung out with Lilith who dished tea about Lucifer.

21. Was told he was “outdated” so he took the time to educate himself on modern slang.

22. Tried to find an obedience trainer for cats.

23. He time traveled seven years into the future and just decided to run with it.

24. Alastor was killed. That’s not Alastor. That’s a shadow acting as him.

25. That’s not Alastor, that’s his twin brother.

26. Walked in on a role play session between a Vox and Valentino-Dressed-Up-Like-Alastor and needed to find a way to erase the memory.

27. Bonked his head. Woke up and thought his name was Bob, he lived a nice, happy life until he bonked his head again.

28. Fell through a portal and woke up in a dimension where his name was a bird named Crane who was a janitor in a world of King Fu and pandas.

29. Got access to the season 1 script so he could mentally prepare. He’s been rehearsing his lines and doing his best to make his performance as disturbing as possible.

30. Went to the dentist. When they tried to help him he ate them, so he had to find another dentist, who he also ate. This went on for a while.

31. Was run out of town by his dentist who got annoyed he kept dodging his appointments

32. Got relationship counseling for him and his shadow.

33. Was just out having a good time, partying, and consuming souls.

34. Went on a seven year long bender.

35. Rosie told him he was an “arrow” so he went to archery classes. Turns out she was wrong and archery really isn’t his forte.

[ridleymocki]

Read a lot about the myth of Prometheus last night bc I was writing a Bucky Barnes prequel series in my head (Seb Stan has said in interviews he'd love to see pre-war and Winter Soldier/Red Room era prequels for the character)

[Prometheus is the guy in Greek myth that tried to steal fire for mankind, and as punishment Zeus lashed him to a rock where each day an eagle would descend and tear into him, eating part of his liver. Overnight Prometheus would heal and the next day the torment would start again, in an eternal cycle.]

Imagine this: A Winter Soldier prequel show with two fundamental rules:

Each episode is a different mission he's been sent on, and

At the end of every episode, he gets his memory wiped and put into cryofreeze again. Every. Time.

So at the beginning of each episode, he comes out of cryo with no memory of what's previously happened in the series, and 10-15 years have passed - new fashion, new tech, new politics, new handlers. But the audience, THE AUDIENCE, is privy to everything that's happened. This is extremely cool for two reasons:

You can play with the memory loss a-la Memento (movie with Guy Pearce from 2000 where he has anterograde amnesia and trying to avenge his wife's murder) where the audience knows, but the Winter Soldier doesn't. You could have interweaving plots that only the audience is able to identify. You could have a child character in episode one show up in episode four as an adult, but only the audience knows it's them, the Winter Soldier has no idea. You could have a character be sweet to the solider in one ep after being an abusive tyrant previously, so the audience knows it's an act but the soldier doesn't. You could really stretch dramatic irony to its limits.

The PROMETHEAN nature of the Winter Soldier as a character could get full exploration. By the time we see him in CA:Civil War he's been through this whole process of recovering his memories and coming to terms, and my question is, how many times in the past had he started that process?? You could show each episode the beginnings of him realising things aren't right, starting to twig, starting to question. But like Prometheus, his fate is sealed. He ALWAYS gets wiped and he ALWAYS end up back in cryofreeze. The cyclical inevitable tragedy of this would be amazing if done well.

And the show could explore the alienation of waking up in a new time period, nothing familiar, that the first Avengers movie literally cut out of Steve's arc. We'd get to see how the combination of no memory, no personal history, being out of one's own time, and having an enhanced body, contributes to the soldier's dehumanisation and primes him for Hydra's conditioning.

Marvel would never, but they should.

[marsskaterboii]

Fitz is granted 15 years of peace at the end of the Farseer Trilogy, 15 years he spends with Nighteyes. They travel, they hunt, they live to their lives's content. Loosing Nighteyes after all these years rips his life apart. But at the end of the Tawny Man Trilogy, we learn that Fitz lived partially forged. What cruelty is this, to learn that Nighteyes spend the majority of his life with a version of Fitz that did not have the full capacity for happiness? Who could not appreciate their simple life? Nighteyes knew that Fitz giving away his memories and emotions would have consequences. It is why he intervened. And yet. And yet, he was the crutch Fitz leaned on for 15 years. Without him, would Fitz have experienced any satisfaction at all? Any joy? What must it have been like for Nighteyes to see his partner so reduced with no way to remedy Fitz? What must it have been like, to know that he was dying and that he had leave Fitz alone to this fate?

What must it feel like for Fitz, recovered from the Forging by the Fool's kiss, to realise that he did not do right by Nighteyes? With no way to ever redeem himself???

[evilherehotel]

Heya! Don’t know if if I already asked this or not (memory, what’s a memory?)

But can you draw more Space explorer Gaty and Space Explorer Two? I love the skrunklies and I haven’t recovered from tpot 15 (‘:

ok

+ bonus..

[dokyumms]

omg the mingyu fic is so good!!🩷🩷 Can you do sleepy Hoshi (because new cb!!) or Vernon? 🙈🙈 Your writing is amazing

pairings: hoshi x 14thmember!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 635

cw: none

a/n: thank you so much anon! this turned out way longer than i expected... i just decided to do another 14th member reader bc that's what i did for the mingyu one. it doesn't play that much of a role tho tbh. ALSO sorry about my inconsistent formatting; i'm still experimenting with it, but i will land on something soon. hope you enjoy this regardless (๑>◡<๑)

"i'm home～" you sing-song as enter you and hoshi's shared apartment. you don't really expect an answer, taking off your shoes and heading straight to the kitchen for a post work out snack. hoshi has been undoubtly busier than ever, preparing for a comeback just days after a tour- who decided this dumb schedule? like hell, you haven't even recovered from the last 15 aju nices. anyway, because of it, he started coming home later, so your evening routine has just been snacking, showering, waiting for hoshi to come home, falling asleep while waiting for him, and then waking up to him carrying you to your room. today, sadly, seems to be no different.

it isn't until you're practically in the fridge when you realize the kitchen light had already been on when you walked in. paranoid, you call out, "anyone home?"- no answer.

there's no way- did someone break in? you text hoshi: hey babe, did you forget to turn off the kitchen light before you left? pocketing your phone when he doesn't reply, you decide it was probably just you who forgot, still picking up a pan to protect you while you check every room in the house anyway.

after checking the laundry room, bathroom, pantry, and coat closet, you make your way to your room. you're about to open the door when you hear shuffling. "seriously?" you mutter, ready to take out whoever is in your apartment. swinging open the door, you scan the room. there's no one, well almost no one. you realize- no, it was not some burglar who was in your home- just an innocent little hoshi rustling around in his sleep with a tamtam plushie held to his chest.

you sigh in relief, putting the pan somewhere and walking toward the bed. "since when did he come home?" you ask yourself. inspecting him closely, you realize that hoshi really does look cute with tamtam. naturally, you pull out your phone to take a picture, snapping a photo before realizing your flash had automatically turned on. hoshi's brows furrow at the sudden light and he slowly blinks his eyes open. "y/n?" he murmurs while rubbing his eyes. "sorry hosh, my flash just turned on." you explain, smiling sheepishly before leaning down to give him a kiss on his head. you watch his eyes form small crescents in response before he tugs at your shirt, "come here,"

"babe, i haven't even showered-" you try to argue, but hoshi is already throwing tamtam across the room and pulling you into the bed. "just for five minutes," he whispers, draping his leg across your body. hoshi is always more cuddly than usual when he's tired like this, always koala-latching onto you. you don't even try to fight back, relishing in his warmth as he litters your face in small pecks. "i didn't expect you to be home early," you say. "me too, but i guess all my hard work has paid off. don't need to learn any new choreo." he opens his eyes again, lifting his head a little and looks at the pan you left on a nearby chair. "why's there a pan?" you don't respond, just giggling softly before opting to distract him with a kiss.

it's a slow, almost sensual kiss, neither of you having the energy for a full on make out session. he hugs his arms around your waist as you bring your hands to his neck in muscle memory. when you both part, he leans his forehead against yours, smiling softly. you love seeing hoshi like this: barefaced, cheeks a little flushed, and lips tugged into that adorable grin. he pulls you closer to him, nuzzling his head into your neck as he slowly begins to fall asleep again. you could really never get enough of this.

[shibaincubus]

How to stop being a doormat.-

-> . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [By a healed people pleaser] ࿐ྂ

Being nice to others is not a bad trait, but becoming THE NICE GIRL is.

Excessive people pleasing brings you nowhere and makes you vulnerable to becoming a doormat, disrespect, and sacrificing yourself.

People pleasing isn’t just about being nice to everyone all the time; it actually messes with your head and how you think about yourself deep down. 

We can look at people pleasing from an conscious and subconscious side.

Conscious People pleasing

This is what we typically associate with people pleasing:

You can't say no: Every request feels like an obligation.

You prioritize others over yourself: Your needs take a backseat.

You apologize for everything: Even when it’s unnecessary.

You avoid conflicts: Peace at any cost, right?

You make yourself small: Shrinking your presence to fit in.

Subconscious people pleasing

This is the impact people pleasing has on your mindset and behaviours

While breaking people pleasing one should focus here more

Servant mindset -> catering to others drains your energy.

Emulating others ->  You lose sight of who you truly are.

Seeking validation: "I need to be ... to get validation 'love' from others

Ignoring your feelings: Suppressing your emotions to keep the peace.

Feeling judged: Worrying about what others think of you.

Anxiousness about acceptance: "Do they really like me?"

The Why of People pleasing

The first step in breaking free is understanding why you engage in people pleasing.

Here are some common reasons:

You might be people pleasing because of...

Anxiety: fear of disappointing others or rejection

Low self esteem: "pleasing others is the only way to get acceptance and love"

Past trauma: can link others' needs to safety and affection

Cultural or family expectations: Pressure from those around you.

Perfectionism:  The need to be flawless in the eyes of others.

Insecurity: Doubting your own worthiness.

Avoidance of Conflict: Preferring peace over confrontation.

To get the exact cause you should also utilise journaling.

Use 15 min. for three or more of these journaling prompts each

Does People pleasing really help me? How do I feel when I please people? Happy or drained?

Do I get something back by pleasing people. Is it one sided?

What is my earliest memory of people pleasing? Why did I decide to please people at that time?

How do I perceive the people that I please in reality? Do I even like them.

What is the thing I really want in this situation that I might feel too scared, vulnerable, or ashamed to ask for?

What is one thing that I'm scared people will think of me, and how is this actually true and useful for me?

What do I want to change about my people pleasing habit

This reflection makes it clear why we do it and what caused people pleasing to be ingrained in us in the first place.

Recovering from People pleasing

Start small.-

Begin by setting boundaries in low stakes situations

declining invitations to events etc.

declining requests that you don't have time or desire to do

Gradually work yourself up to more significant situations practicing assertiveness along the way.

Learn to tolerate discomfort

Recognise that asserting yourself and setting boundaries may initially feel uncomfortable or cause anxiety

Embrace the discomfort as a sign of growth and remind yourself that it's necessary to prioritize your own well being.

Strengthen your sense of self

When we are people pleasing we are placing our self worth on another person

With journaling, self care, setting personal goals and new hobbies, you can construct and identity independent of others opinions.

The Intention Interrogation

Ask yourself a specific question before agreeing to a request:

"Am I doing this because I genuinely want to, or because I'm afraid of potential consequences?" 

This can delay automatic people pleasing reflexes

Cut toxic people off

If someone is using you for their gain, it’s time to create distance.

Limit your availability and emotional investment

Create space between yourself and toxic relationships

And Trust your instincts

The 24-Hour Rule

Make it a commitment to not immediately respond to requests.

Give yourself a full day and then decide if you actually want to do this.

Get therapy

If people pleasing has a deep impact socially or otherwise on you consider therapy

It's really helpful against people pleasing if nothing else helps

That's it lovelies

People pleasing is a destructive social mechanism of ours that we developed in young years.

Unfolding these behaviours and taking a stance against pleasing others frees ourself for positive change and levelling ourselves up

[namism]

someone like you | hange zoë

➳ categories: canonverse, commander hange, female queen reader, forbidden love, you are not in love with ymir

➳ word count: 2.7k

➳ summary: What does one do when faced with a romantic encounter with the Queen? For the 14th Commander of the Survey Corps, it borders between eternal punishment and professionalism.

➳ notes: i wrote this a looong time ago and it's lowkey ass, but maybe someone would like it?? let me know if you write your own version and i'd be more than happy to read it!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

When the Survey Corps returned from the operation to reclaim Wall Maria, there were only nine of them left.

One of which was Eren, the Intelligent Titan, the one who could turn into a 15-meter Titan with a small wound that would trigger the transformation. Eren's survival was to be expected. The others, not so much. Apart from Eren, you expected just the usual: Captain Levi, your friends from the 104th Training Corps, Commander Erwin—

Commander Erwin did not survive.

A moment of silence was shared between you and Zackly, who broke the news in private after meeting the remnants of the Survey Corps. You were told that the Commander was temporarily laid to rest somewhere in Shiganshina District until a cleanup crew could be dispatched in the area. As sickening as it was, you stomached the grueling outcomes of the battle and thanked the Walls for sparing your friends of mortal injuries.

Six days after the Survey Corps' return, you and Zackly meet Captain Levi and Hange Zoë, the newly appointed Commander. Zackly deemed it important to send your regards to them, which you had no worries of. If anything, you were elated to do as told.

In a small conference room by Zackly's office, you sit at the head of the table as he sits to your left. The Scouts follow soon afterward, positioning themselves to your right while they help themselves with cups of black tea. Zackly leads the conversation while you listen, deciding it best to keep to yourself rather than to add another voice in their exchange.

Occasionally, you would catch yourself looking at Hange—rather, Commander Hange—for a few seconds too long deemed socially appropriate for the Queen. You have no business looking at the Commander the way you do, as they are nothing more than someone who serves you, but alas, you can't keep lying to yourself.

The heart wants what it wants. At present, your heart wants Commander Hange to have more time to themselves as they recover from the injuries they sustained during the operation. You observe their bruised knuckles, scratched skin, and the fresh bandages that wrap around the left side of their face. When Zackly spoke of Commander Erwin's death and the huge losses of the regiment, he forgot to mention that the Commander's replacement was not in mint condition either. Hange had damaged their eye in an explosion caused by the Colossal Titan's transformation, and even after a few days of healing and regular medical checkups, there seems to be no hope in redeeming their sight.

Zackly asks you a question, to which you respond with a brief answer. You feel the Commander's eyes on you as you speak, innocent eye watching as they listen to your words.

It pleases you to be of importance to the military. Not just anyone can speak with the Commander up close and grab their full attention.

Sipping your tea, a small smile breaks on your lips.

So much for being the Queen.

Your yearning had always been kept at simple glances and courteous greetings with the new Commander, who didn't even know your name until the Scouts discovered your royal lineage. You had developed a liking toward Hange when you shared private conversations about your life in hiding while the Scouts slept soundly in their quarters. In the dead of night, accompanied by a dim candlelight and a warm cup of coffee, you recalled your childhood memories one by one, guided by Hange and their soothing tone.

They called it an interview, but you called it a chat. With Hange, you felt safe. It was a discussion like no other, something that you never had with anyone else, not even Ymir whom you shared plenty of your life stories with.

Hange respected you. They listened to your every word without interruption. Perhaps they only did as such because they ultimately wanted information on the royal family, but you believe otherwise. Hange showed compassion for your tales, and chatting for several nights together brought about a different feeling entirely.

As the 104th's darling, many listened to you in exchange for your attention. It felt sickening at one point. None of it felt genuine. The misery of dealing with that hollowness eventually translated to your attraction toward Hange's appeal. Their ability to listen just because they wanted to made them particularly endearing, so every moment with them soon afterward felt more enjoyable.

To your misfortune, it's a love that could never be. Hange is experienced, occupied, and busy with anything but love. You're of legal age, but Hange is far older. The chances of scoring were low to begin with, and they slimmed down even further when you became Queen.

You shake your head.

No use in crying over it now. Your fate has been determined the moment you wore the crown.

Hange will stay as Commander, and you will stay as Queen.

"You're up."

Upon Zackly's call, you stand up from your throne to begin the commemoration. An army of MPs and Garrison officers stand in rows in the grand hall as the nine brave survivors of the Survey Corps kneel at your presence.

You summon the bearer with a wave of your hand. She emerges with a cushioned box of bolo ties, each one reflecting the wings of freedom on its green casing.

It's a ceremony in the Survey Corps' honor, in the survivors' and casualties' alike. You are to grant each one with a tie of their own as part of the commemoration, and they are to kiss your hand, as tradition calls it.

They are to kiss your hand.

It's nothing new. Your royal hand has been kissed by many others in the past as a courtesy, including the late Commander Erwin, who claimed the first kiss at your coronation. Tradition dictates that your right hand be kissed in favor of any other as it is the same one used in the military salute, while your left remains pure, untouched.

As you stand ahead of the one person you had been dying to interact with, however, you wonder if it would be so bad to bend the rules a bit.

A sly smile forces itself on your lips, but you restrain it with a bite on your tongue. The bearer holds the bolo ties to your height and bows her head. You grab the first tie, one hand on the cord and the other on the green ornament.

As you turn to the Scouts, you observe the new Commander who falls first in line. With one hand on their chest and their head tilted downward, it's difficult to see their face. They appear much healthier than before, their bruises and scratches having healed after two weeks of rest. Their eye injury, however, not so much. They wear fresh bandaging over their head, but you heard from Zackly that their healing has come a long way.

You walk toward Hange. When they sense you in close proximity, they look up momentarily before averting their gaze to the ground.

If it were any other day without hundreds of pairs of eyes watching your every move, you would have grinned with joy. Alas, duty calls for discipline, so you grant Hange their tie and secure it on their collar.

Soon afterward, they tilt their head upward. The Commander reaches for your hand, but you abruptly offer your left.

They glance at you in confusion, but they don't question it. The Commander takes your left hand in theirs, and with a gentle tug, they bring your soft skin to their lips.

Your heart bursts into flames, a shudder passing through your body. Hange kisses your hand longer than expected, which triggers a panicked reaction in your head. When they pull away, you retract your hand under your cloak, the feel of their lips lingering on your hand.

When you grab the next bolo tie, you smile to yourself discreetly.

The ceremony fades to the back of your head like a distant memory as time passes. Before you know it, a few years have passed since then and you have grown more accustomed with the Commander, who oftentimes visits Mitras when they are summoned by Zackly or the court.

Fleeting memories aside, if there was one thing you would remember for the rest of your life, it would be Hange's feathered kiss on your hand. Nothing could erase that from your head; it's been eternally etched onto your memory. When no one is looking and you're left with your deepest thoughts, you catch yourself swiping your hand over the patch of skin that they had kissed. Your longing dies down a bit when you realize how stupid you could be to yearn for someone this much, but your liking for the Commander returns a few days later and it repeats like a never-ending cycle.

But when Zackly tells you of the Survey Corps' expedition to Marley, you find a shimmer of hope in getting over your foolish feelings.

The Scouts are to be sent away from Paradis Island for a month, perhaps longer, to conduct an overseas expedition of some sort on Marleyan grounds. It should give you enough time to forget about the Commander and busy yourself with more important things. Maybe you could tend to the orphanage while they're gone.

Frankly, it upsets you to a degree but it also eases your mind to have some time to yourself without Commander Hange's presence interrupting your healing process every few days. The plan is nothing but clever.

On the day of the Survey Corps' departure, you are invited to the harbor with your entourage. As you wait for the Azumabito engineers to board, you are told to take shelter in a nearby building.

To your surprise, the Commander themselves walk in.

"I was told that you would be here," Hange chirps, a smile dancing on their lips as the door closes behind them.

They look different—almost unrecognizable, but more stunning than ever. A long coat drapes over a tailored brown suit, paired with a crimson vest and a crisp white blouse barely visible beneath the fastened buttons. Atop their head rests a stylish hat, which they remove with a graceful motion, bowing low in a gesture of greeting that feels both formal and unexpectedly personal.

You nod to your escorts and they shuffle out of the room.

"I could have met you outside, Commander," you remark once the door closes, breaking the silence. "Zackly must be nearby. I'll call for him."

"No need." Hange waves a hand dismissively as they approach your seat with purposeful strides. "I ran into him on my way here. Besides, I wanted to say goodbye before we depart."

They wait for you to lend your hand for a kiss, but you don't offer it.

"(Y/N)?"

Your chest tightens. They haven't addressed you as such in so long.

"Your hand?" Hange asks. "What's the matter?"

They step closer. The Commander crouches to level themselves with your hand, trying to find any sign on your face that could hint at your predicament. They're left clueless when you remain unresponsive.

"I suppose I can't force the Queen, but I also can't leave without her order," they joke.

Silence falls between you. Hange looks at you, bewildered. You bravely look back.

"I know."

Their ears perk up.

"Sorry. Will you kiss me now, Commander?"

Hange's nervous laugh breaks the silence. Avoiding your gaze, they look at the ground with quivering irises as they surmise the best response to your request.

"Of course!" they respond, albeit shakily. Gently, they reach for your right hand to kiss it as they curse themselves silently for thinking of any malicious intent behind your statement.

Yet you withdraw your hand to your side, prompting Hange to stop.

"Uh"—they laugh nervously yet again—"may I have your hand?"

No response.

Hange reaches out again. They lay their hand on top of yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Kissing you?" Hange replies with a questioning tone. Their eyebrows furrow when you gaze at them firmly. You seem unhappy by their gestures and they're unsure why.

Confusion flickers across their face.

Unless...

"You meant something else, didn't you?"

You lower your head, and Hange feels a glint of satisfaction at getting a reaction out of you. Nonetheless, they stay confused. It was a bluff. Hange doesn't actually understand what you want.

"My Queen, if you could give me your hand now, then I can give it to you right after," they press on.

"You would not."

"Yes, I would!"

"Is that so?" you challenge. "I doubt you would want to kiss me like that, Commander."

Hange falls silent. The gears in their head turn slowly as they connect the dots.

Your order was unexpected—so you meant it in that way.

They clear their throat.

"They would have my head for that, no matter whose orders I followed," they say with a resigned edge, voice just above a whisper. Your gaze drops, but their tone softens in understanding. "Still, I think there might be… a way around it."

Hange's calloused hand slowly wraps around your right, and with a gentle motion, they bring your hand to level with their lips. Brown eye locked with yours, you feel their hot breath fan on your skin as they breathe out evenly.

A kiss—that's what Hange wants to do. Anything other than a courtesy kiss on your royal hand and they would be condemned to eternal damnation. Your eyes flit in between their brown eye and your hand, but at the last second, you retract your arm.

"No," you breathe out.

Hange is muddled. They assumed this was an appropriate alternative.

"The left, Commander. Not my right."

You bring your left hand to Hange's lips. Clutching your soft skin, a memory fleets by and they remember the same bewilderment that dawned on them a few years ago.

"I see, my Queen."

They fight back a smirk as they understand the rationale of your actions. Hange is astounded that they had only realized years later.

"My, I feel like a fool for not noticing... Well, do your escorts kiss you farewell on this hand, too?"

You purse your lips, deciding to remain silent.

"They don't, do they?

The Commander brings your hand to their cheek. With a tilt of their head, they caress their face with the back of your hand, smooth skin gliding over theirs.

You exhale shakily.

"No one is allowed to touch the Queen until she initiates," they whisper. "No one is allowed to kiss her beyond the orders of tradition."

They bring the back of your hand to the corner of their lips.

"I'm playing with fire, but I can't seem to stop. Will you stop me?"

Hange's brown eye locks with yours, and for a moment, you imagine the best of outcomes. The Commander follows the Queen's word. A one-word answer would change everything for better or for worse.

You decide swiftly.

"No, I will not."

Hange glides their thumb softly across your palm, their touch warm and deliberate. With a fluid motion, they bring your left hand to their lips, brushing a tender kiss against your skin as their entrancing stare holds yours. The kiss lingers, unhurried, as if to etch the moment into your senses.

Then, their lips trail to your ring finger, pressing another gentle kiss before they finally pull away, leaving a warmth that seems to linger in the air between you.

"It was a pleasure speaking with the Queen. I shall see you in a month."

As Hange leaves, you think about their gestures. They replay in your head even as the Commander boards the Azumabito ship, ready to sail to foreign lands.

You stare into the distance until a knock sounds on the door. Zackly asks for your presence on the dock, but his orders go unnoticed as you drown out all noises under the trance that the Commander has put you in.

A few hours after their departure, Hange's mind drifts back to their actions. Foolish—that much is obvious. If anyone found out what they'd done, the consequences would be nothing short of hellish. But even so, they wouldn't change a thing.

After all, if trouble came knocking, they'd have an entire month to figure out how to deal with it.

[just-aake]

Boundless Devotion - Part XV (Final)

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Words: 8179

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed when you’re trapped within your own mind.

One moment, you’re glaring at the one who you once believed was your father, wishing for his downfall. 

The next, you’re falling into the eyes of the one who holds your heart, all while gripping a dagger aimed at hers.

The lost time spent drifting between reality and darkness always leaves you with a sense of helplessness, especially when you later awaken to discover the actions you took during that time, actions that still haunt you.

Your current condition feels similar to that feeling of being trapped, except, unfortunately, this experience is far more agonizing.

With each passing moment, every part of you aches, both mentally and physically. 

The sensation only seems to intensify, worsening to where it feels as though your entire body is engulfed in flames, burning from the inside out. Even the simple act of breathing becomes a challenge, let alone attempting to move.

At times, the overwhelming agony drains you to the point where your weary mind is tempted to just surrender to the dark void at the edge of your consciousness, promising relief.

But then a voice breaks through amidst all of the pain, calling your name in desperate pleading.

Though your tired mind struggles to place the voice in the moment, it feels familiar. 

There's something about it that warms your heart, making you forget about the pain even if only for a fleeting moment. 

The devastation in their tone is the reason you find the sudden need within you to push through the agony, if only to help alleviate the sadness in their voice.

And so, that's what you decide to do.

You endure, and you stay.

Gradually, it starts getting better. The pain lessens along with fewer waves of feverish sensations coursing through your body. 

Eventually, you hear other voices too, all familiar and all concerned for you. And as your mind slowly recovers from the fog of pain, it begins to piece those voices with their respective owners.

Wanda and Pietro

Yelena and Kate

Carol

Even Queen Melina

Ironically, the one voice you hear the most, always a constant source of comfort and peace at your side, is the one that proves the most challenging to place.

Frustrated at the mystery of this person, you eventually gather enough strength one day to will your mind to wake up, determined to finally discover their identity.

Slowly, your eyes open, and after a few blinks, your vision clears.

The first thing you realize is that you’re not in your room, but the surroundings look familiar. With a dull ache on your stomach, you opt to turn your head instead to survey the rest of the area. 

As your gaze falls upon the sleeping figure by the window, illuminated by the afternoon sun casting a warm glow on her red hair, memories flood back, and you finally recall the owner of that elusive voice.

Natasha

With her eyes closed, the princess sits in her window seat facing you, her head resting on her hand against her bent knee. 

The realization that she must have fallen asleep, likely exhausted from watching over you, causes a sad bittersweet feeling to form in your heart.

Glancing around once more, you take in Natasha’s bedroom, a place you haven’t visited in a while since before everything that had happened last year.

Despite subtle changes in details, everything remains mostly unchanged. Her swords and armor hang securely on the wall, and her shelves are lined with books and personal items that she treasured through the years.

On her desk, a small stack of papers awaits her attention, likely documents of the kingdom needing review, and adjacent to them sits a tray of obviously untouched food.

You frown at the sight, aware of Natasha’s tendency to neglect meals whenever she’s stressed or too busy.

Returning your gaze to her, you notice the dark circles under her eyes, deepening your frown and concern. 

Intending to call out to her and urge her to rest in her bed, you open your mouth, but your parched throat betrays you, plunging you into a painful fit of coughing instead.

Natasha’s eyes snap open instantly, her body tensing in alertness as she searches the room, before locking onto you in realization.

She swiftly rises from the window seat and approaches the edges of the bed where you lie, her hand reaching out to comfort you but then she stops in hesitation just before she touches you.

As you regain your breath, you notice her hand clench with nervous energy before slowly withdrawing to her side.

Summoning your strength, you reach out and grasp her hand firmly, not letting her go far, as you intertwine your fingers and rest them atop the bed. 

You nod toward the bed, silently urging her to stay by your side.

Natasha's tense posture relaxes at your gesture, and a faint, relieved smile forms on her lips as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed. She reaches for the cup on the nightstand, bringing it to your lips and helping you take a sip, soothing your parched throat.

In a whisper so soft as if afraid to break the moment with you, Natasha asks, "How are you feeling?"

“Sore,” you respond honestly, your voice still strained.

A flash of regret flickers across Natasha’s face as she looks towards your injury. Not wanting her to spiral into guilt over what happened, you tug on her clasped hand to bring her attention back to you.

“Can you help me sit up?” you ask, determination in your tone as you release her hand and prepare to push yourself upright.

“You really shouldn’t be moving right now,” Natasha cautions, her hands hovering tentatively in concern.

“I know, but I want to,” you insist. 

The thought of continuing to lie helplessly on your back, a sight that likely tormented Natasha during your time of unconsciousness, doesn’t sit well with you.

You want to reassure her that you’re feeling better than your previously weakened state.

Natasha hesitates, torn between honoring your request or prioritizing your well-being. However, she comes to a decision when she sees the determined look on your face.

“You’re so stubborn,” she remarks with a gentle shake of her head, a hint of fondness in her voice, as her hands move to support you carefully in sitting up against the headboard.

“Takes one to know one,” you tease lightly, offering a small smile as you lean back, taking a moment to catch your breath.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you stare up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Memories flood back, and you distinctly recall Natasha’s anguished face above you before darkness consumed your vision. 

Your smile drops slightly at the memory, and with a tired sigh, you turn to meet her patient gaze, breaking the silence.

“How long was I out for?” you ask softly.

“Three days,” Natasha responds gently.

Processing the information, disappointment washes over you as you realize what was supposed to have taken place yesterday.

“Your coronation…I missed it,” you say sadly.

Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head in disbelief at your priority.

“No, you didn’t,” she reassures. “I’m not the queen yet.”

At your confused expression, Natasha continues her explanation.

“I postponed it. And before you say I didn’t have to, you know that there was no way I would have gone through with it without having you there.”

“Besides,” Natasha adds with a playful smirk. “Staying by your side is always better than any kind of event, even if it’s my coronation.”

Her comment lightens the somber atmosphere, drawing a small laugh from you, which makes her grin in turn.

The action causes a dull ache to appear at your side, and unconsciously, your hand moves to brush against the bandages covering where the blade had pierced you, reminding you of your ordeal.

“So what happened after…” you trail off, unable to voice the memory.

Natasha's gaze shifts sadly to your wounded area as she begins to explain.

"Yelena arrived with the physician shortly after. They tended to Pietro and you," she recounts. "Meanwhile, Kate stayed at her manor to apprehend the attackers and helped Wanda to recover."

Concern flickers in your eyes, prompting Natasha to offer a reassuring grin.

"Don't worry, Wanda's fine. She just tired herself out when she took down Rumlow and his followers.”

At your puzzled expression, Natasha moves her hand pointedly, mirroring the similar action of Wanda’s whenever she uses her powers.

“Oh,” you say, at a loss for words in realization.

Natasha chuckles at your expression, raising her brows at you.

“You did say she had a special way with people.”

Sighing worriedly, you explain your reasoning for keeping Wanda’s abilities a secret.

“You know how some people are towards magic, Natasha.”

“Well, considering she saved our lives, I’ll make sure no one messes with her, though I’m sure she can protect herself just fine.”

You let out a small breath of relief at her reassurance before inquiring further, “What about everyone else?”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she continues to recount the events afterward.

“Clint was able to warn my dad, Steve, and Carol in time to capture the ones under control here in the castle. And as for the ones that went after my mom…” 

She lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing, “...let’s just say that they shouldn’t have attacked her in her lab when she was in the middle of mixing certain chemicals and powders.”

You chuckle lightly at the thought, knowing about Queen Melina’s tendency to cause explosions in her lab during her experiments. 

However, the mention of explosions brings a grim reminder of another figure Natasha hasn't mentioned yet.

“And Dreykov?” you ask cautiously. “Did he escape?”

Natasha's hand clench into a fist at his name, her expression clouding with silent fury.

"No, he's currently in prison, awaiting trial. Along with the rest of the traitors," she responds, shaking her head with resolve. 

Taking your hand in a reassuring grip, she adds, "But you don't need to worry about him. I won't let him hurt you ever again."

Natasha lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your skin.

“I promise.”

You offer her a grateful smile, relieved at the information.

However, a sense of resignation settles in as you prepare to bring up the next topic.

“I guess all that’s left is to decide what to do about me,” you say with a heavy sigh.

Natasha tightens her grip on your hand as she urges gently, "Just concentrate on getting better.”

You chuckle lightly before your expression turns somber as you clarify.

"No, I mean about me being the Stark princess."

An awkward silence descends in the air, both of you acutely aware of the weight of the decision looming over you.

As much as you dislike it, the reality of your identity remains, and you need to officially address its involvement in your future eventually. 

“What do you want to do?” Natasha finally asks, breaking the silence.

You contemplate your options and remember your conversation with Bucky, finding that your feelings about your decision remain unchanged even now.

"Honestly, Natasha, I want to just leave it in the past," you admit. "Everything's relatively peaceful between the kingdoms at the moment. What's the point in bringing up troubling revelations from mistakes in the past?"

“Are you sure?” Natasha questions in concern before pointing out. “You’re essentially rejecting your title as a princess.”

You nod, giving her a content smile.

​​"I've never needed it in my life before,” you say as you tilt your head at her in question, a hint of warmth in your voice as you ask, “Besides, I already have a princess in my life, don't I?”

Natasha returns your gaze with an affectionate smile before intertwining your hands together.

"Yeah, I'm yours," she affirms softly.

Gradually, you feel more strength returning to your body as you remain awake, nodding confidently as you adjust your position carefully.

"I think I'm feeling better enough to go back to my manor this evening," you observe, suggesting, "If you could have the twins come and help me, then you can finally get a proper night's sleep in your own bed tonight."

Before you can sit up any further, Natasha’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently holding you in place, her expression filled with disbelief.

Glancing at her hand, you give her a questioning look, causing Natasha to shake her head exasperatedly.

"If you think you're going to leave this bed anytime soon, especially after being stabbed for my sake, you need to think again," Natasha says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Meeting her gaze, you both engage in a standoff, locked in a silent challenge. After a moment, Natasha raises her brow at you.

“If the situation was reversed, would you let me move?” she asks pointedly.

You open your mouth to reply before deflating in resignation, knowing you would do the same as her if you were in her position.

“Fine,” you concede, though a small pout forms on your lips, before adding, “But I should still return your bed to you and move into one of the guest rooms.”

Natasha tilts her head in thought as she traces a pattern on the blanket on your lap before commenting.

"Is that really necessary? It's not like we haven't slept in the same bed before," she reasons, her tone light.

Then, with a teasing smirk, she adds, "Unless this is your way of avoiding me after I confessed that I love you."

You pause, taken aback by her casual declaration, and you feel your cheeks heating up as you finally process her words. 

When you see the victorious smirk on her face, you roll your eyes and shake your head, giving her a chatising look.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, frustration evident in your tone, though there's a hint of fondness.

“I believe you’ve always called me charming,” Natasha retorts, her smirk widening.

Frustrated, your hands grip the collar of her tunic tightly, pulling her closer to you.

"Natasha Alianovna Romanov," you begin, your voice tinged with both exasperation and affection.

She smirks, amusement dancing in her eyes as she catches herself with her hands against the bed on each side of you, encasing you between her arms. 

Gazing at you with a teasing expression, she prompts, "Yes?"

With a small smile, you finally gather the courage to voice the words you've been longing to tell her.

"I'm in love with you," you confess softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's good..." Natasha replies, her voice tender as she leans in closer, "...cause I'm deeply in love with you too."

Her words brush against your lips softly, and without hesitation, you tug her closer, closing the tiny distance between the two of you.

The kiss feels both new and familiar, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness, as you lose yourself in the moment, savoring the warmth of her lips against yours.

Natasha is the one who pulls back first, resting her forehead against yours and letting out a happy sigh.

"You have no idea how many times I've wanted to do that," she admits, her voice filled with sincere longing.

Unconsciously, you lightly bite your lip to keep the warmth and feeling of her there for a little longer, before noticing Natasha's gaze drifting down to the subtle movement. 

You recall the countless times you've witnessed that look of desire in her eyes, prompting a small chuckle to escape your lips as you pull her in closer.

"I think I do," you tease, brushing lightly against her lips. "You're not exactly subtle, princess."

Natasha lets out a tiny huff, her lips curving into a playful smile before she leans in for another kiss and then another, each one gentle and delicate, never leaving your lips for more than a second, as she steals your breath away and makes you melt against her.

Your hand, still lingering on her collar, instinctively seeks more contact, slipping beneath the thin layer of her clothing to clutch at her bare shoulder.

The warmth of her skin beneath your touch only intensifies the longing between you as you try to pull her closer.

As you go to deepen the kiss, the moment is suddenly shattered by an unexpected interruption.

“Oh my—Nat! Let her breathe! She just woke up!”

Startled, you pull back from Natasha, breaking the kiss, as your gaze shifts to the doorway where Yelena and Kate stand. 

Natasha groans in frustration, her head falling against your shoulder.

Kate quickly steps in to cover Yelena's mouth, offering you an apologetic expression.

"Sorry! We just wanted to check on you two. We didn't mean to interrupt," she explains, as Yelena’s objection is muffled behind her hand.

Still pressed against your neck, Natasha responds in an annoyed tone, "Then leave."

Yelena rolls her eyes at her sister's bluntness, pulling Kate's hand away to respond, "Alright, alright, we get it."

With a warm smile directed at you, Yelena adds, "It's good to see you awake, Y/n."

"Yeah, we're glad that you're okay," Kate chimes in, relief evident in her eyes.

You offer them both a grateful nod. "Thank you two for coming."

“I guess we’ll visit you later then,” Yelena remarks, moving to take Kate's arm and guide her away from the door.

As Kate closes the door behind them, you catch snippets of their conversation.

"Should we really, though?" Kate's voice holds a hint of hesitation. "I don't want to interrupt them again while they're...you know."

Yelena hums thoughtfully before responding, "I mean it's a good thing we did this time, or else Y/n would have probably pulled out her stitches trying to undress Natasha."

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you instinctively cover it with your hands, feeling a wave of mortification wash over you. 

Natasha chuckles lightly, adjusting her tunic as she shoots you a playful smirk, a teasing glint dancing in her eyes.

“Don’t even start,” you warn, noticing her mischievous expression.

Natasha holds up her hands innocently, adopting a nonchalant tone as she suggests, "I was just going to say we should have the physician come and check your condition."

She then adds with a teasing edge, "After all, you may have overexerted yourself from being so eager to kiss me."

You huff in disbelief, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"I'm the eager one?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Natasha nods with mock seriousness. 

"If you say so."

Rolling your eyes, you playfully swat at her shoulder, then turn away with a small pout.

"In all seriousness, though, let me go get the physician," Natasha says, amusement evident in her voice at your behavior.

As she turns to leave, you call out to her.

"Wait, Natasha.”

She turns back to face you, curiosity in her eyes.

Leaning forward, you catch her off guard with a surprise kiss before pulling away.

"...okay, now you can go," you whisper against her lips.

Natasha's eyes fluttered closed at the unexpected contact, her tongue lightly tracing where your lips touched hers. When she finally opens her eyes again, they seem impossibly darker, filled with a mixture of desire and love that makes your breath catch.

“That’s unfair,” she breathes out, her voice husky with desire. “…doing that just as I’m about to leave.”

You pull away slightly, only for her to follow, not allowing the distance between you two to grow. A sly, knowing grin spreads across your face as you tease her.

"I just wanted to see who between us is actually the one who's more eager."

"I'm your princess, yet you're teasing me like this," Natasha says playfully, feigning disbelief.

"And you still love me anyway," you point out, a fond smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's eyes soften, and she closes the distance between you once more, whispering her next words against your lips.

“Yeah, I do.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Upon hearing that you were awake, Wanda and Pietro arrived quickly just as the physician was assessing your condition. 

Soon after, a request from her mother to speak with Natasha in private causes her to leave the twins in charge of watching over you at your insistence.

Now, Natasha stands in her private study, a deep frown creasing her forehead as she examines the letters that her mother had handed to her.

“What is this?” Natasha asks, her voice steady but laced with a subtle hint of anger as she reads the contents of some of the letters.

Melina lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache, knowing that her daughter won't take the news well.

“Many of the heads of the other noble houses in the kingdom are asking for Lord Dreykov’s release,” she reveals grimly.

“He tried to kill me,” Natasha states incredulously. “And yet they’re still defending him.”

“I warned you that Lord Dreykov is influential among the other nobles. You need strong evidence if you want people to turn their back on him,” her mother reminds her.

She then places a stack of documents on the desk, and Natasha quickly realizes that these are the results of Steve’s investigation.

Her mother continues her lecture, as Natasha skims the contents.

“The staff from the Bishop manor provided witness accounts of Lord Rumlow and the others' betrayal, but there were no witnesses at Dreykov’s manor besides you and Y/n.”

“What about his guards?” Natasha suggests.

Melina shakes her head grimly. “Found dead in their cells by unknown means.”

“What about Barnes?” Natasha points out the presence of the old captain.

Melina gives her a look of disbelief, raising an eyebrow. 

“The other nobles are not going to believe the words of a known criminal.”

Frustration and disbelief cloud Natasha's expression as she processes the information. She searches for another angle, another way to bring Dreykov to justice.

“If we can’t prove attempted murder against me, then what about the fact that he almost killed Y/n?”

Melina grimaces, her reluctance evident in her expression as she braces herself to deliver the answer Natasha doesn't want to hear.

“What is it?” Natasha presses, her tone betraying a hint of impatience.

Melina taps the stack of letters pointedly before explaining, “Many argue that Dreykov’s actions against Y/n are akin to a father disciplining their child and is not a crime, especially considering she survived. They believe it's a family matter that should be resolved within the respective house and not involve any others.”

Natasha's frown deepens as she hears this, her hand tightening around the letters.

“I told you handling the relationships between the nobles of the court is delicate work,” Melina reminds her gently.

“Yeah, I’m starting to see what you mean,” Natasha concedes, her expression resigned in anger at the twisted parts of the kingdom.

Melina offers a comforting gesture, placing a hand on Natasha's shoulder and giving her a proud look.

“Don’t worry, Natasha. Lord Dreykov can still be forced to face trial if you want. And I’m confident that you can convince the others to be on your side. In this matter and the future.”

Her mother’s encouragement does little to ease Natasha’s mind of the difficult task ahead for her once she becomes the queen.

Despite the troubling news, Natasha still thanks her mother for the warning before taking her leave.

Returning to your side, Natasha finds you resting once again, exhaustion evident in your features. She watches you with a tender and affectionate gaze, remembering her promise to protect you from any further harm. 

If there's one thing Natasha is certain of for the future, it's her unwavering commitment to fulfilling her vow to protect you.

With that resolve in mind, she later finds herself standing at the entrance of the most secure cell in prison, her arms crossed as she fixes a steely glare on the person seated in the shadows.

"Well?" Dreykov's voice cuts through the stillness of the chamber. “Is that girl dead yet?”

Natasha's jaw clenches at his callous words, refusing to be baited by his cruelty. 

A click of his tongue signals his understanding before he speaks again, his tone laced with a hint of mockery.

“No, you wouldn’t let that happen. So, then, are you here to finish what you started?”

Dreykov's eyes finally meet hers, his form emerging from the darkness as he tilts his head, his injuries still evident in the flickering light.

His face bears the remnants of bruises, one eye swollen shut—a testament to the beating Natasha had inflicted upon him when she first learned of the severity and uncertainty of your condition from the physician.

Unconsciously, Natasha's hands clench into fists, the memory of her rage surfacing as she recalls the moment she unleashed her fury upon him, her knuckles bruising and bleeding until Yelena intervened to pull her away. 

Dreykov catches her movement, a knowing glint in his eyes as a smirk tug at the corners of his lips.

“I see, so you’re mad because you can’t kill me,” he says confidently, accurately guessing her current predicament. “Tell me, how many of the other nobles have interceded for my release?”

Natasha grits her teeth in irritation at the extent of Dreykov's influence over the court and the fact he already knows that some nobles would rally to his defense. 

“They’ll abandon you once they realize what sort of person you truly are,” she retorts, her tone firm.

Dreykov chuckles in amusement, unfazed by her words.

“Feeling pressured already?” he taunts. “It’s just going to get worse from here on. After all, I’m not the only one in this kingdom who wants a war.”

“And you already know that I would never let that happen,” Natasha counters, her voice tinged with resolve. “That’s the whole reason why you didn’t want me as the queen in the first place.”

Dreykov eyes her critically, considering her words before a smirk dances across his lips.

“Perhaps I was wrong about you. You have potential. You just need the right…” he waves his hand dramatically. “…motivation.”

Rolling her eyes at his attempt at manipulation, Natasha turns to leave.

However, before she can reach the exit, Dreykov's voice calls out to her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Do you know what causes war the most, Your Highness? More than greed or vengeance?”

Natasha turns back to glare at him, irritated by his continued insinuations.

At her silence, he answers his own question.

“Love,” he spits out the word in disgust. “Such a foolish emotion, but you’d be surprised at how much destruction it can cause.”

He raises his brow at her, gesturing pointedly. “And it seems you have plenty for that pathetic girl.”

Natasha slams her fist against the bars, anger erupting, as she glares daggers at him.

“You better hope you don’t get to leave this cell, Dreykov. Because if I ever see you free…” she pauses, her voice lowering to a dangerous tone. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Despite her threat, a pleased smile forms on Dreykov’s face, as if her words confirmed something for him, infuriating her further.

Turning swiftly to the door, Natasha indicates to the guards to let her out, but Dreykov's voice interrupts her again.

“I do have one more question for you.”

The door opens for her to leave as he continues.

“If that girl ever ends up in the way of you and your so-called peace, would you still choose to avoid war then…or would you fight for her?”

Natasha clenches her hand, finding herself unable to respond, her mind consumed by the weight of his words.

With a determined look, she decides not to entertain his question further, swiftly leaving the cell and slamming the door shut behind her.

“I look forward to seeing what your choice would be when that time comes, Your Majesty,” Dreykov's voice echoes tauntingly down the corridor as Natasha makes her way back to you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The unsettling exchange with Dreykov from that night a week ago still lingers in her mind as Natasha sits at her desk, lost in thought.

She ponders his cryptic words, bothered by his confidence that trouble was coming, and especially at the implication of having you in the middle of it all.

Her main concern is for your safety, prompting her to consider every possible scenario where you might be at risk.

After all, she had come dangerously close to losing you during the recent conflict, a thought that sends a shiver down her spine every time.

Leaning back in her chair, Natasha’s gaze falls on the small opened box resting on her desk, illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

The red gemstone embedded in the golden band glimmers with a silent promise, one that she hasn’t dared to ask you yet.

Pushing aside the unsettling thoughts of Dreykov's words, Natasha closes the lid of the box with a gentle sigh, tucking it away in the drawer for safekeeping. 

One day, she promises.

When she can guarantee your safety and ensure that she can provide you with a peaceful future, she’ll give it to you then.

A knock at her door draws her attention, and Natasha looks up to see you poking your head inside, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

"Don’t tell me you’re hiding already?" you tease, your voice laced with amusement.

Natasha's lips curve into a fond smile at the sight of you, her worries momentarily pushed aside by your presence.

Chuckling softly, she shakes her head before asking, “Did my mother send you?”

“She wanted me to make sure you wouldn’t be late,” you reply, walking over to her with cautious steps, mindful of your injury.

Leaning back against her desk, you give her a pointed look.

“After all, it’s your last ball as the princess before you become the queen tomorrow.”

Natasha smiles gently at the reminder before glancing down at the area of your dress where she knows the bandages are hiding underneath. Her expression softens with concern as she meets your eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better,” you assure her. “I’ve been able to move around by myself without any help.”

Standing up, Natasha intertwines her fingers with yours, drawing you closer as she gazes at you.

“You look beautiful,” she compliments softly, her eyes reflecting genuine admiration.

“So do you,” you respond, your hand reaching up to gently brush against her cheek, slowly losing yourself in her gaze.

Then as if remembering your original goal, you clear your throat and nod towards the door. 

“We should go. Your mother’s expecting us,” you remind her.

At your suggestion, Natasha moves closer to you, enclosing you between the desk and her body.

“I’m sure we can spare a couple of minutes, can’t we?” she asks, her voice lowering suggestively, caressing the air as she leans in.

Raising a brow skeptically, you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely grazing hers as you ask, “Only a couple of minutes?”

The moment your lips touch hers, Natasha's eyes darken with desire, her breath catching in her throat.

Absentmindedly humming in agreement, she whispers, “…yeah, just a couple…” before closing the distance between you.

Arriving at the ball later than expected, you and Natasha are greeted by her mother at the entrance, who gives you both a reprimanding yet knowing look.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, offering her a genuinely apologetic expression. “We lost track of time talking.”

Melina raises her hand in a stopping gesture at your explanation.

“No, don’t apologize, Y/n. I’m sure I can guess what happened,” she says, shooting a pointed glare at her daughter before turning her attention back to you.

“Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

You nod in understanding, softly excusing yourself.

Natasha brings the back of your hand up for a gentle kiss goodbye before releasing it, and you turn to leave the two women to their private conversation.

“Hold on, Y/n,” Melina calls out to you before you can go too far.

Stepping up to you, Melina carefully examines you before adjusting the strap of your dress on your shoulder slightly.

“Do try to direct Natasha to a less visible area the next time you two decide to ‘talk’,” she advises with a raised brow.

A flush spreads across your face in realization, and you quickly place your hand atop the area she adjusted, before giving a reprimanding look to Natasha, who looks away, barely concealing the satisfied grin playing on her lips.

You offer a quick, polite thanks before swiftly making your exit, eager to leave the embarrassing situation behind.

Turning back to her daughter, Melina meets her gaze with a raised brow.

“I guess it’s safe to say that your relationship with Y/n is still going well?” 

Natasha smiles softly at her observation, her eyes still following you as you go to join the others.

“Yeah, it is,” she replies honestly.

“That’s good,” Melina comments, handing her a cup before taking a sip of her own. “It’s important to show the other nobles how good the two of you are together so that they can have more confidence in the future with you as the ruler.”

Natasha nods in understanding, taking a sip of her drink in preparation for another lecture from her mother.

“Even if your relationship started as a ruse in the beginning,” her mother adds nonchalantly.

Natasha chokes on her drink in surprise at her mother’s words, coughing lightly as she gives her an incredulous look.

Melina raises a brow at her in challenge, daring her to deny her claim.

Looking away, Natasha glances over to where you are, oblivious to you and her arrangement being revealed at the moment.

As if feeling her eyes on you, you glance up, meeting her eyes and giving her a soft smile. She returns it before returning her focus to her mother.

Knowing there’s no point in trying to convince her mother otherwise, Natasha asks instead, “When did you figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ve had my suspicions since the beginning,” her mother reveals, swirling the contents of her cup in thought as she recalls how the events all started. 

“That morning, Y/n mentioned in passing about her meeting with Lady Maria as a potential partner, so I knew I had to do something to make you act.”

Natasha's brows furrow as she pieces together her mother's words with her own memories. She was right to think it was odd that her mother would suddenly take an interest in her love life, especially with such a ridiculous ultimatum given in such a short time.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Natasha interjects, holding up her hand as she processes the information. “You're saying the only reason you pressured me to find someone was because you found out about Y/n’s date with Lady Maria?”

Melina nods before offering Natasha a sympathetic pat on her back.

“Let’s be honest, Natasha, you can be quite oblivious when it comes to your feelings for Y/n. I only pushed you to pay more attention to your love life because I didn’t want you to miss your chance with her.”

“No, you said that if I didn’t find someone, you were going to choose someone for me,” Natasha reminds her mother, her tone tinged with frustration.

Melina waves her hand dismissively.

“I was confident that you would come up with something before it ever got to that point, and you did. This charade that the two of you concocted worked out much better in the end, wouldn’t you agree?”

Natasha gapes at her mother, blinking in disbelief. She pinches her brows, feeling a headache forming at her mother’s antics.

“Please, go meddle with someone else's love life,” Natasha pleads, her patience wearing thin.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Natasha,” she says, chuckling, before pressing on, undeterred by her daughter's exasperation. “Now, tell me, have you thought of a plan on how to propose to Y/n yet?” 

Meanwhile, after leaving Natasha with her mother, you join the pair at one side of the ballroom. Stepping in front of the twins with a warm smile, you admire their new formal clothing that you had arranged for them to attend the event. 

“Well, don’t you two look beautiful and dashing?” you compliment, ruffling Pietro’s hair playfully. He swats at your hand lightly with a pout, then tugs at the collar of his shirt.

“I think you and Wanda are just trying to choke me in this,” he comments.

A red mist envelopes his topmost button and undoes it, granting him some relief.

“Better?” Wanda asks, returning her hand to cross her arms at her brother’s exaggerated behavior.

“Yes, I can actually breathe now,” Pietro responds with a teasing smirk, nudging his sister in thanks.

At the corner of your eye, you notice some nobles nearby shooting disapproving glares at your group, their attention mostly focused on Wanda, and then they begin to speak to each other, their voices intentionally loud.

“So disgraceful that they allow such people in here.”

“Did you see her eyes? They say it’s red like a demon.”

Pietro scowls at their words, moving protectively in front of his sister, but you stop him before he could confront them.

Then placing a comforting hand on Wanda’s shoulder, you check up on her. She gives you a reassuring smile, truly unbothered by their harsh words. 

You’re glad to see her adjusting okay to the fact that her powers are now known by others in the kingdom.

Still, you will not stand idly and let them talk about people you care about like that. The twins may not be in a position to say anything, but you can always defend and protect them.

Before you can confront the rude nobles, however, they are suddenly pushed off balance, stumbling to the ground, as the pair of canines rush through their legs towards you.

Their respective owners follow swiftly after them, with the younger princess giving the people a glare and challenging look, causing them to avert their gaze in embarrassment, looking elsewhere.

Yelena turns to your group with a satisfied grin.

“Don’t mind them, Wanda. They’re always judging everyone,” she says.

Kate nods in agreement, adding, “Yeah, intolerant people like them are not worth your time. There’s plenty of people in the kingdom who already know you’re amazing.”

Pietro chuckles and places his hand atop his sister’s head teasingly, remarking, “Careful with the compliments now, we wouldn’t want her getting a big head.”

Wanda rolls her eyes in response, shoving his arm off and commenting pointedly, “Your head is already big enough for the both of us.”

As the four of them continue their playful conversations, your eyes spot a familiar face hovering in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom.

Excusing yourself, you make your way over to the lone captain.

“Not one for parties?” you ask as you step up next to Bucky.

He sighs and shakes his head as he observes the surrounding guests joyfully engaged in celebration.

“It’s been a while since I attended events like these, but then again, I’ve never enjoyed them before anyway,” he admits.

Curious about something that you’ve been wondering about him, you finally ask. 

“Why did you decide to come to this kingdom? You know, after hiding away for so long.”

A silence follows, and just as you think he’s going to leave your question unanswered, he finally responds, nodding toward the distance. 

“To visit a friend.”

You follow Bucky’s gaze and realize he’s looking at Steve, who’s currently in conversation with Clint and Maria.

As if feeling your eyes, Steve glances up toward your direction, giving you two a welcoming smile and waving his hand in invitation.

A small smile forms on Bucky’s face, surprising you, and you find yourself asking curiously, “Then why not just stay? Enjoy life without constantly looking over your shoulder for danger and having to run away.”

He chuckles ruefully, giving you a look of disbelief. 

“I’m the most wanted criminal of the Stark Kingdom. Nowhere is safe for me or for those who help me.” 

“Well, at least consider the option,” you say, nudging him gently and giving him a pointed look. “Because you do have more than one friend here.”

He examines you carefully before giving you a silent, noncommittal nod, and you understand that this will be the most you’ll get from him.

“Y/n!” 

At the call of your name, you turn to see Carol coming towards you. As you turn back around to excuse yourself, you're not surprised to find Bucky has sneaked away.

Carol stops in front of you, the happy smile fading slightly into a serious expression as she examines you critically.

"How are you feeling?" she asks with genuine concern.

The familiarity in her question makes you laugh lightly as you shake your head.

“You and Natasha. Why do you two keep asking me that?”

Carol raises an amused brow at you.

"It's because we both care about you, Y/n," she answers softly before tilting her head in thought. 

"Maybe the fact we both like the same things is why we're always competing with each other," she muses aloud before extending her hand in invitation.

"Speaking of, would you like to join me for one dance before Natasha decides to keep you all to herself?"

You give her a playful warning look, raising your brow at her.

"No extravagant twirling, lifts, or dips?" you ask, knowing her tendencies.

Carol nods in reassurance, answering firmly, "I promise."

As she leads you in a slow dance, keeping an easy pace to avoid tiring you, you seize the moment to ask her something.

“Are you leaving after the coronation tomorrow?”

Carol nods in confirmation.

“That’s the plan,” she responds. “I want to do as much exploring as I can before my own coronation.”

A tiny, sad smile forms on your face at Carol's words. You've honestly missed her since she started her travels. Poking her pointedly, you give her a serious expression.

"Still, you should come visit more often," you tell her. 

Her eyes soften, and she gives you a small nod.

“For you, I will,” she says, a hint of affection slipping into her tone. "If you ever need anything, Y/n, just let me know, and I’ll have my ship practically fly back to you."

Her eyes glance at something behind you before she shrugs, adding with a sigh, “And I guess the same applies to Natasha if she ever needs my help again.”

“How generous,” Natasha remarks dryly, her voice tinged with sarcasm, as she comes to a stop beside you.

Carol gives you a small bow in thanks, her expression teasing as she remarks, “Looks like my time’s up.”

“Natasha,” she greets, giving her an acknowledging nod.

Natasha returns the sentiment, her demeanor cool as she replies, “Carol.”

Carol gives you one last smile, before pressing a chaste kiss on your hand goodbye and whispering sincerely, “Be happy, Y/n.”

As she leaves, you glance at Natasha and notice the small displeased pout on her face.

Unable to resist teasing her, you nudge her gently, remarking, “Jealousy looks cute on you.”

Natasha huffs in disbelief at your statement before offering her hand to you.

“May I have a dance?”

As Natasha leads you in a slow dance, you can’t help but feel nostalgic, leaning your head against her shoulder.

“This feels familiar, doesn’t it?” you ask softly.

Natasha hums in agreement and nods against you, responding, “Last time we danced like this, we decided to be a couple.” 

You chuckle at the memory, reminiscing about how clueless you were back then, never imagining how things would turn out for the two of you.

The soft music creates a serene atmosphere, cocooning you and Natasha in your own world, away from everyone else.

Recalling the details of your original agreement, you meet Natasha’s eyes, a mischievous glint dancing in your gaze.

“You know, according to our deal, our fake relationship is supposed to end after your coronation tomorrow,” you point out.

Natasha raises an intrigued eyebrow, curious about your intentions.

“So, what should we do about that then?” she asks, her tone playful.

You tilt your head, pretending to ponder before flashing her a teasing smirk.

“Didn’t we agree that if anything were to happen between us, it would be the princess who confessed her feelings first?”

Understanding dawns on Natasha’s face, and she grins in agreement, a fond smile playing on her lips. 

“Y/n,” she begins softly, her gaze filled with affection. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were amazing…then I learned that you were really stubborn.” 

You roll your eyes at her teasing, but Natasha just chuckles before continuing. 

“But you're also kind and smart. And truly the strongest person I know.”

She leans in closer, her breath mingling with yours. 

“My heart and my life have always been yours, Y/n.”

You feel warmth spreading through your chest at her confession, and you can’t help but cup her face gently with your hands.

“You’re my best friend,” Natasha continues, her voice barely above a whisper as she covers your hand with hers. “But I would be honored if you are willing to have me as more than that.”

Your heart swells with love, and you nod happily as you respond.

"I want that too, Natasha," you whisper sincerely. “I want to continue to stay by your side and be yours too. Always.”

With those words of promise, Natasha closes the distance between you, her lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

The sound of cheers and applause surrounds you, but you pay no mind, lost in the moment with Natasha.

You don’t know what the future holds, but you’re not afraid. As long as you’re together, you know you can overcome anything that comes your way.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Epilogue

In another kingdom, far away, inside one of the workshops of the castle, the king’s assistant waits patiently by the doorway for a pause in the king’s pastime of tinkering.

“What’s the matter, Jarvis?” Tony Stark asks without looking up from his careful concentration.

“A letter arrived for you, sir.” 

“Is it about the next shipment of parts?”

“No, sir, this came from a nobleman in the Romanov Kingdom.”

“Oh…you can just toss it in the fire then.”

There’s an awkward silence as his assistant makes no move to do as he asked, causing Tony to glance up in question.

The assistant hesitates before explaining.

“Counselor Potts strongly advised us not to do that anymore, under the warning of severe punishment should she find out. Also, the messenger stressed that the contents pertain to an urgent matter.”

Tony stops and furrows his brow. After the war and the deaths of his whole family, he preferred to keep contact between the kingdoms to a minimum. Just because there’s a peace treaty between them doesn’t mean he has to like or care about anyone there.

On the other hand, facing the wrath of his most trusted advisor for ignoring this letter is not something he wants to deal with in the foreseeable future.

“Just leave it on the table then,” he sighs with a roll of his eyes. 

If anything, it’s probably more news about the coronation of their upcoming queen. He’s already sent his decline to attend the event and a decent enough congratulations present that Pepper picked out.

He doesn’t understand why they can’t just keep the indifferent relationship between the two kingdoms as is instead trying to make them into something closer.

Shaking his head as Jarvis closes the door behind him, Tony attempts to return to his flow of concentration, picking up his tools as he continues to tinker with the parts in front of him. 

Unfortunately, as time passes, his eyes keep glancing at the letter sitting in the corner, something about it gives him some sort of unnerving feeling. 

Slumping with a resigned sigh that he can’t keep his focus anymore, he places his tools down again and swipes at the letter, sitting at the edge of the table.

Opening it, he skims the contents quickly before his posture suddenly straightens with tension, his expression turning serious.

The door of the workshop slams open, and Tony strides out purposefully, calling to his assistant.

“Jarvis!”

They are at his side in an instant, following him and listening for the next orders.

“Tell Vision to prepare the carriages and let Pepper know I’ll be away a bit for some business.”

“Yes, sir. May I ask where you will be traveling to?”

“The Romanov Kingdom,” Tony answers, glancing at the letter in his hand before tightening his fist, crumpling the paper slightly.

“Looks like it’s time to pay this new queen a visit after all.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thank you to everyone for reading all the way to the end of this series! (especially this long chapter) It's been a journey, and I'm happy that many of you enjoyed it and showed up for every update (all of your comments and reactions are so sweet and fun to read and honestly helped to keep me motivated).

This is the final part of the series, but it's not the end yet. There will be a sequel for Boundless Devotion, and it's called Everlasting Devotion (title mention in prequel Fateful Encounter 🤗).

I’m still in the middle of working on it, so the first chapter is not going to be released right away since I also want to finish some other one shots that I‘ve been working on and maybe take a little break.

That being said, for those currently in the taglist for Boundless Devotion and anyone else who's interested, if you also want to be added in the taglist for when the sequel starts, please let me know. (I prefer to ask again just in case instead of just assuming and forcing you along on another series that you didn't sign up for)

Again, thank you to all of you for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin,  @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless, @mrsrushman, @fxckmiup, @natty-taffy, @2silverchain, @traveler-at-heart, @autorasexy, @natsxwife, @mviswidow, @slut4johansson, @automaticdinosaurtaco, @jono723, @mousetheorist, @tofu9162, @natsbiggestfan1, @iheartjohansson, @nothanksbye07, @midastouch013, @dvrkhcld, @red1culous

[gremlin-girly]

Kinktober Day 12

Kink: Competence Pairing: Yelena Belova x f!reader Tags/Warnings:  SMUT, competence kink, established relationship, Yelena (she’s a warning), vaginal fingering, light teasing/taunting, pet names (darling, honey), sexual frustration/orgasm denial Word Count: 1.2k

Not beta'd

Summary: Your very attractive super spy girlfriend distracts you whilst you wait for your taxi.

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive (even though I do try to capture everything) but please read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

I hope you enjoy; comments, likes and reblogs are always welcome!

A/N: Am I late? Very. Will I be posting literally 15+ fics in two days even if it kills me? Yes. - Love, Grem x

Prev | Next | Masterlist

You knew your girlfriend was a spy and a good one at that. And a good hit woman. And assassin. Lover. The list went on and on. However, it was one thing knowing it and another thing to see it.

Yelena Belova walked behind enemy lines without batting an eye lid. You watched in awe as she flipped not one, not two, but three guards like they weighed nothing before swiftly shooting them between the eyes without breaking her stride. She was a terrifying force of nature; beautifully dangerous in every way, both good and bad.

You replayed the clip again on your phone. Your eyes are still wide as you watch but you’re breathing quicker. Yelena on the phone is all in black, the glimmer of her chain necklace barely visible. Her hair is slightly tousled as if she’s just taken one of her cat naps instead of swatting minions like it's nothing.  

You press your thighs together, heat throbbing between them. You lock your phone with a heavy sigh, rubbing your hands over your flushed face, trying to scrub the memory of your girlfriend from your mind’s eye.

Now was the worst possible time  to be horny. You were supposed to be going out on a date. You couldn’t postpone it again.

“Hey.”

You startle when Yelena pokes her head from the bathroom, dropping your phone. She smirks at you opening the door further so you can see her outfit; a tee and jeans with her leather jacket and the signature silver chain necklace. It's simple but by God does it work - especially with the heavy liner she wears so well. She leans against the door frame, arms folded and looking smug as she catches your red face scowling up at her when you pick up the phone.

“Watching something you shouldn’t be, darling?” Yelena’s accented taunt only flusters you more.

“No.” You snap, straightening quickly. You clutch your phone to your chest with an iron grip. And of course Yelena notices. Her eyebrow quirks.

“No lies.” She says as she begins to walk towards you. “Show me.”

She holds out her hand, palm up, for your phone the other resting on her hip. You look at her palm and then her face. Moments ago you’d watched her kill mercilessly and those same hands were in front of you. It only added to wanting to slip to your knees before her but this was your little secret. You turn from her, hunkering your shoulders over your phone.

“No way,” you murmur, embarrassed. You don’t know how she’ll react. Yelena looks baffled for a moment and then recovers, frowning.

“Show me.” She says more firmly, still holding out her palm as she gets into your personal bubble. You can smell the soft ylang ylang soap on her skin and it makes you want to lean closer, but the shame and guilt of being caught is too strong. You shake your head feebly and Yelena only grins in response. You recognise that grin, that look in her eyes as she holds up her hands and moves to back away. You know what's about to happen but you’re too weak and slow to stop it.

Yelena side-steps and encircles your waist grabbing your phone-gripping hand, snatching your phone away with ease. She unlocks your phone with one hand as you wriggle against her, trying to take your phone back desperately as she presses play on the video.

Once it starts playing you go still, face reddening. This is single-handedly the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you and you know Yelena is enjoying every moment.

"Why are you watching this video of me?" She questions, her grip on your waist tightening. "And why are you embarrassed to be caught?"

"It's..." You pause and know you can't lie to her again. "It's hot. That's why."

Yelena smirks, pressing her lips to your neck to make you shiver. "Really?" She presses. "You like this?"

She holds the phone directly in your face so that you can't look away. Her teasing tone makes your pulse quicken and you squirm in her grip.

"Yeah." You admit breathily but this time when her lips meet the skin of your neck she nibbles it gently, making you gasp. "Yelena! Our date."

"Hmm?" She looks up at you through her eyelashes. " Oh, that."

"I don't want to postpone it again, baby." You urge despite the heat pooled between your legs. "We keep saying we'll go out and then we end up-"

"Fucking?" Yelena adds helpfully, giving you a smirk.

"- In bed." You finish, trying your best to glare at her but you know she's not deterred in the slightest. "The taxi'll be here in ten minutes anyway."

Yelena raises an eyebrow at you, a hand moving lower down your waist. "I could make you cum in five."

"Lena," You warn, or at least try to; when her fingers tickle the your thighs at the hem of your dress, you stifle a moan. You don't need to look at her to know how smug she looks. Her fingers slip under your dress, teasingly running over your clit in slow deliberate circles just the way you like.

"Try and tell me to stop," She urges tauntingly. "I can feel how wet you are for me already."

You bit down so hard on your lip you think you'll draw blood. It takes all of your resolution and then some to stammer out a choked response.

"S-stop we have to go on our - oh." Before you can even finish your sentence as requested, Yelena slips a flinger under your panties and runs it over your wet slit before sinking it into you, and then moving back to your bare clit. The lack of a barrier turns your legs to jelly, and you grip her arms for support, making Yelena chuckle.

"Feel good, honey?" She purrs into your ear, her fingers teasing your clit and hole so expertly your already beginning to see stars. "I know your body so well. I know you're going to cum for me in your pretty dress."

You gasp a moan, your hips rolling backwards into her. "Yes - feels so good Lena."

"Are you going to cum for me?" She whispers, rubbing your clit and watching the look on your face intently. She knew exactly how you'd look when you cum. She'd made you cum so many times she knew all of your signs; from your face all the way to your cunt.

"Yes! Oh my God - Lena -"

Yelena removes her hand away from your soaked pussy immediately, making you moan out and whine her name. She smirks, holding her glistening fingers in front of her face and keeps eye contact with you as she licks them clean.

"I said could make you cum in five minutes," She points out, kissing your cheek. "I didn't say would."

You huff, fixing her with a frown but she only chuckles.

"Come on," She says taking your hand gently and leading you to the door. "We have a date. You can cum for me later."

Your legs wobble slightly but you follow behind her, scowling at her all the way to the taxi. You were going to get your own back

[scifibabee]

Scifibabe's '24 Kinktober Masterlist

hi y'all, so stoked to have you here!

below are links to each day’s prompt with a brief preview of the fics. click the links to find full summaries, relevant tags, and the ao3 link :)

xoxoxo,

Grace

Oct. 1: Handjobs – Caught In His Desire

ft. Hannibal providing his particular brand of "help" while Will's mind is on fire

Oct. 2: Voyeurism – Press Play for Horror

ft. a sex tape left for Jack, they flip!, and a bonus Jimmy + Zeller appearance

Oct. 3: Public Sex – Neon Desire

ft. bathroom sex, and top Will/bottom Hannibal

Oct. 4: Sensory Deprivation – In Hannibal's Hands

ft. autistic Will, an established relationship, and coming untouched

Oct. 5: Rough Sex – Where It Hurts

ft. vulnerable bottom Hannibal and protective top Will

Oct. 6: Anonymous Sex – Predators in the Night

ft. alternate first meeting, dark Will, top Hannibal, and more bathroom sex

Oct. 7: Virgin – Seduced for the First Time

ft. fun use of Will's empathy, top Hannibal, and a light daddy kink

Oct. 8: Cock Warming – Where Thought Dissolves

ft. agitated Will, Dom Hannibal, and subspace as therapy

Oct. 9: Praise Kink – Devour You Whole

ft. manipulation, Hannibal catching feelings, and insecure Will

Oct. 10: Face Sitting/Overstimulation – Not So Fast

ft. needy omega Hannibal, and sleepy but enthusiastic alpha Will

Oct. 11: Knife Play – Want to Feel You from the Inside

ft. what if Will showed up at Hannibal's after being released from the BSHCI with a knife instead of a gun?

Oct. 12: Breath Play/Dirty Talk – Breathless Submission

ft. under-negotiated kink but everybody has a good time anyway

Oct. 13: Aftercare – In the Quiet I Am Yours

ft. an established relationship and Will gently surfacing from subspace

Oct. 14: Collaring – In the Temple of Our Minds

ft. a collaring ceremony in their shared memory palace

Oct. 15: Teasing – Just a Touch

ft. Will stuck in a vehicle with Jack and Alana while Hannibal sends him provocative texts

Oct. 16: Nipple Play – Marveling at a Spoon

ft. stoned Hannibal, need i say more?

Oct. 17: Period Sex – Where Flesh Bleeds and Hungers

ft. trans Will, some mild gender dysphoria, and a Hannibal all too eager to make his Will feel better

Oct. 18: Massaging – Gentle Revelations

ft. non-sexual intimacy and vulnerable Hannibal

Oct. 19: Fisting – Hush Now

ft. daddy!Will, need i say more?

Oct. 20: Cuckolding – After Everything We've Been Through

ft. a woman who looks suspiciously like Alana, straight smut (stick with me pls), possessive Hannibal, and Will crying during sex.

Oct. 21: Bath Sex – Something Sacred

ft. mute Hannibal recovering from his wounds post-fall and a very tender Will

Oct. 22: Thigh Fucking – Vocal

ft. a shared motel room with only one bed, a darker Will, and bonus best friend Bev POV

Oct. 23: Breeding – In Our Own Way

ft. Will matching Hannibal's freak

Oct. 24: Somnophilia – call it love (because it is)

ft. Hannibal being creepy set sometime during S1

Oct. 25: Pussy Slapping – Count

ft. Will's been naughty!! with another appearance of trans Will :)

Oct. 26: Pegging – A Hollow Imitation

ft. an intense level of pining, Molly being a great sport, and Will coming to some rather obvious conclusions

Oct. 27: Hate Sex – Into the Abyss

ft. feral, animalistic sex following a violent altercation, and top Will

Oct. 28: Impact Play – Hurt Me

ft. Will needing release after a long day and Hannibal being only too happy to provide

Oct. 29: Branding – Blade Kissed Flesh

ft. a very possessive Will Graham and a happy-to-go-along-with-it Hannibal Lecter

Oct. 30: Sex Pollen – Into the Woods

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

ft. magical realism, Will's Becoming, and a lot of outdoor sex

Oct. 31: Free for All – I'm So Hot

ft. SELF-CEST and hand wave-y time travel stuff