#the pain is unchanging and constant

[kaleidoru]

revisited Moira again......... running theme of fallen angels turning insectoid so she's now a part of that

[deliciousangelfestival]

Bad Romance

Character: Lloyd Hansen x Ex-wife!Reader

Summary: On his dying breath, he made a choice: to seek refuge in the one place he still considered safe—his ex-wife's house.

Words Count: 4,089

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

As the raindrops pelted his face, each impact weighed down his eyelids, making them droop with exhaustion. With a muttered curse escaping his lips, he grumbled, "Fuck."

Tonight, he faced multiple betrayals, each cutting deeper than the last. His best friend, boss, team, agency—all had turned their backs on him, sacrificing him like a pawn in a game he no longer understood.

And for what? For all he had sacrificed and given, this was the thanks he received.

Dragging his feet through the sodden ground, he felt the weight of his exhaustion and pain bearing down on him like a leaden anchor. His body screamed for respite, for release from the torment that plagued him. But still, he pressed on, his gaze fixed on the faint light in the distance, a beacon of hope in the midst of the darkness.

His body language betrayed his struggle, his shoulders slumped with weariness, his movements labored and unsteady. Yet, he refused to yield to the darkness that threatened to consume him. He pushed forward with every ounce of determination, driven by a stubborn resilience that refused to be extinguished.

But as the rain continued to fall and the pain in his wound intensified, a chilling thought invaded his mind. "Is this how it ends? Alone, in the cold and the dark?" Finally, his strength gave out, his body surrendering to the inevitable embrace of unconsciousness.

🌅

As he slowly blinked open his eyes, he was greeted by a sudden burst of brightness, the sun's rays piercing through the whiteness that surrounded him. "Am I in heaven?" he murmured, his voice barely audible amidst the surreal scene.

His confusion deepened as he felt something wet against his hand. "What-" His words trailed off as he glanced down, his eyes widening in shock at the sight before him.

There, by his side, was a shepherd dog, its tail wagging eagerly as it gazed up at him with a warm, friendly smile. "I guess it's true, dogs go to heaven," he mused softly, his disbelief mingling with a flicker of amusement.

"Woof," the dog barked cheerfully, before bounding onto the bed beside him, its tongue lolling out as it showered him with affectionate licks. "Stop," he protested weakly, though a smile tugged at the corners of his lips despite himself.

Lloyd had never been particularly fond of dogs, but there was something about this canine companion that stirred a long-forgotten warmth within him. Memories of a puppy he once cared for flooded his mind, though it had been years since he had last thought of it.

Running his fingers through the dog's fur, he couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance it bore to that cherished pet from his past.

"You look like someone I knew," he murmured softly, a pang of nostalgia tugging at his heartstrings as he allowed himself to be comforted by the presence of his unexpected companion.

"He would be saddened if he understood what you just said. Don't you remember Choco?"

Lloyd's heart skipped a beat as her voice pierced the air, drawing his attention away from the dog and towards the source of the sound. Slowly, he turned around, and there she stood — the woman with whom he had once shared a lifetime.

His ex-wife.

You stood before him, holding a tray of food, your expression unreadable. Despite the years that had passed since he last laid eyes on you, you seemed unchanged. There was no trace of worry in your demeanor, only a cool detachment that sent a shiver down his spine.

Even now, after four long years since the finalization of their divorce, you remained a constant presence in his life, a reminder of all that he had lost. The years had not softened your gaze or dulled the edge of your resentment.

As he met your gaze, there was no warmth, no flicker of recognition in your eyes. Only a steely resolve that spoke volumes of the lingering animosity between them. At that moment, he realized that despite the passage of time, some wounds never truly healed.

Lloyd's voice broke the silence, filled with a hint of nostalgia and warmth. "It's really nice to see you, sunshine."

You responded with a dismissive "Hmph," setting down the tray of food and medicine beside him. As you observed him lying on the bed, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine having him back in your life, especially in such a vulnerable state. Four years ago, you had scrubbed every trace of him from your existence, convinced that you were better off without him.

But fate had a cruel way of intervening. Just last week, Choco's persistent barking had led you to investigate, eventually guiding you to the sight of your ex-husband sprawled in the mud, wounded and on the brink of death.

The sight had shocked you to the core, dredging up memories of the tumultuous past you had shared. His dangerous job, the reason you had chosen to walk away from him, now seemed to loom over you like a grim specter.

Seeing him alive, breathing, and smiling with that smug expression plastered across his face, you couldn't help but question yourself. Why did you save him? As you tended to his wounds, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions raged within you.

You couldn't help but let out a sarcastic remark, your tone laced with equal parts irritation and concern. "With who this time did you make trouble?"

Lloyd's reaction was immediate, his expression caught off guard by your directness. This was the woman he remembered, the one who could simultaneously infuriate and enthrall him. "A lot of people, pumpkin," he replied casually, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes at his response, unable to suppress a wry smile. "Always a troublemaker," you muttered under your breath, the familiarity of the exchange bringing a sense of deja vu.

"Yup. That's why you like me," Lloyd quipped back, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he attempted to lighten the mood.

You didn't dignify his remark with a response, instead choosing to focus on examining his wound. Gently raising his arm, you inspected the injury with practiced care, noting the signs of improvement with a sense of relief. "No more infection," you announced, your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

As you continued your examination, Lloyd couldn't resist interjecting with a hint of pride in his voice. "Did you notice I've gained more muscles?"

You couldn't deny the subtle changes in his physique, resulting from his relentless pursuit of his dangerous profession. But you refused to acknowledge it aloud, knowing that it would only inflate his already sizable ego.

"How did you find out my place?" you questioned, a mix of curiosity and wariness in your voice.

Lloyd met your gaze squarely, his expression unapologetic. "I always check on you. Just in case," he replied casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After the divorce, he had never truly let you out of his sight, a fact that both unsettled and infuriated you. It was as if he couldn't bear the thought of you moving on without him, even though your relationship had long since run its course.

But for Lloyd, the idea of you being with someone else was intolerable. He couldn't stomach the thought of you in another man's arms, couldn't bear the thought of someone else laying claim to what had once been his.

And so, he took matters into his own hands, using underhanded tactics to sabotage any potential suitors that crossed your path. From slashing tires to sabotaging work projects, he left no stone unturned in ensuring you remained single.

The mere thought of you with another man made him sick to his stomach, a bitter taste rising in his throat. But despite his best efforts to keep you all to himself, he knew deep down that he couldn't control your heart.

And yet, he couldn't help but cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you would come back to him in the end.

As Lloyd found himself teetering on the brink of death, his world collapsing around him, he felt a desperate longing for safety and solace. Betrayed by his team, abandoned by his friends, and hunted by the very agency he once served, he was left with nowhere to turn.

With each labored step, he struggled to keep moving forward, to escape the clutches of death that threatened to consume him. But amidst the chaos and despair, a flicker of recognition sparked within his subconscious, guiding him towards a beacon of hope in the darkness.

And then, as if by some miracle, he remembered you. Your address, your home—the one place where he knew he could find refuge, if only for a fleeting moment.

Driven by a primal instinct for survival, his body moved of its own accord, drawing him inexorably towards your doorstep. With each passing moment, the distance between them narrowed, until finally, he stood before your door, battered and broken but alive.

At that moment, as he reached for salvation, he clung to the faint hope that you would offer him sanctuary from the storm that raged within and without. For in the depths of his despair, he knew that he could find the peace and redemption he so desperately sought in your arms.

You let out a sigh, the weight of Lloyd's words sinking in. "Does that mean they knew about me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of concern.

Lloyd shook his head firmly, his gaze unwavering. "No. I made sure nobody knew about you," he reassured you, his tone laced with conviction.

"Good," you responded with a nod, a sense of relief washing over you at his words.

You clapped your hands softly, calling Choco who still lay his head on Lloyd's lap. The loyal dog obediently jumped from the bed to be beside you, his presence a comforting presence in the room.

Lloyd's gaze shifted to the dog, who had grown significantly since the last time he saw him. "He's bigger," he remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Staying out of town suits him," you replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remembered the countless arguments you and Lloyd had over the city life.

Lloyd nodded in understanding, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience as he recalled the sacrifices you had made for him in the past.

You stood up, determination etched on your face. "I need to buy more medicine for you," you declared, your voice firm despite the underlying concern.

"Alright. And I'll be waiting for you," Lloyd replied, his tone filled with gratitude.

Before you left the room, you turned to him with a sense of urgency. "Your gun. It's inside the nightstand," you instructed, your words carrying a weight of responsibility.

Lloyd's eyes widened in surprise as he slowly maneuvered his body, wincing with each movement. With cautious hands, he opened the nightstand and discovered his gun, meticulously cleaned and reloaded, lying within.

In that moment, as he gazed at the weapon before him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of conflicting emotions. Despite the animosity that had defined their relationship, he couldn't deny the underlying care and concern that you still held for him.

And as you left the room, he couldn't help but wonder how someone could simultaneously hate and care for him so deeply. It was a paradox that he would never fully understand but one that he couldn't help but be grateful for in his darkest hour.

As Lloyd lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, a sense of profound gratitude washed over him. Despite the perilous path he had tread, he couldn't help but feel incredibly fortunate to be alive, to have been granted a second chance at life, and to have crossed paths with you once again.

In that fleeting moment of introspection, he couldn't help but wonder about the path not taken.

What if the two of you hadn't parted ways?

Would he have found solace and happiness in your embrace, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the companionship of Choco?

The thought lingered in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of his choices and the consequences that had ensued.

Perhaps things would have been different in another reality or in another lifetime. Perhaps he would have found the peace and contentment he desperately sought in your arms.

But as the painkiller coursed through his veins, enveloping him in a blanket of warmth and drowsiness. Exhausted, he succumbed to the pull of sleep once more.

🗡️

Lloyd stirred from his slumber, awakened not by pain but by the gnawing ache of hunger that clawed at his stomach. Slowly, he sat up, testing the limits of his body and finding that the pain had subsided to a dull ache.

With cautious movements, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as he eased himself into a sitting position. Gradually, he rose to his feet, testing his weight on unsteady legs until he found his balance.

As he ventured out of the room, his gaze wandered around the house, taking in the familiar furnishings and décor that adorned the space. It felt strangely comforting, like stepping into a memory from his past.

His eyes drifted to the photographs that adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy and laughter frozen in time. Each image seemed to tell a story, a testament to the life you had built for yourself after leaving him behind.

With a heavy sigh, he questioned the purpose of his existence and the futility of clinging to a past that no longer held any promise. What was the benefit of wallowing in self-pity, of longing for a life that could never be reclaimed?

As Lloyd made his way to the kitchen, he was greeted by a home-cooked meal waiting for him, prepared with care and accompanied by a note instructing him to simply microwave it.

When was the last time someone had gone to such lengths to provide him with a warm, comforting meal?

The question lingered in his mind as he heated the food and began to eat, savoring each bite as if it were a taste of long-forgotten bliss.

After finishing the last bite of food, Lloyd washed it down with a sip of water, his expression shifting from relaxed to serious as he surveyed the now-empty plates before him.

"At least you let me eat first," he murmured under his breath, a hint of resignation in his voice.

'Click.'

The sound of the gun echoed throughout the house, piercing the stillness of the moment. In the reflection of the fridge, Lloyd caught sight of Carmichael and Susan, their guns trained on him with steely determination.

With a wry smirk, Lloyd raised his hands in surrender, his gaze steady as he met their accusing stares.

"Really? You still have the confidence?" Susan's voice dripped with disdain, her finger twitching on the trigger.

Carmichael's voice was cold and calculating as he spoke, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Of all places, you choose to hide here?"

Lloyd's casual shrug belied the tension that hung in the air as Susan's voice cut through the silence once more. "You need to come with us," she demanded, her tone clipped and authoritative.

Lloyd's response was equally defiant. "What if I don't want to?" he challenged, his gaze locking with Carmichael's as he awaited their next move.

Carmichael's response was swift and to the point. "You have no backup," he stated matter-of-factly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lloyd's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the revelation. "Really?" he quipped, a hint of skepticism.

Unable to contain her frustration any longer, Susan lashed out at Lloyd, her voice dripping with venom. "I'm going to laugh when you rot in jail—"

But before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that sliced through her left ear, followed by a searing pain that engulfed her cheeks and ears.

"Fuck," she cursed, her hand instinctively flying to her injured ear as she recoiled from the unexpected assault.

As Susan dropped to the ground, the suddenness of her descent caught everyone off guard. Carmichael's attention snapped to the shattered window, his instincts kicking in as he processed the situation instantly.

"A sniper," he concluded, his voice tense with urgency as he scanned the perimeter for any signs of danger.

Susan, still reeling from the shock of the attack, struggled to comprehend what had just transpired. "But how?" she gasped, her voice tinged with disbelief as she tried to make sense of the chaos around them.

Lloyd's smirk widened as he watched the realization dawn on Susan and Carmichael's faces. "Don't underestimate the owner of this house," he cautioned, his gaze flicking towards the framed photos on the wall.

Susan and Carmichael's eyes fell upon a woman adorned with a gold medal, the insignia of an Olympic shooting competition adorning the frame.

"Shit," they both muttered simultaneously, a sense of dread settling over them as they realized the gravity of their situation.

Carmichael turned to Lloyd, his disbelief palpable. "Her? You and her? Impossible," he exclaimed, his voice tinged with shock and skepticism.

But Lloyd's smirk remained, a silent testament to the unexpected ally that had come to his aid in his moment of need.

The contrast between you and Lloyd couldn't have been more stark, yet fate had a curious way of bringing opposites together. While you had earned your place at Harvard through your exceptional skill in shooting, Lloyd's prowess on the football field had secured his admission.

In the law class, the tension between you two was palpable, your conflicting personalities clashing like water and fire. Your debates were heated, your arguments fierce, yet beneath the surface, there lingered a begrudging respect for each other's abilities.

Despite the animosity that simmered between you, there was an unspoken understanding that if one of you needed help, the other would be there to lend a hand. It was a reluctant partnership born out of necessity, fueled by a mutual desire to succeed in a cutthroat environment.

As the years passed, the animosity softened into something resembling camaraderie, a grudging acknowledgment of the role you each played in the other's life.

In the end, despite your differences, you and Lloyd were bound together by a shared journey that neither of you could have predicted.

Lloyd raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his words laced with a mix of astonishment and resignation. "We're divorced, but still she cares for me," he remarked, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone.

'Bang.'

Another bullet pierced the air, embedding itself in the sofa with a resounding thud.

"Shit. She's going to blame me for this," Lloyd muttered under his breath, his expression clouded with frustration.

Susan's regret swelled within her, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she realized the gravity of their oversight. "Just kill him," she spat out, her voice tinged with desperation.

But Carmichael's voice cut through the chaos, his words ringing with authority. "No, the order is to bring him in alive," he declared, his tone unwavering in its resolve.

Lloyd, caught in the crossfire of their conflicting agendas, couldn't help but interject with a hint of sarcasm. "Stop fighting over me. I prefer to stay here," he quipped, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips despite the gravity of the situation.

Susan's hand trembled as she pointed the gun at Lloyd's forehead, her eyes blazing with a vengeful fury. "I've been waiting for this," she seethed, her voice laced with venom. "This time I'll blow your head off."

But before Susan could carry out her threat, she was overcome by a searing pain that radiated through her hand, causing her to cry out in agony.

'Bang.'

Another shot rang out, the bullet tearing through Susan's hand with brutal force, eliciting a guttural scream of pain from her lips.

As the smoke cleared, you appeared before them, armed and prepared, your presence commanding and formidable. Carmichael and Susan paled at the sight of you, realizing with dawning horror that they were outmatched and outgunned.

"You bring unnecessary problems, Lloyd," you stated coolly, your voice hinting at disappointment.

With guns and spare bullets adorning your body, you stood as a formidable barrier between them and your ex-husband, ready to protect him at any cost.

With a steely resolve, you stepped forward, your gaze unwavering as you assessed the situation before you. Despite the chaos and tension that hung in the air, you remained calm and composed, your mind calculating the best course of action to diffuse the volatile situation.

"Susan, Carmichael," you began, your voice firm but measured, "you have overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave."

Susan's hand throbbed with pain, her grip on the gun loosening as she recoiled from the intensity of the burn. Carmichael's expression was shock and disbelief, realizing their attempt to apprehend Lloyd had backfired spectacularly.

But you weren't interested in vengeance or retribution. Instead, you sought a peaceful resolution, one that would ensure the safety of everyone involved.

With a swift and decisive motion, you disarmed Susan and Carmichael, carefully removing their weapons and rendering them harmless. Despite their protests and threats, you remained steadfast, refusing to be swayed by their desperate pleas.

You held their gaze steadily, your voice unwavering as you addressed Susan and Carmichael. "I'm sure neither of you wants to die today. Just as I don't want Lloyd to die," you asserted, your tone firm but not without empathy.

Susan's eyes widened in realization, the gravity of the situation sinking in as she glanced between you and Lloyd. Carmichael's expression hardened, his jaw clenched in silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

Lloyd's smirk widened into a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he caught your subtle reference.

"Since he has to clean up the house first," you added with a playful wink, a hint of humor creeping into your tone.

Lloyd's smile broadened at your jest, a sense of relief washing over him as he realized you had everything under control.

"Leave," you commanded, your voice brooking no argument. "And don't ever come back."

Reluctantly, Susan and Charmichael complied, their defeat evident in their defeated expressions as they slunk away, their tails between their legs.

As Charmichael and Susan begrudgingly exited the premises, leaving behind a trail of tension in their wake. "You always manage to find trouble, don't you?" you remarked, a hint of exasperation in your tone.

Lloyd turned to you with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He placed a comforting arm on your shoulder, seeking reassurance in the midst of uncertainty.

"No matter what, you still care for me, right?" he questioned, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You met his gaze with a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of your lips. "In your dreams," you replied cryptically, words laced with affection and defiance.

With a swift motion, you brushed aside the sentimentality, your expression hardening as you turned away from him.

Lloyd watched you go, his arms crossed over his chest as he contemplated your retreating figure. Despite your dismissive words, he couldn't shake the feeling that beneath your tough exterior, there still lay a flicker of concern for him.

'Woof.'

The sound of Choco's bark brought Lloyd back to the present, the loyal dog appearing at his side with a comforting presence. Lloyd reached down to pet the dog's head, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Your mother is still a bad liar," he remarked with a chuckle.

[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

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: dark! König x fem! Reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, gaslighting, drugging, kidnapping. This is only fiction! Never tolerate creepy behavior

A/n: so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I decided to finish it as a part of writing event. I’m so proud of this one, like omg, look at me being a writer😆

Your head hurt. That was the first thing you registered as you started to slowly regain consciousness. Your face scrunched up in a grimace of pain as you let out a soft groan, your throat sore, only increasing your discomfort.

You tried to raise your hands to rub on your eyes in attempt to soothe the stinginess - point word - tried. You very soon found that your movements had been restricted by something that felt very much like rope. And not only your hands - your legs were bound tightly together at your knees and ankles, not allowing you to move.

- You’re awake now? - soft voice droned on, making you tense up impossibly more. The most terrifying thing was that you knew exactly who this voice belonged to.

You squinted into direction from which the sound came, your vision still blurry and hazy from the drug. Thankfully, the room was dark, small lamp on the bedside table was the only source of soft yellow light. You could only perceive a bulky figure sitting on a chair not too far from you, piercing blue eyes gazed at you unblinking.

- König..? What’s going on? - you asked, your voice was hoarse and weak from long lack of usage.

Suddenly, memories flashed before your eyes; it was late evening - about 11 pm - as you were walking towards convenience store not so far from your apartment.

You had been in a state of constant desolation lately - days were bleak and boring, blurring into one with their unchanging routine, sending you in deeper state of depression.

Breakup with your boyfriend took a toll on you. You loved König, you really did. Considered spending your life with him, even. But the longer your relationship lasted, the more of real him you saw - controlling, obsessive, manipulative.

It all started out small - constant checking in, questions about your whereabouts and your company, him following accompanying you wherever possible. Surely, it restricted your freedom, but König didn’t mean anything bad! He was just worried for you, concerned about your safety! Is that so bad?

So you let it slip. You overlooked his more controlling tendencies, agreed to giving him passwords to all your social media even, so König could make sure that “no freaks were texting you”. It unnerved you, but he didn’t mean anything bad, did he? He was just being a good caring boyfriend!

And it was like an avalanche. Constant calls and messages, controlling what you were wearing, unwillingness to leave you alone even for a few minutes - that and many other things made a list of what your boyfriend did, only adding to your anxiety. But you tolerated it all, because you loved him. Once, digging through your phone you found something that looked very much like a tracking app. You were outraged. But when you asked König about it - rather aggressively - he just blinked at you with wide innocent blue eyes, saying that maybe you installed it on accident? You know all these bots nowadays, you can never be safe online now. But you know that he would never do something like that, right? How could you even think of something like that?! König was genuinely offended, and you naturally hastened to apologize for your unwise accusations, trying to make it up to him. Deleting this app seemed to be impossible, though, no matter how many times you tried.

Last drop was, however, when König nearly blew out your best friend’s front door, threatening them to keep away from you. “This bitch is putting some fucked up ideas about me into your head” - was his reasoning. And that was it - hell was set free. You had an ugly shouting marathon for hours to no end, with lots of tears and profanities, ending up with a harsh breakup and you blocking König everywhere, cutting him off completely.

And since then you haven’t spoken a word to him. Of course, he came to your apartment countless times, sent numerous gifts and bouquets of your favorite flowers, practically begging for forgiveness. But you knew better than that - it happened before, and even if you forgave him this time, in a few months time everything would be just as it was before.

At present, you were walking down a sidewalk, asphalt damp under your shoes from recent rain. You needed to get some groceries, since your fridge was just as empty as your stomach; and this late of an hour promised as little people around as possible, saving you from unfavorable company of men.

Just as you rounded a corner - a pair of huge strong arms - obviously male - seized your sensibly smaller body; a weird-smelling cloth was pressed tightly over your mouth and nose. In your panicked state you tried to fight back, not registering your own breathing, inhaling lungfuls of drug. Darkness filled your vision rapidly as dizziness overcame all your senses. You felt consciousness quickly slipping away from you, neon lights of convenience store shone brightly before your eyes still.

Panic seized your throat and it was becoming harder to breathe - you tugged and pulled on rough ropes around your limbs, trying to either snap them or slip out of tight confines, thrashing around the mattress relentlessly. König didn’t do anything, just watched you silently with his icy orbs from his spot, not exactly amused nor impressed by your behavior. Very soon fatigue took over your already exhausted body, you lay motionless once again, panting heavily as you glared at König’s dark form, vision still unfocused from the drug.

- Drop that. I made sure knots are tight, - he said coldly, continuing to observe you with a sharp stare of a hawk.

You just glared silently, trying to catch your breath. Your body felt heavy - extremely so, as if every limb was made out of lead and not flesh and bone; moving as much as one finger seemed harder than anything and you wondered how you managed to thrash around in the first place. Your head was aching irritably, not allowing you to think clearly - it had to be the side effect of whatever that was König made you inhale previously.

- König, do you realize what you did? - you managed to choke out, panic crashing over you in waves as realization of your current situation finally hit you. Hot tears streamed down your face as you tried to breathe evenly, but it did little to calm you down.

König just leaned in, cupping the side of your face with one of his huge hands, his thumb swiped under your eye, wiping salty tears away with calloused fingertip. You closed your eyes, averting your face from his touch. And oh, he didn’t like it.

König gripped bottom part of your face, force of his grip squeezed your cheeks together as he turned your head forcibly towards himself, making you squeal quietly as you faced him.

- You tried to leave me. And you are very dear to me. I can’t let this happen, - König explained, his voice calm, alarmingly calm. His scarred lips were pressed into a thin pale line, giving a little clue of his rage.

It was another side of him, completely different from what you used to see - a calm, ruthless and collected one; one that you could only imagine, based off some rumors you’ve heard about him and small cracks in his friendly mask König was too careless to hide from you during your relationship. You got glimpses of it a few times - when some drunk dude tried to hit on you when you and König were in the bar together, or when you mentioned how nice one of your male coworkers was. You always made one brutal mistake of brushing it all off, blaming it on König’s tiredness or fierce personality. And that’s where it led you.

- So what are you gonna do now? Keep me here forever? - you tried to scoff, but your trembling voice was way too weak to do so.

König cocked his eyebrow at your brave words, ghost of a smile played on his pursed lips. He shrugged lightly, grip of his fingers on your cheeks eased as he caressed them endearingly with rough fingertips, tickling you slightly.

- If that’s what it takes to keep you with me - then yes, - he shrugged slightly, propping his chin on his free hand, not a single emotion could be deciphered in his voice. These words made your blood turn cold.

He heaved a deep sigh at your frightened expression and trembling body, letting go of your face and reclining into his chair.

- Schatzi, you know I hate this just as much as you do. You think I’m enjoying this? - he asked, his tone was somehow sad and exhausted. But yes, you indeed thought, knew he enjoyed this. You kept silent, choking on your silent sobs, now being extremely aware of thick ropes digging painfully into your soft skin. Panic attack was full on taking over you, suffocating you with numerous sobs, body tensing and shaking incessantly, tears blurring your thus poor vision.

- Now, this all may end if you stop being a little bitch and start acting like an actual adult. We didn’t finish our conversation that last time, and you blocking me everywhere doesn’t make things any easier, - König said, his ice-blue eyes boring holes in your head. But you couldn’t comprehend the meaning behind his words, your brain short-circuited with fear and panic, turning you into a weeping shaking mess.

König heaved another sigh. He got up from his chair, taking a few steps towards your bed and dropping to his knees in front of it, so that his head was right against yours. His hand once again came to caress the side of your face affectionately, tangling into your messy hair and massaging your scalp, cooing soothingly at you.

- I know baby, I know. You need to rest. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe. And then, once you’re strong and rested, we’ll talk again. And we’ll sort everything out and be happy again, just like we used to be, hmm? - König murmured softly as he always did to calm you down during hard times. But it only made you weep harder.

König pressed his lips against your cold forehead, leaving a chaste kiss as he inhaled lungfuls of your scent. He then nuzzled his forehead against yours, mumbling quietly:

- You can’t imagine how much I missed you. How could you do this to me? Hurt me so much even though I only want the best for you?

He peppered your face with small kisses, whispering small nothings and caressing your shuddering back. This made you feel nauseous. Your consciousness started to slip away again, your vision darkening rapidly. And just before blacking out, you heard König’s voice, one you loved so dearly once, utter:

- You’re mine, always will be. I’ll make sure of that.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Give writers some love, we live off feedback<3

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B.Blackwood || Part 2 ||

My thoughts have just been plagued with scenes I can write for this, i honestly intended this to be 2 parts but I ALREADY HAVE IDEAS FOR PART 3 SO FUCK IT WE BALL???

PART 1 HERE

PART 3 HERE

Kieran!Benjicot Blackwood (fancast) x f!Reader

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing??? Idiots in love but they dont know what that means

Tags <3: @spider-stark

***

War, for all that it brings with it, destruction, pain, suffering on a scale hitherto unknown remained a constant and unchanging conundrum. Were the gods so cruel as to let brother kill brother over trivial squabbles? It was a fascinating thing, to understand, to learn. You, however, decided in this current juncture it felt like a personal punishment aimed to torment and break you down. Realistically, the suffering it caused on a wider scale was insurmountable and that was something you could acknowledge. But in this instance, the way your body aches and screams from constant use makes it feel like a personal sleight.

“Your grip is weak.”

A soft groan of frustration exhales when you sigh, “I cannot hold the sword otherwise.” Dropping the sword by your side, it had been hours without respite and weeks of training for what? You still couldn’t even hold a sword properly and that frustrated you only more.

Benji laughs, softly, circling you with his head tilted to the side. You want to hit him but decide against it. After all, he didn’t need to visit your tent and assist in getting you battle ready — yet he did it either out of some sense of male honour or he secretly enjoyed overseeing your own personal agony.

“Does my ineptitude amuse you, my Lord?” You throw the sword on the ground, it landing with a thud on the canvas flooring. In the throes of frustration, you wipe the sweat from your brow and run a hand through unevenly chopped locks of hair.

“Your petulance, perhaps.” The boyish smile breaking through his hardened demeanor always caught you off guard. A gentle reminder that he was not some battle beaten man, he was young and had his innocence ripped from him; more or less like you. “You may not see it but there is improvement,” he dips down to pick the sword up, holding it out for you to take it again.

Right or not, it didn’t matter in the present. The improvement may have been so miniscule it might as well not have counted, though it was always difficult to see one's progress without the lense of the past. And with a sigh of concession, you snatch the sword from his hand and give him a goading look, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Again,” he instructs firmly, tongue protruding slightly out from between his lips — he was too good at that, switching from his natural charming disposition to a commanding authority in an instance. As if two halves of him were at odds with each other, another part of him lay dormant but the crazed look in his eyes often betrayed his steadfast composure. You weren’t sure if you liked it or feared it.

With a roll of your wrist and standing with a sturdy bearing, you take an offensive stance. His eyes wander all over you, in a completely different scenario it may have been flattering or intrusive, but there is no desire hidden away in the deep brine pools of his eyes. Under his scrutinous gaze you hold firm; at least my wrist doesn’t feel like falling off.

Improvement.

He steps to your side flank, head tilted in thought. The low hum accompanying the loud thoughts you wished he’d say out loud.

When did he get so close? You swallow nervously — he was a practical man, but often opted to show you how to do something by watching him first. Surprisingly gentle to the touch he brings a hand over yours, the one that grips the sword and adjusts your grip. Tilting your wrist slightly and nudging your thumb to a different position.

“Can you feel the difference?” He murmurs, an unexpectedly tender moment that would have floored you entirely had you not spent weeks training at his command. Even now though, you feel composure waning, creaking away like a tree that has had its trunk chopped halfway.

“Feels like… I have more control,” You utter, looking slightly over your shoulder. Oh. He was much closer than you thought.

He nods, softly adjusting your grip to keep the blade upright, though he doesn’t move his hand this time. “Your stance is good and solid. But means little if you have no strength to fortify it…” His other hand is held up so that you can see it and slowly brings it down to your hip. Not once during this small interaction does he break eye contact, it was as though he was giving you the chance to stop him if you wanted to.

You don’t, of course.

A moment of hesitation as he tentatively touches your hip before holding it and rotating you ever so slightly, “what you lack in strength, you have in speed… This stance is better for your momentum.”

“Right,” you whisper, blinking out of the daze you felt yourself fall into by the pull of his gaze. His eyes were so lovely. In moments like this they were bright with a golden hue, as if marked by the Gods. Other times they were dark, dangerous abyssal pits that you could equally get lost in. But not now.

“Good,” he smiles, the same boyish smile that makes you a little nervous and nauseous concurrently. Which was a strange feeling because you weren’t repulsed by him and yet your body reacted all the same. No one had ever elicited such strange reactions within you like he did.

“Try and disarm me.”

“What?” You feel your arm immediately drop as he steps away and unsheathes his own sword. No longer honey touched eyes boring into yours, they were void and wild. He doesn’t give you a chance to process anything before swinging his sword, you have no choice but to stumble back, practically flailing your own sword to stop from getting hurt.

Clang!

The metal blades ricochet off one another and you take the chance to scurry across the bed swiftly before he can attempt another blow, “fuck, fuck — fuck!” You hiss, standing on the other side of the tent, barely a chance to think properly before he’s back onto you like a grounded tempestuous storm.

With wide eyes you jump out of the way, his sword connects with the side table and wood splinters off into pieces. The first casualty — you’d have laughed or joked if you weren’t absolutely fearing for your life in a way. Heart pounding hard as you take a chance to counter, using a leg to disable him by going for his knees but he sees it and contorts his body just in time.

“C’mon!” He shouts, eyes wild and borderline murderous.

Unsure what possibly possessed you other than it felt right. Call it a childish rebuke or not, you instantly straighten your stance and yell back at him, a deep and guttural yell, like one would trying to fend a bear off an attack.

He licks his lips, the grin of a mad man apparent, “there she is.”

This time you swing first, kicking off the back leg gives you a good enough propulsion and wind up with the sword. Cling! He cross blocks, letting your blade slide down his own and the two of you are practically face to face, the slightest smirk pulls at his lips and you match it with a barely audible snarl.

Using your full body weight, you push into him to get distance which only just works.

Another swing from him, narrowly missing your shoulder as you jump aside, his sword clashing with one of the bed posts, it snaps under the force and limply hangs onto the unmarked wood. You take advantage of his over extension, ducking beneath his arms and opting for the best option, shouldering him in the waist and bringing him down to the ground.

Not your finest work, but he tumbles - and you with him - onto the canvas flooring, but at least you had the upper hand and though strength was not in your arsenal just yet, speed was. Pinning him to the ground, you straddle higher than the waist to keep him from bucking you off or swinging his legs around.

Both of you held your blades to each other's throat in a stalemate, chests heaving with heavy breaths.

“A fair play, my lady,” he pants quietly, though the impish grin on his face suggested otherwise. Your eyes travel down to his other hand where he had his dagger pressed softly against the leathers of your tunic, no doubt a lethal puncture in the abdomen if you were in a real fight. He lowers his blades, “you are improving — getting better at trusting your instincts.”

“You went easy on me,” you whine, tossing your blade indignantly. The semi victory loses its glory almost instantly, souring in your mouth. Standing back up seemed to be more effort today than usual, muscles shaking, screaming for a modicum of respite. But war does not rest so neither shall your body.

“If you wish for me to kill you, then you need only ask,” he jests, you knew this — he was holding out for a reason. You hadn’t seen him in battle but can very well imagine without much stretch of the imagination how he has coined the notorious namesake of ‘Bloody Ben Blackwood’. Even more it seemed, he was often harsher, stricter and more brutal when he would lead training with the younger boys.

“Don’t offer such a tempting proposal,” you laugh, tired, exhausted.

He looks at you, seriously for but a moment, “if you desire rest, it is okay to take it.” And the sweet, caring and kind Benji fronted, flecks of gold honey in his eyes as he steps forward and grabs your hand with a touch so kindly it seemed foreign. He need not force you, tugging you to the bedside and sitting you down, “you are not weak for needing rest.”

You chuckle softly, “there is no rest for someone like me, I need to be ready for when we march forward within the tenday.”

“You won’t be much use to us if your legs cannot even carry you. Rest.” He says firmly, pushing gently on your shoulder which didn’t need much for you to collapse onto the bed. “We can resume overmorrow.” He’s seated on the side of your bed now, you open your mouth to contest but he glowers immediately, tilting his head forward and setting his jaw as if to silently say ‘don’t you dare’.

So you don’t dare.

“If I was less encumbered by my exhaustion I’d have hit you for looking at me like that,” you bite, rolling onto your side and instinctively curling in on yourself.

“You certainly would have tried.” He laughs.

“And succeeded, I pinned you already today — I could do it again if I willed myself.”

“Is that so? Perhaps we should get a maester to check those ears of yours, did I not request you disarm me? I don’t recall asking you to pin me.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, narrowing your eyes at him though the barely suppressed smile betrayed your poor attempt to keep a straight face. “I stopped thinking the moment you attacked me like a brute.”

He nods along with your words and though his words are vaguely threatening, his smile indicates a hint of mischievousness, “a Brute am I? You have a crass tongue, My Lady, you’d better keep it in check.”

“Clover.”

“Hm?” His head tilts to the side, like a dog hearing a command.

“Call me Clover… Garrus finds it easier… Less likely to accidentally call attention to my identity.” You run your fingers over the furs of your bed, naturally you omit the little part of the nickname because that seemed sacred to Garrus. Only he can call you that. But Benji had your trust, and you had his, even if it be an unspoken bond that grew stronger the more time elapsed within one anothers company. He at least deserved a little part of you.

There is silence, as he sits on your words, a faint smile ghosting his lips and he nods singularly, “As you wish, Clover.” And the strangest feeling encompasses the tent, it was thick but not suffocating, warm but not a hellfire. His hand moves so deftly, you hadn’t seen it until his fingers barely grazed your temple, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He holds it, a moment, two moments, before his eyes blink rapidly, something reminding him of his place and he flushes red, retracting his hand quickly as though he had touched hot coals. “A-Apologies… forgive me — that was wholly inappropriate. Please do rest, I will see you overmorrow.”

It happened rather quickly, he stands and you sit up as swiftly, “Benji.” You call but he was out quicker than bat out of the hells. Your shoulders slump, a faint pout on your lips as you try to decipher what that could’ve been about. Whatever it had been, you liked it, you liked him but that could mean a plethora of things.

You sigh, falling back into the bed and staring at not particularly anything. Perhaps it would be prudent to speak on the matter with Garrus when he returned.

[bratbby333]

even if it hurts

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ angst, kinda toxic, college au, 21+ warnings: language, alcohol consumption summary: unrequited love word count: 3.2k

“I just don’t understand what she sees in that guy,” Megumi thinks to himself. He watches you as you exit the library from his vantage point, seated by the window. You walk toward your boyfriend, who’s leaning up against his car. Megumi’s chest gets tighter the longer he watches you, wincing as your boyfriend pulls you in close, your lips connecting with his for way longer than Megumi can handle. 

“It should be me,” he sighs within, eventually turning away from the window, bringing his attention back to Yuuji and Kugisaki, the two of them oblivious to his mental anguish. But, of course they are, and so are you, his unchanging, neutral facial expression never giving away his true, tortured feelings. 

Then again, Megumi doesn’t know what you’d see in him, either. He knows everything about you; the good, the bad and the ugly, caring deeply for your well-being and happiness, but that doesn’t outweigh the negatives that come along with him. His lack of empathy, his overly analytical nature, his disdain for small talk, the permanent frown on his face. He hopes one day you take a chance after all these years and accept him in the same way he already accepts you; flawed, but so beautiful. 

“Aren’t they just so cute together,” Kugisaki gushes out, before looking to her friends for input. Yuuji smiles wide, nodding in agreement.

“They seem very happy together. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.” Yuuji adds, before looking back at his notes. Megumi glances outside again, observing that you’re now seated in the passenger seat. He stays quiet, which isn’t unusual for him. Neither of his friends bat an eye at his lack of commentary, chalking it up to Megumi being typical Megumi. He wishes he could rejoice on your behalf, to congratulate you on your new found romance without stifling a gag. Even if he could fake his way through it, his words would be coated in jealousy. Instead, he continues to retreat within. You’d see right through his bleak attempts to be supportive, anyway. So he packs his feelings up in a box, stowing them away on a forgotten shelf deep in the darkest corners of his mind.

Within his tormented psyche, Megumi is anything but his normal self. Looking down at his textbook again, he can’t comprehend a single thing in front of him. He stares longingly into the book, willing himself to read, but his mind can’t help but always find its way back to you. One of his best friends. Your cheery disposition contradicts his cold, closed-off demeanor. The way your perfume lingers on his shirt after a friendly hug, how your body feels pressing against his. The way your lips curl before you laugh, how you wrinkle your nose after someone tells a joke, or the soft smiles you always send his way. How your eyes gleam with excitement when you see him (well, not just him, but your friends, collectively). You’re everything he isn’t, and everything he wishes he was. You make his normally frigid skin run warm, feverish even.

He knows it will never be you and him. Like the sun and moon; coexisting, but never coming together, a constant, cruel cycle. You two meet briefly in the same sky, before you disappear under the horizon and his world goes dark. That part doesn’t hurt nearly as much as what the actual outcome is: You will always be in his life, just out of reach; so close yet so infuriatingly far. He will always be an outsider looking in; a friend. It’s a tortuous realization. But the moon cannot glow without the sun. So he wills himself to stay put. To watch you fall in and out of love, over and over again; listening to you rave or rant about your relationship, he inevitably being a voice of reason for you when you need advice, even if it burns his throat when his supportive words leave his mouth; and it will never be him. And he accepts that as the painful reality he’s condemned to live in. Purgatory. It would hurt much less if he wasn’t as close to you; if you were just a friend of a friend, or even strangers; an unknown face, a passing daydream. Someone easier to lose. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You press your hands against the metal bar of the library doors, sighing as you push against them. The setting sun dances across your hair, the warmth kissing your skin. You smile softly at your boyfriend, who always insists on picking you up after class. He pulls you into him, his lips meeting yours. Pulling away, you smile up at him before taking a step back, allowing him to open up the passenger side door for you. You turn your head back toward the library before getting in, looking through the window at the table you were just sitting at with your three best friends. Your eyes linger on Megumi, whose attention is back on his textbook. 

“I wish he was you, Meg.” You think to yourself, looking at the ground before sitting in the passenger seat. You’re quiet on the drive back to your boyfriend's apartment, thoughts utterly consumed by Megumi. But you know it will never be him. You’re too talkative, too excitable. Too different from him. With the two of you being such close friends, by the time you realized how your heart ached for him, it was too late. You don’t want to ruin what you have. You can’t confess. That would make the dynamic shift towards awkwardness and tension, possibly even destroying the friendships you cherish so deeply. So you stay quiet. You date other people in hopes that someone can replace him. But your attempts are all in vain. No one can replace Megumi. He knows everything about you, appreciates you for everything you are and accepts you for everything you’re not. But you know the deeper connection that you desire will never be reciprocated. He does all these things for me because we’re best friends, you rationalize.

You reconcile with the silver lining of it all; enjoying the time you’re able to spend with him, relishing in the jokes between you two, cherishing the glances you steal when you know he's not paying attention. You ignore the gnawing deep within you, the hunger for more. You cling to the way his smooth voice delivers eloquently thought out sentences to your yearning ears, the way your heart leaps when his deep blue eyes gaze attentively into yours. At least you can hold on to the notion that he will always be in your life, at the very least, as a friend.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You can’t settle for meaningless connections. You’ve decided that you’ll take Megumi however you can get him, the cards dealt to you leaning in favor of just being friends. And that’s okay. You’ll hold on to the hope that one day he’ll take the risk. Such a selfish desire, you acknowledge that. You refuse to fight these feelings any longer, the stark realization that it will never not be him coming to fruition on that fateful car ride, which is why you’re at your boyfriend’s house, sitting across from him, attempting to explain that it isn’t him, it’s you.

“I’m sorry,” you start. You can’t seem to find the right words that will soften the blow. Your mind is an endless sea of thoughts, a similar deep blue that you find in Megumi's eyes. Oh, his eyes. One thing at a time. 

“You did everything right, I promise. I just think we’re looking for different things.” You don’t have much more to say, tuning out your now ex boyfriend’s pleas and questions as you stand and walk towards the door, not uttering another word. Your movements shift to being calculated and emotionless; maybe you are more like Megumi than you thought. You take a deep breath once outside, pulling your phone out and dialing Kugisaki. 

“Hey, what���s up? Aren’t you supposed to be with your boyfriend?” she asks. She can hear the whizzing of cars in the background of the phone call. You walk along a busy freeway with no destination in mind. But your body knows where it wants to be; with Megumi. Your heart drives you with such conviction that you’re nearly running now.

“I was, yeah, I just broke up with him. Can we go out for drinks? Ask Yuu and Meg, too.” You reply. Nobara pauses, waiting for more information before realizing you weren’t interested in sharing. Your tone was emotionless and commandeering; very out of character for you. She decides not to pry. After a moment of silence, you hear the soft murmur of voices echo through the speaker of your phone, before she returns to the call, the plan being set to meet at a local bar just outside the campus at 6pm. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

The study session is interrupted by an incoming call to Nobara’s phone. Megumi’s heart soars at the sight of your name on the screen. Kugisaki smiles before answering, but her twinkling demeanor drops almost immediately. He hears her ask a couple questions, but he can’t comprehend what was said over the loud roar of blood rushing through his ears. He doesn’t understand how you elicit such unusual responses from him. These feelings are getting harder and harder for him to fight. He snaps back to reality when Kugisaki relays that you want to grab drinks tonight. He’d do anything and go anywhere for you, jumping on the chance to be around you. Keep your composure, they can’t know. Megumi stoically agrees to the plans, as does Yuuji. The call ends a moment later.

“I did not see that coming,” Kugisaki sighs, placing her phone back down on the table. Megumi looks to his friend, anxiously anticipating her debrief of the conversation she just had. The possibility that you were hurt made Megumi want to jump out of his skin, to console you in a deeper, more intimate way that friends probably shouldn’t do. Kugisaki’s vagueness of the whole situation was making his nerves run cold. 

“It’s not unusual for her to want to grab some drinks…did something happen?” Yuuji asks, concern painted across his normally cheerful face. Kugisaki just glances between the two boys, her brow furrowed. Megumi’s blood is ice in his veins when Nobara finally tells them. He tunes out his friends, his mind inundating with possibilities, sending a silent prayer to the heavens that you’ll soon take a chance on him. He kicks himself for thinking that way, guilt soon replacing his desperation. How dare he attempt to take advantage of your pain for his own pleasure. What kind of man has he become? 

You want nothing more than to run into Megumi’s arms, to hold his face in your hands. You can’t help but feel sinful for what you’ve done. But being with someone when you crave someone else’s touch goes against everything you believe. Inauthenticity. It’s causing you more harm than good. You can’t stand it anymore. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry it didn’t work out…just earlier today we were talking about how happy you two seemed together. Can’t help but think we jinxed it,” Yuuji apologizes as he crashes into you, his arms constricting you tightly. Such a sweet boy. He holds you there for a moment, rocking you back and forth, before breaking away, Kugisaki taking his place. 

“His loss, you’ll forget about him soon enough. Let’s get drunk. Maybe you’ll find someone new while we’re here!” Nobara smirks. Megumi can’t help but cringe at that suggestion, the thought of seeing you engaged with yet another man, a man that isn’t him, shoots a lead bullet through his chest. He reaches his boiling point. He can’t patch up his wounds anymore. 

Megumi approaches you last, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, patting gently and saying nothing. Pretty on brand for Megumi’s way of showing comfort, but there’s something different behind his eyes; a new, unknown feeling that you can sense while looking up at him. You fight every urge in your body telling you to ask about it, to pry deeper into his mind, knowing he wouldn’t tell you, anyway. You desperately want to lean into his touch, electricity shooting through your body. You smile gently at his unreadable expression before the four of you head inside. 

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Seated at a table away from the bar, the four of you talk about the upcoming exams. You set plans for your next study session. Yuuji invites the group to a movie premier on Saturday night. Everyone reluctantly agrees, even though the premise of the film sounds dreadful. As the night goes on, the drinks keep coming, and you and your friends are properly buzzed, giggling and joking around. Everyone except Megumi, only offering the occasional smile and quiet chuckle. Everytime he laughs, your heart beats faster. Unbeknownst to the group, he’s clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, fighting every urge to spill his deepest, darkest secret. 

Your eyes trace lines along his face, taking in every curve and angle of his disposition. Something is bothering him. Your stare is burning holes into his side profile, and he shifts his weight in search of relief from your intensity. The sun and her rays. You’re snapped out of your trance as Yuuji stands from the table, pointing his finger in Nobara’s direction. 

“Nobara Kugisaki, I challenge you to a Skee-Ball tournament!” he shouts. The abruptness of his actions shocks the three of you. You glance at Kugisaki, who’s smirking at Yuuji. 

“You are so on.”

The two abandon the table, trash talking one another on their way to the machine, leaving you and Megumi alone. You feel elated at the time you get to spend one on one with him. He feels differently.

“It was for the best, he seemed like an ass anyway,” Megumi huffs out, avoiding your gaze as he takes another sip of his drink. His comment catches you off guard, but it leaps from his mouth before he can give it a second thought, as if he had been waiting the entire night to say that to you, only feeling confident enough to do so with the liquor in his system and the listening ears now on the opposite end of the bar. 

“Well, no, he was perfectly nice, Meg,” you retort, confusion painted across your face. This is so unlike Megumi, the man of few words.

“So why dump him if he was so nice? There must be a reason,” he challenges. Megumi has moved from denial, to bargaining, to anger in the span of a day. He can’t help but lash out. He’s bursting at the seams. Being near you is no longer enough, and his ego is his last line of defense before you fully break his heart without even meaning to. The constant torment he’s felt since meeting you has slowly been chipping away at him. All he knows is that he’s had enough. If you leave, if he pushes hard enough, he won’t hurt anymore. He will no longer have a constant reminder of what could be. He will finally reach acceptance. 

The hostility of his words bruise you, anger plastered across his face. Why is he upset with me? I did this for him, not that he’d ever know that. You brush off the sting from his comment. You’re just happy to hear him speak. You’d do anything to listen to him express whatever thought popped in his head, hanging on every word that leaves his lips, even if they send shards of glass into your heart. It aches so beautifully. You can’t muster up the courage to tell him that he’s the reason it didn’t work out. You’re exhausted from trying to force connections with other people in hopes that they could replace him, the constant back and forth leaving your life in ruins. You cut ties with perfectly good people because you know they will never be Megumi. So you cling to anything you can get from him, even if it destroys you.

“I…I don’t know, Meg. I think I’m searching for something else,” you reply quietly, your response insinuating much more than you intended. Your words float through the air so inaudibly that they are nearly drowned out by the music pouring out of the bar’s speakers. But Megumi hears you. He always does. His head snaps to face you, meeting your gaze. He feels his blood pressure spike. Is she referring to me? No…that can’t be what she means. She’s just feeling vulnerable right now. He maintains eye contact with you, looking past your eyes and searching deep within your soul, hoping something in there will guide him towards the answers he so hopelessly needs.

Your breath catches in your throat. Why is he looking at me like that? Did I make it too obvious? Did I ruin everything? Megumi’s eyes dart around your face, searching for something, anything, that would alleviate his pain. It doesn’t matter what you meant by that statement. He can’t stand this anymore, teetering on the edge of insanity. If I can’t have her, and I can’t stand keeping her around without torturing myself, then… fuck it. He decides to jump.

He grabs your face with both hands before crashing his lips into yours, a muffled yelp escaping you. Your eyes go wide, your body freezes. Time slows to an insufferable pace. You can’t comprehend a single thing, a part of you trying to convince yourself that this isn’t real; if it’s nothing more than a drunken kiss. But it’s real. It’s everything and more. You close your eyes, surrendering to this moment. You move your lips against his, desperate to savor him. He feels the exact way you imagined him to, the taste of him clouding your senses. You can’t get enough. The two of you fit together perfectly. You are utterly and completely consumed by him.

His heart races as he feels you reciprocate. His hands run up and down your body with urgency, trying to make up for years of wasted time. The loud bar fades to black as he pulls you deeper into him. All he can feel is you; you’re all that matters, that has mattered. Your hands meet his cheeks, moving to thread themselves in his hair at the nape of his neck. He groans into your mouth, his tongue battling against yours. You claw at one another hungrily. After years of starving, you are finally satiated. Every doubt that clouded your mind is cast to the wayside. All the pain and suffering has come to an end. The outcome that you both desired comes to fruition. 

“Fucking FINALLY!” You break away from one another, the sound of Kugisaki’s voice bringing you back to reality. She's standing before you two with her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. Yuuji is positioned beside her, grinning from ear to ear. Megumi takes your face in his hands again, pulling you close.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers. 

author notes: if this seemed very unhinged and scatterbrained it's bc it most definitely was..and i tried to write this is in a specific way so that it bounced back and forth and contradicted one another and...u get it. im sure u do.

anywho, thank u so much for engaging with my stories...every like, comment, and reblog makes my little heart soar xx

my inbox is always open, send your requests here♡

if u wanna be added to my anon club, drop an emoji when u send ur message, and i will add u on my welcome page xx

© bratbyy333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[httpspedri26]

Your losing me (pt.2)

Angst fluff

Jude x reader

I’m still writing some requests but feel free to leave more!!

Your losing me (pt.1)

Jude hated himself because of what he did six months ago. These last months were the longest he ever went without you, without the sound of your voice, your laughter, Your scent still wonders around the house though, it’s everywhere, even though Jude has washed your pillow countless times or had another woman sleep on it. It serves as a constant reminder that you once in that house with him.

Every corner of the house holds memories of you both - the photographs on the walls, every time he wants to take the pictures of the wall he breaks down crying, so he figured it was better to leave them there.

He often wonders if you think about him too, if you miss him like he misses you. . The thought of you moving on, finding happiness with someone else, is both a source of pain and a glimmer of hope. Deep down, he wants nothing more than for you to be happy, but he can’t stand imagining you with another man.

This week, Real Madrid had agreed to cancel this week’s training for the holidays to spend some quality time with their families. Jude initially hadn't planned on returning to Dortmund, but he really wanted to see y/n, that’s all he had been wishing for these past 6 months just to hold her in his arms again.

That’s why he finds himself back in dourtmund back in the front door of his and y/n house. He didn’t really know how he got there, he wasn’t planning on showing up at your doorstep at this time, but all roads lead him here.

He can hear footsteps as soon as he knocks on the door. Jude’s heart drops as he sees a man, the complete opposite of him, standing in front of him. brown hair, light eyes, and fair skin.

"Hey, can I help you with something?" The man furrowed his eyebrows as he asked Jude.

Jude felt like his throat was closing and couldn't speak.

"I, um, no, sorry. I think I'm in the wrong house," Jude blurted out, as soon as he heard your voice from afar asking who it was.

✿

It’s been a few days since Jude appeared at Y/N’s front door. He had been staying at his parents' house in Dortmund, still alone as nobody was there yet. They were in Sunderland with Jobe for a few days before coming over to Dortmund, which brought Jude a sense of relief, not wanting his family to see him in that state.

A soft knock from the front door snapped Jude out of his thoughts. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he groaned and threw his head back as he stood up from the couch. Opening the door, your scent enveloped his mind.

“Hey, Jude.” Y/n shivered from the rain; she only had one rain jacket that barely covered her.

"Y/n, are you insane?" Jude exclaimed as he pulled her into the house, wrapping her in his arms. She smelled as she always did, her scent filling Jude's nose. He felt the urge to cry, to drop to his knees and apologize for everything. Y/n looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. The warmth of Jude’s embrace offered a temporary refuge from the cold rain outside.

“I was just walking around, needed some fresh air,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible over the raindrops tapping on the windows.

Jude tightened his grip, his heart heavy with unspoken words. “And you came here? How did you know I was here?”

“I saw you Jude, before you left my house, I was just scared to say anything”

After they pulled away from each other, Jude rushed to grab a towel for y/n, making sure she wasn't still shaking from the cold rain. As he wrapped the towel around her, Y/n looked around the living room, recognizing the unchanged details of a place. The family photographs on the wall, and also a picture of her and Jude kissing caught her eye, prompting her to break the silence.

“Why did you go to my house Jude?”

Jude met Y/n's gaze, sincerity reflecting in his eyes. "because I miss you, Y/n/n. These past six months have been the longest, and it's been horrible. It hurts when my friends, my parents, even Jobe asks about you. I want to fix this, to make things right between us."

Y/n sighed, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and sadness. “Jude, we broke up because our relationship wasn’t working anymore. You know that. It’s not just about the past six months; it’s about what led us here.”

Jude’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I know I messed up, but I can change. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, to be the person you need me to be. Please, give us another chance.”

Y/n hesitated, her heart torn between the memories they shared and the pain they endured. “Jude, it’s not that simple. We both need time to heal and figure things out.”

"Six months were enough for me, y/n. I don't need any more time to know that you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love you, and only you, you know how hard I tried to forget you? I went on thousands of dates, but I hated them all because nobody was you. please give me one more chance y/n/n”.

Y/n hesitated, the weight of those words hanging in the air. The scars from the past were etched deep, forgiveness wasn’t something Y/N was considering. After a moment of silence, y/n finally spoke, “It’s not that simple Jude, you really hurt me.”

Sighing in defeat, a tear traced down his cheek. Y/N smiled softly, delicately wiping his tears away. "But I can't live without you, Jude. I love you."

[astro-vogue]

Saw your astrocartography observations and decided to share. Living on my Chiron line (which happens to go right through my hometown) is not something I'd wish on anybody. I know some people say it's ''healing'' (maybe it can be) but this place is like a trap. Things keep going wrong in some way. I've been struggling to leave for years. It genuinely feels like the town itself is trying to curse me/keep me here. It's miserable.

Thank you for telling me your experience, I hope you'll get to go out of your Chiron Line and find a better place ♡

Living in your CHIRON LINE or even traveling there isn't often the best, your story is actually very common among many clients I had.

• CHIRON LINE can feel very limiting and painful, it's not much about a serene life but a constant trial and error there. People may even get physically hurt there while traveling.

• I generally never recommend my clients to live or travel on this line, especially for long, and if they do I always recommend them to stay the least as possible and out of absolute and unchangeable necessity.

[earthtooz]

thinking about jing yuan and everything he's endured in his long life is so upsetting... but what's even more of a knife to the heart is thinking about how dependent he could get with a partner that's been with him through it all.

from the high-cloud quintet to the current where it's only him still unchanged. he's had to watch his loved ones suffer and change whilst he has stayed stagnant, forced to live as an unmoving boulder that can still recount the days of its formation like it was yesterday. as the waves come and sweep the surrounding sediment away to wash up new ones to the shore, there is only one constant in his life.

you're here, you're beside him still, and if he ever wakes up without you there, he might turn the luofu upside down with the urgency of a divine being wrecked with rage.

as he walks with you through bustling markets, revitalised streets, and even abandoned ones that were once full of life, he's subtly reminded of all the years you have spent together.

in each 'i love you', there has been growth since the last. a new sense of maturity as metaphorical battle scars and wrinkles manifest over time, but jing yuan wants to witness them all.

people may question just how it is possible that the tides of life have not caused you to drift apart. maybe because you have always been someone jing yuan refused to let go, clinging to your form from night to day as a new sun rises, willingly staying with him through all the growing pains. and for long-lives like you and him, there are bound to be countless growing pains.

jing yuan is centuries old now, and although growing pains are a mere dull ache of the past, there are moments that they are revived, hitting him with the force of a speeding starskiff. yet, as if you had shared hearts, you grieve with him, welcoming him into a close and warm embrace.

in moments like these, he's reminded of all the years you have left and he hopes you choose to spend all of them with him.

-- unedited

[rollup2theparty]

—₊˚⊹♡ round & round! eunseok

❦ cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. by some twist of fate, the two of you find yourselves trapped behind the locked doors after hours with nothing but fragile silence and a lot hanging at the tip of your tongue.

౨ৎ HIGHSCHOOL AU (fem!reader x s.eunseok)

⟡ enemies to lovers / mutual pining / forced proximity

⚠︎ minor angst / sfw

notes!! y/n is slightly embarrassing forgive me but she has it together i promise (NOT PROOFREAD YET)

cold and aloof, it drives you nearly insane how difficult this man is to read. from snoring through class or absent-mindedly staring out the classroom window, as the reigning rank 5 and class president you cant seem to figure out how this privileged jerk seems to not have a single care in the world despite being 4th from the bottom. his desks and lockers overflowed with snacks and flirty post it notes from his many admirers, and he doesn't seem to care. not like you were unpopular yourself, you never let the admiration get to your head but he? he's an inhospitable, cold blooded pain in the ass who conveniently has a face sculpted by the Gods. a face you find yourself thinking about a lot before you go to sleep (angrily, of course). he is a glass half empty person with a muted demeanor and you always thought of yourself as a person with a lot of love to give. really there is no better combination in the face of this earth. your hands are itchy with the urge to poke at him until his face explodes, or do basically anything to see him show emotions for once but your pride reprimands you to sit still.

the 6pm rush hour trip could give anyone a stroke, thats why you avoid it at all costs (its totally not because you know eunseok rides the 730pm bus after his basketball practice). your day starts and ends with his figure, a few seats in front of you on the 0119. how "unlucky" do you have to be to be stuck on the same commute to and from school daily? oh the disdain for his unchanging figure. every single day without fail, he sits next to a window with two wired earphones plugged in each ear, head off into space. a brawl could ensue and he would still be seated there, perfect unmoved. like being pulled in with a magnet, your pupils could never seem to wander elsewhere, even when foxy shy freshmen giggle as they hand out their phones in hopes of a connection. how can you erase this blurring unwanted regard when he haunts your every breath? your blood boils at the thought of him, yet you seem to encounter his impeccable being in every spot of your mind. sometimes you wished the bus would crash into a pole, maybe that'll stop you from thinking.

______________________________________________________________

friday mornings always caused your heart rate to fluctuate, it flutters with the thought of a weekend of glory ahead of you. but today its beating hard for a different reason. you scan each passenger a multitude of times, yet you can't see the sight of him. he's a no show. your brain scrambles for possible explanations, 'his parents gave him a ride? he got up late? he's home with a fever? gasp he's on his death bed?? no, he moved halfway across the country to be with his secret lover?? god no'. manually, you shut down your brain's intrusive notions and instead you force out a sigh of relief. yeah, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. the school festival was coming up and as a proud student council member, you had a lot to prepare for and everything would be made easier without a constant mind interference.

"attention, all students are expected to be dismissed by 530pm due to the forecast of tonight's upcoming thunderstorm, expect school doors to be locked by 6." the muffled voice over the intercom sends the classroom into a frenzy but everything other than your half done event proposal was mere white noise. your were ambitious by nature and by the work of some deity, today your mind was on focus mode, not even the clutter of joy behind you could get you to lift your head from the word file on your laptop. you were invincible, typing in the speed of light. you were at an intellectual high only to be washed down low with a light tap on your desk. breath halting, you were ready to give the coarse, senseless dimwit a good mouth beating until you lock eyes with his.

"y/n. im late, please hand this to our homeroom teacher." his voice departs from his lips in a monotone as he places his tardy slip on your desk.

"me?" you ask, almost hopeful.

"admin staff said to give it to the class president."

"oh! yes of course, i'll hand it to mr lee during recess, if thats okay with you. do you need anything-"

"thanks." frigidly, eunseok halts your ramble with a flat bread smile and a close up view of his back as he walks away.

no this isn't the first time he talked to you. he apologized once when he accidentally poked you with his umbrella at the bus stop, and another time when water bottle made you trip during recess. he remained reticent even when he bumped into your shoulder in the cafeteria, only offering a slight dip in his head as an apology. granted he doesn't actually speak to anyone beside his friend group, today marks the third.

oh you were in a constant bind, like a swing that tumbled from one side on another with the passing wind. do you like him? do you hate him? you two barely spoke, barely interacted but he called you by name. 'y/n'. oh you're aware you sound borderline delusional and psychotic but the ring of your name will forever be intimate. no one, not even your subject teachers or closest friends ever refer to you by 'y/n'. it had always been 'class president', nothing more nothing less. you've been crowned as the classroom's leader since elementary school, at this point there should be a ceremonial plague with your name engraved on it, thats how often you had the throne. people say the main thing that ties a human to their identity is their birth name, well this position is yours. you hear the title more than anything else, at one point you wonder if that should be what would be written on your headstone. so why does your name sound so natural when it rolls of his tongue?

your mind was balancing on a rather precarious tipping point when a reality check crashes onto you. every second you spend on this superficial distress is a second wasted. you were sitting there mouth agape, fighting a dilemma you didn't physically have, over some guy who barely acknowledged your existence when mid year examinations are soon and the school festival counts on your ability to drive it to success. you are a standalone piece, confident and able. a crush? unrequited love? some things are just so minuscule in this great world of troubles. you drag yourself back to earth by the hair and untangle your bundle of thoughts, you had to focus on what was important.

by lunch time, you were a changed man.

“hey, did mr lee get my slip?” he questioned as you crouch by your decorated locker at the far corner of the room. without missing a beat, you nod soullessly and wander back to your seat. but not before you look into his eyes. there was something more than an empty stare, yet you wasted no time jumping into conclusions. you could no longer drown yourself in an pool of wishful thinking

______________________________________________________________

not even a split second after the ring of the dismissal bell and you were out of your seat, making a bee line through the chorus and chaos of the narrow hallway. the pop up notice declaring your impending doom gave you adrenaline like no other. '5%', the glaring red battery symbol taunted you to break into a sprint. your campus was the size of a local mall but the only decent place with electrical sockets was the desolate east wing library. does this make any sense? absolutely not. even while bolting, you make time to write up a mental note to file an official complaint to the office.

you shut the unnecessarily heavy door behind you and in the nick of time you manage to breathe life back into your computer. with 30 minutes on the clock, you knew you could finish up the paper in 20, giving you a perfect 10 to pack up and leave before they lock up. your epiphany of plans is interrupted by a trickle of footsteps and the bump of a book to its spot on a bookshelf. you were never one to believe in ghosts but then and there your heart was tied up into a knot. maybe all the tales told by the bonfire last camp season finally got to you. your skittish hello echoed through the airtight room to no avail. would this be a life changing episode about your first ever encounter with a ghostly apparition? while it would make for a good application story, you silently beg with your life for any possible logical explanation.

from shelf to shelf, you tiptoe across with your breath held tight. 3/4 your way into the room, you manage to convince yourself it was nothing but the sound of the rumbling, worn out and abused air conditioner. yet you don't stop checking (for good measure). as the tip of your toes hits the floor of the final shelf, you feel the fear finally catch up to you, it was as if the room is closing in, you feel the motion in your gut as the world around you spins in a blur and like clockwork, the lights turn off. in an instant, the blurry pandemonium crashes into a black purgatory of nothingness.

a rock is now permanently lodged in your throat and you struggle to swallow the saliva that has run dry. you scream as if an invisible knife sliced your heart open and your mouth goes numb. the muscles holding up your limbs are forced to halt and you fall to your knees. you swear if anything else happens, you would melt together with the ground to form nothing but a puked up puddle of a mess. together with the prerequisite drizzle to the forewarned rain, a tap to your shoulder almost sent you running for the heavens.

"y/n?" there it was, again. the same word, the same intonation of voice. the arms that wrapped around your knees as you crouched fell back and you finally muster up the courage to look up.

this was all either a figment of your hallucination or that by some twist of fate, eunseok was standing over you. somehow, through a series of (un)fortunate events, you came to a quick conclusion that the latter was true. hesitantly, you pull yourself together and got up to your feet with the help of his offering hand. it seems that even in a situation like this, your heart can't help but flutter at thought of his touch. your dedication to a love life of abstinence down the drain just like that.

you only manage to mutter a subdued "thank you" before rushing to the door for some air. you've studied there enough times to know the door is a pull not a push, but no matter how hard you tug on the handle, the obnoxiously large gateway just wouldn't budge. your heart pounds against the safeguard of your chest as you feel the hot air of his steady breath on the crown of your head. he approaches your side only to be greeted with the same futile attempt over a shut door. they must have locked up early unbeknownst to the both of you when you lost your mind over a pseudo shadow encounter.

sometimes life throws out a wild card and traps you behind the locked doors of the school library after hours. no amount of knocking, yelling or pulling on the shut knob of the oak door could save you from this ticklish torture. with the gush of the pouring rain interfering with cell service, your sanguine shot at dialing any number on your phone also lets you down. you flounder to the ground with your back against the wall, your energy depleted and your hope ran slim.

"we'll have to wait until the morning staff clocks in in the morning." to your disbelief, he broke the fragile silence.

eunseok took the spot across from you with his back against a collection of encyclopedias. you briefly message your parents in hopes that the signal would come through when the shower starts to fade. out of his black nike heritage backpack, he pulls out two bottles of peach soda and an uneaten sandwich only to tear into halves, mindlessly offering you each a piece. does he not know how staggering each and every one of his moves make you?

"the gs25 egg sandwiches and this sparkling drink are my all time favorites, thank you" you chirp, in effort to kill the stuffy air.

"i know, i got it in the convenient store across from our station" he muttered, unthinking.

his brazen declaration made you choke, your esophagus begs to breathe as a piece of toast hinds its entrance. your brain instantaneously flashes back to the plastic bottle that would sit on the right corner of your desk after recess. you always assumed it was an underclassmen braving declaring their interest but now you've come to realize that you have never expressed your interest in it anywhere else other than during the long waits at your bus stop.

whatever bit of rationale left in you begs you to not get ahead of yourself. you, however, takes it as a green light to make conversation.

"hey, do you know what major you're choosing for college counseling?"

"child psychology." eunseok's answer startles you. you were guessing finance or accounting, something to match his logical disposition.

"but my grades are unsteady so im unsure." he says in passing.

"let me tutor you." you offer with vigor and he nods near automatically, you were almost sure you could see him fight a smile.

"we take the same bus home, we can review a bit on our way back. only if you would like to of course, i can come up with a learning plan."

he beats his reddish flush to speak, "can we start right now? we have time to kill." you softly tap the space next to you twice and he gets up before you even finish the first.

the two of you have never been in such close proximity of each other. you have always been in his orbit, but it was never enough to make contact. if eunseok was the unwavering earth and you were the persevering moon.

you learn that he's been there since free period, tasked to set up the new influx of books as a punishment for being tardy. you also learn that he couldn't make it on time because his white poodle, charlie, required immediate veterinarian attention after hurling all night. in the world filled with phony personalities and kids doomed to mediocrity, your heart fluttered at the thought of someone with genuine, authentic convictions. you revise literature devices and math formulas for hours, nonetheless his eyes never lost focus. your unimpeded voice brought him more clarity than any high paying academy ever could.

the storm reaches an all time high as the clock strikes midnight, you can't help but stretch out your limbs in exhaustion as your body dozes off to sleep. but who were you kidding? despite the physical need to shut your eyes, your brain could only beg to stay still.

a shift.

you could hear a soft shuffle but you wouldn't dare open your eyes. all you could do was sense his body moving closer to yours. his hands reaches out to delicately push your head to rest on his shoulders.

you hitch in breathing.

if only humans could communicate through telepathy, or you were mythically born with a divine skill to read minds. maybe then you would finally see how smitten he was all this time. only then would you know how he kicked his blanket, restless with apology when the point tip of his umbrella pricked your skin, or how he stopped bringing his litre tumbler, afraid you would fall, or how he fought his anxious silence only to miss the chance to express his sorry when his shoulder grazed yours in the dining hall. you were so preoccupied with thoughts of your own, you never noticed his nervous tick of biting the inner corners of cheek as he gives himself a peptalk to finally call out your name.

"thank you, for giving me a chance." his whispers only for himself to hear. despite your desires and inhibition, you reluctantly fall into a slumber, with a inkling feeling this conversation won't be your last.

by the time the sun makes it's daily appearance, his frosty demeanor fades and you awake to his blazer as a blanket for your knees and a newfound tenderness for one another.

[ellzilla]

Had a hell of a time trying to upload this lmao. Doodles to accompany a ramble about my silly horrorverse/metathesiophobia/worldbuilding ramble that's very large so it's under the cut. It's as much Ella lore as it is Elliot lore :3c there might be some grammatical errors but idc I've tried to upload this 7 times now and don't wanna reread it lol

"Most organizations classify them as extinct, caused by villages hunting them and a lethal mutation in the survivors saliva, there are theories there are a few hidden surviving members, their numbers being merely in the single digits. Lycanthropy is not a 'one size fits all' type of curse/disease/parasite, it's classification is still being debated today, and it adjusted both according to it's host and to it's surroundings when it developed.

Before the lethal mutation, an infected person's lycanthropy could vary extremely in the first few months as it got a grasp on what was a normal environment for the individual. All recorded cases fit the 'true' werewolf classification. For people who gained Lycanthropy through genetics, bloodline werewolves, a vast majority were only slight variations of the 'true' werewolf.

-

The 'true' werewolf was most rampant back in the medieval ages, up until the mid 1800's, as to the Lycanthropy it was the peak time one could live 'naturally' and also a lack of constant danger while also having a sense of community. Although they were still bloodthirsty monsters, they held themselves back from ravaging people their host knew and hunted only strangers, even avoiding children if the host's morals were strong enough. They only hunted what they needed for the night, a person or two at most. True werewolves had very mild control of their curse, only being able to transform on command in dangerous situations. These transformations were relatively quick, taking less than 20 seconds, but remained agonizing as let the host take control until they were able to calm down in a safe area.

Sometimes an extreme burst of negative emotion could make part of their body rapidly transform to physically deal with the source of the stress, but it would result in the skin tearing due to the speed of it. Lycanthropy will only rip itself apart when it senses an emergency, a knee-jerk reaction if you will, to something in front of it. The last recording of a 'true' werewolf was in 20██, █████, Australia, however she had been found dead in her home. The cause of death was blood loss, caused by a silver laced bullet wound. For details about this report, please send a request to Dr. A. Whitelock.

-

Socialite werewolves are an extremely modern and elusive mutation of Lycanthropy. They are the sole reason the theory lycanthropes could still be alive today holds any water. Unlike 'true' werewolves, who could be anyone, all Socialite werewolves have been people who have lived in lavish luxury for the important developmental years in a bloodline werewolf's life. They are physically the weakest recorded mutation. The main theory for this is that the Lycanthropy adapted to learn that social power among regular humans is far more valuable for survival than hunting them for sport and changed to make transformation less intensive and more 'suitable' for it's new survival strategy. They were able to transform in around ten seconds on average, one recorded process shows them morphing with little to no pain visible on their face. The host confirmed that the Socialite werewolf's transformation is far less painful by saying: "A muscle cramp is only a touch more painful." This has enabled the few recorded individuals to amass groups around themselves, as they all publicized their lycanthropy. Most simply saw them as role-players with good 'fur suits' due to the fact the host's hair style remains unchanged while turned.

The last recorded socialite werewolf was in 19██, a popular rock star who had unfortunately overdosed on theobromine, the news had covered it as a 'normal' drug overdose and were forced forge it as a cocaine OD.

-

Brute werewolves are a debated topic, as some think we should classify them as Werebears instead, but all recovered remains confirm that their bone structure was far closer to a wolf than a bear's.

They are also debated to be a separate anomaly all together as they were initially thought to be a prehistoric megafauna before the bones were carbon dated to be only a few hundred years old. The term 'werewolf' was only applied to these bones upon the recovery of a library curated by a 'true' werewolf back in 1874.

According to literature in the library that claims to be history, Brute werewolves were thought to be lycans who had gone mad or were born to an accursed mother. Additional notes glued to the book claimed that they were simply those in the bloodline who had been tormented for a prolonged period of time, through they admit the 'cursed mother' could be part of it. Brute werewolves were described to be barbaric, rabid beasts that would rip apart anything with a heartbeat in front of them, only being satisfied when it had gorged itself on fresh meat and then some. There are drawings of Brute werewolves fighting packs of 'true' werewolves and descriptions of Brute werewolves being the cause of many deaths.

Despite the descriptions diminishing them as low intelligence beasts, they were said to speak in wails, attracting anyone to try to help the supposed person in danger, unknowing that they were the person in danger themselves.

Their transformations were said to be horrific as bone popped skin that ripped off muscle, their size was far to large to properly form from a regular human body. It is described to be a 'painfully long' process, so we assume it took over a minute for them to fully transform.

There has never been a case of an alive Brute werewolf, let alone a fresh corpse. We believe that if they are truly a mutation of Lycanthropy, they were the fist subsect to go extinct due to their heightened aggression that would have made it impossible to survive within the past 200 years. We hope that is the case."

7- █ - 202█ - Author Dr. Abigail Whitelock. Sources - ██████ - ██████████ -██████

[srslyblvck]

dark echoes, the umbrella academy

pairing: hargreeves siblings x sibling!reader

synopsis: you are ben's twin sister. after he was murdered, you were never yourself. you were on the brink of madness when your brother who was considered dead comes back asking for your help to stop an apocalypse.

warnings: suicide and suicidal thoughts, drugs, alcohol consumption(not in a healthy way)

author's note: alright, this was an impulse decision. my first series here, lets see if i continue it lol

word count: 0.6k

chapters: 1/?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ YOU COULDN'T REMEMBER THE last time you saw the sun. It had been years since your twin brother Ben was killed, and every day since was a blur of shadowed memories and endless pain. You hadn’t moved on; you couldn’t. The echoes of his absence haunted you, made worse by the voice in your head that never stopped. The other you—your darkest thoughts—was always there, gnawing at your sanity.

No matter how much alcohol you drank or how many pills you took, the voice stayed. It felt like your mind was a prison with a warden who never gave you a break. It was maddening, like being tied to a tormentor who sometimes took over your body, making you watch helplessly as it carried out its dark desires.

You tried hard to act normal, but it was exhausting. When you did go outside, you felt like a stranger in your own life. You’d walk around, feeling like people were watching you, or glance at your reflection in shop windows and be shocked by how different you looked. Your world, once full of colour, had turned grey and unchanging.

Your job used to be a place where you could escape your inner pain. But now, it just added to your misery. The paperwork stacked up, deadlines loomed, and your coworkers seemed distant. What used to make you proud now felt like another trap you couldn’t escape.

The only thing that offered a temporary escape was the haze of drugs and alcohol, but even that couldn’t quiet the relentless voice in your head. Every bit of peace felt stolen, leaving only your torment. You’d sit in the dark, the TV flickering, too tired to turn it off. Your life had become a series of dull days and empty routines, and even the job you once cared about felt like a burden. You felt like a burden.

Your siblings didn’t know. They couldn’t. They saw only the surface, the mask you wore to hide the suffering inside. Your eyes were hollow, your face thin. You didn’t need a mirror to see that you were a shadow of who you once were. But you didn’t want them to see you like this. The pain was yours to bear alone.

In your grief, the pills were a temporary relief, but they never silenced the voice completely. It only got louder when you tried to stop using them, a constant reminder of your pain. You had tried to end it all more than once, but each time, the voice took over and stopped you. It was as if you were doomed to live in despair.

You had seen the news about Reginald Hargreeves, your father's death. The man who had orchestrated so much of the pain in your life had finally met his end. You wished you could have been the one to deliver that final blow, to exact the revenge you had longed for. The thought of him lying in a casket brought a dark satisfaction, but it was fleeting. The funeral was to be held soon, and you had no intention of attending. You didn't want to face your siblings, to see them mourn the man who had taken so much from you.

On the day of the funeral, you were sprawled on your couch, having taken more pills than you could count. The numbing haze of the drugs clung to you, but you were still awake, lying in a stupor. It was during this disorienting state that you heard it—a faint shuffling coming from the kitchen. Your instincts, sharpened by years of vigilance, kicked in. You summoned a knife with a golden hue, its beauty masking its lethal purpose.

You moved towards the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps, the voice in your head urging you to be cautious. It was as if it knew something you didn’t.

As you rounded the corner, you saw him. The figure in the kitchen was unmistakable. A boy, maybe around five feet three inches tall, with messy hair falling into his eyes. He wore the Academy uniform, the sight of which haunted your dreams. Even through the fog of the drugs, you recognised him instantly.

Time seemed to freeze. The knife in your hand vanished into thin air. You took a shaky step forward and whispered, “Five?”

[sepublic]

            Something I think a lot of people overlook is how King becomes a lot more jaded, snappy, self-aware, and overall more like a teenager during S2. Which about tracks, he DOES undergo Titan puberty…

         But mostly, I see it prompted by Echoes of the Past, which is King’s big Loss of Innocence moment, when his fantasy is shattered before his very eyes, and King realizes things are a lot more mundane and unpleasant than he’d like to admit. There’s just little moments like how he’s frustrated and dismisses Eda and Luz’s attempts to reassure him after the Gland Prix fails in Eda’s Requiem; Or in the very next episode, King’s frustrated breakdown near Hooty.

         A lot of this also has to do with King just becoming more and more frustrated in general, in response to his waning hope regarding his dad; You can see it Keeping Up A-Fear-ances, when after Lilith projects her own parental issues onto King, he has a moment of spiteful, petulant rejection towards his dad. And while King tries to be optimistic, you can see how that little brain worm just slowly grows and takes over. The pessimism it instills eventually bleeds out into the rest of the world…

         I think a lot of how in Edge of the World, King acknowledges that he knows Luz isn’t going to be here forever (or is prepared for that scenario, anyway). It shows a lot of awareness and worldliness on King’s part, he’s not some dumb, naïve kid anymore, he’s matured since S1 and you can really tell. The way he gets frustrated when admitting this to Luz and how he saw the Titan Trappers as his big solution… It really hurts.

         Luz’s Loss of Innocence and her gradual disillusionment throughout S2 is talked about a lot and I absolutely agree, as one of those people who analyzed it plenty; But I think we should give King’s more credit. He’s more clever than a lot of people give him credit for, and I like how his edgy blustering about destroying his enemies en masse is replaced by a more subdued, realist, and yet biting resignation over his situation and the mundane helplessness of it all, the constant disappointment that King is preparing himself for. He doesn’t want to be a powerful ruler, he just wants a dad, and yet something so simple is so prevalent and so unchangeable an issue.

         King is just. SO used to disappointment by the end of S2. But I love how he doesn’t totally plummet off of the deep end, something as simple as King’s trip with Steve helps King develop a more worldly outlook on life, and come to terms with being a Titan. He could easily fall into spite and anger, taking his frustration out on the world around him… But King doesn’t, he’s grown since then, he isn’t going to fall for that as other characters did.

        And this all prepares him so nicely, as did King’s development with Luz and how she supported and helped him grow, for King to take Luz’s place in his dynamic with the Collector; Someone blinded by the optimism of the fantasy. Someone who’s eventually going to have a big Loss of Innocence moment when they learn about death, and realize they CAN’T make a friend out of everyone.

         It just makes King more suited as a parallel/foil to the Collector, and a best friend; Someone who was borderline arrogant in his assurance over his power and dominion, only for his whole world to collapse around him with painful revelations. But with the support of others, King and the Collector pick themselves up after a moment of despair, and strive to accept what they’ve learned and incorporate it into their lives, while still holding onto hope in a more mature manner.

        King has the perfect opportunity to be a tyrant and take vengeance on the world, the Collector is a Yes-Man to the guy; But he doesn’t. He’s better than that. He could’ve easily had the Titan Trappers obliterated, but King evidently let them get turned into puppets like everyone else. Obviously King doesn’t have total control over the Collector, he’s also at the mercy of their whims, but King DOES have influence.

        And what does he use it for? Not to control the Collector or manipulate them. But to genuinely help and teach this kid he sees himself in. King could easily justify or just allow something like Terra being turned into a puppet after insulting him and the Collector, but he’s wizened up. He’s more in control of his emotions, more understanding that there’s more to the world than just King, even if his world IS his dad, technically. 

        He reminds the Collector that they shouldn’t do that even to Terra, of all people; King knows she terrorized his mom as a youth, but King recognizes he has a lot of power and safety in his position compared to others. He’s not going to leverage it, he’ll just have to be the bigger person instead of letting any mistreatment justify being as vindictive as he wants, which is SUCH a turnaround from the kid who wanted to obliterate anyone at the drop of a hat.

        King’s way more in control of his emotional responses now, more tempered. After being reminded of similarities by people like Gus or Luz, King has figured out empathy to see himself in others, more attuned to their emotions; Even moments as small as recognizing how he relates to Edric, or hearing out Alador’s frustrations before breaking the news to him, remind me of this. And again, it prepares King to help the Collector learn empathy, as someone who’s been through that difficult lesson.

        Just. King, man. He’s a funny goofy silly little animal sidekick, except he’s actually a little brother who grows through this whole arc of genuinely maturing and realizing the world around him and its limits. Coming to value his found family in his quest for the biological one. Going through a legitimate storyline of disillusionment, before ultimately coming to terms with his situation, and being given one little wish fulfilled to remind King it was not all for naught; Just the simple reassurance of ‘I loaf you’ from the father he’s been searching for all along.

[suhnshinehaos]

growing pains : act three, part four (2/2)

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor act three, part four wc : ~1.9k

act three : the unexpected love  ➤  part 4 : moving in and moving on

after years studying and working abroad, yn is finally back home to a new job and new faces. all they want now is to focus on nothing else but their career and one of their coworker’s friends, minghao, makes it all the more interesting. 

previous  ➤  act three, part four (1/2) next  ➤  act three, part five growing pains ➤  masterlist 

the car ride with mingyu back to your new apartment brought you a comfort that you didn’t quite expect. you had known each other for years at this point, but given the last time you had been alone with him, you were expecting several awkward silences to fill the air.

but it never does.

from the moment he walked past your front door and engulfed you in a hug, and you feel yourself freezing and eventually melting into his arms, you knew it was a foolish thing to expect. this is mingyu, one of your dearest friends, and had it not been for the vagueness of your relationship — or lack thereof — the past couple of years, you would have stayed in his embrace just a while longer.

your walls are still ever so slightly up, and though you receive his words warmly, laugh at his jokes, make little comments in between the stories he tells. you don’t steal longing little glances at him, as you would have done so before, and a small surge of pride courses through your veins.  

“how long are you staying again?” you ask, watching the several buildings go by from the passenger seat window.

mingyu turns the familiar corner the street of your apartment building. “about a month. i have a lot of projects lined up.”

“hm.” you nod, not realizing how long you both would actually be in the same time zone. you never had him with you for more than a week after you finished your studies. “i hope you leave some gaps in your schedule for us.”

although he recognizes the joking tone in your voice, mingyu answers you earnestly. “of course, i will. i know i’d regret it if i don’t- you know, make an effort.”

you turn to look at him, but he’s already looking back. you hold his gaze for only a couple of seconds before staring back ahead. “we appreciate it… did you ever consider being based here instead? i mean- you’ve got friends, family here. don’t you think it’s time to put down some roots?”

mingyu parks the car in front of your apartment building. he lets out a breath before turning to you with a smile and a shrug. “i’m in no rush. i mean, yeah, the constant jet lag isn’t great, the endless rumors are terrible… but, i really do like what i do. we’re young, we’ve got time.”

“no, yeah- i know what you mean. it’s just-” you pause, biting your bottom lip and choosing your next words as carefully as you can. “we do miss you. me, jeonghan, soonyoung, hansol.. not being in uni anymore kind of gave us less excuses to really hang out. and we’re all here, but you-”

“i know too.” mingyu sighs. “are you putting down roots already?”

you shake your head. “i’m not looking too far into the future, and i’m still taking things a day at a time. i also feel like i have so much to accomplish with my career-”

“so not much has changed with you since new york?”

“not exactly. being here gave me stability.. but not in the way that’s unchanging. the kind that makes me feel like i’m on firm footing, and i could move with confidence that i couldn’t before and i don’t have to-” you stop in your tracks, the words you need seeming to escape you. your lips are left parted and you try to catch a breath.

mingyu reaches out a hand and holds yours. his touch is familiar, comforting, but not as much as it used to be. “i get it. you have a constant stream of projects here thanks to referrals from your company, instead of being freelance… and well, i wasn’t exactly the most constant or reliable of partners.”

it’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged whatever it was the two of you had as anything other than a friendship. there’s a sense of understanding that envelops the two of you, and nothing more needs to be said. he knew what he lacked. you know what you need. it is enough.

he retracts his hand, and once again a small space is present between you. 

everything is okay. this is enough. love is there, and unlike seokmin’s where it’s transformed to a kind that’s different but just as powerful, this one slowly fades and mellows out to a more gentle affinity. 

“well, thanks for accompanying me.”

“thanks for insisting on paying for dinner.” mingyu chuckles before nudging his head in the direction of the backseat, where several grocery bags were waiting. “you need any help with those?”

“i’m good.” 

with one quick goodbye, you grab your groceries and head inside the building. the exhaustion from the day finally takes over your body, your shoulders slumping. with all the catching up with mingyu, you never quite noticed how much you had on your mind. 

you were on the latter half of the moving process and most of the things you need were now in your new apartment. you walk in a daze to the elevator, thinking about how minghao was yet to reply to your email on your photos you selected for his approval.

a giant tired breath escapes your lips as you watch the elevator doors close shut.

“wait up!”

you hear someone call and almost immediately your instincts take over and you move to push the button that opens the doors. what you didn’t expect is to be greeted with none other than the presence of xu minghao himself.

you try your best not to let your shock show through as he steps inside, standing just a couple of feet away from you. since you’re much closer to the buttons, you wait for him to tell you what floor he’s on.

“i’m on the eight floor as well.”

“oh.”

the doors shut and you begin to feel the elevator’s gentle upward movement. given your exhaustion and the weight of your groceries, you wobble ever so slightly. minghao reaches a hand to your arm, steadying you, and moves the other to hover behind your back just in case. 

“you okay?”

“i’m fine.” you attempt to say as calmly as you could, moving the arm that he’s holding. minghao immediately lets go, his arms falling to his sides. 

he subtly cranes his head to glance at you. his gaze scans your face and body to examine for any signs of fatigue, which he quite easily finds. minghao didn’t need to know you for very long to notice the bags under your eyes, or the invisible creases between your brows. he points to the bags in your hands. “need any help with those?”

the elevator doors open with bright sounding ding.

“i can handle it. thank you.” your grip is tighter as you move past the doors and walk down the hallway to your new place. you don’t know if it’s a point of pride that made you deny his help, but it was too late to turn back now.

even through the carpeted flooring, you hear his footsteps following from behind you. 

“i guess you’re my new neighbor. if i-“ he pauses, clearing his throat as you both reach the two units on the farthest end of the hallway. you’re both standing in front of your respective front doors, bodies turned to face each other’s. “if i had known someone new was moving in, i would have prepared some sort of gift- like a housewarming gift. but i was away for a few days and-”

“it’s fine, minghao.” you cut him off with a weak smile, shaking your head. “i’ve barely moved in so you haven’t reached the limit of no-housewarming-gift-rudeness.”

you say it blankly, without much trace of emotion, but he still lets out a quiet, dry chuckle. minghao briefly looks down at his feet before looking back up at you. “do you drink tea?”

“um, i-” you tilt your head to the side, confused at the suddenness of the question.

“you should. it’s good for you.”

“i’ll keep that in mind. thanks.” you nod, placing your bags down so you could unlock your door. you turn the doorknob and just as you are about to cross the threshold, you speak out. “it would be great if you could respond to my email, by the way. not that i’m rushing you or anything, it’s just that jun and the rest of the team are waiting.”

“i didn’t receive any email from you.” minghao furrows his brows, a look of pure confusion plastered on his features. “and i check my emails almost every hour, even when i was away these past few days.”

you take a step back, both in shock and slight resentment. “i definitely sent you one.”

“i promise you i did not receive one, yn.”

a string of annoyance within you just snaps when he says your name. whatever disdain you thought you could push down since you’re not exactly in a working environment starts bubbling up from the pit of your stomach. no, you’re sure you sent that email. you even distinctly remember sending a follow up just this morning.

you gently drop the rest of your bags and feel around your pockets for your phone. taking the few steps it takes to walk towards him, you open your email app and scroll through your inbox to find the ones you’ve sent him.    

“look.”

you hand him your phone and you watch as his lips purse and his eyes move back and forth. after a minute of tense silence, he finally hands you your phone back.

“you misspelled my name in my email address.” 

minghao tries his best to inform you of your mistake as gently and as calmly as he can, keeping in mind how exhausted you already seem to me. however, it doesn’t quite register with you as all you wanted in that moment was the ground to come up and swallow you whole.

it takes everything in you to not run towards your apartment and drop the conversation entirely. your knees buckle as you eventually speak, “oh my, i- i’m so sorry.”

“it’s fine.” minghao raises both his hands. “an honest mistake, really.”

“i’ll send it as soon as i get inside.” you quickly turn on your heel and walk back towards your apartment. “sorry again, i’ll see you around.” 

“i’m sure i can get back to you quickly.” minghao’s voice stops you in your tracks just before you’re about to fully enter and leave his line of sight. “i trust your judgement.”

your eyes narrow, trying to decide if he truly means his words or just trying to make you feel better. if it was the latter, you don’t have it in you to protest from all the embarrassment that’s currently surging through body. instead, your lips simply press into a thin line.

“i’ll be waiting then. good night, yn.”

“good night.”

you enter your apartment and rest your back on the front door the second you close it. letting out another heavy breath, you can’t help but wonder what the rest of your days would look like with minghao as your neighbor.   

from reese, with love <3

ooooh- this one was a lot... genuinely, i did not expect this part to be this long.... but i hope you don't mind,,,,, but anyway- the neighbors arc officially begins and if you can't tell this is quite a slow burn.. i'd love to know what you think :> i appreciate all the asks/rbs/replies and it genuinely keeps my spirits up while writing! thank you for reading, i hope you are doing well and taking care !

[lazerswordweilder]

Danny is invisible

I want more ghostly instincts, but prey ones not predator ones. Danny is a ghost in a town of ghost hunters and I want it to show.

I want him to unconsciously have two auras or modes, the boastful and bright one as phantom, and a weak and hidden one as Danny.

I want the attention to slip off him whether he realises he’s doing it or not, paying attention to Fenton is like holding water in you hands, no matter how hard you try you can’t. To the point where no one questions how he’s suddenly in the hallway when Dash shoved him into his locker a second ago, people only ever see him leave class and never come into it -or sometimes it’s the opposite.

I want him to show up brain dead and tired SOTIREDSOTIREDSOMUCHWORKSOTIREDITHURTSITH̸̡͠Ŭ̷̯R̸̢̈́T̴̞̋Ş̸̕ and in pain, pain painpainpainpainpAINPAINPAIN SO MUCH P̷̮͒Á̴̞I̸̙̋N̶͓̔. And no one notices, no one sees the hunk of his chest missing, the ectoplasm dripping up and down through it like a lava lamp, not a single soul hears his pained gasps (he stopped breathing after a few minutes), his muffled cries which had far too much ghost speak to sound normal. When he hurriedly runs in the next day no one remembers him doing anything different enough to stand out, he said his name and disappeared into class like normal.

His parents (this is a bad parent au because why not) forget he exists sometimes, but if he walked by them they’d notice and remember. Not anymore, he’s so normal, such a part of the lab, they don’t even startle when he appears, they don’t even clock anything as different or wrong when they see him in their lab. I want them to never follow him, never suspect anything is up, because they never even realise he exists.

I want him to look and feel so off, so far from human, as Phantom. I want him to stand out in the room, no one can take their eyes off him. I want him to command the attention of the crowd. I want him to be something ethereal and unique and bright and loud and prideful, someone no one will ever forget seeing. I want him to be the star of a show no one knows they’re in.

I want him to seem and feel so invisible, so normal and boring, as Danny. I want not a single person to notice how off he is because of how boring and normal he seems. I want him to be underestimated and ignored. I want everyone who looks at him to see someone so normal and boring and unimportant and invisible that they don’t notice the scars, the blood, the wounds. I want him to be a background character of his own show.

-

He’s such a key part of their life as Danny, always there, a constant, an unchanging factor of their lives. And there’s nothing off about him, why would there be? They all remember him, and laugh with him, but the details he doesn’t want them to see slip from their memories like all the monotone days you don’t remember. No one notices his eye bags because they don’t realise it’s a change.

His limp on Tuesday, his hand missing on Friday, him phasing to grab something from his locker on Monday. They don’t remember it.

-

The only people this doesn’t affect/effect are the ones he feels safe around, Sam gets increasingly concerned about his eye bags and hasn’t forgotten one fight, Jazz cares for every injuries and never forgets one, Tucker remembers them playing DOOM or watching a movie in ever free moment and is impressed by Danny developing engineering skills.

The other’s don’t forget him of course, no, you can’t forget a main character, but you can certainly not realise they are the main character.

[icarustypicalfall]

HOLDING ON TO HEARTACHE p2

rodolfo parra x fem!reader

part 1 𓆩♡𓆪 MASTERPOST

SUMMARY: mere whispers on the brink of madness; where a sinful soul mends it's mistakes..

Reader's callsign: Leal

warnings: poetic? guilt, silent treatment, slight mentions of fire and injuries, COMFORT, proofread, pet names (amor)

apologies for the delay, i had some stuff on mind, hopefully a good start after the break, I kinda have mixed feelings about this one, but still, enjoy <3

“And yet i loved her more,

I e'er had loved before.” W.W

You left his quarters and made your way back to your own, consumed by agony and hurt.

The onslaught of emotions only intensified the pain, shattering your heart like a mighty hammer, reducing it to mere fragments.

It was difficult to put into words the surreal feeling that gripped your soul. It was almost as if the events were imprinted on your very being, like a haunting nightmare that refused to let you wake up. You almost swore this was a nightmare.

But, if it was so, you'd be already awake. Longed to be cradled in the arms of Rudy as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

But the harsh reality made it clear that this was not a mere figment of your brain.

You found yourself sitting on the thin mattress in your old humble room, your eyes aimlessly wandering over the modest furniture and worn sheets. Everything remained unchanged, as if the past few months had never even happened.

Once again, you felt like a rookie, a frightened infant amidst military veterans, questioning how you had ended up there in the first place.

In the weeks that followed, you avoided Rudy as if he were the plague. His bittersweet caramel eyes seemed to follow you everywhere, silently pleading for a chance to make amends. It was ironic, you thought, that it took a slap to jolt him into remembering your existence. But at what cost?

The pain in your wrist had already faded by the time you prepared yourself in the morning. However, the ache in your heart remained, a constant reminder of the harsh words hurled at you by the one person you believed you could be vulnerable with.

You chose silence.

You turned a blind eye to him, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It felt almost cruel, walking past him, brushing your shoulder against his as you evaded, almost succumbing to the sight of his imploring eyes.

In the chambers of his soul, a symphony played. His heart ached, a melody of longing conveyed.

His hurtful words echoed in his ears, tormenting him throughout the day. The throe of causing you pain was unbearable, surpassing any sin he could fathom. He prayed relentlessly, seeking forgiveness and mercy for his faults, as the suffocating emotions continued to torment his heart and senses.

Once a tough nut, he was now reduced to a pleading shell of his former self. Every time he caught sight of you, Rudy felt the weight of your indifference, the absence of conversation.

He became a ghost in your world.

A presence you denied and refused to acknowledge. He knew he didn't deserve your forgiveness, yet he pleaded for it every night, hoping against hope that redemption would find its way to his soul.

As if nothing existed between the two of you, you worked alongside each other on missions, sat together in debriefs, and even shed tears for fallen comrades. But, despite all that, you never had a proper conversation about what happened.

The night before the Vaqueros teamed up with the Brits and the Americans to catch Hassan, the soldiers were already asleep while you remained in the base, searching for your car keys. While your team went after their targets, you were assigned another side mission.

As you were about to leave, a familiar voice called out to you, pleadingly. It was Rudy, standing in the hallway, guiltily clutching his arm and looking at you.

Something inside you broke when your eyes met his. Instead of staying, however, you chose to run.

Again.

It almost felt like a cruel joke, two people in a hallway longing for each other's embrace, with pride and hurt witnessing their pain from a distance.

You treated him like a ghost, knowing all too well that Rudy had a fear of ghosts. Yet, you continued to treat him as if he were one. He stood there in the hallway, watching you leave, your perfume lingering in the air, adding to his pain. The words he wanted to say felt heavy on his tongue as he leaned against the wall, slowly sinking to the ground.

𓆩♡𓆪

Several days later, it was almost midnight and the Vaqueros were throwing a party. The recent events had been suffocating, and the soldiers deserved a moment to breathe. It was raining outside, and the old Spanish music filled the air as the soldiers shared drinks and laughed with light hearts.

You had just returned from your mission, unable to contact anyone due to confidentiality reasons. The slightly drunk Colonel, Alejandro, offered you a blanket to warm yourself and advised you to find Rudy. Thinking he might be unwell, you embarked on a search for him around the base. Just as you were about to give up, you spotted a figure sitting outside in the pouring rain.

Pushing open the sliding doors, you stepped into the small garden of the base. The scent of soil, rain, and purity filled the air. You joined Rudy on the ground, draping the blanket over his soaked shoulders and hair, and together you found solace in the silence, the distant sounds of shattering laughter and music barely audible.

Rudy was drunk, reeking of alcohol and burning fire. A deep cut on his temple made you frown, wondering what had happened to him. Your hand instinctively reached out to cup his face and inspect the wound. Instantly, he relaxed, looking down at his hands in his lap.

As if awakening from a drunken haze, he murmured your name like a devoted siren. Not your call sign, nor the code you were assigned, nor the rank you had earned.

It was silent tears at first, followed by trembling lips and averted gaze. He covered his face with his hands, whispering nonsensically.

Was this the moment for the heart-to-heart conversation you had both been avoiding for so long?

Peeking through his fingers, he looked at you before lamenting, "I'm sorry, amor... I never meant to hurt you like this." He sneezed before continuing, "I didn't treat you rightall this time... tonight... I was pulled from the fire, closer to death than life... If Alejandro hadn't saved me, I would have died in that house." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "The only thing I could think about was you. Not being able to apologize to you would have been the worst punishment... It was already hell not being by your side, let alone knowing that I made you cry and suffer all this time..."

You pulled him into an embrace, tears streaming down your cheeks as you comforted him. "I should have been there for you. I'm sorry, amor... I am truly sorry."

You silenced him with a gentle kiss, your lips interlocking like puzzle pieces. He had longed for this moment, resting his forehead against yours as he wept.

"I will be better, I promise," he whispered between sobs. "Give me a second chance, amor... Please, it's all I want..."

"I can't lose you again"

~

kindly leave a comment, rebelog, like, anything, it motivates us to write more :3