#his gradual downfall

[kamaitachi-hime666]

[mrsoharaa]

Cult leader! Suguru x cautious ex lover (reader me lol jk…kinda) 🖤😮‍💨🫶🏼

[bootlickerhawks]

you know jokes aside, if this is really how go/jo dies it feels really disrespectful. there's no poetic irony, thematic significance or even any fucking sadness

readers are just left with a stomach churning gut punch

[muzansfangs]

Mojito + Douma & Kokushibo

Devotion.

Starring: Douma x f!reader; Kokushibo x f!reader; Douma x f!reader x Kokushibo; mention to Gyokko and Muzan;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, public sex, dom!Kokushibo, dom!Douma, sub!reader, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal penetration, double penetration, bitemarks, hair pulling, reader is a demon, manhandling, blood drinking, violence in battle, consuming humans, dispicable use of blood as a cosmetic, kind of sacrilegious scenary (sex in the shrine area);

Plot: As one of Douma’s most loyal followers, you had some privileges. One of those was being turned into a demon and trained to climb the ranks of the Upper Moons. When Gyokko died, Muzan chose you to take his place. In the middle of a training session with the leader of the Eternal Paradise Cult and the Upper Moon One, you accidentally hit them with your blood demon technique: aphrodisiac blood. Pinned down by your comrades, you were demanded to show them your devotion.

Drink chosen: MOJITO (double!penetration, threesome, anal sex, vaginal sex, marking the partner);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

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The Moon glowed solitary in a starless dark sky. Under the pale light provided by the satellite, you were sitting on the cold stairs of an ancient shrine, forgotten by the neglectful humans who had built it centuries ago to probably appease the divine wrath of their god. Ivy and dirt blanketed the abandoned building, now deemed a pit of demons and curses by the local folklore. Pitiful. It was nothing but pitiful. You grimaced at the thought of the typical human inconsistency and stupidity.

Still, not long ago, you were a human too. Some memories from your past life still flashed in your mind. Who were you before you turned into a blood-thirsted creature? You were a devoted young girl, living in a Temple in which people disappeared mysteriously from their beds in the dead of the night. It was a ritual, or this is what the Leader of the Cult wanted his followers to believe. Those humans were doomed. Their naivety and faith were their downfall. However, while he deliberately manipulated the whining mass of people seeking protection and blessings from him, he had never tried to hide his identity, his nature, to you. Loyal to him, you had always stood by his side, not manifesting horrified expressions, when he devoured people in front of you. Your fingers were usually threading through his silky platinum blond hair, whilst he fed. Humming sweet melodies for him, helping him to bathe, you had gradually become his life companion, or something close to it. Along with the favors and attentions he required, he did not abstain from asking you to indulge into the bed with him.

Satisfying your Lord, though, did not feel unpleasant. There was something enthralling about the way he broke you down and built you up.

To show you his gratitude, Douma had therefore turned you into a demon to preserve your beauty. It was amusing how you had inheridated some of his characteristic. Your nails, pointy and lilac, were among them. Your devotion intensified. By the time you had trained enough to be capable of not shaking in front of Muzan Kibutsuji, Douma had suggested him to make you one of the Twelve Kitsuki. You felt on top of the world, the glory of finally standing at the top ensnared your senses and you gladly complied to the King of demons’s order to show your loyalty to him.

Standing up now, you detected the subtle attack coming from your left. Dodging it was easy, the golden tessen aiming at your neck cut a mere strand of your hair. You smirked, kneeling a few feet away from your opponent. Pearly fangs shining under the moonlight, Douma waved his hand at you casually.

“Ah, you’ve become so agile, Y/N-chan!” Douma stated, as you casually approached him with a soft smile on your red-painted lips. He, only he or another demon could say what it was smeared over your mouth.

His hand gripping your hair and straining your neck made you wince. His tongue darted out of his mouth, lapping at the dried blood you used to decorate your lips. Your clawed hand gripped his cheek, nails digging onto the smooth flesh enough to pierce his flesh and draw blood. You had become so much rougher with each other since you had become the new Upper Rank Five. Your animalistic and savage nature had kicked in, surprising your carefree friend to some extents.

“And you are perpetually needy” you whispered, lips hovering over his, before you ungraciously shoved him off of you and caused him to tumble onto the ground.

Douma was fascinated, watching as you rested your bare foot on top of his broad chest and bit down onto your wrist. Oh, how much he loved feeding from you. The sight of your crimson blood dribbling down your skin and splattering onto his face made his cock throb into his pants. The need to be inside of you was unbearable. The Upper Moon Two diligently opened his mouth, tongue welcoming the drops of blood you were so generously letting drip from your wound. Once again, you were subservient, indulgent.

His hand slided up your naked calf, squeezing it suggestively, rainbow-colored eyes locking with yours as you sighed and decided to cruelly deprive him of your proximity, of your intoxicating blood.

Douma groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows as your skin regenerated quickly “Ah, come on, what did I say to piss you off now?” he asked you, but he did not receive an answer from you, because the air around the shrine suddenly became asphyxiating. Your eyes grew round, your knees almost buckling under the pressure, upon ascertaining the Upper Moon One had joined you two. You were expecting him to come; whenever Muzan gave orders, he was the only one who never failed his expectations.

Bowing your head respectfully at the highest rank of what remained of the Twelve Kizuki, you greeted him “Kokushibo-dono, it’s a joy to welcome you here. We were just waiting for you to begin” you cooed, breaking the eeare silence enveloping the area.

You knew nothing about him, beside his sense of honor and an incommensurable admiration for the progenitor of your specimen. A rational, taciturn man who hardly ever barged into the unimportant squabbles taking place among those below him. What mattered to that man was the impertubable balance of powers.

An high-pitched gasp from behind you, caught your attention and, in a blink of an eye, Douma was standing right next to you “Ah, Kokushibo-dono, it’s been so long! You have declined all of my invitations to visit my residence… It’s a shame, really! Recently, I’ve taken in a couple of lovely girls. I looked forward to share them with you” the Upper Moon Two ranted, that fake overjoyed smile curving the angles of his lips upwards, while he sneakily swung his arm around your waist, yanking you against his side.

You sighed, a pout on your lips, before you searched for Kokushibo’s gaze to begin your training session. While you were more than capable of taking down a Pillar on your own, you still had some troubles in controlling your blood demon technique and, with the incoming war, Muzan wanted you to be extremely proficient, impeccable. Letting you train along the two strongest demons alive was the best way to improve your skills.

The former Demon Slayer sized you up, hand resting onto the hilt of his katana out of habit “Y/N. — he greeted you, his six bloodshot eyes then darting on the tall man at your left — Hard times require total concentration. There is absolutely no time to slack off and indulge into sordid, deplorable activities. Get in position” he sternly said, causing the younger demon to sneer and plant a kiss on your cheek before distancing himself from you leisurely.

You had no idea of the specific schedule he had chosen for you, yet the moment your nose was pierced by the fragrance of human blood, and your ears heard heavy footsteps rapidly consuming the road leading from the woods to the shrine, you put the pieces together. You looked at Kokushibo, not surprised by his lack of an explanation. Slayers. Those humans running straight to their death were Slayers the Upper Moon One had purposefully conducted to you.

“Oh, is that food? Please, tell me pretty girls in black uniforms are coming for us…” Douma chimed, his smile broadening as he tried to take a step towards the dark forest.

Kokushibo’s gesture of the hand, though, was enough to stop him from doing anything more than watching the scene unfold before his dreamy eyes.

Being the center of the attention had never been more difficult than now. Your eyes scrutinized the area, your nails ready to rip to shreds whomever had the audacity to attempt to slice your head off of your shoulders. A few seconds passed by before you spotted the group of young Slayers running towards you. Ready for battle, glaring at you, they unsheathed their blades. Six humans, not exactly weaklings, craved your head. But before you could just charge at them, Kokushibo spoke out again.

“Use your technique. Focus solely on it”.

His deep voice, for some reason, sent shivers down your spine. Probably, you were just enthralled by the massacre about to take place in the holy territory underneath your feet. Or maybe you were already losing control. Nevertheless, you quickly switched your attention back on the youngs group of humans in front of you.

“Good evening” you cooed, smiling faintly at the now shaking people looking at you and your frightening friends in horror.

“Upper ranks… We’re dead. Tell the crows to send a Pillar” a female Slayer blurted out, sweat beading her forehead as she frantically looked at both her sides in search for possible ways out of this situation.

“A Pillar? Are you fucking blind? We need more than a Pillar here!” her comrade said, eyes not leaving your frame as you sighed and shook your head. It was pointless. What could three Pillars do anyway against three upper ranks? Nothing.

Your eyes glinted, your hand caressing the cheek of the female slayer who had suggested to call a Pillar. You heard them gasp, when they realized you were standing practically among them, not fearing their deadly blades at all. You were blatantly challenging them, awaiting for the right moment to devour them. You giggled, before you disappeared from the small circle around you, holding the young fighter in your arms before you speaking again. Back in your original spot, you were running your fingers through the silky black hair of the girl, her body writhing under your touch as you leaned your face down to your let your lips graze her earlobe. It was time to satisfy your whims and you did not hesitate to activate your technique.

“Blood demon art: the human puppet” you whispered, the white sclera of your eyes fading into black.

Before your victim could even register what was happening, blood threds connected to her joints and she naturally dropped to her knees in front of you. Adoration in her eyes, she hugged your legs, the effects of your aphrodisiac blood driving her nuts.

“What’s happening? What did she do to her?” the head of the group snapped, trying to assess your reactions to figure out what your power could do.

Honestly, you were having fun. There was no pressure of ending things quickly for once. You had all the time in world to enjoy your minutes of glory and you did. You smiled at the girl at your feet, clasping your hands together as you listened to her words.

“How can I serve you?” she meekly asked you, cheeks flushing up as you hummed and gestured at her friends at her back, hunger for blood making your mouth salivate, albeit you tried to get a grip of yourself.

“Those people have offended me. Why don’t you kill them for me?” you asked, watching in glee as she hastily picked her sword back up and sprinted towards them. Ready to defend themselves, the slayers cursed your name as the group had apparently decided to split. You watched in interest three of them charging at you, homicidal instinct in their eyes, while the rest of them sparred with their comrade.

All the while, you had felt Douma and Kokushibo’s eyes on you, studying your moves, contemplating your choices and strategies. They had not bothered helping you out and they did not seem interested in it anyway, at least, until a disaster happened. Trusting blindly in your abilities, you had waited too long before activating your technique. The moment you did, you were forced to block the slash of a slayer with your forearm. The impact was powerful enough to cause your blood to spill, accidentally splattering on your two colleagues faces, staining their lips and inhebriating them.

Faltering, you had no time to apologize that a katana sliced through your opponent’s head. The thud of his body colliding onto the ground was followed by the screams of terror and agony of the others. Soon enough, you were surroundered by bunch of dismembered corpses, no more sounds echoing in the calm forest, if not… Heavy breaths, grunts of frustration. Affected by your technique, the upper moon One and Two were staring right into your eyes, their fangs protruding from their gums, ferally hissing to fight the primal urges of dominating the weakest prey in front of them. It was your fault. The second form of your blood demon technique was literally called ‘primal lust of the hunter’.

Taking a few impish steps back, you tried to comfort them “I promise the side effects are going to wear off in a few—”.

“How long?” Kokushibo growled, planting his sword onto the ground. You had never seen him like that.

“Kokushibo-dono, I… I—”.

A sudden grip on your forearm, yanking you towards them, made you gasp in sheer embarrassment. That look in their eyes, that way of staring you down in hunger promised nothing less than a long night of submission ahead of you.

“How long?” the Upper moon One hissed on your face, his grip on your forearm intensifying, until you confessed the truth.

“Until you reach the peak of your ecstasy” you blurted out, earning an hysterical laughter from Douma, who grasped a fistful of your hair and encircled your waist with a hand. His abs glued to your back, he rotated his hips against your rear, the clothed bulge underneath the layers he wore poking at you with unbridled hunger.

You shuddered, closing your eyes “I can help you! I can help you both!” you fretted, body on fire as their hands began to undress you with urgency.

Probably, this was the biggest mistake of your life, but the famous thing that happened once ever in a lifetime too. Lips devoured yours instantly, the guttural groan escaping Kokushibo lips made your disclose your lips automatically to let his tongue invade your mouth. Your hands threaded your the former Slayer’s hair, tugging at his ponytail to squash his body against yours. Fangs sank onto the crook of your neck, your whimper swallowed by Koksuhibo, as Douma hand slipped underneath your ripped kimono and masterly cupped your sex.

How many times had he done that to you? So many nights, so many nights but not a single one of them could compare to what he was making you feel right now. Douma always took his sweet time in tearing you apart, but his thumb did not indulge much on your throbbing clitoris.

You whined in protest, only for him to take a step back and unbuckle the belt of his pants “Sorry, Y/N-chan, but I feel… Oh, my sweet gods, I feel like I could burst into my own pants, if I don’t fuck that pretty hole of yours. Not much prep today, okay?” he rasped out, sweat running down the valley of your breasts along with the blood still dribbling down your collarbone in irregular crimson lines from his harsh bite onto your neck.

When the Upper Moon One pulled away, his hands discarding his robes onto the ground, finally granting you the celestial sight of his chiseled body, you struggled to keep your composure: the body of a warrior, the body of a divinity. The body of a man who had trained for centuries, in the desperate chase to proclaim himself the strongest slayer alive.

“Her womb is mine” he declared firmly, causing your knees to buckle, when he grasped your hips and made you straddle him easily. Douma surprisingly did not retaliate, kneeling right behind you instead as his hand slipped down between your thighs to collect some of your juices.

He growled, the pads of his fingers collecting the result of your wanton before smearing them onto the entrance of your puckered hole. You writhed, glancing at him from above your shoulder, before pulling him into a sloppy kiss “You better worship the ground I walk on after this” you whispered, only for a pathetic whimper to leave your lips as Kokushibo’s calloused band grasped your jaw unceremoniously and turned your head towards him once again.

“He’s your superior, but I personally don’t see the number one etched in his eyes” the man darkly said, pushing his hips against yours and witnessing to the way you came to realize his hakama were now loosely hanging down his hips. His cock, standing as a ramrod, was probbing at your entrance with arrogance, his free hand angling your hips to favor the penetration.

“I apologize, Kokushibo-dono. — you breathed out, arching your back as he lined the bulbous tip on you clenching hole — Douma and I are familiar with this kind of entertainment” you explained, breath hitching in your throat when the blond man at your back began to slide a finger into your backside to stretch you out a little. He was seething in anger, frustration of not having the chance to paint the welcoming walls of your pussy in white, as he always did.

The Upper Moon Two smirked “That’s right! I think Kokushibo-dono will absolutely love to hear how much of a slut you are when you are stuffed so full of cum that you twitch like a fish dying on the shore” he remarked, your eyes screwed shut as you felt your tight walls swallowing his fingers into your most private parts.

Were you going to be able to walk after this? If they actually injured you, was your demonic regeneration going to heal your wounds?

“Enough talk” Kokushibo flatly said, unsympathetically pinching your right nipple to hear you squirm under his ministrations as well.

And, gosh, you did. What made him groan out in pleasure, his stolid mask slipping, was the way your pussy squeezed him up perfectly when he entered you. Hands planted onto your hipbones, Kokushibo guided you up and down onto his length. The girth had almost made you regret your choice of taking care of their impellent needs, but the way he occasionally let the head of his cock kiss your cervix made you cry out loudly, shamelessly, your head lolling back on Douma’s shoulder as he also began to slide into you.

You had no idea how you had managed to, how your body had adapted to that tempo, to the way they were manhandly you, but when Douma had filled you up to the brim, his pelvis slapping against your arses, you knew you had showed your devotion to them.

“Fuck! I— O my God… — you whimpered out, vision blurry as tears ran down your cheeks copiously — K-Koku, Koku, I can’t” you inhaled sharply, only for him to snort at your face, a powerful thrust causing your whole body to collapse against his.

“It’s Lord Kokushibo to you”.

His words, vivid in your mind, were the only thing you remembered hearing from him after they were done with you. Panting, a mass of sweat and fluids, you were sandwitched between them. Kokushibo came deep into you, arms almost possessively keeping you in place, his gestures so cold and methodical. You wondered, you wondered if a long time ago he had been married, if he had fucked her with the only intention of impregnating her because you were damned if he had not given you that impression.

Douma was breathing heavily, tongue lapping at the umpteenth wound he had left onto your neck, as he softened into you. He had not pulled out as well, you could feel his sperm oozing out from your abused hole as you barely had the energy to nuzzle your head into Kokushibo’s chest.

He did not caress you, neither said a word, but he allowed you to rest like that for a little while. Your training had just begun.

AUTHOR NOTE.

A big thank you to the anon who had submitted this request! I said it once and I’ll say it again: writing threesomes is amusing! Also… I might have a thing for Douma, that’s pretty evident by now. Thank you for your support and see you in the next work!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

x o x o

Dt: @doumadono @mrskokushibo my angels✨❤️

TAGS: @axesfordays @flakeygod @tomatoeshater @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @crystal-freak24 @the-nex @squ4respace @akazas-left-tatted-butt-cheek @wooyugta @ilubplants @the-faceless-bride

[anitalenia]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that��� mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

[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

[a-boca-do-inferno]

blueberry (caesar x human!reader)

summary: Man is insecure and, perhaps not so surprisingly, so are apes.

warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

words: 3.6k

notes: can be read as a standalone or a continuation to alone. this is set somewhere between the events of wftpota but he is alive in my heart btw. enjoy x

gif credit

“I don’t care”, you sign and huff, glaring at him. You needed to hurt him; like he had hurt you just now. You point to the cave entrance. “Leave.” 

Caesar shoots you a desolated look, standing in the middle of the rain, completely soaked. He can’t speak. Not this time. He’d done it so many times before, repeating the same thing over and over again. I will change. I will stop worrying. I love you. And now you could see the truth: no matter how much he claimed to love you, his sorrows would always be stronger than his feelings and you just had enough. You were a tired woman. And he knew that, too. 

“Okay”, he mumbles at last with a brief sign as he watches his step and backs away. 

He leaves with his head down and disappears into the dark of the night. You’re only left with the sound of heavy drops smashing onto the floor. The ground now felt like opening up under your feet, but it wasn’t always like this. 

Caesar stared at you with widened eyes, not noticing your presence until you spoke up. A smile spread on his face and he shrugged off his worries, his frown fading gradually. “You… lifesaver.” He gesticulated toward the food you carried with a grateful look. It smelled so good and he didn’t hesitate to grab the bowl of soup, sipping on it and letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you... for everything”, he signed with his free hand after a moment.

“You’re welcome, now what do you want?” You teased and ruffled his head lightly. Caesar had become a good friend over the past few months. It felt like you’ve known each other for a long time, even before the flu. “Or were you just that hungry?”

Caesar snorted, still drinking the soup. “Both… I think.” He swallowed before adding hoarsely, “sometimes I just need… to see you.” It sounded like a lighthearted comment, but he wasn’t smiling because deep down he knew it was true. You made him feel like he never did with anyone, ape or otherwise. He recoiled in his spot, watching you with attentive eyes. 

And you, to your credit, chuckled quietly with pink cheeks, “well, here I am.” You sat in front of him and leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You know, Caesar, I’ve been thinking… Maybe you should come stay with me for a while.” 

You were well aware of his problem with loneliness ever since he lost Cornelia and couldn’t help but want to take care of him. Being a leader had its perks and many included a deep sense of isolation, especially when the very lives of a whole species depended on him to make it in this world. Humans were still a constant threat, even amidst the downfall of civilization, but you reckoned Caesar felt lonely long before the apocalypse from the few stories he’d tell you about Will. If anything, being surrounded by his own kind only alienated him more overtime due to the burden of the “crown”.

Caesar tensed up, his eyebrows raising at the unexpected offer. He stayed unmoving for a few seconds, however his demeanor eventually changed into one of contemplation. Perhaps it wasn’t such a terrible idea at all. He’d been greatly feeling the change in environment since they moved and doing things alone had always proven to be harder for him, if more familiar. Taking another sip of his soup, his thoughtful gaze traveled the ceiling. 

“Sure… you wanna live… with my drama?” He finally asked, with an almost amused expression.

“We can be dramatic together”, came the quick reply, as you carried a playful tone of your own. “But really, I think it’ll do you some good. It’s not permanent, I just wanna help you get a little more time to adjust while you sort things out with the council.” You grinned softly, “change is always overwhelming and some company might broaden your horizons, maybe even help with your decision.”

Caesar pondered your words, still with a humorous smile. “I could stay… for a while.” He added with some emphasis. 

“It’s settled then, you can move in anytime you want”, you stood up and patted his shoulder. As you noticed there was a hint of uneasiness lingering in his eyes, you hummed, “consider it my formal thanks to you for taking me in. Now we’re even.”

“Then I move in… tonight.”, he tried to play it off with humor, signing with a smirk. “Don’t like my place… anyways.”

In fact, deep down Caesar was glad to get away from there; especially because he was about to face the most challenging phase of leadership: letting go. By the end of the day, he was all settled into your home. He took your bed under your indignant protests that the floor was a “back killer”, in your own words. You had a way of making him sustain a smile for far longer than he was used to—which wasn’t often—and that was the sole reason for his compliance. 

As you were fluffing the makeshift pillows made out of animal skin, he organized his stuff in the small cabinet you made yourself. You were a handy carpenter. A quiet chuckle reached his ears and he shot you a glance. 

“I didn’t take you for the messy type, I thought all leaders were neat.”

Caesar rolled his eyes, closing the cabinet door. “I only clean… other people’s messes”, he signed with a wry smile. He turned around and leaned against the wall to face you properly, his grin fading into a sterner look. “I’m glad… you’re here.”

“And I’m glad you’re here with me, that way I don’t have to worry about your insomniac ass wandering in the cold”, you threw a stick at him, sitting on the bed with a small beam. “I really do worry and care for you, Caesar. I hope you know that.”

Caesar caught the stick with ease and met your gaze with warm eyes once again. He was clearly touched by your words and his shy grin turned into a real one, despite the tiredness on his features. He came over to sit beside you, much closer than before. 

“I know”, he replied huskily, gently caressing the nape of your neck with his thumb. “And I hope you know… I care about you.” You shivered under his touch and your lips reached for his rough palm as you kissed it. His breath hitched at the sensation of your smooth skin and he touched your foreheads, shutting his eyes.

It was now but a distant, bittersweet memory haunting you while you gathered your things and left your tent-like home with him, preparing to move in with Maurice. You had a close bond with the ginger ape due to his calmer nature; sometimes you even assisted in his classes, too, and he knew better than anyone about the shortcomings of your relationship with Caesar. This time was no different and he offered you shelter right away. He had always been supportive of you two, but never judging when you had a falling out with the boss.

Maurice knew better than anyone as Caesar got older, his stubbornness and overprotective nature only got bigger. You left out a humourless laugh, walking into your new home. Man is insecure and perhaps not so surprisingly, so are apes. And with insecurity comes obsession, along with an unhealthy need for control. Yet you always had too much understanding in your heart. Caesar just needed help, you thought, as you would peck his head whilst he slept soundly on your lap. It was so rare to see him that serene, and you cherished every second of it. 

He still had trouble sleeping; nightmares and such. Your heart ached with the ever present reminder that you just couldn’t make all his pain go away forever, no matter how hard you tried. And God, did you try. Rocking a grown chimpanzee’s body to make him go to sleep wasn’t exactly in your plans when he brought you into the colony, but you gladly took the task. You loved the guy, after all. 

And wouldn’t it be stupid to even doubt that? Still, that’s what Caesar did on occasion. He wasn’t easily upset, but when he was... It often got ugly. You were never a fearful girl, but seeing his angry fits deeply affected you. Soon talking to him became a constant walk on eggshells and if he noticed your change in behavior, he never really spoke on it, which was perhaps his biggest flaw; not communicating. But he was a leader, and a perceptive one at that. Even though he never said it out loud, it must have been clear that you couldn’t take it anymore. There was something telling about the way he simply let you go a few hours before, with no fight. 

“Comfortable?” Maurice eyes you carefully, bringing some blueberries with him to cheer you up. 

You can’t help but grin at the sight. “I am. Thank you.” You sign back and nod, taking a deep breath as you gaze around. “Caesar?” You hum, curious of where he might be. You hadn’t seen him since last night’s argument.

The orangutan shakes his head slowly, pointing at the forest, “he hunts… when angry.”

You snort. “Sounds about right.”

Maurice grunts in agreement, signing softly, “you two… end?”

You take a moment to consider his question. It looked like a break up, didn’t it? Although you weren’t sure if apes even used the concept of “breaking up” with their mates. Every couple you knew in the colony seemed happy together. No trouble in paradise. You shrug and look down. “Maybe.”

“Caesar is… difficult”, he rasps, causing you to smile despite yourself. That’s the understatement of the year. The ape adds, “you like blueberries… for a reason. They’re not… always sweet.”

You scoff at the comparison. No wonder Maurice was a great teacher. You sign with amusement, “except I can smash a blueberry if I don’t like it, but with Caesar, I can’t.”

Maurice laughs deeply. “Fair enough.”

As the night fell again, you watched the apes gather around the fire to hang out after another tranquil day from a distance. Since the war, things were slowly returning to normal and you felt a mixture of relief and anxiety every time the thought crossed your mind; growing accustomed to peace those days was dangerous. Hope could be a friend, but also a great enemy in the apocalypse. Caesar had taught you that through your many late night talks after you made love. A light blush came across your cheeks as you sighed and tried to shake off those memories. 

Dating another species was already a challenge on its own, now add being the leader of a colony on top of that, you were surprised you two had made it that far. When Caesar found you all alone hiding in a cave, struggling to survive on your own, never in a million years did you think that creature would become your closest friend and even lover. He didn’t like or didn’t see the point of those nomenclatures, sure, as he only ever referred to you as his family. If other apes outside Maurice and Blue Eyes knew about the implications of it, though, no one dared speak on it. Yet it didn’t make it any easier to digest whenever you stopped to think about it, even more so amidst his angry fits.

You finished preparing for bed and lay down in silence, staring at the stars. Another summer had begun with the difference of Caesar’s absence by your side as you tried to sleep. You took a deep breath and wiped away some stubborn tears, turning to face the wall. You closed your eyes for a brief second and when you opened them again, a large silhouette appeared on the stone surface and you slowly shifted back to find Caesar standing tall, eyeing you silently.

“Talk?” He signs hesitantly, his expression difficult to read in the dark. You only nod and he approaches you, and as he steps in an angle under the moonlight, you see he’s got a deep cut across his abdomen. You immediately sit up, looking alert. He smiles weakly and waves a dismissive hand, taking a seat beside you. “It’s… fine. Not… serious.”

You frown nevertheless, tracing his bruise and inspecting it. “What happened?”

“Bear.” He murmurs hoarsely, with an amused gleam in his green eyes. You grunt in displeasure and he asks with an almost mocking tone, “worry?”

“Of course I do, Caesar.” You huff indignantly and it only makes him smirk, but you keep glaring at him. “You think it’s funny?”

“Yes”, he says, reaching out to take your hand over his furry stomach. He comes closer, bringing his forehead to yours, “I’m… sorry.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’re not sure what to say, but he fills in the silence with a low sound, “miss… you.”

“You’re a stubborn old man”, you pull away to look him in the eye, albeit your voice stays tender. He looks humoured by your choice of words. “But I missed you too.”

Caesar’s expression softens significatively. He produces another coo, “forgive?”

You smile and bring his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. “Maybe.”

“Brought… present.” He rumbles after a moment and you watch him leave in silence, coming back shortly with a bowl full of blueberries. You grin and Caesar hoots quietly, feeding one to you. You blush and accept the gesture, causing him to nuzzle your face gently, “Maurice… advice.”

You roll your eyes. “That turncoat.” 

Caesar only snickers and shrugs, making a face as he tries a blueberry. He signs and pushes the bowl towards you, shaking his head in comic disapproval, “sour.”

It’s your turn to laugh.

[hoesandnuggs]

One Of Us - Leah Williamson x Reader

(Not my image)

Based on the song ‘One of Us’ by ABBA

———

Arsenal wasn't Arsenal without you.

Since 2006, when she arrived at Arsenal, still only a girl, she'd had you.

Even in 2014, when Leah had been promoted to the senior squad, you'd been right behind her. It was only right you made your debuts together, as best friends.

There had always been something more than friendship there. Being young, you'd both been to blind to see it, until Jordan Nobbs had made a pass at Leah at one of the famous Arsenal Halloween parties and you'd lost your head.

"I don't get what your mad about!" She'd chased after you once she'd seen you storm out. You'd argued on the way back to your shared apartment, about 10 minutes away from the house you'd been at.

"You really don't get it?! That I've been in love with you since before I even knew what love was. That it's always been you, that it always will be you. And I fucking missed my chance to tell you because I didn't want to ruin a 10 year friendship!" You shouted.

She didn't respond, only placed her lips onto yours and promised you that she felt the same way.

Life was good. Playing together, going home together, being together. It was all you'd even known, until one day it wasn't.

Whilst Leah broke through into regular minutes in the first team, you struggled immensely. You and Leah both played in the midfield, and with the senior players he already had in that position, he really didn't need two of the exact same player coming in. Leah's connection with the team landed her in favor, she'd always been the one to make friends on behalf of the both of you, and in this case your quietness had been the reason for your downfall.

As a result, Pedro frequently criticized your playing style, and began not even listing you as a substitute.

You felt your world falling apart, Arsenal was all you had even known, Leah was all you'd ever known, but you knew you were better than a reserve player.

He called you into his office after a particular good training session, but had quickly ruined your mood.

"I only need one player, between you and Leah, you need to fight and prove to me why it should be you. The January window is fast approaching, don't let it be you I sell."

You arrived home in despair. Leah was quick to comfort you, asking what was wrong, but you were in no state to tell her about the conversation you'd just had.

She held you that evening, lips brushing over your cheeks as she whispered sweet nothings over and over again.

And so I dealt you the blow

One of us had to go

Leah's expression was unreadable at breakfast. The revelation of your conversation with Pedro had hit her. She enjoyed her life, playing for her childhood club, whilst also being with the love of her life every day. She didn't want things to change.

That week she'd been quiet at home, and distant at practice. Everyone else had noticed the shift in dynamic between the two of you too, eyes watching both of you.

By Friday you'd had enough, entering Pedro's office after training to tell him that you'd be looking for a new club in January, and that you'd made his decision easier.

To say Leah was upset was an understatement.

"Why wouldn't you talk to me before making a decision like that! This isn't just about you, this is about our future too!" She yelled.

"I did this for you! So you didn't have to leave the club you care about most! I don't want you to resent me for being the reason you leave."

"No instead I resent you for leaving me!" She screamed.

Now it's different, I want you to know

She could never resent you, not really. Even though she might have hated you in the moment, the minute your stuff was out the door and you were gone, she regretted every word she said.

You hated the way you left, the veil of darkness that cloaked every corner of your house in awkward tension. Leah barely spoke a word, watching as you gradually packed up your things. She knew she couldn't be in the house when you left for good.

Leaving your key on the table you walked away. And when Leah came home to find it, she knew it was the end of everything.

One of us is crying, one of us is lying

In a lonely bed

Staring at the ceiling

Wishing she was somewhere else instead

6 months was not enough time for Leah to get over you. She put on a front for her teammates, acting like it didn't hurt to partner up with Jordan for passing drills, or seeing the new signing with your number on her back.

Your cubby hadn't stayed empty for long either, a reshuffle in the locker room had meant the new signing sat where you used to. Leah couldn't even look over there, the fact that your eyes wouldn't be looking back at her in reassurance.

For a while Leah couldn't go home. It felt empty without the little bits of you. Leah hated the way you'd leave your keys on the counter instead of on the hook by the door, but now she wished she was able to complain as she put them on the hook herself.

After a while, your pillow stopped smelling like you too. Before she'd cry into it, the smell soothing her into a false sense of security, one in which she could pretend she was in your arms.

Instead, she was alone. The bed seemed bigger without you. She was just a body. Staring at the ceiling as she wiped her tears, wishing she was wherever you were, next to you.

One of us is lonely, one of us is only

Waiting for a call

Sorry for herself, feeling stupid, feeling small

Wishing she had never left at all

The move was tough. You'd moved out of the country, to a club where you couldn't speak the native tongue. It was hard fitting in, making friends. You'd never been good at it, not really. All your friends had been Leah's, she was always the one who introduced you to new people, knowing just how shy you were around everyone other than her.

Maybe Leah was right, maybe you should've stayed, figured something out together. Your solution had left you feeling more alone than ever, going home to your own pity party after practice.

You were stupid to think Leah would call, but still you sat by the phone hoping that every notification that pinged would be one from her.

They way you left should've been the first sign, you knew it was over, you knew she was done. But still you hopelessly pined over her, hoping she missed you just as much as you missed her.

You shouldn't have left. You shouldn't have left her

[sephirthoughts]

Vincent’s lingering obsession with Lucrecia is excellent drama, but their story is not a doomed romance.

This is an unpopular opinion, but I don’t think Lucrecia deserves nearly as much pity and excusing of her actions as she gets. This is not character-hate post, it's an analysis of a character I think gets short shrift as a Mother-Mary in a bell jar, and deserves better.

Lucrecia is morally grey. Charcoal grey. I love complex, morally grey characters, particularly when they're women, since usually women are relegated to roles that infantilize and objectify them, particularly in video games, which have historically been a very backward, androcentric medium. I strongly dislike brainless victims, subject to the whims of the male characters, without much agency, and Lucrecia was not such a character.

Lucrecia was an adult with agency and brains. She was a grown ass adult. She was a brilliant scientist. She made decisions with her eyes open, and even sacrificed her unborn child to her work. She is a very interesting character. The fact that she didn't idolize motherhood as the end-all of female existence, and that her obsession with her work was stronger than her desire to be a 'good mother' makes her far more interesting than otherwise. The fact that she regretted it later and wanted him back doesn’t magically make her a good person, or change the choices she made. It demonstrates guilt and remorse, which are part of character development. The bottom line is that she committed atrocities in the name of science, then felt guilty about it later, once she realized how devastating the consequences were to her personally. To say she didn’t know what she was doing or Hojo manipulated or controlled her is to infantilize and disrespect her character. She’s not some sacrificial angel who was a victim of circumstances; she was a willing participant in her own downfall.

Lucrecia is a tragic character, but she's not a romantic lead. Except in Vincent's head. After all was said and done, she had one of those too-late changes of heart that make tragedy so emotionally impactful. She had a human reaction to Vincent's death and felt terribly guilty for her role in all of it, as she should. That doesn't mean she loved him, it means she wasn't a monster. She lost her son, and gradually, Hojo's callous inhumanity and her inability to escape the net she wove with her own hands closed in on her. Did she deserve to never hold her baby son and never see him even once? No. But she caused it, with her own actions. That's tragedy. She was miserable, bereft, and riddled with guilt, so she made a last-ditch effort to make something right...by doing more insane science shit that turned Vincent into a monster. Seeing that she'd only made everything worse, she tried to kill herself, but was unable to, and thus ran off to become a crystal statue in a cave (this is a trope that I dislike, but that's the story, so that's what we've got).

Vincent is a bad judge of the circumstances. Vincent persists in seeing her as a lost love, and someone from whom he was unjustly separated by circumstances. The fact that he is so blinded by his feelings for her that he places her on this pedestal and can't blame her for what she did is excellent characterization, and I love it, but it's because he’s wrong. He loved her. She didn’t love him (I think she was in love with his father, but that's just icing on the tragedy cake, at this point). His lingering attachment, not to the real Lucrecia, but to the idealized version of her he has in his mind, is a very sad reality that adds so much delicious pain to his character. In the end, he is unable to blame her, because he loved his image of her (and Hojo is a way easier target for anger, because he's literally the worst), which speaks far more to his personal bias in the situation than to her actual role in it. She’s not moustache-twirlingly evil like Hojo but she’s not Vincent's star cross'd soul mate tragically torn away by cruel fate. Lucrecia was her own person.

In summation. Their story is not a doomed romance, it's a complicated, messy, ugly tangle of thorns, and one of the best written tragedies in a game that literally bleeds tragedy from every orifice. It's got one-sided love, obsession, mad science, betrayal, jealousy, fetal experimentation, murder, corpse reanimation, and a guy who can't die, and is left to deal with the consequences of everyone else's actions by himself forever. No one is innocent and no one comes out unscathed…strike that. Vincent is innocent and Hojo comes out unscathed. But still. Lucrecia is not a holy mother, she's not a brainless victim, and she's not Vincent's lost love. She's a person he loved, and who didn't reciprocate. Most importantly, she's a person. A whole-ass, complex, morally grey, fully developed person, who made terrible choices, then made even worse choices, and in the end, couldn't escape the fate she wove for herself.

And then wound up encased in crystal so she could be a pretty statue forever cause the game devs just couldn't help themselves I guess.

[floatyflowers]

After Morgoth lost in the war of wrath, and the Valar punishing him, all after Sauron 'back stabbed him', the new dark lord rushed back to you with fake sadness.

Sauron returns to you with a facade of mourning for Morgoth, claiming he tried to save his master but was powerless against the might of the Valar.

Sauron convincingly portrays sorrow over Morgoth's downfall, but there's a gleam of triumph in his eyes, hidden beneath the facade.

He weaves a narrative of his loyalty, telling tales of the promises he made to Morgoth about protecting you, presenting himself as a faithful servant honoring his master's wishes.

Sauron, skilled in manipulation, gradually builds your trust by appearing supportive and protective, offering solace during your supposed loss.

While you cry in his embrace, he slides his hands all over your body.

Behind the comforting facade, Sauron's true intentions are to use the situation to solidify his influence and control, subtly manipulating events to his advantage.

Sauron's deceptive charm draws you in, and he plays the role of a sympathetic confidant, subtly guiding you toward dependence on him.

Sauron is a master of psychological manipulation; he might employ mind games, illusions, or haunting visions to dissuade you from pursuing freedom.

He might use your emotions by presenting false dilemmas or external threats, making you believe that staying under his influence is the only way for you.

Even if you manage to escape temporarily, the long-term consequences of defying Sauron could linger, with ways that reach beyond the immediate escape attempt.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hey this is a genuine question I don't mean to hate or for this to seem hateful but why is your Konig so misogynistic? /genq like I am being fr when I ask this. I am genuinely curious. I've read your posts and find it interesting the way you interpret him /not neg

I just wanna know if it's how you headcanoned he was raised, or something else. Idk

To me I would make him likeable and not a complete ass, so I'm just curious what goes on in your head to make him like this

/genq again, I don't mean to sound rude. Sorry if I am /gen

Konig is horrible because I hate men and pray for their downfall /jk But honestly, I was just trying to modulate him after the military higher-ups I know personally in my life. Being from a country in a state of war, and also from an occupied territory constantly filled with mercenaries and PMC soldiers, even the "nicest" ones are still pretty much horrible and treat women like dolls and dumb, but cute pets that need to be protected in the best case, and as sub-human bitches in the worst scenario. There are good ones, of course, especially in a military group that has more female soldiers, but if I'm getting a guy who was bullied his whole childhood and then grew big, strong, and joined the PMC, I think he won't be super progressive.

I write Konig as being from a traditional Austrian family, with his cold and uncaring housewife mother, and even colder father who never expressed any warm feelings towards his family. Konig has a warped sense of feelings now - he kinda deals with women in two categories, either pure angels who need his protection and have to love him, or his war buddies like Roze or Stiletto, who can fight on pair with him and beat him in any drinking game. My version of Konig is more of a benevolent sexist. I don't think he has such dark views on every female he sees on the street, but when he is dating the woman of his dreams, when Mrs.Konig is already chained to him through marriage, his views gradually begin to get more and more twisted when he is with her. His wife isn't an independent woman anymore, she is weak and silly, she needs his protection, he can't allow her to work or be in danger such as getting groceries for herself without him. Colonel Konig is a perverted old man(in his mid-late thirties, so he is stuck in his ways) with his dangerously younger wife, so he sucks in a lot of ways.

[lillified]

I love your versions of the decepticons but I do have a question! I honestly love tarn and his brooding nature, so I wanted to know what happened to him? Why’s his face absolutely destroyed and why does he hate megatron,,?

hey, that’s a good question! I believe I’ve answered something similar in the past re: Tarn’s deal, but I can rephrase it again+give some additional context below the cut!

Tarn and Megatron have a very similar background. Both come from low-caste professions (Megatron, obviously, a miner, and Tarn a construction hauler) and both became gladiators to an impressive degree of celebrity. Tarn was an artist in his own right, being a musician and composer (which wasn’t as broadly commercially appealing as Megatron’s writer-artist repertoire, but certainly attracted its fans).

On Cybertron, gladiators have their own sort of “stardom.” Regular audiences aren’t just invested in the sport, but the story behind it, and so the performers become “characters” in themselves. Established fighters often have a dedicated fanbase, lore, and even “managers” or “agents” to manage that public persona. These “careers” can be lucrative, but, unsurprisingly, very brief.

In his heyday, Tarn was everything the gladiator celebrity complex favors: young, charismatic, attractive, skilled, and, above all, marketable. The music he made enhanced his character, and, in turn, his gladiatorial feats promoted his music. He found a degree of purpose in his popularity.

Tarn’s era of celebrity ended when, in his closest match, he lost his face. He survived, but this spoiling took away the foremost aspect of his fame—his identity (in the past I’ve talked about the culture around faces and their irreplaceability, which applies here). Having no choice but to wear a pit mask to protect his exposed interior, he gradually faded out of popularity, in favor of the new wave of rising stars. Over time his music lost its audience and he became cemented in the second rate.

When Megatronus came along, she was quick to gain notoriety for the same reasons Tarn had, with a very similar audience. It was almost natural that she would fill the same niche, with a similar backstory, skillset, and audience appeal. Tarn immediately became jealous, but also couldn’t resist the familiar pull of a world he’d been unceremoniously excommunicated from: in Megatron, he found a way to live vicariously, and quickly began to see her as some parallel proxy for his lost ambitions. All gladiator friendships are underscored by a sort of tired acceptance of impending doom, but, in Tarn’s case, he abused their gallows goodwill to be an extremely two-faced fairweather friend.

Though they certainly shared some traits, Megatron and Tarn were notably different. Where Tarn found earnest purpose in his success, Megatron resented her popularity, engaging with her high society pass with cynical disdain. She invited scandal and scorned the whole scheme until she could use it to get what she wanted. Tarn frequently scolded her for her shallowness, but envied her and the attention she received immensely. This resentment only ever festered and grew.

Internally, Tarn’s wish has always been to witness Megatron’s downfall, and to indulge in her suffering. As his proxy, he will only ever be satisfied to know that she is more miserable than him. The only things preventing him from killing or hurting her directly were his deep desire to live her life, and his own utter hollowness and insecurity.

[muzansfangs]

Bloodstain.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to past Shuhei Hisagi x f!reader; Rukia, Ichigo and Renji;

Format: multi-chapers story;

General warnings for the following chapters: nsfw, age gap between Sosuke and the reader (who is twenty-three years old), post TYBW events, solitude, touch-starved Aizen, possible spoilers, mention to hook-ups, vaginal sex, use of alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, marking the partner, breeding kink, rough sex, dom!Aizen, sub!reader, accidental pregnancy, protective Aizen, struggling with emotions, mutual pining, self-doubting, domestic fluff, conflict with the Central 46, mention to violence and gore;

Warnings for this chapter: mention to war, casual hook-up between Shuhei and the reader, use of alcohol, self-deprecating behavior, fainting, mention to pregnancy;

Plot: With Yhwach’s defeat, you can finally go back to your ordinary life in the World of the livings, or so you thought. Staying in the Soul Society for another day to attend the celebration of the glorious victory over the Sternritters did not sound that bad, until you crossed paths with your recent fling. Drinking too much to forget about it, you end up falling at the feet of your greatest source of distress: Aizen Sosuke.

MASTERLIST | PROLOGUE | TO THE NEXT CHAPTER

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐧.

People chattering about unimportant matters, taking swigs of saké, finally enjoying the gentle breeze of a summer night without drawing their blades to defend their lives were delightfully comforting. The Seireitei was gradually going back to restore its former beauty. Some buildings were still undergoing renovations, the injured soldiers and Captains were still recovering from the fierce battles they had fought, but that night people were, at least, leaving their barracks and homes to enjoy the jollifications of Yhwach's downfall.

No more battlecries and bloodcurdling screams of agony echoed through the streets, replaced by the unmistakable glee of a crowd of people who had survived the brutality of a war no one was prepared for. There was hope twinkling in the eyes of the kids playing around the Soul Society, looking for the officers who had saved their lives to thank them and proudly announcing they were soon going to enroll at the Academy. Their parents, injured and tired, watched them from afar, not frightened anymore by the idea of a Sternritter slicing their heads off of their shoulders.

You faintly smiled, your eyes searching for your friends to join them. You were pretty sure you had caught a glimpse of Renji's crimson hair in your peripheral, but you had been dragged in the opposite direction by the human tide marching towards the drinking stalls.

Perhaps, you should have accepted Rukia's suggestion to spend the day at the Kuchiki Estate and attending the festival together. Yet, the idea of bumping into her stolid, grumpy brother, who tended to pop out of no where and make you regret stepping into his manor every single time you wandered through the intricate corridors of his mazy house, sounded unappealing back then.

Still, the perspective of being humiliated by Byakuya's paternalistic way of chiding you did not seem that awful now that you were literally adrift and in need of assistance to find your way out of the flood of drunk and dancing people surrounding you.

You were genuinely frustrated, head whipping around erratically, yearning to spot a familiar face. Apparently, you were destined to spend the night alone. Or so you thought.

Hands sliding down your hips and dragging you out of the crowd made you both let out a pathetic screech and almost draw your blade. The risk of accidentally slashing someone, though, worked as a deterrent to unsheathe your zanpakuto and therefore you resolved on the self-defence lessons you had received from Urahara. Swinging your right arm on your right, you tried to backhand your kidnapper across the jaw. Missing your target, you scoffed and, when your feet touched the ground again, you were determined to knock your aggressor down.

His hand promptly wrapping around your ankle the moment your foot tried to hit his side, prevented you two from spending a most likely awkward night in the Fourth Division's hospital wing. Now, face to face with the stranger, your jaw went slack and you were glad he decided to break the ice first. Out of everyone you could run into, of course you had to meet your most recent fling.

"We need to stop meeting like that" Shuhei jested, cocking his head to the side upon letting go of your ankle and granting you the chance to lower your leg.

Your parted lips closed, hands tugging the hem of your skirt down, whilst the angles of your lips lifted in a soft smile "Definitely" you agreed, nodding your head and raising your hands apologetically.

"I think you owe me a 'thank you, Lieutenant Hisagi'. Maybe also a kiss, or two to idolatrize me like I deserve, you know?" he bantered, folding his arms against his chest, his dark grey eyes vainly attempting to fathom the layers of your mind .

But you both knew there was only one person around who could do that and, surely, it was not Shuhei Hisagi.

You scrunched up your nose and waved your hand at him dismissively, mentally cursing yourself for not having cleared things out between you two before the commotion caused by the war. How could you, though? With you living in the World of the livings and being a university student with a part-time job at Urahara's shop, you did not have much time left to visit the Soul Society.

On the other hand, Shuhei was always swamped with work and dealing with his new Captain was decidedly a challenge. After that one-night stand you had a couple of months ago, when you offered him a place to stay to spend the night after a mission in Karakura, you had not talked about your relationship anymore. What were you two? Allies and friends aside, obviously.

"There's no need to gloat. I'm not a damsel in distress. I would have found my way out of there anyway. — you replied, a tinge of feigned annoyance in your voice as you shot an arrogant look at him — Sorry about it, but no kisses tonight" you added, right before you heard someone calling out your name at your back.

You glanced above your shoulder quickly, eyes landing on Rukia and your younger step-brother, Ichigo, waving at you enthusiastically. It was refreshing seeing them smile again after everything you all had been through. It still felt surreal.

Shuhei followed your gaze, quirking a dark eyebrow up resignedly. Another day wasted in trying to figure you out, another chance to confess his feelings evaporating before his eyes.

"Just tonight? What about tomorrow?" he asked you, a small grin crossing his lips as you felt cold sweat collect on the back of your neck. He was undoubtedly giving it his best shot.

"You are persistent. The war changed you, I see" you commented, avoiding his question as you always did.

"I know what I want now. Or better, who I want".

His words caused you to falter, lips parting as you let the implications of his assertion sink in. He wanted you, he had really just thrown his intentions at your face and left you with the burden of making such a decision over a night, letting it weigh on your shoulders at the worst moment possible. Maybe you deserved it: striving and ripping your heart out of your chest, while everyone else cheered and celebrated the incoming years of peace and stability, was nothing but the law of retaliation you had ended up subjecting yourself to with your evasive way of handling love-issues.

You swallowed forcefully, but before you could even pronounce his name again, Ichigo's voice pierced your ears again and you shrugged in defeat, taking some lumpish steps back to join your crew.

"I really should go. See you tomorrow, okay?" you stated way too quickly for your own likings, hoping he would drop the topic for the time being.

Shuhei nodded his head at you, hands raising to give you the thumbs-up "No problem" he reassured you, but you could tell he yearned to spend more time talking with you. His gaze was longing for more than a frivolous chit-chat, just like it did that infamous night spent in talking on the small balcony of your flat, among the bittersweet scent of peonies.

You two had an undeniable connection. But it was not enough for you. It would have never been enough, because you had, much to your dismay, molded your standards over the worst person ever. You refused to even say his name, to add another problem to deal with to your already plagued mind, even if you had to admit you had not been able to get him out of your head since you crossed paths again on the battlefield a few days ago.

That man, your nemesis, the achetype of everything you should have viscerally hated, was undeniably the only one who knew what secrets your eyes harboured. Your relationship with him was far from being healthy.

It was the antonym of healthy, actually.

A public enemy, an emotionally unavaiable man with a pretty evident god complex could never be able to show empathy to anyone, not even to himself. Surprisingly, though, your interactions had always been quite inspiring. Who was this man? A brilliant genius gone bad, alone, utterly alone. It was infuriating how he could read your mind the same way he read your body language during a fight. Drawn to him, you wondered why you had always had such a low sense of self-preservation and found yourself enticed by unreliable men with a debatable scheme of things.

"Gosh, what did Shuhei tell you? You look distraught" Rukia noted, furrowing her brows.

"Distraught? You've been way too kind. She looks more like a cantankerous granny who got rolled over by a car" Ichigo interjected, earning a kick in the shins by the short shinigami.

Or, as you loved to call her, his biggest 'what if'.

Fixing your attitude, you forcefully smiled, shrugging it off with a nod "Oh, it's nothing! I haven't slept well in that Inn. — you partially lied, albeit your back agreed with your complaint — It's more like I'm not used to sleep on the floor" you added, as the three of you took what you assumed was a short-cut to the village square.

"I will pretend to buy your words. Frankly, just because I heard there's a stall selling plushies of Chappy and I intend to purchase the limited edition one" Rukia saved you, tugging at the hem of Ichigo's sleeve to drag him along and leave you some space to clear out your mind.

You were glad Rukia had seen it in your eyes. You would have caught up with them later on. For the time being, all you needed was a distraction. A distraction in the form of saké and candy floss, to be precise. A weird mix, way too sugary and disgusting, but with your head in the clouds and your heart sinking into a sea of sorrow you did not feel like self-deprecating about your eating habits.

Distancing yourself from the jolly atmosphere around you sounded like a good idea and you therefore decided to venture towards the old barracks. You did not pay much attention to where you were going, your feet led you up through a wooden staircase, your hands occupied by your snacks, as you kept on brooding over your shortcomings. On top of that stood your inability of trying to be happy, for once.

"Fuck it all, fuck me and fuck him" you grumbled, gulping down the alcohol in search for a magical solution to your problem.

You were soon spent, the taste of the saké mixed with sugar left such a syrupy taste indulging on your tongue that you almost felt like puking. The Moon was no longer shining up above, ominous and dark clouds gathered on the horizon, ironically matching your mood. Not long after the first thunder rolled out in the distance, a droplet of water splashed onto the tip of your nose and you pouted. Rain. It was raining.

You could not make it back to your room at the Inn to find shelter and you were way too far from your friends's quarters to make it in time before it began to pour. Also, how would you have made it there in the first place, when you kept on stumbling on your feet and your vision was beginning to get blurry?

Cussing under your breath, you glanced at the doors at your right. No officers were there, or at least so you had been told. The idea of getting soaked not to barge in and wait for you to sober up out in the rain did not even crossed your mind for a second. Marching towards one of the doors, you sighed and raised your hand to slide it open. Your grip on the jug, thoug, loosened, your hands trembling all of a sudden making you frown, as the sound of pottery shattering into a million splinters made you flinch. How did it happen? Were you really that far gone?

What you did not expect, though, was for your knees to buckle as the wave of a familiar reiatsu hit you with such a force to make your rotula ungraciously hit the floor. You were drunk, there was no doubt about it, but you were not hallucinating. Your wary eyes flicked up, the sharp jawline of the man you had been cursing for years and longing for blessing your vision like a lucid dream. The eye-patch, the way his lips curled into a cocky grin upon watching you struggle onto the floor, even his posture gave away the fact that it was not a trick your mind was playing on you.

He was there, a palm away from you.

You gawked, the tall man in front of you peering down at you like someone who was inspecting a wounded animal at their doorway with unbridled curiosity. There you were, unable to move a muscle, out of your mind and puzzled by his presence. He was not supposed to be there.

"Fancy meeting you here" he chimed, hands behind his back, as he leaned forward just enough to make sure your eyes were staring deeply into his shimmering caramel one.

Your mouth had gone dry, it felt like chalk, a million of questions popping into your mind one after the other made your head spin. You were supposed to talk, to say something, to stand up and leave but all you did was whispering a name, his name.

"Sosuke" your vision darkening, as you eventually slumped down at his feet with a thud, unable to withstand the stress and his reiatsu in the poor state you were in.

How he had missed the way you, only you out of everyone, called him by his first name, even if he had almost killed your step-brother and your beloved father. There was no way he was going to leave you, the potential form of entertainment at hand, stay out there alone, unconscious, and miss his opportunity to get under your skin as he always had done.

“Pitiful” he uttered, rolling you over your back with his foot and bending down to hook his hands underneath your armpits to drag you inside the warm room.

You two could not know it back then, but this was the first link in a chain leading to a series of unfortunate events that were going to inevitably end in only one way. The day you were going to hold a pregnancy test in your hand, standing on the threshold of Kisuke’s shop, staring at him with a dumbfounded expression on your face, was not that far.

AUTHOR NOTE.

My dear readers, I am honored to finally introduce you to my Aizen Sosuke fan fiction. I had been thinking about this for months. I still have no idea of how many chapters long it will be. Stick around and find out yourselves. All I know is that the next chapter is going to be shameless filth. The same story will be uploaded on my Wattpad profile under the username of @/muzansfangs. As per usual, likes, comments and, mostly, re-posts are greatly appreciated.

Love, Luce ✨

TAGS: @pseudowho @stygianoir @onyxino @sashi-ya

[brujahinaskirt]

Just my 2c here. But I think the interpretations "Dutch was a cult leader who manipulated desperate people into doing his bidding, creating a family of worshipers he could mold into his image" and "the self-caused downfall and implosion of Dutch's family destroyed his mind and soul" not only can coexist, but that they intensify & clarify each other. Neither view exonerates Dutch, but taken together, they avoid watering down his emotional trajectory into DUTCH WAS ONCE GOOD vs DUTCH WAS ALWAYS EVIL poles.

I think we often make the mistake of correlating characters who love deeply with characters who are innately good. But love (and the perception of love) is a complicated thing; it doesn't have to be genuine, healthy, true or kind for us to deeply feel its pull.

An abusive mother can still feel love for her children... or truly believe that she does. And an abusive mother who feels love for her children (or an emotion she believes to be love) can still feel terribly hurt when her children leave her, even if she deserves to be left.

[spoilers under the cut]

Did Dutch raise Arthur & John to blindly follow his ideals and commands? Yes. Did Dutch scorn his sons unfairly, betray them, and play victim when circumstances caused them to begin stepping out of his influence? Yes. No question.

Was Dutch, a man infamous for his bombastic style of speech and baffle-with-bullshit charisma, so crushed by the death of his eldest son that he retreated into a shell of himself and stopped speaking for seven years? Also yes.

Did Dutch break his long silence to cast down the pseudo-son, snake-in-the-grass manipulator who accelerated his old family's downfall... and was he compelled to do so only when faced with the possibility of watching the man who was once his youngest son die? He sure did.

Many a father has truly loved the image of a son he held in his head, often because he believes that son is a reflection of the best or most beloved parts of himself. And many a father has wrongly, selfishly felt bitterly betrayed when that son begins to look & think like someone else.

Losing his outcast family broke Dutch. Maybe we think his love for his family was once real, but gradually devolved into a perverted, selfish love. Maybe we think it always was that way. Either way, love does not have to be real (or justified) for it to leave you with a broken heart.

[growingstories]

Golf

Once upon a time, in the vibrant world of sports, there was a football player named Andrew Thompson. He possessed immense skill and was admired by fans for his dedication and talent. Unfortunately, fate had a different plan in store for Andrew. During a fateful game, he suffered a severe injury that left him unable to continue his football career.

Devastated by the news, Andrew pondered his uncertain future. He longed for the thrill and camaraderie of the sporting world once more. As he searched for a new direction, he discovered the game of golf. Intrigued by the peacefulness it offered and its potential for success, Andrew decided to give it a shot.

To his surprise, Andrew excelled at golf. With his determination and natural athletic abilities, he quickly rose the ranks through of amateur tournaments. As his skills gained recognition, he found himself competing against some of the sport's greatest players. After each victorious tournament, he indulged in lavish parties, reveling in his newfound success.

Amidst the celebrations, Andrew soon realized that his golf clubs were becoming cumbersome to carry around. He sought a caddy to assist him during his games, and that when's he met Samuel, an experienced caddy with a knack for understanding the game. Samuel diligently carried Andrew's clubs, ensuring he had everything he needed.

However, as time went on, Andrew began to grow lazy. Intoxicated by his achievements and the care Samuel provided, he allowed himself to indulge in luxurious food and leisurely golf cart rides instead of walking the courses. His appetite grew, and so did his waistline.

Unbeknownst to Andrew, tabloids soon caught wind of his weight gain. Headlines ridiculed his physical transformation, and the public became fascinated with his downfall. Andrew's frustration grew, leading him to seek solace in food even more. The agony of his failures was momentarily eased by binge-eating, which only perpetuated his cycle of weight gain.

Through it all, Samuel remained devoted to Andrew, preparing delectable meals to satisfy his insatiable hunger. Unbeknownst to Andrew, Samuel found pleasure in their arrangement, which extended beyond the confines of their golfing routine. Their relationship became complicated, entwined with both physical satisfaction and genuine care.

Days turned into months, and Andrew's weight continued to pile on. His belly grew so large that it began interfering with his swing, rendering his ability to play golf effectively nearly impossible. Frustration consumed him, and he made the heart-wrenching decision to retire from golf altogether.

Despite his attempts to step away from the eating, the weight gain showed signs no of slowing down. Andrew's love for food, coupled with his love for Samuel, fueled his desire to consume more. Samuel, dedicated and unwavering in his support, took care of Andrew's every need, even as their encounters grew more frequent and intense.

Andrew's life gradually revolved around his desires, and his once-athletic physique disappeared beneath layers of fat. The public's interest in him waned, and he became a recluse, secluded within the confines of his extravagant home. While many criticized his choices, Samuel remained steadfast in his care, ensuring Andrew's pleasure and satisfaction were his top priorities.

Days turned into years, and Andrew's weight continued to skyrocket. Yet, despite the physical limitations and societal pressures, their love remained intact. It was a bond that surpassed societal norms, a connection that transcended.

And appearances so, with every bite, every touch, and every encounter, Andrew and Samuel continued their tumultuous journey. In their twisted world, there would be no stopping, no judgment, and no escape from the grips of their desires.

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

continue... [ part 2 ] - [ part 3 ]

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}