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awindylife-writes · 3 years

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The Bar

Relationships: 10th Doctor x reader, Jack Harkness x reader (platonic)

Summary: Jack, the Doctor and you go to a bar. You are drugged and a man tries to take you but the Doctor luckily intervenes in time.

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, but nothing graphic

"C'm on guys, there's this really great bar on the far side of Kristella, the lnky Sky," Jack insisted. "They serve everything you could want to drink, they've got live music and there's a festival coming! It's like Halloween on Earth, but the whole planet does it. They've even got punch!"

You grinned, "Well, l'm in." Why not? You wanted to have the experience with the two best friends you had, and it wasn't just any day you could go to an alien bar.

The Doctor and Jack looked at you in surprise.

"What?" you glanced between them, eyebrows raised.

"I mean it's just..." Jack began, "l never thought you were a bar enthusiast."

"Oh, l'm not," you assured him. "I just don't see why we shouldn't go. I mean, we faced the Shadows of Onn just two days ago and then the whole icky Persistence Incorporated lot like, yesterday. A bar should be a nice change of pace, unless you really don't want to go, Doctor?" Both you and Jack turned to look at him and he rubbed the back of his neck under your gazes.

"Weeeell, if you insist," the Doctor shrugged his shoulders and Jack pumped the air, "Yes!"

"Aright then," you smiled. "Jack, what exactly do we want to wear?"

The TARDIS wardrobe awaited you.

So far, so good, you thought to yourself.

You had arrived at the bar and quickly claimed a stand-by table. You were lucky you had gotten it, there wasn't much space left. A band was playing, as Jack had promised, and there were enough people dancing to create a crowd. The music was alien and had some surprising metaphors, but there was a nice rhythm to it and you found yourself nodding along. You apprechiated the volume too, it was quiet enough to talk over it where you were standing.

The before-mentioned punch cost a laughable two Eeti and most took the generous opportunity, you included. Nevermind the Doctor and his "It smells funny" comments. Jack ordered something bright pink and alien at the bar while you scooped the punch into a glass. The Doctor stuck with apple juice.

It didn't take long for Jack to spot a cute guy at a table next to yours. You and the Doctor smiled knowingly when they started flirting across the way. Soon, Jack gave you a questioning look and you laughed. "Go on," you nodded your head towards the neighbouring table.

He smiled in grattitude and hugged you hurriedly. You patted his back.

"Go on, get outta here," the Doctor told Jack, voice warm.

"I want you back before noon, got it?" you levelled Jack's gaze in mock seriousness. He flipped you a salute before walking out, hand in hand with the guy.

The Doctor and you continued your conversation. As he rambled on about the rings of Ahknaten, you rubbed your eyes. Was it just you or was everything getting a little blurry? Maybe your alchohol tolerance was even lower than you had thought.

Then you noticed the Doctor was eyeing Jack's half finished drink, and you could tell he was curious.

"C'm on, Doctor," you grinned at him. "This is exactly the place and the time to try something like this."

He gave you a questioning look, and you nudged him with your elbow. "I dare you."

"Weeell, you see, now l just can't refuse. My honor absolutely cannot take a hit like this," he shook his head in mock offence, a smile playing at his lips. He carefully held the glass and took a tentative sip. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Ooh, is it any good?" You had to make an effort to sound chirpy. Maybe all the running was finally catching up to you, because you felt like you were about to nod off.

The Doctor cocked his head. "Actually, it's sweet. I didn't even consider alcohol could be sweet, didn't even think. Who made alcohol sweet? Brilliant invention I mean, if my taste buds have anything to say about it. It's not gonna have an effect on me, me being a Time Lord and all that, but l've never bothered with stuff like this, it didn't seem nearly as interesting as a new world behind the TARDIS door, but now that l consider it-"

"You're gonna go order another one?" You gently interjected his rambling.

"Mhm, yeah, l'll definitely order another one," he answered with a grin.

"Good for you. Oh, and you could go pay as well?" you suggested. You didn't think you would be ordering anything else, not with your head as fuzzy as it was.

He took the money out of his pocket (you had reminded him to get some before you'd arrived, it wasn't exactly like you, a human from Earth, had Kristellan currency on hand). "I'll be right back," he promised you and headed for the bar.

You didn't mind standing there at the table on your own, but it was a little akward. You felt like a sore thumb, standing out from the mixture of creatures around you. You watched the people at the edge of the dance floor, their shapes and colours blurring. Was that supposed to happen? You couldn't seem to take enough air in, though you tried to breathe deeply. The mist in your mind spread, and bit by bit it got harder to think. You stared vacantly at the moving shapes, trying to remember where the Doctor had gone. Why were your legs so weak?

Then there was someone at your side, holding your hand and asking you something. Something about dancing? You nodded, unsure what he wanted, and he grinned. Then he pulled you from the table, and that wasn't right. You were in the middle of the crowd now, and the green tinted man had his arms around you. What was happening?

The Doctor found himself staring at the punch bowl while he waited for his drink. There was something about it, something niggling at the back of his brain.

Then the air moved, and he could smell the scent of it again. But what was that, that tinge, something barely there, something like an acid? Something hydroxy... something with butan... hydroxybutan....

Y-hydroxibutanoic acid. The Doctor felt his blood run cold.

He whipped around and grabbed the unsuspecting barista by her wrist. "Listen to me, right now," he growled and her golden eyes widened. "That punch bowl is spiked, and everyone here could be in danger. Do something about it."

She nodded in horror so he knew she understood the urgency and turned to her colleague, her voice grave. He left all his money on the counter without a thought, he needed to find y/n.

When he arrived back at your table, you were gone. He looked around in panic. You had drunk the punch at least twenty minutes ago, which was definitely enough time for the drug to kick in. If anyone tried-

Then he finally found you. His hearts sped up. A man with his hand around you was pulling you through the crowd, towards the door. The Doctor saw your wobbling, unsteady steps, saw you still try to get the man's hands off of you.

White-hot fury exploded in his chest, it burned everything away. His hands tightened into fists at his sides and trembled with his rage. Blood rushed in his ears as he gritted his teeth into a snarl. This was it, this was what Daleks were afraid of. He ripped through the crowd withought a thought to anyone.

Upon reaching you, he pushed the two of you apart. The creep stumbled to the side but at once, the Doctor gently took you by the shoulders to hold you up. Yes, there was fury in him enough to scorch planets, but this was you.

Your eyes foggy, you tensed in his arms and shakily tried to break free, but he soothed you with a soft voice. "Hey, hey, it's me, it's the Doctor." You immediately stopped fighting.

"Doct'r," you slurred and fell into his chest, eyes half closed.

"What the hell, man?" the creep demanded.

The Doctor pressed you against his side and turned so he was holding you up the furthest you could be from the man who had tried to- No. He couldn't even think about it.

"Hey! Dont cockblo-" the turd came at the two of you but the Doctor grabbed his lapel and pulled him close. The creep's eyes went wide as he tried to break free.

It was easy, so incredibly easy to hold him in place. The Time Lord rarely used his full strength, always relayed on his mind, because he'd seen what war meant. But now the restraints were snapping like paper strings and the beast in him rattled its chains.

"You get one warning, just one. So listen closely," he growled in the turd's face. "Run. Run far and run fast, because if l see you, if l so much as smell you in the wind, l will find you, and l will teach you the meaning of hell." He suddenly released the creep who stubled from the force of it and scurried away, into the crowd.

The Doctor looked down at you and all rage evaporated. Your head was resting on his shoulder and you were leaning into him to stay upright. Your eyes were closed. He gripped you a little tighter and cooed, "Hey there. Let's get you home, aright?"

You hummed, only half-coherent at best, and nuzzled into him. Butterflies immediately filled his stomack, but this was not the time for that. He tried to take a step, but it soon became apparent that you couldn't walk.

The Doctor carefully lifted you into his arms and headed for the TARDIS.

When you two finally reached your room, he gently sat you on the bed where you wobbled a little but stayed upright. He kneeled down and unlaced your shoes. When they were off, he thought you would want him to leave, but then he felt your warm hand clumsily catch his.

"Stay," you mumbled and he looked up into your hazy eyes.

He felt his hearts beat faster at the soft look you gave him. He wanted to find that man and rip him apart, he wanted to give you the universe, wanted to wrap himself around you and never leave.

He could never refuse you.

"Alright," he whispered. He slowly stood up and pulled back the covers so you could get into the bed, then he took off his jacket and his shoes.

When he clambered in, he planned on staying away from you, but you found him and pressed yourself against him. You lay your head on his chest as your hands hugged his sides. When you nuzzled your cheek into his shirt and sighed in content, he felt something soft and warm spread through him. Of course he'd known you trusted him, but this- You were helpless, utterly helpless, and you trusted him to hold you. A thousand stars glowed in his chest as he put his arms around you.

A voice in his head told him he maybe shouldn't be enjoying this, considering the cause that had led you two here, but it was small and distant and not impossible to ignore. You were safe.

He nuzzled his cheek into your hair and fell asleep with you in his arms.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #doctorwho #doctorwho x reader #the doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor #10th doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who fanfiction #doctorwho fanfiction #jack harkness #jack #jack x reader #reader insert

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foxleycrow · 3 years

Photo

Thranduil & Túrin playing together in Doriath, for @tolkiengenweek —when I realized they could have been kids in Doriath at the same time, I had to draw them together.

This one also comes with a short accompanying fic about their meeting:

To Wear an Elven Crown

Thranduil had longed to meet the Adan since he had heard the first tales of his arrival in Doriath. His wish had displaced most other longings in his heart. If he could speak to an Adan, he could practice his Mannish and ask him about so many things, like the life of his people and the world outside the Fence. Beleg Cúthalion had found the Adan lost in the woods, and then King Thingol had adopted him! Thranduil had never heard of anyone adopting an Adan, let alone the king himself. If he were now Thingol's son, did that mean he was an Elf, as well as a Man?

Thranduil had asked his father several times whether he could visit the Adan, but each time he was told the newcomer was too unwell. He had been sick and weak when he was discovered, and he was not yet strong enough to entertain company. This news sank him into a deep state of worry. The Edain could contract illnesses, and were mortal. What if this one became very sick, or even died! Of course, the healers of Doriath were the greatest in Middle-earth, but the Adan had come from dangerous lands far from the protection of Doriath, where anything might have befallen him. Thranduil had heard stories of strange fevers and chills that Edain could suffer from; what if the Elven healers did not know how to treat them?

"If he were to speak with someone his own age, Ada, he might feel better." The Adan was young, like himself. Not precisely the same age, since Edain aged so differently, but near enough in essence. He wondered what kind of games the Edain played. Maybe they had invented some no Elves had dreamed of…

"Do you believe so?" asked Oropher, raising an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. I did not know you had become such an expert on the matter."

"I would feel better, if it were me." In defiance of his father's eyebrow, he added, "I asked Beleg to tell me everything he knows about the Edain."

"Oh, so you are an expert. My mistake." Oropher's hand settled on his head. Thranduil felt the warmth of his father's skin on his brow and blinked. "He has been through much, little Tuil," said Oropher. "We will not tax him any more than we need to."

After offering a gentle pat, Oropher withdrew his hand. Thranduil lay back, resting his head among the grasses. Thranduil did not expect his father to understand, for Oropher was very old. There were no children in King Thingol's house, and if they would not allow Thranduil to visit and talk to the Adan, then they would not have let any other children in to speak to him; that was obvious.

"I am an expert," Thranduil murmured, closing his eyes. Beleg had told him that the Edain could grow lonely and sad, like Elves, and that they too loved to dance and sing and tell tales. The Adan was named Túrin, and his father had been an Elf-friend. That meant he was an Elf-friend, too. If he was a friend, then he should be treated as one and given a warm welcome by everyone in Menegroth. Surely that would make him feel better than being kept away from others.

"Are you falling asleep?" Oropher asked. "I'll take you back home."

He shook his head stubbornly, the blades of grass making themselves felt on his cheeks and chin. Narrow, but not quite sharp. They did not hurt, but he sensed each one keenly. "No, I want to nap out here in the sun." They were well behind the Fence and close to Menegroth, so these woods were safe and guarded. He could play or explore or rest among the trees whenever he liked, because Queen Melian kept them all from harm.

He heard Oropher's soft laughter and felt his father's hand settle on his head again briefly. Then he was only aware of the warm sun heating his skin and the faintly prickly touch of the grass carpeting the clearing. Soon, he was not aware of the clearing either, lost in a dream, wandering far from the waking world. He dreamed he was journeying through a dark, withered wood, bristling with dead branches. The sky was veiled with dense, gray clouds. There was an unnatural air to them, as if storm clouds had been thickened with smoke.

There was a cold wind at his back, and he was all alone. The dead trees were so tall, they made him feel smaller. He heard something moving behind him, breaking branches and rustling through shriveled leaves. An animal? Or something worse? He did not know, and he did not want to turn to look, so he ran. He ran until he felt he had been always running, yet no matter how quick his steps, the noises behind him persisted, never any closer, but never farther away.

Thranduil woke with a gasp. He sat up and scanned the clearing. It was as green and tranquil as it had been when he fell asleep. He heard the low buzz of insect song and the faint voices of the trees. Father was gone. He saw no sign of anyone nearby, although that was not unusual. The sun's light was starting to fade from the sky. It was that between-time when patches of sunlight were still scattered across the forest floor, while the first stars appeared in the purpling twilight above. Thranduil rose to his feet. He was a little hungry, but he was well-rested, and he wasn't ready to return home. He would rather play, until Father came to fetch him. He left the clearing, slipping into the undergrowth as soundlessly as possible.

One of his favorite games was Marchwarden. It was more fun to play with someone else, but it was a game he could also play alone, simply by moving as quickly and quietly as possible, so that no enemies could see or hear him—exactly like a Marchwarden. He was tracking. Not hunting, but searching for any sign of danger, to keep Doriath safe. He studied whatever tracks he came across, or other signs of passage, such as broken twigs or bent grasses, trying to judge who or what had come the same way, and how long ago. He could wander like this for hours, happily, alone.

He was not entirely happy. He was more uneasy as he searched for signs in the grass, because of his dream. Within the dead wood, he had felt like he would never be allowed to rest, racing with an enemy eternally at his back. Dreams always meant something, but not always what you thought they meant. It took a wise Elf to read dreams. He could have asked his father about it, and maybe he would later. Now, he stalked through the dense growth, crouching low so his pale hair couldn't be seen.

When he heard low and distant voices, Thranduil was still lost in his game, so he crouched lower, listening intently as he crept closer. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat, hiding as he'd been taught.

"—where he could have gone—?"

"We will find him, and soon. There's only so far...."

"I hadn't thought he was strong enough. I would never have guessed he'd be so quick."

"You shouldn't underestimate—"

The speakers moved away, out of the range of his hearing. Those were two of Thingol's guards. Could they have been talking about the Adan? It was possible, and not only because Thranduil thought of the Adan so often. Who else would they have thought wasn't strong enough? If the Adan was lost, he might grow sicker. Imagine how upset King Thingol would be. If Thranduil was a Marchwarden, then he had a duty to do whatever he could to protect everyone in Doriath: including any Edain. He moved on again, more quickly and with greater purpose.

He studied the forest, down to the least leaf, and he listened to the birds singing, the faint breeze moving through the branches. He listened for telltale noises, or telltale silences. He wondered whether the Adan had had a nightmare, like he had. Maybe that was why he had run off. It must have been hard for him to leave his home behind, especially because of the war: that distant, dark shadow hanging over everything, even the forests of Doriath.

Where would an Adan go? Possibly into the undergrowth, where he was. A place where someone small would hide. Thranduil knew of many secret spaces ideal for concealing himself, but few of them were nearby, close to where the guards were hunting. A slight Adan would leave faint footprints. Like Thranduil, he would have been trained in how to hide, if he were in danger. Thranduil was sure that the great trackers of Doriath could find anyone, but maybe Túrin would be difficult to find, more difficult than they expected.

Thranduil headed toward the Dome—it was a vast, curving structure of twisted woody shrubs, crowned with flowering vines. It was bright enough to draw the eye of a stranger to these woods, and dense enough to provide ample cover and shelter. Thranduil often crawled in there to play, because it was like a fortress. He could pretend he ruled there, lord of the branches and leaves and blossoms.

Thranduil found a faint indentation that might have been left by someone running this way. Shortly after that, he spied a tiny tuft of thread, caught on a hooked thorn. It was bright blue in color, so it stood out more than it might have otherwise. Could he have been correct in thinking the Adan might have been come this way? He had been guessing, but maybe he really was a Marchwarden. He would have to tell Beleg, if he succeeded in his hunt.

Emboldened by the thought that he might be better at tracking than Thingol's own guard, Thranduil sank to his knees and crawled into one of the narrow passageways that led into the Dome. With twisting branches on either side of him, and a ceiling of ivy above, no one outside would be able to see him, once he had travelled the length of a few paces. There were no wider ways in, the growth here was so dense. Anyone who was much larger than Thranduil would have had to cut their way through. Among the branches, Thranduil caught sight of another slight scrap of blue thread. The branches here loved to tug on clothing.

Encouraged, Thranduil moved faster, until he arrived at a fall of dense vines, pushed through them, and found himself confronted by a pair of dark, shining eyes, staring at him. The Adan gave a start, but did not run. It was hard to travel quickly within the Dome, especially if one didn't know it as well as Thranduil did. Thranduil had half-suspected he was imagining his grand success in tracking, so he sat, blinked and stared back at his quarry, startled and bewildered and pleased.

The Adan was seated with his knees drawn up toward his chest. He was very thin, the thinnest child Thranduil had ever seen. His narrow face made his eyes look bigger. Here, he was walled off from the world—or most of it. He looked a great deal like an Elf, although Thranduil could tell he was different as well. It was hard to say exactly why; he simply felt different, like the night air felt different from the air of day, or the atmosphere before a storm as opposed to in the dry season: different in so many various slight ways, some of which were easier to describe than others.

Although Thranduil had longed for their meeting with joy, he felt unexpectedly solemn, now that it was taking place. "Hello," he ventured, in Sindarin. "I'm Thranduil, Son of Oropher."

The Adan blinked, and for a moment, Thranduil wasn't sure if he would—or could—reply, but at last he answered softly, "I'm Túrin, Son of Húrin."

"Why are you out here?" Thranduil asked. He didn't wish to sound accusatory, so he added, "Did you want to play?"

Túrin looked away, into the shadows between the leaves. "I wanted to be by myself."

Thranduil nodded, as this was perfectly understandable. "I like to be by myself, too."

Túrin's gaze shifted back to Thranduil. He seemed relieved to hear this, exhaling.

"Can I stay, though?" Thranduil asked. "Now that I'm here."

"You can stay," Túrin said.

Thranduil knew that Thingol and all his guards and attendants and everyone must be nervous, but he didn't think a little while longer would do any harm, especially not when Túrin must have run here for a reason. Being surrounded by everyone at court could be overwhelming. Thranduil had never been far away from home and everyone he knew before, but it must be hard. It would be better not to rush him. He would let Túrin rest for a little while, and then he would take him to Thingol—just as Beleg had, before.

"I can show you something," he offered.

After another hesitation, Túrin nodded.

"Follow me," said Thranduil. He crawled ahead, between the branches, into the gloom. The last of the day's slight, slipping in through the leaves and vines above, made soft, pale shifting shapes on their hands and on the ground beneath. After a long way, the structure of the dome opened up onto a green glade, surrounded by dense undergrowth on all sides. No one would walk here casually, and if he and Túrin didn't stand up, no one would be able to see them from outside the enclosure. The glade was also hidden, but there was more room to stretch out, and even lie down. It was a fine place for a nap, with soft earth and open sky above. Clusters of flowers grew in profusion, along with tufts of dense grass. Thranduil and Túrin admired their new hiding place in silence, while birds sang in the trees overhead. It was not yet true night, only early twilight. The birds would keep singing a little longer.

"I come here sometimes when I want to be alone," Thranduil said. In the past days and weeks, he had formulated an ever-growing list of questions he would like to ask the Adan, but he did not ask a single one of them now.

Túrin nodded again, lowering his gaze. He reached down and ran his fingers through the grass. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he did not smile.

"Everyone's looking for you," said Thranduil. "They must be worried."

"I didn't mean to make anyone worry. They shouldn't worry. I don't know why I—" He broke off, closing his eyes.

"It's all right. No one will be angry with you," Thranduil reassured him quickly, moved by Túrin's pained expression. "I'm not angry. I've been waiting to meet you. I've never met an Adan before."

Túrin's eyes reopened, slowly. "Never?"

Thranduil inclined his head in confirmation. "Never."

"I hadn't really met Elves before," said Túrin.

"But now you have. You've met Beleg, and King Thingol, and me. Everyone's happy you're here, that's why they're worried. But we don't have to go back right away. We can wait until you feel better." He cast about the glade, looking for something else he could show the Adan, to cheer him. Along with the two of them, the glade was bursting with life, all the usual green and growing things, rising from the earth and insisting on themselves… "Here—I'll make you something."

"Make me what—?"

"Look." Thranduil's gaze went to a stand of nearby pale purple flowers. These particular blossoms were edible and often harvested. It would do no harm to take a few, especially at this time of year. Quickly, he plucked a few of them, leaving a length of green stem on each. Once he had gathered enough, he wove them together. Flowers and grasses were easy to weave, especially into a circle. When they were joined, he tapped them with his fingers. He could feel the energy moving through the blooms and stems. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on that living force, pressing the separate strands of it into one: forging it into a single, singing ring and willing the flowers—live, preserve. They were no longer separate blooms; they had become a single entity. Their petals, which had been in the first stage of wilting, straightened with pride, made fresh and new. It was such a simple thing to do, yet Túrin was wide-eyed and rapt, staring at his hands as if he had performed a wonder. "A crown for you, Prince Túrin." Thranduil reached out and settled the circlet of blooms on Túrin's head.

Finally, Túrin smiled at him. Thranduil smiled back.

They did not stay long, alone in that green glade together, hidden by a conspiracy of leaves and vines and branches. They were never meant to stay long. The world outside was waiting for them to emerge. While the sun receded and the stars began to show themselves—one by one at first, then all at once, like a rain of jewels scattering across the sky—they played and laughed for a few moments.

As Thranduil predicted, when they returned to Menegroth, Túrin did not receive a single scolding. Thingol wrapped him in a fierce embrace. Beleg was as impressed by Thranduil's skills as Thranduil had hoped. He praised Thranduil for his skill in tracking, and said he could visit Túrin whenever he wanted. Eventually, he was able to ask Túrin every question on his extensive list.

Many long years later, tragedy faded into myth for so many, but not for those who were there. Thranduil rarely listened to the sad songs that touched on the subject of Túrin Turambar, but when a certain mood was on him, he would ask the harpers to play one of the few he approved of. Thranduil had grown very old. Seated on his throne, wearing his own heavy crown, he would lean back and remember the smile of a young boy with his dark hair full of flowers.

#thranduil #turin turambar #thranduil art #thranduil fic #tolkiengenweek #silmarillion #silmarillion art #silmarillion fic #tolkien #tolkien art #tolkien fic #oropher #silm fic #silm art #silm

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xreaderxo · 4 years

Text

My Moon

Zuko x reader

Soulmate AU

genre: angst but with a good ending

warning: death, sickness

summary: Every Fire Nation citizen gets a tattoo on their wrist when they turn sixteen. This tattoo shows the first words your soulmate will say to you. Some people find this person immediately, and spend the rest of their lives together. Some people never get the chance.

"Why do you keep that ribbon on your wrist?"

Zuko clenched his fists by his sides, exhaling a breath of fire in frustration. Sozin's Comet was in three days, and this was the fourth time Aang has stopped training to ask a question that had nothing to do with firebending.

"Aang," Zuko said impatiently, "Stop avoiding training."

"But I want to know!" Aang clasped his hands together. "That's where your soulmate's first words are, right? Why are they covered?"

Zuko groaned. "Because I don't have time for a soulmate. I was too focused on finding you, and now I need to focus on defeating my father."

"So you've never looked at it!?" Aang's eyes widened before he lunged forward. "Let me see! Let me see!"

"Wha- Aang!" Zuko yelled, trying to pry the airbender off of him as he stretched his right arm out of his reach. "Get off!"

"I want to know what your words are!"

"Why are you interested in my love life!?"

"Because I would kill to have what you have and you don't appreciate it!"

"Don't appreciate what?" Sokka asked, popping a grape into his mouth as he walked up to the hill where the two were sparring.

"Sokka!" Aang shouted. "Take Zuko's ribbon off!"

"Ooh, I love annoying Zuko!" Sokka said gleefully, grabbing Zuko's wrist and ripping the black fabric off. "Uh, why am I annoying Zuko?"

"Because Zuko's never looked at his soulmate tattoo!" Aang snatched a frozen Zuko's wrist and read it. "I want the last thing I see to be the moon," he read.

"Poetic." Sokka nodded approvingly. "I like them already, they like staring at my first girlfriend!"

Zuko blinked. "Wait, hold on- your first girlfriend actually turned into the moon? Like literally?"

That was a year ago. Zuko was Fire Lord now. Currently, he was headed to a secluded cliff he had found the day before to meditate. There was a sickness going around, and although it wasn't contagious, Iroh hadn't wanted him to be in a populated area. So, he was going to be alone away from other people.

Or so he thought.

He halted as he entered the clearing to the cliff. There was a person- you -lying down in the grass, staring at the moon. Remembering his tattoo, a spark of hope lit in his chest. He was Fire Lord. The war was over. It would be safe to fall in love. Maybe this was his soul mate.

His hope quickly turned to dread as he got closer. They had the sickness. Judging from their skin and frailty, they probably didn't even have an hour left.

Still, even if they aren't his soulmate, Zuko wasn't about to let anybody die alone.

"Uh, it's pretty cold out," he said as he got closer, and visibly winced. It wasn't cold. It was the middle of summer in the Fire Nation.

You shrugged, not having the strength to sit up to see who your soulmate was.. "I want the last thing I see to be the moon."

Zuko's breath hitched. "No," he whispered.

You chuckled bitterly. "We finally meet, and I'll be dead by morning. Sounds about right." you paused. "You can go, if you want. I don't want you to have to see this."

"I'm not letting my soulmate die alone," Zuko said determinedly, his legs shaking, and laid down beside you. You looked at him, and raised your eyebrows in shock as you recognized him.

"Well, look at that! If I hadn't gotten this cough, I would've been the queen!" you joked. "Nice to meet you, Fire Lord. I'm Y/N."

Y/N. It was the most beautiful word Zuko had ever heard.

"Just call me Zuko," he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You two laid there for a few minutes, drinking in each other's appearances. You knew he was handsome, as you'd seen his face plastered all over the Fire Nation for years. First listed as a traitor and most recently, Fire Lord. He was even more handsome up close. His amber eyes had flecks of fire orange in them. And his scar? You thought that it was the most handsome part of all. It showed he'd been through something terrible, and overcame it.

Zuko couldn't believe someone so beautiful could exist. You were gorgeous. Stunning. Even in your frail state, your complexion blemished from the sickness, your cheekbones jutting out sharply, Zuko had never seen anything so divine.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his eyes locked with yours.

"Yes, Zuko?"

He gulped, bringing his other hand to cup your cheek and resting his forehead on yours. "Tell me everything about you."

And so you did.

You told him your childhood. You told him about the first time you broke a bone. You told him how you felt when your father died. You told him that your favorite food is Roast Duck. You told him that you always planned on naming your daughter Izumi. You told him how you donated everything you owned to the Ursa Medical Center that Zuko had recently set up. You told him how excited you were whenever you heard that the Avatar had returned, because finally there would be peace.

"I was so happy that it was you who became Fire Lord and not somebody else." You had your head on his chest at this point, his legs tangled with yours.

"Why?" Zuko's fingers were running through your sweat-soaked hair, the wetness not registering.

"Because," you hummed, "You betrayed the Fire Nation to help the Avatar. You were willing to leave everything you'd ever known to bring peace." you paused, tilting your chin so you could look at him. "Plus, you're pretty cute, too."

Zuko blushed as the corners of his mouth turned upwards. "You think I'm cute? Have you seen yourself?"

You chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I'm a real dime piece right now." Zuko's hand stilled. He leaned up on one elbow so he could look down on you.

"Y/N," he said seriously, "You are incandescently beautiful. You are oh so pulchritudinous. You are the most stunning of all of God's creations."

You smiled at him. If your body could produce enough water for it, tears would be running down your face. "Thank you," you whispered. As Zuko laid back down, you spoke again. "Now, tell me everything about you."

So he did. He told you about his mother. He told you about being banished. He told you how it was trying to capture the Avatar. He told you about his time in Ba Sing Se. He told you about his uncle. He told you about being friends with the Avatar, and joining their group. He told you what it was like to face Azula. He told you about how Aang and Sokka had ripped off the ribbon, which you both shared a laugh at.

He sighed. "I wish we had more time," he choked out. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know I just met you, but I can't imagine living without you."

"Well, that's the thing about soulmates," you replied, running your hand through his hair and bringing his head down to yours until your lips were centimetres apart. "We'll never truly be apart."

And then Zuko was kissing you. He was kissing your lips and your nose and your cheeks and your forehead and your eyebrows and back to your lips. He was kissing you as though he thought that if he kissed you enough, he could save you. He was kissing you as if it would be the last kiss you would ever share, which was likely.

You were the one to break the kiss, as you were losing breath. You could feel it coming, and Zuko could, too. "I- I don't know what to do," he whimpered, holding you closer. "We've only known each other for an hour. We should be able to have a life together, to grow old together. It isn't fair!"

"Shh, Zuko," you hummed into the hollow of his neck. "We'll see each other again, my love. And whenever you miss me, just look at the moon. This," you pulled back and gestured to the moon above, "Is our moon. Forever." You laid your head back on his chest, and your voice was barely above a whisper when you next spoke. "Can you sing me to sleep?"

Zuko's heart was breaking, but he couldn't say no. "Of course," he hiccuped, choking back a sob, before he began singing a song his mother used to sing him.

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray, Forget your woes and let your troubles lay And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.

Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you.”

As he finished the song, his heart stopped. You weren't breathing. Agony, the worst pain he’d ever felt, ripped through his chest. An inhuman scream erupted from his throat as he pulled your body into him, his tears falling. He'd just met you, and yet you had become his world. And you were gone.

He stayed there the entire night until Iroh found him the next morning, still clutching your ice-cold corpse. Iroh's heart snapped, immediately knowing what must have happened. It took hours to pry Zuko away from you. He spent the next week crying into Iroh's shoulder. "I don't think she heard me tell her I love her, Uncle," he sputtered before another sob wracked his shoulders.

"She knew," Iroh assured him. "I promise. She knew."

He arranged a funeral for you that was fit for a Fire Queen, and had you buried on the cliff where you had met.

Fire Lord Zuko's reign lasted sixty-seven years. After much pressure from his advisors about an heir, he did end up taking a wife. Her name was Mikoto, from a noble Fire Nation family. Her soulmate had died as well, so it was a perfect fit. They both knew they could never love another, but they were best friends.

They had a daughter, who Zuko named Izumi. He was still alive whenever she took over as Fire Lord, and he'd never been more proud of anything or anyone.

And yet, he still missed you. He thought about you every day, and every night he would sit and stare at the moon. Sometimes he would cry, thinking about what could have been. Other times he would be happy, telling you about Izumi's accomplishments. He would always sleep with the window open, so that the last thing he saw before he went to sleep was your moon.

He died at the age of one hundred in his sleep, his face still turned towards the moon.

Zuko's eyes opened to find himself in the Spirit World face to face with Iroh himself.

"Uncle!" he cried, wrapping him into a hug.

"Hello, Zuko!" Iroh said with a smile. "It's nice to see you again!"

"Hey Sifu Hotman, you better give me a hug, too!" Zuko whirled around to see Aang, and his smile widened as he jumped into the Avatar's arms. Stepping back, Zuko noticed that Aang was a lot older than he was.

"Why am I seventeen again?" he asked.

"For the same reason that I am twenty-five," Iroh explained, "The age I was when my son was born. Here, you remain the age you were when you were at your happiest."

"I was happiest when I was twenty-one, when Katara and I got married," Aang explained. "You're seventeen because that's how old you were when you met them."

Zuko froze as he heard footsteps behind him, before whirling around.

"Hello, My Love," you said. You were healthy and in a beautiful red gown. Zuko's breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears. He ran forward to envelop you in a hug.

"I've missed you, too," you chuckled as he peppered your face with kisses. The two of you stared at one another, soaking in each other's appearances yet again. He rested his forehead against yours.

"We can finally spend forever together," he said in what was meant to be a whisper, but he was so elated that it came out as a yell.

"I can't wait," you replied in the same tone.

"I love you." The words Zuko had been wanting to tell you finally left his lips.

"I know," you answered, cupping his cheeks with your hands. "I love you, too."

As the two of you shared another kiss, the full moon above seemed to shine a little brighter.

#zuko x reader #zuko #prince zuko #zuko imagine #soulmate au #fire lord zuko #atla #a:tla #atla imagine #sokka #iroh #aang #soulmate zuko

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another-emotional-wreck · 3 years

Text

Title: Movie Night

Pairings: None except for a hint of Monica x Peter cause they're cute imo I'm sorry

Summary: Movie night with the Hex trio and Peter... until it's not. Also, metallokinetic Peter.

Warnings: No warnings as far as I know, but there's angst and a decent amount of fluff

Word Count: 2.2k words

Author's Note: This is my first fic for anything Marvel/Xmen related. Kinda nervous but mostly excited. Feedback is really appreciated as there's a pretty good chance a lot some of the character's actions could be pretty ooc.

*******************************************************************

“Wait… what?” Peter asked for what had to have been the millionth time. For a guy who could run fast, it was seriously taking him way too long to get this.

Darcy sighed again. “Alright, so you have to press this button--”

“The little sideways bow thing?”

“Uh, sure, why not. So you press it and then you’re gonna see a lot of different names. The one you’re gonna pick is called ‘Peter’s earbuds’.”

“Okay. Wait how does it know my-- oh wait, it beeped! The lady said it’s… paired? Now what?”

“Now you can pick a song to listen to.” Darcy pressed an icon of a square with a black background and a green circle in the middle. “Anything in particular?”

Peter was silent for a moment. "What do people listen to these days?"

Darcy took the phone from Peter before typing the name of a band into the search bar. His face lit up as Darcy handed it back to him, the screen filled with different songs to choose from. After a moment of scrolling, the opening chords of Dumb by Nirvana filled his ears, and for just a little while, his mind was calm. It was quiet.

“It’s nice to know at least music hasn’t changed since the 80s."

“I wouldn't say that exactly," Darcy mumbled.

Before he could question her statement, Monica spoke up.

"The 80s." She and Jimmy walked through the front door, both carrying grocery bags in their hands. "Is that where you're from?"

Monica placed the groceries on the counter before sitting down on the couch across from Peter.

He squinted at something in the distance. “I think so. I uh…” fuzzy images filled his mind. Laughing at jokes next to a boy with the strangest glasses. Playing in the snow with a woman with red hair. Sharing popcorn in a cold room with a girl with a mohawk and a blue devil.

A serious conversation with a man who meant a lot to him.

Peter winced at the sudden sharp pain behind his eyes. “It’s kinda… kinda hard to sort through.”

“That’s cool,” Darcy shrugged. “I felt the same way during English class back when I was in high school.”

Kurt Cobain’s voice rang in his ears. My heart is broke, but I have some glue. Help me inhale, and mend it with you. Peter nodded his head as he hummed along clumsily, not quite getting the tune right.

Once the pain faded from behind his eyes, Darcy noticed the way Peter’s face seemed to brighten at the sight of a certain someone.

“Guess what!” In less than a second, Peter had moved from his spot next to Darcy onto the couch beside Monica. “Darcy showed me how to get these little pods to play music--”

“They’re called earbuds--”

“And I can listen to whatever I want. How do you feel about this band called Nirvana?” Peter offered an earbud to Monica.

She laughed. “Right now, Jimmy has his heart set on this Lord of the Rings marathon.”

Jimmy shook his head as he took two bags from Monica and placed them all on the counter. “I stand by my claim that Lord of the Rings was and will forever be the best trilogy to ever exist.”

“Sure, Jimmy.” Darcy crossed the room to inspect the groceries. “Popcorn, sherbet, and Sprite? You got orange sherbet?”

Jimmy raised his palms in surrender and pointed at Monica. “Take that up with her.”

“Orange sherbet is the best flavor and, no, I will not be taking any questions.”

Darcy scrunched her nose. “And you’re sure powers were all you got from going through the Hex so many times?”

“You mean aside from having superior taste?” Monica joked. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

*********

“Frodo didn’t deserve Sam,” Monica stated as the movie played on screen.

Shoving another handful of popcorn in his mouth, Jimmy responded. “He was under a lot of pressure! The corruption from the ring only got worse the closer they got to Mordor, so you can’t really blame Frodo for everything.”

Monica wrinkled her nose at the kernels that flew out of his mouth as Jimmy spoke. “Whatever you say. Plus it doesn’t matter cause Darcy’s on my side anyways.”

“You say that as if she didn’t fall asleep the second the movie started,” Jimmy snorted as he gestured to Darcy, who was snoring rather loudly on his shoulder.

Peter chuckled at the banter between the two and at Monica’s annoyed expression, catching her attention.

With Darcy practically on top of Jimmy yet somehow also managing to take up half of the couch, Peter and Monica were seated rather close together.

“Unless you’re laughing at Jimmy, that noise shouldn’t be coming out of your mouth,” she joked, having to turn her head to look Peter in the eye.

“It’s really not my fault that you always seem to be wrong.”

“That’s a lie, actually, but alright.”

“See?” He snorted. “Wrong again.”

Monica glared at Peter who just chuckled and adjusted his position.

After no more than twenty minutes of the movie playing on screen, the sound of Monica snoring told Peter that he and Jimmy were the last two awake.

“They never stay up for my movies,” Jimmy muttered.

Peter turned in his direction. “They never what?”

“We try and do this movie night a couple of times a month. So far, they’ve fallen asleep on every single movie I’ve chosen. I mean that’s obviously just because they don’t appreciate classic media--”

“Right,” Peter mumbled. “That’s why.”

Jimmy paused as he shoveled another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “But I don’t mind it. I mean, everyone’s been back for a little while now, but there’s still this… this underlying fear that it’ll happen again. This nagging feeling that people are gonna be taken away from us, but this time they won’t come back.”

He looked at Darcy, still completely unconscious on Jimmy’s shoulder, and Monica, who was curled up under Peter. “They feel like family” Jimmy admitted. “We haven’t even known each other for that long, but I’d do anything for these two, and I’m comfortable saying they’d do the same for me.”

“I’m happy for all of you, really.” Peter sighed, feeling the clasp on Monica’s necklace dig into his side. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. I have a few memories--”

Taking a look at the confused look on Jimmy’s face, Peter continued. “Well, you all know that I’m not from here. Wanda just pulled me out of my own time and brought me here. ”

“I mean we know it wasn’t intentional--”

“That’s not the point!” Peter did his best to rein in his anger. “The point is, some random lady took me away from my time. Away from my home, my friends, my family. And I’m not even saying that I blame her, but why did it have to be me?” When Jimmy didn’t respond, Peter continued. “I get these… flashbacks. Fuzzy memories of home. They used to be pretty rare but lately, I’ve been getting them more often. One of them keeps showing up.”

“You think you can try and remember?” Jimmy suggested.

After a moment of silence, Peter decided. “Yeah.” He adjusted Monica so that her head rested on the arm of the couch instead of his side, and something strange happened to his chest at the sight of her sleeping so peacefully.

Jimmy pulled out a notebook and pen. Peter cleared his throat as Jimmy nodded for him to begin, ready to jot down whatever he could.

“It was me, a little girl. An older woman, could’ve been my mother? And--” Peter furrowed his brow as a dull pain began to form behind his eyes and a white noise began ringing in his ears. “Someone… someone else. They, uh-- a man. I think.”

“If you can’t remember who, try to focus on where.”

“No no, I’ve got it. They uh. We--” It was beginning to hurt. “No. Wait. Younger people… friends, they had to be.”

The pain became more intense. The noise in his head was getting louder. It hurt. Different images flashed in his head, all fuzzy and difficult to clear up. His mind reached out to grasp one but just as his fingertips brushed the surface, it was gone.

A patient teacher bound to a wheelchair.

A charming blue devil.

A shapeshifter with a warm heart.

A man who could shake the earth itself.

“They keep moving,” Peter said through gritted teeth. “They… t-they won’t sit still.”

“Alright, man,” Jimmy closed the notebook. “If you need to take a break we can--”

“No! I wanna do this. I need to do this.” Peter’s voice cracked. “I don’t-- I can’t forget them.”

“Okay. Alright, that’s fine but you-- uhh…” Jimmy furrowed his brow at the sight of the pen in his hand beginning to twitch. He took one look at Peter and his eyes grew wide the moment he began to understand. “Peter. Hey, you’ve gotta take a breath. You gotta-- shit.”

Jimmy took in Peter’s current state. Pale and shaky with droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. His eyes wide and panicked. “Uhmm, shit, Monica! Darcy! I really think now would be an appropriate time for the two of you to wake up, given the circumstances.”

As he moved to shake the two women awake, Peter’s struggle grew more intense. The pain had now spread throughout his entire head and turned into a pounding sensation. The noise was deafening as it bounced around in his skull.

Monica woke quickly to see Peter pale and in distress. “Jimmy, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know! We were trying to clear up the memories in his head when he started shaking and--”

“I can see that, but what’s happening?”

“Uhh…. I think stuff is about to start floating…”

Darcy’s eyes fluttered open. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy continued, still trying to wake Darcy. “Cause, my pen was shaking and your necklace is moving a lot, and Darcy, I think your glasses are about to fly off of your face.”

Monica looked down to see her necklace float away from her chest, then watched in what seemed like slow motion as each object Jimmy mentioned flew towards the same source.

Peter.

Seconds later the tv in front of them crumpled in on itself. “That was expensive,” Darcy sighed, now fully awake.

Monica cocked her head, her gaze flickering from Peter to Jimmy to Darcy. “Is he--”

“Yep,” Darcy said loudly

The three sat in awe and terror as Peter sank to the floor in agony, screaming as he drew his knees to his chest. His hands pressed over his ears.

Darcy looked into her kitchen and her eyes grew wide. Locking eyes with Monica and then Jimmy, they all spoke at once. “The knives.”

Monica scrambled to Peter’s side while Darcy and Jimmy ran to get as many knives as they could out of the house.

Darcy turned towards Monica. “You, uh, sure you got this?”

At Monica’s shaky nod, she followed Jimmy into the kitchen.

“Okay,” Monica began. “Peter… I’m gonna, um. I, uh-- okay I actually have no idea what I’m gonna do, but I need you to just, try and, uh, I don’t know, breathe?”

“I can’t.” he panted. The breaths he took were uneven and rapid and his face was stark white. He wasn’t responding to her. “I can’t forget. I-- no, no no I don’t want to forget. They’re slipping. I can’t reach them. Help me.”

She knew he wasn’t going to be able to calm himself down. Monica called the other two in there.

Jimmy ran into the living room first. “We weren’t-- oh.”

Darcy quickly followed. “Holy shit.” she looked at Monica. “You know what to do?”

Monica nodded. “But I haven’t exactly done it before and there’s a good chance I’ll pass out after.”

“I mean, if it means he stops screaming bloody murder, I feel like it’ll be worth it.” Jimmy looked at Darcy with wide eyes, who just shrugged.

“Right,” Monica shook the nerves out of her hands. “Okay. Alright.”

“Y’know, there are still knives and other extremely sharp objects in the kitchen so--”

“I got that, Darcy!” Monica snapped. She took a deep breath before turning all of her attention to the man in front of her. “Okay, Peter? I’m sorry, but none of us have any idea what to do, and so, this was the next best option.”

She closed her eyes and placed both hands to his temple, struggling to keep them there as he twisted in pain. When her eyes opened again, a bright blue shone in place of their usual brown.

His energy came through in tendrils. The super-speed feeling like electricity itself, sharp and cold, while his metallokinesis was slow and warm and heavy. It was new and painful and in that moment Monica understood his pain.

While his powers had come to a pause, his memories were a different matter.

“I gotta keep going,” Monica slurred. Her eyelids were heavy.

“Yeah that’s what we’re not gonna do,” Darcy said.

“He’s still in pain!”

“And now so are you! We can find something to sedate him but, right now, you can’t--”

Monica responded by placing her hands on Peter’s temple once again, this time taking out smaller amounts of energy. Just enough to put him to sleep for a little while.

She then promptly collapsed.

“Energy absorption,” Jimmy stated. “Impressive.”

Darcy sighed. “Please just help me get them to bed.”

“Right. Okay.”

#wandavision #peter maximoff #monica rambeau #jimmy woo #darcy lewis #original work #wandavision fanfic

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anjuschiffer · 4 years

Text

The Fabric Roll Of Fate

So this has been sitting in my WIPs since October of last year... Finally had the time to finish it up! More like I couldn’t sleep so I finally worked on it

Hope you enjoy it!

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Tag: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life @toodaloo-kangaroo (welcome to the permanent taglist!)

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It was one of those random family outings, one of those moments that Damian was reluctantly dragged to

He just wanted to stay home and train for the upcoming fencing tournament in his school, one of the few things that Damian looked forward to in the school year

Yet here he was, being held captive and listening to Garyson talk for the umpteenth time about his daughter’s latest adventure

Finding an opening, Damian slips off, walking through alleyways to escape his family, eventually arriving to the fashion district of Gotham

He decides to enter the first store he sees, seeing as his hands were starting to get cold

He hated Gotham’s chilly and cold seasons. Spring was his favorite season.

As he ventures inside the store, he starts to look at the fabric inside, now wondering why fashion designers were so picky with their fabrics

It was when he saw two identical rolls of fabric that he decided to investigate for his answer

As he runs his hands across two white fabrics (linen and velvet), he notices the slight differences, not noticing that he was starting to mumble his observations

It was then that his hand bumps into someone else’s Damian turning to see a girl his age.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you!” She quickly apologizes. “You were probably in your zone and-”

“I was simply looking at them. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

Damian watches as the girl relaxes and smiles at him.

“I see. Well, if you need any help, I’d be happy to help! Is there a certain reason you’re-”

“I was thinking of hiring someone to make me a suit for an upcoming event-” Damian attempted to lie (although he technically didn’t as his family was looking for one...not like he was going to tell them about the one he just found), taken aback when the girl looked at him with twinkling eyes. What was going on

“A suit? So I’m guessing a tux, but if you want something to make you standout- but I think you don’t want that, huh?” She begins to look him up and down, quickly mumbling some numbers to herself. “Black or any dark color would suit you, but having emerald accents-no! Gold accents would suit you better.” Damian remains silent as she circles him, not once placing a hand on him. “Shawl collars, traditional or modern could work. Definitely single breast, maybe tail-oh god no. No tails.” Damian watched as her eyes filled with happiness. “A cumberbund would definitely suit you. That’s where I can place the gold!”

Damian kept listening as the girl kept listing ideas to herself, watching with awe as she kept the ideas coming, eventually snapping out of his trance when she presented him a card.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to make that suit. Of course! The decision is yours if you’d allow me to make it.” He watches as the girl points to a phone number and email address in rose gold. “Give me a call, text or email if you decide to accept my offer. See ya!”

Damian is left dumbfounded as he watches her go and pick some fabric rolls, purchase them and then leave.

“What just happened?”

Damian looks at the all black card in his hand. On one side was the phone number and email. On the other, the letters M D C were on the card, a single line going through the three letters. Simple, yet elegant.

Damian ends up accepting the offer, setting to meet the girl that Friday afternoon after his classes.

When his family attempts to tag along, he tells them no, setting on going alone.

“Welcome to my humble home.” She greets him after picking him up (she insisted despite Damian saying he had his own mode of transport) at the rendezvous and then to her flat. He was faced with one of Gotham’s most expensive penthouses, Damian wondering who exactly was this girl who can afford one of his father’s expensive hotels.

“Do you...live by yourself?”

“Yup! Although my uncle- oh! How can I forget?” The girl says, closing the door behind her. “Sorry for the late introduction! My name’s Marinette. The one behind the upcoming brand MDC. I’m currently here for a commission. Although, by the looks of it, I might end up staying here in Gotham.”

He’s heard of her, the decade’s youngest designer in the fashion world, or so he’s heard.

“Now, let’s start with getting your measurements, shall we?”

One visit became two, to then various

And they were mainly never about his suit that she was making him.

He didn’t know why he found him attracted to her place...to her

But simply felt at home with her

He quickly learns everything about her. Her old school life, her friends, her ex, her parents, hobbies, and old commissions.

At first he thought she graduated early from highschool because of her bully, but it turns out that it was because she already had all her requirements done and seeing that there was no other reason to stay, she left. Also, having more time is what she needed if she wanted to succeed in the fashion world. So when her uncle (who he learns is Jagged Stone) offered her a hand, she took it and came to Gotham.

But Damian didn’t just listen, he also talked about himself

About Titus, his family, his fencing tournament. His opinions on Selina. His mixed feelings about his mother.

His family kept trying to follow him, but they have yet to figure out where he would go every other afternoon and evening.

Months pass, the suit already done and ready to be worn, but it still wasn’t the day of the Gala yet. But even then, Damian still stopped by, often times letting Marinette use him as a mannequin and dress form

Sometimes they would continue to talk about their mundane lives or things from the past that still ate at them, anything for Damian to simply listen to her voice because while he didn’t fully accept it, he knew he had feelings for her.

A scene that happens:

“And the worst part was that Alya knew she was lying. Lila was definitely not there because Alya was there. She was the one who saw Ladybug capture the akuma not Lila. Lila wasn’t anywhere near Paris when it even happened!” Marinette huffed as she tippy toed to make sure she was measuring the correct portion of Damian’s back.

Damian felt her presence ever so close to him, causing him to panic. Yes, he only allowed her to invade his personal space, but this was too much for his heart.

The aroma of baked goods always radiated from her and being this close only made Damian want to become obsessed with the smell even more.

“So even with that in mind, this Alya decided to take the other girl’s stance?” Marinette let out a sigh, walking in front of Damian and throwing the tape measure around his neck, causing him to tense up.

“Yeah, and I guess that’s what really made me snap to reality when it came to Alya.” Mari frowned at that, tightening the tape closer to each other to get a collar measure.

Lord, did she have no idea how much restraint Damian had to put himself under for just wanting to kiss her right now, but he knew better than than.

He took her hands away from the tape, noticing her eyes lacking that shine they usually carry when she’s in the crafting zone. He looked at her hands, covered in calluses and a few sewing mishaps. Even when they were covered in painful memories, Marinette hands were still gentle. “What’s gentle?”

Damian’s breath hitched, realizing that he said that last part out loud.

“You are.” Damian said, bringing her hands to his lips to kiss. Damian couldn’t help but feel victorious at the sight of Marinette glowing pink. “You’re a gentle and kind person. She doesn’t deserve your kindness if she was willing to quickly push you aside like that.”

Marinette looked straight at Damian before throwing herself into his chest, almost causing him to tip back. “Thank you, Damian.”

A few days were left until the gala, and it just had to be that time when his stupid brothers found out about his meetings with Marinette (and him coning to terms that he absolutely loves her)

“A girl, huh?” Jason would tease while Dick tried to gathering more information about Damian’s “friend”

“She’s simply designing my suit for-”

“The gala. Sure Lil’ D.” Grayson would say before wanting to pry more information from him.

“Why don’t you invite her to the gala?” Bruce proposes, Damian no thinking about it

“Maybe I will.” He regrets saying

And Marinette ends up saying yes, now panicking about what to wear

“What about that dress?” Damian points to her almost completed black dress.

A high collared black dress with long sleeves was what Damian was referring to. With an open back and skirt that fell to the ground, it’s golden accents by the collar that ran across the chest...it would match his own all black suit with golden accents at the shoulders and cumberbund.

“That.. that could actually work.”

Time skip to the gala, where when the two arrive, they steal the spotlight because not only did Damian arrive with a date, but she was stunning. Despite being three inches taller than him, Marinette was perfect by his side

“So Damian, what’s her name and how’d you meet this girl?” Jason asked first, but to Dick’s annoyance.

“Her name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one behind both of our attires.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Bruce manages to say despite being surprised by Damian’s new development.

“So how-” Tim attempted to ask, but marinette cut him off.

“We met at a fabric store. A fabric roll brought us together.”

The night goes on, with it ending by Marinette asking Damian to be her boyfriend. (Damian then also reveals that he was also going to ask her to be his girlfriend)

“Of course.” He says, having to stretch to kiss her, glad to have gone into that fabric store that day.

Sure, it was weird, but Damian was glad to day that a single fabric roll decided their fate of meeting each other.

#maribat #daminette #anju writes

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itsamejin · 4 years

Text

goodbye || part 2 (finale) || yoongi angst/fluff

Part 1

Summary: Yoongi watched silently as you exited the car and out of his life, but he can’t help but feel a sense of panic at the thought of you leaving him for good.

Warning: cursing, fighting (verbal), pining

Genre: angst

Premise: Yoongi drives off without you after a heated argument and now you’re gone.

Commission Request: @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom

Word Count: 5,354 words

—

Yoongi paces back and forth as he calls the police to file a missing persons report. Yoongi was on the street he last saw you in and he had scoured through the neighborhood to figure out where you were- even knocking down on a few doors.

He didn’t want to escalate the situation and post about you going missing on social media- that would be too risky. It would hurt his career and possibly put your life in more danger with crazy fans and flashing cameras looming the streets to get a glimpse of you. Lord knows that’s the last thing either of you need at the moment.

“Yeah I was in my car and she left after we got into an argument,” he repeats for what felt like the eleventh time. The dispatch caller kept asking him the same questions. “She was wearing a red dress and I think black heels. Oh, and she had a pearl necklace!”

The dispatcher took note of his descriptions and assured him that patrolling police officers in the area would let him know where you were. After he hung up the phone, his shaky hands brushed his hair back out of exasperation.

It was already two o’clock in the morning by now and everything in his body screamed to be in bed, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to rest without finding you.

Yoongi had driven from the street he last saw you on and to your shared apartment, hoping that you’d somehow shown up between those short intervals of time. His palms were damp from the sweat and he sat on the hood of his car to gain composure. It just felt like the whole world was against him at that moment.

He couldn’t do much by himself, especially being an idol, and it felt like he had no control over the situation. Yoongi risked calling the cops, aware that they’d know of his identity eventually- that he was Suga from BTS.

Yoongi doesn’t know if he could handle the consequences that came with revealing he was in a relationship and what his company would do if the whole world found out that Yoongi let his girlfriend walk out on him in the middle of the night.

That wasn’t what concerned Yoongi the most, though. All he wanted to do was find you and take you home- maybe even give a proper apology. He never expected to file a missing persons report on the one person he thought would stay constant in his life. He felt his heart rate increase at the thought of you being hurt and that made him grip the hood of the car harder.

Red dress. Pearl necklace. Recently heartbroken.

A perfect description.

—

Walking barefoot on concrete, you held your black pumps in one hand and cringed at the crunching sounds underneath your toes. You were still walking. Towards what? You don’t really know.

You were sure, though, that you were closer to a downtown area when the city lights became more luminescent as you walked. The clouds in the sky were graying and a storm was ready to start. If you didn’t find shelter soon then you’d risk getting caught up in rain at a dangerous time of night.

Truthfully, you were frightened. Walking alone at night in an unfamiliar part of town would always incite some sort of paranoia, especially as a girl, but the idea of Yoongi finding you more than anything else is what frightened you the most. You knew he’d be angry with you for storming off and you weren’t ready to face him quite yet.

You winced as you felt a sharp pebble dig into your big toe and you could only walk it off to make the pain go away just a little. A hotel room seemed like the best option at that point, but you left your wallet back in the car. You sighed to yourself. This really was the worst way to make a dramatic exit from a relationship. Yoongi was probably having the time of his life back at the apartment and here you were, picking off tiny rocks from your feet.

Suddenly, you came to a halt.

Crescent Motel: You Pay After Your Stay!

A motel that would let you pay the next day. It was dingy and the beds were most likely infested with bedbugs, but it would have to do for the night. You’ll get yourself out of this rotten dress at the very least. Plus, you could just ask the front desk to call a friend in the morning.

You walk into the lobby, a cozy sort of room with a television on one side of the wall. You wondered if it even really worked.

“Can I get your name?” the receptionist asks. He was a grimy old man that smelled too much of alcohol and smoke. He kind of reminded you of Yoongi in that he never looked at you directly. His eyes were always somewhere else.

“Do you really need my name?” you ask condescendingly. The least the guy could do was make eye-contact. You’ve had a rough day as it is.

He still refuses to look up and slides the room key onto your side of the desk.

“Don’t tell me if you want to,” he grumbles. “I just need something to put down in the records.”

You scoff, taking the keys off the table, and hiking up your dress slightly to walk past him. You pause for a bit and turn back around.

“Put down Yoongi,” you say, a certain conviction in your voice. “And if a guy who looks like a celebrity comes, don’t tell him that I’m here. Got it?”

He gives you a slight glance before he goes back to filing paperwork and chewing his own spit or whatever was in that old mouth of his.

“Is that even your name?” he asks nonchalantly, quickly penning it onto his records before closing the folder. You shake your head.

“It’s my ex-boyfriend’s,” you say, slightly cringing at the sound of it. Ex.

“Thought so,” the man muttered and you can’t help but laugh. Like Yoongi indeed.

The room key had B28 etched very finely on it and so you ventured on to find the room you’d be staying in for the night. Despite your assumptions, it was actually quite a nice room- dated at most. There was a single bed with light bedding, enough to get you through the night. You shed yourself of the red dress and put on the robe provided by the motel.

Lightning struck outside and you could hear the first drops of rainfall. You sit on the bed with shaky hands, slightly startled at the sound. Almost suddenly, you feel a sense of sadness overcome you.

Yoongi was probably at home, sleeping without much thought, while you had to struggle through an hour of walking to find a place to stay. It made your blood boil, knowing that he was probably fine without you in his life.

If you were a little smarter in your decision-making than maybe Yoongi would have dropped you off somewhere closer to home or maybe you would have gotten enough time to gather your belongings from the apartment. Now you were just in an unfamiliar room, wearing an unfamiliar robe, staring at an unfamiliar wall.

—

Yoongi sits inside as the rain pours heavily on his car windows. The cops are searching through the streets and yet not a sign of you has appeared. Big Hit was informed and now the whole Gangnam Police Force was forced to keep everything under wraps to keep his situation as discreet as possible. This meant, though, that there would be no large-scale search parties and less of a chance to find you.

As the rain poured outside, Yoongi grows restless in his car. There was too much on his mind and yet not enough of his thoughts were fleshed out enough to even act on them. He needed to clear his thoughts.

Yoongi opens the door and walks out of the car, allowing the droplets of water to hit him. It served as a good distraction for the ache in his chest and pretty soon, his hair was practically soaked. He feels a tap on his shoulder.

It’s a police officer.

“Someone reported seeing a woman who matches Ms. [Y/N] at the downtown area,” he informs. “We have reason to believe that she might have taken shelter in a nearby building.”

Yoongi nods, still quite out of it. What would he even do if he actually sees you? What could he possibly say?

‘Hey, I admit I fucked up, can we go back to normal again?’ didn’t quite cut it and he knew you wanted more from him than just a simple apology. You wanted a change in the relationship, an indication that you were more than just a secret to him. He just doesn’t know where to start without completely ruining his future.

“We’ll search around that strip. For now, you should go back home,” the cop suggests. Yoongi shakes his head.

“I’ll do my own search,” he says lowly. Yoongi turns back to his car and sits in the driver’s seat, wincing at the feeling of his wet clothes on the leather seats. He takes a look at the handbag on the passenger seat and feels a lump form at his throat. You couldn’t have gone far... right?

He drove in the dead of night, water splashing across the windows of his car. It was hard to drive with such a big migraine, but the thought of you being out there stranded left him restless.

It’s not like he’ll be able to sleep without you by his side anyway.

—

You laid on the bed, listening to the droplets of water hit the roof of the motel. It was soothing in a way, to know that the world was crying just as much as you were. It felt useless to try and close your eyes and ignore the aching in your heart and so it only made sense to wallow in your own sadness.

You search for your phone, but remember that it’s not with you. You sigh to yourself, using your elbow to cover your eyes but to no avail. Just sleep and forget his existence. Sounds easier said than done, doesn’t it?

You adjust yourself on the bed and try to imagine Yoongi sleeping next to you. It’s a common practice of yours. Even when you were angry, even when you hated his guts, you could not sleep peacefully without Yoongi by your side.

He was a constant presence and when he’d be gone for tours and business trips, you were left fatigued and worn out because of your lack of sleep. It wasn’t healthy, for sure, but that’s what happens when you get into relationships. You grow dependent.

You imagine the Yoongi in front of you humming a lullaby. You imagine that he’s stroking your hair wistfully and whispering that everything will be okay. You imagine that this Yoongi would never dream of hurting you, never dream to even try.

For a second, it worked, but you were left with a deeper feeling of emptiness. That Yoongi didn’t seem to exist.

—

Yoongi finds a place, a little worn down but suitable enough to assume that you’d probably settle for it. Plus, it was the only nearby motel that would let you pay after staying- he had your handbag and phone with him after all. He walks in, soaked and worry etched all over his face. It was a strange sight indeed. A guy with dyed hair, soaked and carrying a woman’s handbag- not exactly the most ideal sight for a motel manager.

The man at the counter gives him a glare, not even bothering to hide his disdainful expression.

“Listen, kid, if you’re gonna rent a room-”

“I’m here to look for someone,” Yoongi cuts him off, a certain urgency in his voice that catches the elder man off-guard. ‘A guy who certainly looked like a celebrity,’ he thought to himself.

“Her name’s [Y/N],” Yoongi continues, “and she was wearing a red dress and had black heels on. She was probably distressed or seemed angry. Have you seen her?”

The old man just sighs, looking Yoongi dead straight in the eye.

“No,” he replies, too stern for the younger boy to truly believe.

Yoongi clenches his teeth. This run down, poor excuse of a motel was his only shot at finding you. Now, it felt like there were no other options but to wait. And he hated waiting.

Yoongi’s eyelids were growing heavy and he felt about ready to collapse from the coldness of his wet skin. This is not how he wanted to end the day off, with mild hypothermia and a broken heart.

“Then can I stay here,” Yoongi pleads, taking another step forward much to the old man’s dismay. “Just for tonight.”

He grunts in response.

“I’ll pay extra. It’s just...”

He trails off, not quite knowing how much he should reveal to a total stranger. There was still a possibility this guy would know he is, but judging from the lack of interest, Yoongi assumed it was safe to just confide in someone. Anyone.

“My girlfriend walked out on me and I need to stay in this area just in case the police find her around here,” he says in a single breath. “Then why this place?” the old man sighs. “There’s plenty of high-end hotels on this street you could stay at.”

He takes a look once more at Yoongi’s feet.

“And you’re ruining the carpet,” he grumbled.

Yoongi bites his lip, now in front of the secretarial desk. This man was pissing him off. Yoongi digs into the pocket of his jeans and takes out his wallet. He smacks a wad of cash onto it, staring at the man dead in the eye.

“Is this enough?” he asks through gritted teeth. The man scoffs and pushes the money away.

Your girlfriend isn’t here, kid. Now get lost before I call the cops on you.”

Yoongi pulls out more, his eyes now getting teary-eyed. The man stares at Yoongi’s shaking fingers. He was quite persistent, wasn't he?

“I just need a place to fucking stay,” Yoongi repeats with more of a timber in his voice. The old man stares at Yoongi directly, the first time he's met eyes with another person in a while.

“You’re the type to think money fixes everything- aren’t you?”

The man glares at him. Yoongi’s mouth opens slightly. You had said those words to him just earlier in the night. He pulls his hand back but leaves the money on the counter.

“N-no,” he says through bated breaths. “I’m not usually like this, I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi ruffles his hair and wipes a stray tear out of his eye.

“I’m just really desperate to find her,” he continues. “I’ve just been acting like a fucking dumbass for the past few hours.”

The old man sucked in a deep breath before exhaling loudly. ‘This was a pitiful sight indeed,’ he thought to himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Yoongi wanted to introduce himself as Suga by instinct, but he knew it probably would not have occurred to the old man who you were.

“Yoongi,” he says slowly. “Min Yoongi.”

The old man looks at his list and sure enough, the name you had given him was right there. Your ex. It wasn’t any of his business to help fix a broken couple, but it was in his best interest to get this weeping boy out of his lobby. He takes a pair of keys from under the table.

“I’m not letting you stay because all the rooms are booked,” he states throwing the keys to Yoongi who was caught off-guard. “I’ll let you take this one, but you better not bring the feds here. I’m not ready for this place to shut down again.”

Yoongi nods, slightly confused about why he would hold back giving him a room in the first place. He muttered a small thanks before bowing to the older male.

“Now get out of the lobby,” he scolded, glaring at the wet footprints Yoongi left behind.

He took a look at the keys to see the room number. B28.

—

You were ready to drift off into sleep but it seems the world has a way of wanting you to fear for your life.

You heard a jingling noise at your door, the doorknob turning as if a key was inserted. You held your breath, afraid for your life. You stood up quietly, grabbing the rather large lampshade next to your bed. ‘This motel was shady for a reason,’ you thought to yourself.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath. You got ready into a tackling stance, the lampshade in hand. You took enough self-defense classes to know what you’re doing. When it swung open, the door almost hit you on the face. That didn't deter you though and so you charged at the stranger with all your might.

“Woah,” Yoongi shouts as he just missed your swing, pivoting to the side as you stumbled past him. You recognized that voice in an instant and you locked eyes with Yoongi who was noticeably soaked and carrying your handbag. It was embarrassing, how badly you missed, and he would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the context of the situation.

You stood up straight and give him a glare. Somehow, it made you angrier seeing his face, but you couldn’t quite express that anger when Yoongi brought you into his arms almost immediately. The lampshade and bag fell onto the rug with a thud and you were engulfed by his body.

“[Y/N],” he sighed into your hair, the anxiety of losing you now gone from his mind. He pulls away, examining your body.

“What are you doing here?” Yoongi says, panic laced in his voice. “I was so fucking worried something happened. You left your stuff in the car and I brought them with me just in case and-”

You push him away, annoyed with the wet droplets that now stained your robe.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you yelled. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“The old man let me in,” Yoongi swallowed. “I guess he knew that I needed to see you.” You roll your eyes. You knew that old fart couldn’t be trusted.

“Well get out,” you say frankly. “I don’t want to see you.”

Yoongi shakes his head.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m taking you back home.”

You take a step back from him.

“Yoongi,” you say, scarily slow. “Give me my bag and leave. I’m not going to say it again.”

You try to reach for the bag that was on the floor next to him, but he pulled it away.

“I thought I fucking lost you, you know that?” his voice was shaking. “I thought you’d be gone and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Yoongi looked at you with pleading eyes and it almost made you want to comfort him. Almost.

“Well you did,” you reply sternly.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“I’m tired [Y/N],” he admits sadly, dropping the wet bag onto the bed. “I don’t know what else to do besides apologize.”

You grit your teeth.

“Leave.”

Yoongi shakes his head and you cringe as he sits down, the bed getting wet because of him. It would’ve made you even more pissed if it weren’t for the tears spilling from your eyes.

“I thought I fucking lost you,” he sighs into his hands. You could hear a shakiness in his voice that wasn’t there before. Yoongi was always quieter in how he expressed his feelings. He isn’t the type to just cry outright.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to apologize in the morning,” he tried to say, but you could tell he was a bit choked up, “that I fucked everything up and you’d still be missing or you’d wound up dead or something.” He grounds his face into his palms and it genuinely made you feel sorry for him. You did kind of leave without a trace.

“And its fucking raining,” he says a little more calmly, looking up at you with red eyes. “You hate when you get stuck in the rain.”

It broke your heart, the way he chuckled sadly at his own statement. For the first time ever, it felt like he was the broken one and not you.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, setting aside his wet bangs. You were calmer now. “Go home.”

He shakes his head and leans into your touch.

“I can’t sleep without you by my side,” he whispers and you swear you could hear your heart crack. You weren’t the only one to feel that way too...

You didn’t have the heart to forgive him, but you couldn’t let him go back out in the pouring rain.

“You can stay here,” you say. “I’ll find another room.”

He grabs your wrists and intertwines his hands into yours.

“Please,” he pleads. “Just stay with me. I’ll leave before you wake up.”

You wanted so desperately to say no, but it was clear now that Yoongi was just as hurt as you were. It was in the way he held your hands as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. His fingers were shaky and you could do nothing but comply.

You nod despite it all and detach yourself from him to close the door. You walk over to the closet and take out a spare robe. You hand it to him without a second glance, moving to the other side of the bed.

“Tell the police to stop searching,” you say as you lay underneath the sheets that weren’t dampened by Yoongi. “You found me.”

The words, strangely, were enough to comfort him. He called the head officer and with much difficulty, got everything to be cleared out. He’d have to suffer the consequences tomorrow, but for now, he just wanted to search for comfort in your presence.

Pretty soon he laid next to you in his new robe. You turn to face away from him, afraid of making eye-contact. You were always too forgiving when you looked him in the eyes. Yoongi didn’t make any movement to get closer, he just watched your slowing breaths and wondered to himself.

“You are good enough,” he says into the night. It came out of nowhere and it makes your heart stop momentarily.

“Earlier when you said you didn’t feel good enough to be with me,” he starts off with his voice incredibly low. “You are good enough.”

You take a deep breath to prevent yourself from being too emotional. You turn to face him, about to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I’m not going to apologize again, don’t worry,” he swallows. “I just wanted to let you know that you mean much more to me than I show.”

He closes his eyes for a second before continuing on.

“I’m bad at keeping relationships,” he says honestly, “but I want to stay with you... as long as you would let me.”

You laugh through the sadness of it all. You two were far too tired to have a screaming match with one another and it felt good to just talk rather than yell.

“Yoongi, why did you tell Hoseok you didn’t want to be with me?” you ask, no ill intent in your voice. “I want a genuine answer.”

You could feel him shuffle around in the bed out of discomfort.

“I was mad at you,” he said as nicely as he could put it. “I was frustrated that you kept asking me to reveal our relationship to the public.”

You stay still, worried about what he would say next. It would be the final blow to your already crumbled pride.

“It’s stupid to even admit it and I don’t have any real excuses, but...”

He somehow couldn’t finish his sentence.

“But what?”

He sighs and turns the other way. Now he was the one ignoring confrontation.

“I liked that we were our own little secret you know?” he starts and you feel your blood boil a little at his words, but he continued. “So much of my life is broadcasted to the world and I feel like nothing is really mine anymore. Every single moment is dedicated to my fans and whenever you ask me to let that go, it just feels like I’m losing a part of myself more and more. The part that isn’t an idol.”

You understood what he meant, but at the same time, you felt like it was oddly selfish of him.

“I don’t like being a secret, Yoongi,” you say to him. No anger in your voice, just disappointment. He clenches his fist.

“Yeah, I understand that,” he whispers back. “I’m sorry.”

You reach out a hand towards him and he shivers at your touch. You pull into him, laying your head on his shoulder blade.

“You said you wouldn’t say it anymore,” you mutter into his body.

He shrugs.

“I don’t think I’ve said it enough,” he admits, holding your hand in his. This was how he wanted to end the day off- with you by his side.

“I’m sorry too,” you say and he feels himself crumble at your words. He turns around slowly and engulfs you in his arms.

“Moments like this,” he sighs, nuzzling into your hair. “I want it to be between us.”

“It would still be you and me, no matter what,” you reply.

“I know,” he says solemnly. “But people will try to get between us and I doubt want to hurt you more than I already have.”

You nod along, but you could feel tears start to prick in your eyes.

“I just don’t want to feel like you’re hiding me from everyone,” you admit. “Being with you should be enough, but somehow it isn’t.”

He strokes your head and the two of you don’t speak any longer.

“I’m sorry.”

You find yourself unable to cry at his words. It seems like he had given up and to you, that’s what frightened you the most. You clench onto him as if he’d disappear at any moment. A few minutes ago, that’s all you would have wanted, but now it seemed like you’d die without him by your side. He eases your panic by rubbing your back and you find yourself drifting off to sleep. He stares off into the darkness of the motel room, whispering to no one in particular.

“I’ll do better.”

—

You find yourself alone the next morning, sprawled out on the bed. Your phone and bag were left on the nightstand and the lampshade went back to its proper place. He left you in the room as if he wasn’t there in the first place. You take a look at the closet and see that he laid out clothes for you from home. Tears start to fall. It was over, wasn’t it?

Last night felt like a goodbye, like a last farewell. Maybe you were asking for it in the way you shouted at him the night before, but your heart was still heavy at the thought of him leaving. You didn’t hate him, you could never hate him, but both of you said so many horrible things last night that you wonder if it could ever be taken back.

You get yourself dressed and walk down to the lobby where the wet footprints of last night no longer stained the carpet. You lock eyes with the old man and slide the keys to him. You take out your wallet, prepared to pay until he stops you.

“He covered it already.”

Your jaw drops slightly and you clutch the cash in your fingers.

“You let him into my room,” you accuse. “I told you to tell him I wasn’t here.”

He ignores your watchful gaze, arranging some stuff on his desk that was already quite pristine.

“You got the closure you wanted, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

“That’s not the point. He could’ve been a serial killer for all you know and you-”

“But he wasn’t,” the old man rolled his eyes. “He was your ex that fucking paid twice the amount you pulled out. I promise you, your safety was a passing thought to me.”

You sigh angrily, scrounging through your purse. Your phone was charged, presumably from Yoongi, and so you called a friend to get you out of this dingy motel. You’d report this crusty old man later. Surprisingly she picked up quite quickly.

“Hey-”

“[Y/N]!” she screeched through the other line. “Look at the news! Oh my fucking god, Yoongi just-”

Your hands were shaking, not paying attention to the rest of her words. Nothing bad could have happened from last night, could it? You hung up before she could screech in your ears once again.

You couldn’t type out his name on your phone fast enough from how shaky your hands were until you heard the sound of the lobby television turn on. The old man had the remote in his hand and he gave you a smirk. You turn your attention away from him and toward the screen instead.

“BigHit Entertainment confirms that BTS’s Suga is in a relationship,” the announcer states with a stern voice. “He asks for people not pry on the identity of his non-celebrity girlfriend and any malicious comments or rumors will be legally dealt with by his agency. More updates soon.”

You felt your eyes tear up, happiness swelling on your chest. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe he actually did it.

“You’re welcome, you know,” the old man said slyly. You ignore his words, slapping a rather large sum of money on the desk before rushing outside. You call him this time, happy tears streaming down your face. Yoongi didn’t even have a chance to say hello before you started talking.

“I love you,” you scream into your phone. You repeat the words so much that you could hear your own echo.

“Babe, I’m getting scolded right now,” he laughed. “I’ll talk to you later okay? No celebrations yet.”

You nod, slightly worried about his statement.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” you ask worriedly. “They’re not planning to kick you out or anything?”

He scoffs.

“And lose one of their best songwriters? Not a chance.”

You shake your head.

“Still cocky as always though,” you tease.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures. “It’s the least I could do for you.”

You purse your lips. He had to make a lot of sacrifices too.

“I love you,” he says lowly. “And I’m not gonna make you ever doubt that again.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his confession. It felt genuine like he didn’t say it just to end an argument. It felt real.

“I love you too.”

He gives a toothy grin, knowing full well that you aren’t able to see how stupidly satisfied his face is. The managers looked at him with watchful gazes and he nervously coughed, wiping the smile off of his.

“We’ll talk more about this later,” he replies, “You know, in our home.”

You smile lightly.

“Okay, see you later then,” you say, already listing all the complications that come with going public, but you’re much happier nonetheless. There’d be no more rumors of him dating other girls or random idols trying to set themselves up with him. Maybe there’d still be doubts, but in the end, you’d figure out a way to work it out. That’s how relationships are after all. “Goodbye,” he said cheerily through the receiver, trying to ignore the staff members telling him to hang up the phone. “I love you [Y/N].”

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you giggle at his repeated confession. “I love you too.”

—

A/N: I didn’t want to end this off on a bad note but I didn’t want to end it off on a super good note either. Of course, problems will still arise in a relationship so I left it off kind of bittersweet (more sweet in this case) but yeah. Thanks again to @queenoftheuniverseandmyroom for being so amazing and so patient with this, I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know how you guys feel!! Leave me any comments, criticism, anything!

I know some of you guys wanted an angst ending but I do too many angst endings and I just feel like I wanted to switch things up you know?? Also... keep an eye out for my drabble game that I’ll post in a few days. I will accept the first ten requests ;)

PS: I don’t respond to comments on my stories because this is my side blog so if I reply back it’ll be on my main blog :((( I’ll try to figure out a way so that I can respond to you guys because I really want to be more interactive. Let me know if you guys have loopholes for this problem thank youuu

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

Text

Day 8: Dot, Dot, Dot (Agent Whiskey)

Day 8: Dot, Dot, Dot - Agent Whiskey

Pairing: Whiskey x Reader (Agent Apple)

Rating: 18 + for language and mention of abuse/torture

This is kind of a sequel to day one of the November writing challenge but can be read as a stand alone, if you would like to read part 1 I will link it below.

Part 1 (Day 1: Heartbeat- Agent Whiskey)

November Writing Challenge Masterlist

Day 7: Sculpted - Javier Pena

I’m pregnant. - Apple

… - Whiskey

To be fair there was probably a better way to tell your boyfriend of eight months that you were carrying his baby instead of a text message but you panicked. The worst part of the whole thing was Whiskey’s reply or lack of. All day long you had been staring as the dot, dot, dot appeared on the phone before quickly disappearing. It was also probably a horrible time to do it while he was on a mission in India trying to take down a new crime syndicate that had popped up over there. Minor details right?

It had been six hours since you had sent that text, and you had hoped for a least some sort of reply even if just an ok would have been fine. But, the waiting was killing you. Is he mad? Is he happy? Is he worried? Nervous? Excited? Your head began to spin before you took a seat in the lab chair with your head in your hands.

You nearly screamed when a warm hand landed on your shoulder, “Whoa, Apple it’s just me!” Your best friend Tequila shot his hands in the air like he was surrendering, “are you ok? You're more jittery than a jackrabbit.”

“....No” you can’t help the tears streaming down your face, and Tequila quickly pulls you into a hug.

“What did that old bastard do? Did he hurt you?” Tequila asks in a rush rubbing circles on your back, “Whatever it is I’ll kill him for you.”

You pull back, “NO! Please, don’t hurt him, he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s...oh I did something stupid Tequila and now I don’t even know how to fix it. I told Whiskey I was pregnant in a text message while he is gone on a mission and he hasn’t replied. I’m freaking out!”

Several emotions passed across Tequila’s face in quick succession before shock stayed, “WAIT YOUR PREGNANT?!” he shouts across the lab. You jump up quickly slapping your hand over his mouth, “SHHHHHH! Goddamnit Tequila do you want the whole world to know!?”

“Ok...ok yeah I’m sorry I just...how the hell? Well I know how babies are made but weren’t ya’ll using something? What the hell happened?” Tequila asks, going to hug you close again.

You rest your head on his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. “We always do, it was only ONE time a few months ago when he got home from that three week mission in Cambodia and I picked him up from the airport...I was just so dang excited to see him and I couldn’t wait to get home so...we kind of had sex in my car in the parking lot.”

“God Apple, I was in that car yesterday when we went for lunch and now you're telling me that’s where you conceived you and Whiskey’s baby. I will never look at that car the same again.”

You groan loudly before the sobs start again, damn hormones. “I was so nervous when I got the call that I didn’t even think before I texted him and now look what I get to see all day!” You whip out your phone shoving it towards Tequila’s face.

“Dot, dot, dot… that’s all he wrote?” Tequila asks incredulously.

“Yeah that’s it! Oh shit I have completely screwed this up haven’t I? He’s not going to want this, I mean especially after what happened to his wife, and we’ve only been together a few months, and-”

“Do you love him?” Tequila cuts you off with his question.

“Yes,” you answer without having to think about it, “Of course I love him.”

“Then that’s all that matters. Just give it time, he should be back any day now from his mission and you will sit down and talk this through…. Apple do you want to have this baby?”

“Yes,” it was the truth, since the moment the doctor’s office had called and confirmed the baby it became yours and Whiskey or not you were going to have this baby.

“Ok then I have your back 100%, Uncle Tequila is going to be with you, every single step of the way.” Tequila pulls you back into a hug and you melt into his arms, knowing everything was going to be okay.

The rest of the day and the three days following that are a blur. You haven’t heard anything more from Jack and your feeling more and more depressed about it. Luckily Tequila is there to pick up the slack, he makes sure you're eating, drinking lots of water, and even goes with you to the first ultrasound appointment. Telling the nurse very proudly that he’s the baby's Uncle. When you both saw the sonogram for the first time, you honestly couldn’t tell who was crying more.

On the fourth day since you had sent the dreaded text message you finally heard from Jack. A single text message.

Meet me in my office. - Whiskey

Your heart leapt out of your chest and you reread the message over and over again before pinching yourself to make sure it was real. It was. You walk out of the lab in a sort of trance going over to the elevator and hitting the button for the eleventh floor. The whole ride up you feel like throwing up and you honestly don’t know if that’s from nerves or the pregnancy.

When you reach the large oak door, you knock hesitantly, the door swings open almost immediately and you are grabbed quickly before being yanked forward. The door shutting behind you. The room is pitch black and you can’t make anything out except that someone is holding you tightly against the door, their hands running all over your body. Before a warm mouth lands on yours. You sigh, you would know those lips anywhere.

“Jack” you moan when you're able to catch your breath, “Jack, what the hell are you doing? Turn on some lights in here.”

Jack's breathing is labored and you reach behind you for the light switch. When the light comes on you gasp. Jack never looks anything but immaculate but right now he’s a mess. No shoes, dirty jeans, wearing nothing but a sweat and blood drenched white t-shirt, and let’s not forget the bruises. His hands are slightly swollen, and purple, he’s leaning heavily on his right side, a black eye, and his nose looks broken. But all of that is nothing compared to his eyes, bloodshot, exhausted, and glassy with unshed tears.

“Oh...my god, Jack what the hell happened to you?” You rush around the room pulling his chair closer before you sit him down in the chair. You run over to the phone calling for Ginger in the lab to come with a med kit.

You try to help him remove his shirt but he’s hurt bad. You grab the scissors off his desk and begin cutting your way down the shirt. Underneath there’s even more bruises and a long jagged line made by some kind of knife. Ginger arrives moments later and gasps at his state, saying he arrived an hour ago and didn’t say anything to anyone. The two of you work quickly to get him patched up and healing, applying alpha-gel and bandages where needed. It’s only when you begin stitching up the wound on his chest that Whiskey breaks.

The tears slide down his cheeks and he openly sobs. Ginger looks at you and you nod letting her know she can leave before you kneel in front of Jack. “Baby, what’s wrong? We will get you all healed up, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

“They took my phone,” the broken voice of your lover leaves you breathless, “I was tortured for days and one day they came in and showed me the message from you...they told me I was never going to see you again...that they were going to kill me, and I would never see you or our baby ever again.”

Your heart begins to beat even faster and the tears begin to form in your own eyes, before you reach up and gently put your hands on his cheeks. “Baby, it’s over now. You're not there anymore. I’m safe, we’re both safe.” You remove your hands to put them over your slightly raised bump. Jack looks down before putting his hands over yours.

“I’m done sugar,” he whispers brokenly, and for a moment you fear he means with you, “I am going to tell Champ today, I can’t do field work anymore. I don’t want to miss a single moment in our child’s life.”

“But...Jack you love being a field agent…” you start but he quickly cuts you off.

“I LOVE YOU MORE!” he shouts, “I….I can’t be a field agent and have you waiting around for me to not come home from a mission. I don’t want our baby not to know his or her father. I know we haven’t been together long but I am going to always choose you because I have been in love with you for a lot longer than we’ve been together!”

You don’t move for several minutes before you quietly respond, “oh Jack I love you too baby. I want to be with you and raise this baby with you and grow old with you.”

“Sugar, I want that too. So goddamn much,” he pulls you towards him pressing his mouth hard to your own.

When you break apart you ask him quietly, “Would you like to see our baby?”

Jack nods quickly before helping you to stand. You go back over to the door where you had thrown your lab coat off and riffle through the pockets looking for the sonogram photo. You take it out and hand it to Jack.

Jack spends a long time just staring at the picture of the tiny human growing inside you. When he finally looks up at you, fresh tears are making their way down his face. Your own cheeks are wet with them as well. He gently places the photo on the table before gesturing you forward. His hands reach out for you and when you get close enough he pulls your shirt up slowly. His hands rub gently over the small mound and he places his lips to your stomach.

“Your daddy is here, little one. No one is ever going to take me away from you or your mama again. I will be here for you every step of the way. I love you so much,” Jack looks up meeting your eyes and you see the reflection of love in his eyes back at you.

Day 9: No, you don’t -Maxwell Lord

#kingsman golden circle #Kingsman #Agent Whiskey #agent tequila #jack whiskey daniels #Agent Whiskey x reader #Pedro Pascal #November writing challenge #Day 8 #I'm tired #It's midnight

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Love Is Not Forced ~ 31

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,700ish

Summary: small rollercoaster of emotions... that’s all I can summarize for you.

Steven was pushing his legs to run faster, trying to get to Y/N, who was being held by her neck by Loki. He and his guards were trying to reach her before anything happened.

“Y/N!” Steven shouted when saw Loki lift her above the water.

He suddenly realized that he had never asked if Y/N could swim. He willed his legs to go faster, but he wasn’t fast enough. Steven watched as Loki dropped Y/N into the water.

“NO!” Steven screamed.

A few of his guards began shooting arrows Loki. One successfully hit right near his heart, causing him to fall onto the dock. Wasting no time with the injured man, Steven ran to the edge of the dock and threw off his shoes.

“Sire, I don’t think that is wise at this time of night,” one of the guards advised. “There’s no chance—“

“I don’t care!” Steven snapped, throwing his jacket off. “I’m saving her.”

And then the King dove into the water.

The water was terribly cold. That was the first thing Y/N noticed when her body became submerged in the water. The second thing was that she was already running out of air. She tried to move her arms around to somehow get to the surface, but she was failing. She had to close her eyes, as the salty sing to them became too much. Sooner than she would have liked to admit, she stopped trying to get to the surface.

Y/N’s thought’s suddenly went to those she loved. Guilt filled her as she thought about how sad they would be if they died. That would be her fault. She should have never left her room. Her family had already been through so much because of her, they didn’t need these too.

As she could tell that she had a mere few seconds left, she let her thoughts drift to Steven. The start of their friendship… relationship… whatever you’d call it, was rocky. And she didn’t make it an easier for either of them with her attitude. Y/N suddenly wished she had made it easier for him, that she had been more honest with him. Her last thoughts before consciousness escaped her was: I’m sorry, Steven. I love you.

King Anthony and the rest of his family were running towards the scene when they saw Steven dive into the water. Fear ran through him at what his friend jumping into the water meant. Brooklyn’s guards were hauling Loki away as the royals from Alexandria, Captain Barnes, Lady Natasha, and Lord Wilson ran up the dock, searching the water for any sign of the other two.

“Come on, come on, punk,” Captain Barnes muttered to himself.

The crowd watched the water, dread filling them with get passing second.

“Look!” Lord Wilson shouted, pointing towards the water a little closer to shore. “Over there.”

Steven was heaving as he carried Y/N’s cold and lifeless body out of the sea. He held onto her close, even as he knelt on the ground and set her down. He leaned down to try to hear her breathing but nothing. So the King started chest compressions.

“Oh my gosh!” King Anthony cried out, as him and the others ran up beside them.

“Y/N,” Queen Virginia sobbed, collapsing into her husbands arms.

“Steve, let me trade you,” Bucky said, sliding in opposite his friend.

“No,” Steven replied, focused on Y/N’s face.

“You’re tired from the swim. Let me.”

Steven looked at Bucky. No one had noticed the King’s large tears until then. “I can’t lose her, Buck… I love her so much… My heart won’t be able to handle it…”

“Then let me help.”

Steven nodded, and as soon as Bucky’s hands were in position, the men switched. Steven grabbed onto one of Y/N’s hands and brushed away the hair from her face with his free one. He bent down so that his forehead was resting on hers.

“Please, don’t leave me…” He begged, tears mixing with he water droplets on her skin. “Fight… come back to me. Come back to your family.”

Everyone watched as the King of Brooklyn cried against Y/N’s face, as his best friend was trying to safe her life. The Queen couldn’t watch anymore, hiding her head into her husbands neck. Peter was kneeling beside his parents, watching his sister’s lifeless body.

“I don’t know what else I need to promise you, Y/N,” Steven continued. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here with us. Just please… come back.”

Suddenly, the Princess began coughing, water spilling from her lips. But she definitely wasn’t fully conscious yet. Another sob ripped through the Queens throat as she watched her daughter begin to breath again. Steven pressed a long kiss to her forehead as she continued to cough.

“You’re alive…” He whispered. “Thank goodness… I love you so much…” He pressed another kiss to her hairline. “You’re okay…”

“We need to get her inside,” Natasha suggested, coming up to rub her husbands back. “Get her warmed up and see if she’s going to be okay.”

Steven nodded, but before he could pick her up. King Anthony had come over and pulled the Princess into his arms. He held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as he let the tears slip out of his eyes. He held a kiss to his daughter’s cheek before standing up and taking her inside.

The doctor’s and nurses stayed by Y/N’s bedside for the next twenty four hours. Not allowing anyone else into the room. She had yet to fully wake, but was experiencing a fever and the chills at the same time. She kept tossing and turning in her sleep, calling out for Steven or her Father. The two men had been sitting or pacing outside the bedroom since they had been barred from entry. Captain Barnes and Thor refused to let them near Loki, who had survived the wound to his chest, knowing that he would end up dead. Thor believed that his brother deserved a far trial, even if he’d just end up being executed.

It was turning into the second day of the Princess not being allowed to be seen, and it was currently the middle of the night. The doctors and nurses had left Y/N to rest alone. King Anthony had gone to bed to comfort his distraught and worried wife. King Steven had not left the hallway where Y/N’s room was located. He was currently struggling to stay awake as he sat on the floor right across from her door. His eyes kept fluttering shut and his head kept bobbing. But he was determined to stay awake. When he was pretty sure he was going to succumb to sleep, Steven heard a cry coming from Y/N’s room. He immediately woke up and moved to put his ear against the door, wanting to check to see if he was hearing things. He quickly realized he wasn’t.

“Steven!” Y/N cried, not too loud but definitely in distress.

The King quickly stood up and rushed into the room. Y/N was tossing and turning on her bed, sweat forming on her forehead. Before Steven could make it to her side, she cried out again.

“Steven!”

“I’m here,” he sat next to her. He grabbed the rag next to her and began wiping off her brow. “I’m here, my darling. And I’m not planning on leaving your side again.”

Steven set his colder hand against Y/N’s cheek. She leaned into it, obviously needing to be cooled down. The King stayed there, giving Y/N comfort, for a few minutes before Y/N’s eyes began to fluter open.

“Steven?” Y/N mumbled, trying to focus on the man, working over her.

“Yes, my darling,” he responded. “It’s me.”

“What—what happened?”

“Loki dropped you into the water. I jumped in after you.”

“I—I stopped breathing… didn’t I?”

“Yes.” Steven nodded, tears forming as he thought of her lifeless body in his arms. “I was so scared, Y/N. We—I almost lost you, again.”

It broke her heart to see such a strong man tearing up over her, scared to lose her. But, at the same time, it warmed her heart. Steven truly cared. And she believed she did nothing to deserve it.

“Oh, Steven…” She weakly said when she noticed his tears. She slowly brought a hand to rest on his cheek. “I’m so sorry.” Tears began forming in her eyes as well. “For everything. For not giving you a proper chance at first. For putting you through so much grief and barely giving you anything in return…”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, hand moving to hold hers, keeping it against his cheek. “You don’t—“

“Let me finish… you have stayed by my side with no reason, with little to no reassurance that I even feel an ounce of what you do. You continually save me, and I have a feeling, no matter what, that you always will come to my rescue. You are so… so much more than I ever thought you would be.”

“Y/N, I stay by your side because I want to. Because I love you.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

The King’s eyes went wide. He never thought that he’d being hearing those words from her anytime soon. A large smile grew on his face. The largest Y/N had even seen from him.

“I love you so much,” she repeated.

Steven leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Remembering her wanted boundaries, he quickly pulled back. She gave him a concerned look.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him.

“I pushed. I’m sorry. I was suppose to wait for you to give the go ahead.”

“You did nothing wrong, Steven. We’ll still go slow. Plus I think it’s okay to kiss someone after they’ve confessed their love.”

“Are you sure?”

“From now on, I’ll always be sure when it comes to you. Because I love you.”

next chapter >

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wind-goddess-eri · 3 years

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Joker’s Wild (Shang Tsung x Reader) Chapter 3

THIS IS THE SMUT CHAPTER!!! Please be advised this is a f!reader so...if you don’t like reading stuff with genitalia I understand. Also I finally go around to doing this. I’m proud...I had to take at least 3 breaks cause hot damn I’ve never been so into Shang in my life. I thank @shang-hung for getting me into him.

When you awoke, you started thinking on what exactly happened. Your memories were a little hazy right now and you knew if you thought too hard you'd get a headache. You looked to see Maleena and Sub-Zero. "Wha...Wha...??" you whispered to the both of them. Sub-Zero's voice filled the room. "Poor girl, she's dazed and confused. Should we take her to her room?" Sub-Zero asks Mileena very concerned for your safety. He knew of Shang Tsung's plan to ask you to marry him.

It was Mileena's sharp tongue that brought him out of his little thoughts. "Bring her to the couch!" Mileena demanded him. Sub-Zero picked you up and headed to the living room. Shang was sitting on the couch when the two of them walked back into the living room from the bathroom.

Relief consumed the outworlders seeing Shang was wake. He had been out cold for a little while and neither of them were able to wake him up. Granted that they did try to throw water in his face, that didn't work. "Lord Tsung! How are you feeling." Shang's voice sounded tired, like he'd been drugged so much that he probably couldn't think straight. "I'm alright Bi-Han. Where's Y/N?" the sorcerer asks rubbing his eyes.

"She's right here." the cryomancer answers, showing Shang that you was in his arms. Shang blinked several times, wondering how he'd missed that. Again, Mileena's sharp tongue was heard, only this time it was directed toward Shang Tsung. Both of the men noticed that Mileena was being extremely bossy today. Normally she's not this bad. "Get out of the way Shang! Sub-Zero, put her on the couch. Try not to wake her just yet," Mileena instructed. Without Sub-Zero knowing, You fell asleep in his arms. He gently puts you on the couch and immediately looks at Mileena who is staring out the window furious. "That fucking Joker! I'd kill him myself. Fucking asshole," she mutters under her breath

"Mileena...are yo--" Sub Zero was about to finish his sentence when he was interrupted by her turning on him. Apparently she didn't like to be interrupted when she was having a conversation with herself. "Shut your face!" Mileena snapped at him. "Come with me. We need to find this fucker. He has crossed the line. Nobody messes with my friends!"

Mileena and Sub Zero leave the house to go find The Joker and possibly kill him. Shang Tsung looked at you. All of his drugged up thoughts were gone when he looked down at you, now he thought clearly. He fears the worst for you. He fears that whatever happened a few hours ago while he was unconscious affected you to a point to where you will be scared of everyone, including him. A few hours pass and Shang just watched you, wondering what to do. He'd never had to go through this kind of thing before and he didn't even know what had happened, only that that his girlfriend went to take a shower and the next thing he knew he was out cold. Slowly you awoke again.

As you laid there wrapped in a fluffy towel on the couch, you stared at the ceiling, thinking about what you did. You thought, 'What have I done? It was so wrong, yet so pleasurable.' You turned your head to see Shang watching you. Those demon like eyes staring at you, making you feel like you were more important to the world, his world. The look of concern was written all over his youthful face and you didn't know what you could do to take it off. You looked the other way. You started to cry, thinking, remembering what happened.

Oh what a horrible thing you had done and you couldn't help but feel guilty for it. How could you do that to Shang? What's more, how could The Joker do that to you? He knew all too well that the moment you looked into his eyes; you'd obey him no matter how stupid his request was or how terrible it could be. You were lucky to have someone as loyal as Shang Tsung around in your life. As the sorcerer held you, comforting you, the mere feeling of his hand going up and down on your back only made your love for Shang grow. It amazed you how understanding and patient he could be. Slowly you looked into his eyes and admired the color of them. They were so loving yet mysterious that you couldn't resist the urge to kiss him, so you did it, but in a teasing manner. You did this on purpose because you knew that he just wanted to snog you senseless when it came to it but the wait drove him nuts.

Unexpectedly, he reached behind your head and pulled your lips back to his making sure to press them hard together. Suddenly you found yourself entangling your arms around his neck and then grabbing handfuls of his hair to pull his face away from yours. "I love it when you do this to me."

"I love it when I'm able to make you feel better,My dear." he replied. He crashed his lips to yours and made sure that the two of them wouldn't be able to breathe. Oh how he loved the taste of your mouth, the softness of your lips. You loved how forceful and demanding he would become. Sometimes he scared you with how demanding he'd became, but you loved every minute of him torturing you.

At some point his shirt left his body and your nails lightly scratched his back, bringing that tingly feeling he loved so much. Your hands roamed all over his body as if it were new territory for you to explore even though you'd explored every inch of his body already. Stopping you momentarily he locked eyes with you and reached for your hands and led you to the bedroom. The moment the door closed they were at it like animals. Quickly your hands worked on his belt buckle while his worked on simply taking your towel. In seconds you stood completely naked in front of each other.

Shang took all of you into his eyes like eye candy. At times he wondered how the hell he became as lucky as to have you as his girlfriend. Slowly he closed the short distance between you both and lightly touched your arm, making sure to trace his fingers slowly over your delicate skin.

The moment he touched you set your skin on fire. Right away you wanted to pounce on him, leaving all form of decency behind. Yet you remained still, calm, collective, knowing full well that the longer she waited the more pleasure there would be. He made you lay down on the bed, from your knees to your feet hung off, making sure to use the edge of the bed to your advantage. You looked into his eyes and saw purely love. Any other woman would believe it to be lust but you'd looked into his soul before and knew it to be otherwise. His charm merely added to the sexiness of his being. You reached up and cupped his face with your right hand. As if on cue, Shang leaned down and kissed you deeply.

As much as he wanted to hold out on their foreplay, he was a man still and you just touching any piece of his skin drove him to the point of a purely animalistic good fuck. He would know, you'd told him. Waiting no longer, he slowly opened her legs and put the tip of his hard cock at your entrance. The second he broke the kiss he looked into your eyes and your soul, thrusting hard into you, making you release a pure cry of pleasure. Your warm pussy felt good around his rock hard cock, like smooth velvet or silk. A few seconds went by until he could feel you putting your feet at the edge of the bed and your arms wrapped around his torso. He felt your lips touch his ear and a single word escaped them. "Please."

Barely on the verge of control, he started a slow rhythm that was soon matched by yours. The more he thrust into you the deeper he went and feeling you quiver beneath him. Your hot sex contracted around him every time he filled you and he had to go faster. What seemed like forever drew on. Every thrust he made brought you both closer to climax. Words started coming out of your mouth at random. Shang knew he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer so he quickened his pace, making sure to hit the right spot. You were going crazy. The more he pumped inside you the closer you were to the edge of sanity.

Without warning, you flipped him over and straddled him, thrusting hard against him and making him moan like crazy. As you rocked your hips back and forth you could feel yourself start to cum. Faster, and faster and harder and harder you rode Shang until you finally saw white light and reached your peak, somehow bringing Shang with you to that point in time where your hearts were beating in sync. You both came at the same time. Not bothering to get off him, you lay on his chest and felt his heavy breathing beneath you. There was never bliss like this before you met your Shang.

#n/sfw text #smut #jokers wild #chapter 3 #shang tsung x reader #mortal kombat #mk11 #fanfiction #my writing

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thechaoticfanartist · 3 years

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WHUMPTOBER DAY 5: I'VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER

Prompt: Betrayal

Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy

Characters: Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader, Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Grim (OC), Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda

Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Grim (OC), Obi-Wan Kenobi & Grim (OC), Yoda & Grim (OC)

Words: 2k+

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mandomydad @mildly-microbial @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @hanlando-endgame @zeldaiscool19 @touchstarvedasclones @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @jedimasterbailey @securidala @bazelnuttt @whumptober-archive

The padawan ran as fast as she could, she had to stop Anakin, the galaxy depended on it, on her. Grim reached the senate building and followed the path she had many times throughout the years. "Now I'm stopping two Sith Lords this way," she muttered under her breath. Grim jumped into the vents and made her way to the chancellor's office, just in time to see Anakin rise in front of Sidious as Vader. "No!" Grim shouted. Just then the vent collapsed under her weight and she fell on the ground of the office. "Oh kark!"

"How lovely of you to join us, Grim," taunted Sidious, "of course I knew you wouldn't want to miss the party."

Grim growled and jumped up, igniting her lightsaber, casting a purple hue across the room. "I'm not going to play your games today, Hideous," she spat, gripping her lightsaber tightly in her hands. She turned her gaze upon Anakin, her face softened as she gave him a pleading look, "Anakin, please don't do this, you know better." Grim shut her eyes, taking a shaky deep breath to steady herself. She knew there was no getting through to Anakin, she was too late. Grim opened her eyes again, "I don't want to have to fight you, Anakin," Grim warned, she entered the opening stance of form three, "but I will, if it means protecting my family."

Anakin ignited his lightsaber in response, "if you don't want to fight, then don't fight."

"You do know you're talking to me right?" she asked, "when have I ever given up a fight?" With that, Grim charged at Anakin, he blocked the attack with ease, their lightsabers clashing against each other. Purple and blue sparks fell to the ground as they flew from the lightsabers. A swing here and counter-attack there, a slash here and a block there, lightsabers locking together as two friends fought to the death, two friends locked in a dance around the office as objects clattered to the ground, eventually the fight moved outside into the hallways, noticing a vent in the ceiling Grim used the force to open it with one hand as she blocked a strike from Anakin with the other. She cast Anakin a salute and backflipped into the vent, "see ya, Skyguy," she called before making a run for it.

The padawan ran as fast as she could, she had to stop Anakin, the galaxy depended on it, on her. Grim reached the Temple before Anakin could get there, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to warn the Jedi, she had to warn them. There were the sounds of footsteps behind her, and not just one pair, her heart dropped as she turned around and found herself faced with Anakin and half of the 501st. Anakin ignited his lightsaber and Grim ignited hers. Time seemed to slow as the two Jedi stood across from each other on the steps of the Jedi Temple, the only lights were the glows of their lightsabers, the distant specks of city lights and the stars in the sky.

Anakin had the advantage in this battle, and Grim knew she'd be lucky to even survive this battle. Anakin had more experience, was more trained than Grim, who was still learning. Anakin had an army behind him, one that now mindlessly followed his orders, while Grim was alone. Grim gripped her lightsaber tightly, her knuckles going white. Grim knew she wouldn't make it through this battle, but if she could hold them off long enough for Obi-Wan and Yoda to arrive then perhaps the galaxy could stand a chance.

Anakin glared down at the padawan, "get out of the way, Grim."

Grim stood her ground, her green eyes meeting the yellow sith eyes of Anakin's, "no." Grim had to stand her ground, she had to fight, she had to hold Anakin and the clones off for as long as possible, it was all she could do. Grim had no idea how she'd stop the clones but she had to try. "I'm not letting you kill, Jedi, Skywalker," she told Anakin. Her voice shook with fear despite her attempts to hold it back.

Anakin charged at Grim and she swiftly moved and met his lightsaber with her own, their sabers clashing in the air. Grim pushed back and struck at his left side, Anakin dodged the strike and struck at Grim's right, she ducked underneath the lightsaber and slashed at Anakin's legs, but he jumped up and then over her. Grim shot back up and spun around to face Anakin again, their lightsabers crashed together, and they became locked into the struggle, not moving their lightsabers the two spun around and switched places again, Grim standing in front of the temple, blocking Anakin from the entrance. Anakin looked over his shoulder and shouted at the clones, ordering them to attack. "No!" Grim screamed as the clones began to fire. She jumped back from Anakin, pushing him back with the force and began to deflect the clones' shots.

Grim had never before appreciated all the defense Soresu provided until now, as she deflected the bolts fired at her. Grim closed her eyes as she allowed the force to be her guide, going back to some of the first lessons Obi-Wan had taught her. Thinking of Obi-Wan made tears come to her eyes, she knew she wasn't going to see him again, she couldn't make it out alive. Grim opened her eyes again, whether she lived or died didn't matter, what mattered was protecting the Jedi. Grim kept deflecting blasts back at the clones and she charged at Anakin once more, she almost got him, but he had blocked her attack just in time, their lightsabers clashing against each other. The lights of the blades cast the two siblings in a blue and purple glow.

Grim had to stop Anakin, the galaxy depended on it, on her. The Jedi depended on her, if she didn't win, if she couldn't hold Anakin off for long enough. No, she couldn't think like that, she couldn't focus on her anxieties, she had to be in the here and now. Taking a breath to calm her nerves, Grim closed her eyes and once again allowed the force to be her guide, putting her trust in the force. Without opening her eyes Grim blocked Anakin's attacks, at a faster pace than before. Instead of focusing on offense Grim focused on the defense, if she could wear Anakin down for the time Obi-Wan and Yoda arrived then it would be worth it.

The battle between the two Jedi raged on, their lightsabers clashing against each other. Purple and blue sparks fell to the ground as they flew from the lightsabers. A swing here and counter-attack there, a slash here and a block there, lightsabers locking together as two friends fought to the death, two friends lost in a dance. At some point in their dance, their war, the entrance to the temple had opened, perhaps someone had heard the conflict and had come to help, but now the two siblings fought inside the temple, and clones filled it with their blaster bolts and the Jedi inside fell to the ground. The fight became harder as Grim avoided the blasts from the clones and the bodies of the dead Jedi that had fallen from the betrayal of Anakin Skywalker and the clones. Still, Grim pressed on, there was still a chance, still hope, and Grim would fight for it.

The fight went on for hours, the sun had risen and was in the sky, golden light flooding into the temple, showing the carnage of the battle. Only Grim and Anakin remained in the entrance, still fighting, both were exhausted from their fight and yet they pressed on. Grim's moves had become sloppier, and as Anakin attempted to stab the padawan, Grim wasn't fast enough to block the attack. The lightsaber went through her abdomen and she screamed, falling to the ground. Anakin deactivated the lightsaber and looked at the fallen padawan, "you shouldn't have tried to stop me," he told her.

Grim smirked through her pain and replied, "I still won. I held you off, there's more survivors, more than you will ever be able to stop. Vader."

Vader did not respond, only walking away to attend to Mustafar. Grim wanted to just lay against the piller, close her eyes and rest. She had fought so hard for so long and in the end it barely even mattered, now she could leave the fighting behind her. Maybe this was all a bad dream and she would awake back in her bed in her universe, yes that would be what would happen when she closed her eyes. No, she had to keep Anakin here a little longer, her home could wait. Grim grunted as she struggled to stand up right.

Anakin turned around when he heard the sound of a lightsaber activating, Grim stood tall with the purple lightsaber in her hand casting her in a purple glow. "No, you're not leaving," Grim said, her voice shaking. Her grip on her lightsaber was so tight her knuckles had gone white, she entered her opening stance. Wincing at the movement, she knew she couldn't fight, but she had to, the galaxy depended on her.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber again, "you never do listen." With that Anakin charged at Grim, he'd quickly end her and be on his way, after all she was exhausted and already injured, she was dying, so Anakin didn't understand why she kept fighting. Didn't she know she lost? Their lightsabers clashed one final time.

This fight was much shorter than the last, ending almost the moment it begun. This time when Anakin walked away Grim didn't stop him, she couldn't stop him, she was too weak now. She could only watch him walk by, she tried to summon her determination again but by now it was depleted from her fights against Vader. That's what he was now, a Sith, a Sith named Vader, and he had betrayed her and everyone else.

Grim didn't know how long it had been since Vader left the Jedi Temple, since she lost, how long she had been laying on the hard floor of the temple, surrounded by the countless bodies of other Jedi, whom she had once called family, but eventually Obi-Wan and Yoda entered the temple. "Master," Grim called weakly. "Master…."

Obi-Wan and Yoda went over to Grim, "Grim," Obi-Wan gasped as he knelt down by her side.

"I'm sorry," Grim mumbled, "I'm so sorry," she cried as tears fell from her eyes. "I failed, I thought I could, I thought I could…" her voice trembled, "I thought I could stop him, I tried to, I really did, but I, I couldn't."

"Who?" Obi-Wan asked.

Grim winced as she tried to sit up, Obi-Wan cast her a worried glance and Grim laid back down, "Anakin," she told him. "He, he fell, and, force, I'm so sorry master. This is all my fault…."

"Your fault this is not," Yoda told her comfortingly. "The best you could you did. Blame yourself do not."

Grim smiled at him, "thank you Master Yoda, I needed to hear that," she moved her hand from her wound and looked at it. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do more."

Obi-Wan gasped, "Grim…."

She smiled at the two Jedi, "don't worry masters, there's still hope, a new hope will rise, eventually the Jedi will return to the galaxy," she winced a bit. "After all these were only the prequels, the original movies have a happier ending. I just won't be around to make it happier. May the force be with y'all."

With that Grim took her final breath. She had given everything for the galaxy, and the galaxy had taken everything from her in return. Grim never got to be a normal teenager, never got to see what being a Jedi was like when there wasn't war, never got to save them. In the end her sacrifices had been in vain because of the betrayal of Anakin Skywalker, no, because of Darth Vader.

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

you & I (just meant to be)

Author: @rosegardeninwinter

Prompt: This silly, silly ditty was inspired by two (count ‘em! two!) lovely prompts which are as follows “Peeta can’t stop staring at Katniss in her costume :0” and “Everlark meeting at a fancy dress party dressed as a ‘matching’ pair, although they don’t each other - maybe a famous couple but who don’t need the other … Joker and Harley Quinn, Batman and Robin or my favorite: Anna and Elsa from Frozen … Peeta would make a wonderful Anna” - I thought these two went well together, and took a couple of creative liberties to make them jive. Hope you lovelies like! [submitted by @deardiaryithinkiamaghost and @wendywobbles]

Rating: T, for implied Everlark shenanigans

Author’s Note: Thank you to my dear @archersandsunsets for her second pair of eyes on this one and to all the lovely moderators and coordinators of @seasonsofeverlark, the true MVPs. It’s been a busy month, so I apologize for any incoherence. Sometimes, the heart just wants goofy modern AU fluff. Alrighty, Chatty Cathy is done … enjoy!

____________

“Katniss, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Prim exclaims, though it sounds pretty pathetic with her congested, pinked nose. “You make the perfect ice queen!”

“I don’t think that’s usually a compliment,” Katniss says dourly, plopping down on the couch where her sister is situated with several fuzzy blankets, a box of tissues, and a large bowl of ice cream. She can’t taste it very well, but it’s the spirit of the thing that counts. Prim is in denial.

“I wish I could go,” she whines, holding the “o” in a long, dramatic note.

“I wish I could stay,” Katniss shoots back, holding the “ay” just as long.

“No you don’t,” Prim shoos. “You love our friends.”

“I do,” Katniss sighs, plucking at the silver sequined sleeves of her—well, Prim’s—Elsa costume. It’s too long on Katniss, with her sister’s good half inch on her, but it’s all they’ve got. Her original plan was to pull the classic black top and pants plus cat ears, but when it became apparent Prim wasn’t budging from the couch this Halloween, the real snowy blonde princess of the family had insisted Katniss take her outfit.

“You can’t show up to Finnick’s in a slapdash, last second costume, Katniss,” she’d said. “The man lives for Halloween. Don’t insult his extravagance with plastic headbands and tails.”

“I do love our friends, but … I don’t want to go out tonight. I’m tired.”

“Just half an hour,” Prim says. “Snag me some candy, make some pleasantries” — “okay, Jane Bennet” — “and then come home. At least one of us needs to show up. Just pretend to have a social life for thirty minutes, okay? For me.”

Katniss rolls her eyes as she gets up from the couch in a twinkling of blue overlay and snowflake hair pins in her braid. She does a quick once over of her shadowy makeup in the hallway mirror as she grabs her car keys. “What do you want?”

“Chocolate. Anything with chocolate and peanut butter. I’ll save it for when I can experience taste again,” Prim calls back. “Oh, and if Delly’s cousin is there, all of the cupcakes he brought.”

“Mmkay. All the chocolate and cupcakes, coming right up,” Katniss says with a resigned smile. On her way out, she clicks on her phone. It’s just now eight. She resolves to be firmly ensconced in bed by nine at the latest. She gives her sister a wave, keys jangling. “I’ll be back. Soon.”

At ten thirty, Prim looks up from her Harry Potter induced doze to find she’s received a text from her sister.

Staying a little later. Fifteen minutes maybe. Have the treats.

Prim checks the time stamp. The text was sent forty five minutes ago. This might be cause for alarm were it not for the text underneath Katniss’s, from Finnick. It’s a photo, taken in front of a makeshift photo op with purple and silver and orange streamers in the background and cutesy little bat and pumpkin and vampire fang cardboard props for people to hold up. It’s captioned “You can’t marry a man you just met!”

Prim brings her hand to her mouth to catch a laugh before it turns into a cough. Her sister, Elsa costume sparkling in the flash, is pretending to shake her finger disapprovingly at her “Anna” counterpart. The laugh breaks free this time. Prim grabs for her tepid tea to soothe her throat as she cracks up over the really incredible image of Peeta Mellark, Delly Cartwright’s stocky older cousin, in a red braided wig, and strikingly accurate green rosemaled gown, sitting quite comfortably, if amusingly, over his athletic build. He’s pretending to gripe back at Katniss about why exactly he can marry Hans of the Southern Isles. Their mock scowls barely contain smiles.

Prim quickly fires a text back to Finnick: How??? Did that happen???

Finnick’s text comes through a second later: The Lord works in mysterious ways! Idk!

Okay but like?? Yes??

I know!!!!

Some people are worth melting for????

Her cold never bothered him anyway? *finger guns*

Omg.

Katniss arrives back at the house at five to midnight, and Prim pretends to be asleep, watching with one eye cracked half open as her sister unstraps her silver heels and dumps them by the front door, drops her keys into the bowl. Sets down a full bag of what Prim can only guess are cupcakes and sweets.

She’s humming under her breath. It sounds like the chorus of “Love is an Open Door.” Prim wonders if it’s possible that her folk and indie music loving sister actually listened to a Disney album on the way home. Katniss unbraids her hair and shakes it loose, dropping the pins on the side table as she sinks into the squashy chair kitty-corner to Prim’s couch. She curls up, knees to chest, making her look like some sort of ice mermaid as she takes out her phone and taps something on it, still humming. Prim watches her chew her cheek pensively, as if deciding to send the text. She takes a deep breath and taps one final time on the screen, then drums her phone nervously against her lips for a moment. Prim’s nerves are firing with anticipation.

They wait a silent minute. Two. Three. Three and a half —

Katniss’s screen lights up again and she flips the phone up to stare at the reply. Her whole face softens. Eyes, brow, edges of her mouth. Katniss bites her lip and closes her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the chair cushion with a contented sigh. “‘You know what’s crazy?’” she sing-songs in a mumble under her breath. “‘We finish each other’s sandwiches … I’ve never met someone who thinks so much like …” She yawns. “Me.”

“You know,” Prim says, and Katniss shrieks, sending her phone flying to the carpet, “Peeta Mellark strikes me more as a Kristoff than a Hans.”

“Prim!” Katniss yelps, going red. “Wha — what? What do you mean?”

“So we’re done with stupid plastic cat ears for Halloween then I take it?”

[the very next Halloween]

“Whoa. Okay.” Peeta sits up from the pile of cushions at the head of their bed, eyes wide and staring in approval, pupils gone dark. “Katniss Everdeen in cat ears is not something I knew I needed until this moment.”

“Oh sure,” Katniss laughs. “Because it’s definitely the cat ears that are doing it for you. Not these.” She hoists one stockinged leg up onto the bed like a mountain climber posing for a magazine.

“Well, those are certainly part of the appeal,” he teases, reaching for her leg, running his hands up and down the silk tights. “As is this lovely number.” He toys with the hem of her dress, a strapless black velvet thing that falls just above her knee. “Where’s this from?”

“Jo,” Katniss sighs. “She says if I’m going to be a cat, I need to be a Gretchen Wieners level cat.”

“For whose benefit, I wonder?” Peeta muses, cheek nuzzling gently at her lower thigh.

“You wonder?” Katniss laughs, taking her leg away and flopping onto the bed. She glances over at him, eyes sly and somehow soft at once. “I don’t.”

“I can’t help thinking,” he muses. “that this is something of a counterproductive plan on Jo’s part. Because now, I have a sudden and distinct interest in staying in tonight.”

“Oh?” Katniss raises a come hither eyebrow and pushes up on her elbows to accept the kiss he plants on her lips as he crawls over her, urging her back to the headboard. “Is it the cat ears?” She reaches up to give the (already molting) plastic and faux fur ears a flick.

“The Kat ears,” he says. He nips softly at her real ear and she shivers. “The Kat nose.” He kisses that too. His nose nudges her head back, inclining her neck at the perfect angle for him to plant a stretch of kisses down it. “The Kat neck.” His mouth wanders down the front of her dress and he scoots down the bed with it. “The Kat’s cradle.”

“You have that,” she says, hiking her legs up to hug around his middle because her arms can’t reach to hold him. “You’ll always have that.”

“A piece of that Kit Kat bar.” He kisses her stomach. “The whole Kit and Caboodle,” he teases and she laughs loudly, but on a dime his tone is changing, from silly and playful into husky and dangerous, as he moves lower. “Kitten,” he murmurs and her fingers curl in the bedsheets at the name. “Grab my phone,” he tells her, hooking his fingers around the band of her tights, “Tell Finnick we’re going to be late.”

An hour or so later finds the cat ears lost somewhere among the remains of their costumes and a hasty snack of pepperoni rolls cooking in the convection oven. Peeta, festooned in boxers and an old apron, presides over the food like it needs a baker’s supervision. Katniss perches on the counter, wrapped chest to toes in the white sheet she pulled from their bed, feet batting absently at the cabinets.

“This is a good look too,” he tells her, gesturing with the salad tongs he’s using to handle the pepperoni rolls.

“What is? This sheet?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of sexy ghost.”

“Or sexy Roman senator,” she laughs, tossing one edge of the sheet over a bare shoulder. “Sexy Julius Caesar.”

“You’d make a good Julius Caesar,” he says.

“Why?”

“You’ve got that “came, saw, conquered” vibe. Least that’s how I felt that night at Finnick’s party.”

“Conquered?”

“I was gonna say seen, but — yes. Conquered too. I couldn’t stop looking at you.” He snaps his fingers. “Sexy ice queen? Definitely.”

“I’m not exactly sure what kind of Freudian analysis one could make on falling in love with the guy dressed as your fictional sister but — ”

Peeta shrugs as the timer beeps, and he sets to fishing the pepperoni rolls onto a plate for them to share. “I choose to think of it as a metaphor for how the two people you love most in the world are your real, actual sister …” He sets the rolls beside her on the counter and sets his hands gently on her sides. She lets the sheet fall and pool slightly around her waist to cup his face as he leans in to kiss her forehead, very gently, thumbs rubbing circles on her hips. “And some loser who has the luck of … oh, I guess having the same first initial and hair color as she does,” he jokes.

“And the same beautiful heart,” Katniss corrects in a whisper. “I mean that.” She’s rarely so sentimental to anyone except him. She smirks. “And I haven’t even started drinking yet.”

“Well, my pretty kitty,” he starts, wrapping both his arms around her middle and hoisting her off the counter. She rolls her eyes, even as her hands card through his hair. “The night is still young.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #rosegardeninwinter #submission #octoberlark 2020 #octoberlark

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thevoilinauttheory · 3 years

Text

The Great Eight

[ In lieu of the Rising event ending tomorrow - and myself, just now finishing it - I had some words I wanted to get out.

I get this type of nostalgia - it hurts, it physically hurts my chest; I feel sick to my stomach, and I just want to cry. I’ve asked others if they ever feel this way, but I’ve never gotten a yes to it.

The Rising always gives me this feeling. It’s be eight years since I first picked up XIV. Eight whole years. That’s a slap to the face, it’s been so long and it feels so short. I wish I could give people the same experiences and feeling I had for this game - the pain and happiness this nostalgia brings me. When I say this game means so much to me, it’s not an exaggeration. This game changed my life - I wish to share it a little bit with you. I touched on some of it in the past, but here I’m laying it all out. ]

[ I first started playing in 2013, when a friend recommended the game to me shortly after the game’s rerelease. They were ecstatic to have another player join them, and I owe them a lot for the experiences they gave me. My very first character was Raramlah Ramlah - she was a paladin, because that’s what I mained in WoW. I realized shortly that a tank probably wasn’t the best way to go, but also that my computer at the time couldn’t handle playing it, due to the graphics.

I gave it another shot in 2014, that’s when I made Danny Harold. He was the first character I ever got to level 50. I absolutely loved the game, when I wasn’t sitting idly for my friends to come online as I had with Raramlah; when I picked it up of my own accord. I remember I was in the hospital when I first picked it back up, when I first made him and leveled him through Gridania. But I was still going intermittedly between it and WoW. I missed the first Rising due to ignorance.

2015 comes around, and I’m in a stressful place. I just started a new job, and I’m finally able to live on my own with little issues from my disabilites. However, my apartment complex didn’t have internet, and so I’d take my laptop to Starbucks and sit there until they closed playing WoW instead. I wanted to spend what little time I had on the internet with the friends I already had grown close to. Year 2 went on without me. But it still wasn’t all bad. Near the end of 2015, Maximiloix Voilinaut was created - and when I started up my XIV tumblr account under “ishgardianscholar”. See, I had made it to Heavensward on Danny when I found out that someone I had met through a friend was starting up a new character for the purpose of RP. I thought to myself “I want an Ishgardian character” - and rolled a new one. It was a new adventure, a clean slate, with a couple of friends I knew from WoW to join me.

Here comes 2016... and WoW had let me down. My disabilites came back full force, and I was left bed bound and reliant on partial disability from my workplace while waiting for SSDI to start kicking into effect. My roommates did little to help take care of the house we were renting, lied to me about their incomes, and forced me to use what little money I was getting to pay for everything myself. I’m short a total of 2000$ because of it. But. But. That was the best year of my fucking life. It ruined me, that year ruined my life, but it was the happiest I had ever been. Lothaire Voilinaut was first conceived and Maximiloix became my pride and joy as a character, I found the class I wanted to keep playing - I made friends, so many of them! So, so many of them! And I loved them, and I still do! I miss them terribly. If I could relive one year of my life... it would be that year. What I would give just to feel that way again - because I had never felt it since. I didn’t realize until Year 3′s Rising came around, how nostalgic just the few short times and experiences were to me. Because I was met with two things... the first song that truly captured me in Final Fantasy games (Prelude), and the first song I ever heard in the game itself (A New Hope). I cried there. Music has always hit me so hard, and I never realized just how much this game meant to me until then. This was how I knew I would stay - that XIV had my heart for good.

2017, during the release of Stormblood, I went homeless. I had wanted so badly to see my first expansion release - and only witnessed second hand “Raubahn EX”. My friends moved on without me, and I was left alone again to start playing. But I told myself already. XIV had my heart, there was no reason to go back to WoW. So I didn’t. I didn’t, and I don’t regret it. This is when I truly started playing Lothaire fully - and when I met my spouse, he became my main. I made it to Year 4, and cried just as much.

2018 - with the loss of friends, did I find new ones. It wasn’t the best time of my life, but I wouldn’t trade the memories for a thing. Year 5 came and went faster than I could blink, but that was it. I heard the music, I remembered my first Rising, I remembered all the times I had before. And I cried.

2019 started off rough. I moved across the country and had a hard time finding a place to live. I got it down, started a new job... and made it to the release of Shadowbringers. I had grown so much since I first started - and the expansion release was everything I wanted it to be, regardless of the issues that came with it (though I’ve been told that it was a far smoother release than the others). I was so excited... and I was not let down. XIV upheld its standards and presented to me a game worthy of pushing onto my friends no matter how annoyed they got with me about it (looking at you @rose-color-boy). Everything about it was a pure masterpiece, people think I’m exaggerating. But this game had done so much for me, that finally, now, I got to witness something I always wanted to. Sure, I didn’t have many friends to start the expansion with... but the story captivated me immediately. Year 6... and I cried.

2020. There wasn’t much to say about it, I was stuck inside all year and I hit a bad patch during the end of it, but... Year 7. It hit me like a truck. It gave me goosebumps, it gave me laughs, and ultimately, it gave me tears. I actually sobbed, this time. Remembering everything I gone through hurt me so badly, the nostalgia was coming in hard. But I knew, in the end, this game would always be here for me. This game had wormed its way into my heart accidentally, and yet I feel like I couldn’t live without it.

This year. Perhaps it didn’t hit me as hard - I still cried. This game means so much to me. So, so much. It hurts, it really and physically hurts how much it means to me. This game made everything in my stressful life so much easier, littered the pain with good memories. I can recall bad places I was in, and associate it with something good that happened to me in the game. 2020 - I got knee surgery... but 5.3 had just released and holy shit. My spouse got a little annoyed at me that the only thing I was listening to was the theme of that last battle (To the Edge). It helped me get through it, the pain and the misery I felt from not being able to walk. 2019 - Work was driving my depression in deep, and I didn’t want to live and continue the pain I was feeling... but I got to the end of 5.0 and only wanted more. I wanted to know what happened next. I still remember that one cutscene, how they got me attached to a minor character so quickly and ripped her away just as fast; and the first dungeon? Experiencing the Trust System, and going through this intense battle on a grand scale with the help of the friends they kept on the sidelines for so long. 2018 - My life was monotonous and I had three other people living with me in my one-bedroom apartment. One of my roommate’s ex’s was now stalking him around my apartment, and work was becoming physically taxing on my legs. But I remember how much fun I had doing maps - and the release of the Tsukuyomi fight? That whole scene there? Oh, wow, it was so bittersweet. The fight was beautiful, the music was haunting, everything about it. Not to mention the ending solo-instances and Ghymlit? The Burn? Omega? The Four Lords? As much as I disliked them (due to my computer issues), even Rabanastre was memorable. 2017 - I was homeless, forced to work a job my body couldn’t handle. I met my spouse, though. I became heavily invested with my tumblr account, doing a full re-write of it all. While I wasn’t much of a fan of the expansion itself, there were some places that really opened my eyes. Azim Steppes? So beautiful - and gotta hand Y’shtola the award for sickest burn. Then I heard my favorite piece of music, and the most nostalgic for me when it comes to SB, Skalla’s theme (Far From Home).

Lastly, I know this has been long. But I thank everyone around me for being so supportive and kind - I may not be in a good place, but know that every good thing that happens will be associated to this moment. I’ll look back on Year 8 and go “my security was compromised, and my anxiety ran high, but there were these people here who supported me on tumblr, that kept my blog running strong”. I will remember my roleplays, I will remember the music and scenery - even now, I’m getting nostalgic about Shadowbringers, and Endwalker hasn’t even come out yet! So thank you. Here’s to year number 8 - 8 whole years of XIV being in my life. It may not have been that long for many of you, some of you, this might be your first year; hell! Some of you, it’s been longer! But know that this community has helped me so much, and I can’t wait to continue being a part of it. Here’s to the eventual tears Year 9 will bring me! ]

#ooc #ffxiv #the rising #sorry for the long post #but there were so many feelings i had to get out before i wrote my prompt #tl;dr #i love you all and thank you for making my experiences with this game the best thing to ever happen to me #thank you for making this game mean so much to me

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captainscanadian · 3 years

Text

Love Me Blue | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Rasleela)

MY MASTERLIST

Series Masterlist

Summary: Perhaps Bucky Barnes is the Krishna to your Radha.

Word Count: 3800+

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Tamilian!Hindu!Reader, Sam Wilson

Warnings: References to Hinduism, PTSD, Endgame References.

A/N: This is my entry for @bucky-smiles‘s 3K Diversity Writing Challenge! My prompt was to write a fic with a Hindu reader. I decided to write this fic with a Tamilian reader because I am Tamilian. I was born in Sri Lanka and my mother’s side of the family are Hindu. Although I consider myself an agnostic theist, I do enjoy reading the epics of Mahabharata and Ramayana. Pic from Pinterest! <3 Divider by @whimsicalrogers!

The more Bucky Barnes read about Hinduism, the more intrigued he became about how a highly skilled former SHIELD agent had retained her faith even after living through the literal end of the world. After Thanos and the Infinity War, and losing Tony and Natasha, it came as a surprise to him that you still continued to uphold the religious traditions that you were raised with. You could have easily walked away from them, but it was the fact that you chose not to do so that made Bucky realize how strong you were.

From maintaining a strict vegetarian diet to starting your day with the morning chants, the way your daily life was filled with your faith… it was refreshing to see, especially during a time when people were not always that religious. Nowadays when he awoke at dawn, he would hear the usual chants of the Sri Venkateswara Suprabhatam being recited next door, and he could not deny that it gave him the same kind of comfort as it did to you.

Whenever the rest of the team were gone on missions, he often joined you in your living quarters for breakfast, and it was safe to say that he had taken a liking to the hearty South Indian vegetarian meal that he could often expect from you. In a way, he often looked forward to the days when the two of you were alone at the compound. Usually, that included cooking together and talking about your life in India and his time in Wakanda. Other times, you found yourself working out together; you were even sparring partners.

It was no secret that the two of you had been spending quite a lot of time together, and the Avengers were not completely oblivious to the sparks that were flying between you and the super soldier every time you were in the same room. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, when Wanda pressed on during one of your many girls’ nights, you confessed that you did feel something for Bucky. You had brushed it off as your inner history nerd being fascinated by a man who fought in the Second World War, but you knew better than that. Wanda knew as well; she could read minds, after all.

Sam had also noticed that Bucky had started to come out of his shell ever since you had arrived at the compound, and he could never pass up an opportunity to tease him about it. “So, you’ve been in a good mood lately…” He pointed out to his friend during one workout session.

Bucky knew where Sam was getting at, but a part of him refused to give him the satisfaction of being right. “It must be the extra sleep I’ve been getting.” He admitted, genuinely.

It was partially true, as his sleep has improved a lot since he had first moved into the compound. Between working together with the compound’s newly hired in-house therapist and spending time with you, it seemed that his nerves had finally calmed down.

“Does Y/N have anything to do with that?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in a rather teasing manner.

This caused the supersoldier to become flushed, and he quickly looked away to hide the sheepish grin on his lips. “Possibly.” He could not lie about how your arrival at the compound had certainly lifted his spirits; in a world where he had assumed that he was on his own, you had been the one to show him that he wasn’t alone and he did not want to be alone again.

Sam knew damn well that you and Bucky were one and the same. Both of you had faced tremendous loss, and had given up on fighting in hopes of finding peace, only to be pulled back into the fight again. He could not deny that the two of you would make a good pair, as different as you were.

When he had asked Bucky if he had any intentions to ask you out, that was when Bucky had even considered asking you out. Not that he worried that you would reject him; he was just unsure that it was the right time. Despite defeating Thanos, the world was still in shock from the blip and it seemed unfair of him that he wanted to move on from that. But he knew better than to let these anxieties get the worst of him. He had seen enough war and suffering; it was time for him to put his happiness before all.

Needless to say, you made him very happy.

He had told Sam of his plan on asking you out, but he wanted to plan the most perfect date for the two of you. He wanted to ask you out when he knew what your first date would be, and so he hoped to find out more about what you wanted when it came to your love life.

It was during one of your many late night chats by the lake when you had found yourself staring up at the starlit sky, your peacock print scarf wrapped over your shoulders as you pulled your knees up to your chest.

Bucky had been pacing back and forth across the gazebo, trying to find the right words to say even though he did not want to be direct. “Hey Y/N, can I ask you something?”

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you turned over to face him. “If it’s about the Cold War, I can’t answer that.”

This made him chuckle softly, and certainly put his nerves at ease. “Oh? And here I thought that you knew your history.” He teased, as always.

Laughing softly, you stood up from your seat on the bench and walked up to him. “I do know my history, but I’ve got my mind on the present at the moment.” You admitted, honestly.

Who were you kidding? When you first met this man, you did have your mind on history. You were fascinated by the Howling Commando who fought alongside Captain America; he was merely a historical figure to you.

But now in the present, you could not deny that he was much more than that. He was a friend, a companion, someone you had become quite fond of. You did not know how to describe it; but you could not deny that you saw a glimpse of Lord Krishna in his eyes. He sure had the charm, and the mystery, but your own fear of loss had held you back from acting on what you felt for him.

“Speaking of the moment, that brings me back to my question.” He rolled his eyes at you rather playfully. “What’s Rasleela?”

Your eyes grew wide at his question. “Rasleela?”

“I looked up one of the paintings in your apartment.” He responded with a shrug.

Ever since he had spent that night at your apartment, Bucky had been frequently asking you questions about the various paintings and idols of Lord Krishna that you had kept in your living quarters. He had explained that his fascination with your religion had stemmed from the fact that he had lived in Wakanda and had experienced their culture as well; and it had caused him to become curious of all of the traditions that you followed.

Of course, you had no problem sharing with him the context behind the paintings around your home. The story of Radha and Krishna was always close to your heart, and you certainly appreciated being able to share them with someone else. It was no secret that sharing these love stories with Bucky had only contributed to your feelings towards him, but you did not want to get ahead of yourself like that. You were technically his boss, after all.

“Rasleela… well, the literal meaning of it is ‘the dance of divine love’ but that’s quite a mouthful.” You admitted, laughing softly. “The painting I have in my apartment shows Lord Krishna and Radha dancing under the stars, doesn’t it? My grandmother told me that it happens in one night, when Lord Krishna hides in the forest and plays his flute. All the girls in his village get so mesmerized by it… they follow the music into the forest and they go searching for him. When they find him, they dance all night. It’s a celebration of love, really… the dancing.”

“But why are there so many women who danced with him?” He asked. “Why is he dancing with all of them when Radha was the one he loved?”

“Believe it or not, he was quite the playboy.” You replied, your lips curling into a smirk as you crossed your arms against your chest. “He loved Radha the most, but every girl in the village still loved him.”

“So, you have a thing for playboys, huh?”

“I have a thing for Lord Krishna.” You replied in a rather teasing manner. “I mean, I’m devoted to Lord Krishna. But when it comes to my love life… I want someone to love me like Lord Krishna loved Radha.”

As messed up as the world was, this wish of yours had never changed. Ever since you were a little girl in South India listening to your grandmother’s stories, you fell in love with Lord Krishna and the pure love that he held for Radha. This kind of love was unconditional, and undying.

“Would you ever want to have your own Rasleela, Y/N?” Bucky asked you, rather curiously.

“What?”

“Dance all night, under the stars, celebrate love… would you ever want to be a part of something like that?” He asked.

You thought for a moment, wondering if you could ever be a part of something so magical. “I mean, I doubt that I would ever experience something so magical. But if I found someone to be my Krishna, I guess I won’t be opposed to it.” And you meant that.

Frankly, he knew exactly what you meant too.

When you woke up the next morning, it was way past dawn. You had turned on the usual morning chants on your phone, and hooked it up to the speakers. While the chants were playing in the background, you made your way over to the bathroom to clean yourself up and get ready for your prayers. But when you made your way over towards your shrine, you had noticed that the footprints that you had painted from your front door were no longer there.

You hadn’t taken them off, so it made you wonder who would have managed to scrape all of that paint off of the tiles. But when you made your way over to the front door and opened it, you were greeted by a surprise.

It was a box, rectangular and tied with a giant red bow. You looked around the hallway before picking it up, wondering who would have left this as you closed the door behind you. As curious as you were about what was in that box, you did not open it right away. You had to head to work, since Rhodey and Wanda had just returned from a mission.

When you arrived to make yourself some breakfast, the dining area had been rather empty. Most of the team had eaten and left, but the table had been set for one; it had a plate that was covered with a lid and a sticky note with your name on it.

“Well, this morning has been full of surprises, hasn’t it?” You said to yourself as you sat down on the table and removed the lid, seeing a freshly prepared dosa and onion chutney on the plate. “It sure has…”

At that moment, you knew damn well who was responsible for the neatly wrapped box at your door and the South Indian breakfast surprise; other than yourself, there was only one other person here at the compound who knew how to make South Indian food, and he had been acting a little suspicious lately.

You had eaten your breakfast in quiet, constantly paying attention to your surroundings in hopes that Bucky would return to the dining area to ensure that you were eating the meal he had left behind for you. But to your disappointment, he did not show. As a matter of fact, the last time you saw him had been when you had returned to your living quarters following your nightly chat by the lake.

The rest of the day went by as you were swarmed with mission reports and briefings, and the whole time Bucky was nowhere to be found. Not that he had to be a part of them, as he hadn’t been taking part in missions just yet. But it was safe to say that you could not go this long without seeing him.

Of course, you could have asked your team if they had seen Bucky anywhere. If he wasn’t at the compound, you knew that he would have at least told someone where he went. Truth be told, your pride had just gotten in the way of you just blatantly admitting to someone that you were looking for him. You could just picture the look on Sam’s eyes when you asked him where Bucky was.

“Took you long enough.” Sam muttered when you entered his living quarters. “I’ve been expecting you all morning, Y/N.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked, crossing your arms as you looked over at him in utter confusion.

“You’re looking for the cyborg, aren’t ya?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I am. I haven’t seen him all day, and he left breakfast for me. I figured that I would ask you where I could find him. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” He replied, giving you a reassuring smile. “He’s just hiding from you.”

“Then where is he?” You asked, wondering what was going on with the supersoldier. “What? Why?”

“He left on his Harley at sunrise while I was going on my run. He didn’t tell me where he was headed, just that he needed to stay hidden until nightfall and that you would know where to find him.” He replied with a shrug. “Something about ‘following the music’ or whatever. I had no idea what he meant by that.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words before you shook your head. “God, I should have known that he was up to something when he asked me what he did last night.” You admitted, sighing.

“What did he ask you?”

“Nothing you should know about.” You replied with a wink. “Did he say anything else, by the way?”

“Just that you would know where he is… and that you should just ‘follow the music’ if you didn’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I have no idea what that means. But if you want, I can help you track him down.” He offered. “Honestly. I don’t know what goes on in that cyborg brain of his.”

You wanted to consider Sam’s offer, but you knew that it was best not to. Clearly, Bucky had known that you would find him; it even seemed that he wanted you to. As much as you want to let Sam get involved, and you understood his good heart for offering, you wanted this to be a lot more personal. Besides, Agent Y/L/N was not someone who would back away from a challenge.

“It’s fine, Sam.” You shrugged him off. “If he wants me to go on a wild goose chase, then I guess that’s what I’ll do. It’s not like I have a team of superheroes to oversee or anything like that.”

The Falcon chuckled at that. “I’ve always known that something was up with the two of you.” He admitted, genuinely. Having watched you at your lowest, he wanted nothing more than for you to find happiness, especially with someone like Bucky. “You like him, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.” You confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. “I mean, I don’t think I know how to keep that a secret. We have been spending a lot of time together lately, and I’m sure people are starting to notice.”

Not that you cared about what anyone might think. Being the supervising officer to the Avengers did not mean that you had to stray away from meeting your personal needs. You had all survived an apocalypse; the least you could do is be happy.

“I know he likes you too, Y/N. He can’t seem to shut up about you, and I hope that everything works out for you.” He grinned as he pulled you into an embrace. “You deserve it.”

You gave him a nod as you hugged him back. “Thanks, Sam. I know that… I’ve been hard on myself ever since… what happened. But I know now that Bucky’s not the bad guy in my story. He never was, and maybe… maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe the bad things in my life are over.”

Sam nodded understandingly, still not letting go of the hug. “Have you told him yet?” He asked, certainly worried about his two close friends.

You shook your head. “No, I haven’t told him. I didn’t know how to. How am I supposed to tell him that I misunderstood him? Or that there was a time when I wanted nothing more than to kill him?”

Looking back at that time only broke your heart, and your eyes glazed over. You knew that Bucky would never judge you if he ever found out about your past, but you could not get yourself to share this with him. You did not know how to.

“You know that wasn’t your fault, Y/N.” He reminded you. “Just like it wasn’t his fault either.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know that now. But I can’t help but feel guilty sometimes. Bucky’s one of the sweetest, kindest, and gentlest people I’ve ever met. I just feel awful about believing what everyone was saying about him. I should have known better. I should have believed Steve.”

Pulling back from the hug, Sam quickly wiped away your tears. “Y/N, come on… there’s no point in feeling shitty about the past. Bucky likes you. You like Bucky. Just focus on the present for now, okay? You and I both know that Bucky’s the last person who would judge you for what happened, and if he found out about what you’ve been through, I know for a fact that it wouldn’t change anything. You have nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Okay.” You sighed, knowing that he was right. “I should probably go and find him.”

“Yeah, you do that.” He agreed, chuckling softly before leaning over to kiss your forehead. “Be happy, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

When you exited Sam’s living quarters, you headed back to your own. Remembering that the footprints in your living room had been removed, you wondered if it could be Bucky’s doing. You and Bucky had been talking well into the late hours of the night before you decided to head back to your living quarters, and he had walked you back to yours the whole way. You could not remember if Bucky had come inside with you, but he certainly could have come in with you and helped you into bed before he had scraped the footprints off.

But if so, why would he do that?

What did Bucky mean when he had told Sam that you would know where he was? What did he mean by ‘follow the music’? Why did he ask you about Rasleela last night?

You suddenly remembered the box that you had found at your doorstep that morning, and you rushed over to open it. Inside was a dark blue lace dress that was straight out of the 1940s, and a handwritten note from Bucky.

If you would let me be the Krishna to your Radha, I’ll show you how we did ‘Rasleela’ back in my day. -Bucky

Reading the note only made your cheeks heat up once again. You had been expecting him to pull something like this on you since the moment he had even asked you about the meaning of Rasleela in the first place. But you hadn’t expected him to be this fast.

It did not take you long to figure out where he was. After all, Sam had mentioned that Bucky had left the compound pretty early. With his clue to ‘follow the music’ and the message he had left on that note, it was all pretty clear to you.

Being a history major, you had always been fond of how much New York City had changed since the days of the Great Depression. When you had first met Steve Rogers and taken him on a tour around Manhattan, he had mentioned to you of how different it had been back in the day.

You had been the first one to find out about how Peggy had asked him to meet her at the Stork Club for their date, which Steve hadn’t been able to make. Seventy years later, you had offered to take him to the place where the Stork Club used to be.

It was a pocket park now, with the club being demolished and replaced with an artificial waterfall and several benches. You and Steve had sat there for hours, and he had shared with you all the stories about how Bucky would drag him out there to go dancing with some girls he met.

What a playboy he must have been back then?

Before you knew it, you had slipped into the dress that Bucky had given you and were heading towards Paley Park in hopes that you could find him there. As it was a four hour drive from the compound to the heart of Manhattan, you found yourself bringing out one of your favourite toys.

A present from your former mentor and SHIELD Supervising Officer Agent Phil Coulson, Lola was a cherry red 1962 Chevrolet Corvette that was upgraded with some of Howard Stark’s, and then Tony Stark’s technologies. Steve used to tell you that Howard had once promised to create flying cars at one of the Stark Expos, and Lola was the closest thing that came to that; in flight mode, the wheels folded down and there was a hover-capable propulsion system that replaced them.

Knowing of Bucky’s interest in flying cars through Steve, you could only hope that he would be excited to see you arriving in Lola when you pulled up to Paley Park. Frankly, the four hour drive to the city was now cut short, thanks to Lola. Oh how you loved Phil for letting you take his car after him. Even though you were only using her for leisurely purposes, Lola made you feel some kind of power. After all, if you could drive a flying car, you could pretty much do anything else in the world.

#3kdiversity #aj writes #love me blue #rasleela #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x desi!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes series #desi au

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bastardsunlight · 3 years

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WIP snippet meme thing tagged by @avi17

Tagging @daughterofnero and @heamatic

Post a snippet of a thing you're working on

“Earthrealm’s champion is a mighty warrior,” Raiden observes, wrapping a cloth bandage around Shang Tsung’s right hand and wrist with firm care. His glowing eyes are downcast, watching his work, his mind a million miles away. The sorcerer recognizes the distance and reaches out with his as-yet unwrapped hand to tilt the thunderer’s chin upward so their eyes meet, bright and dark. There is still that old thrill of excitement, meeting those strange eyes and Tsung is surprised by his own enthusiasm. This is why I keep him around, he tells himself, as if in a last-ditch effort to maintain control over his emotions. Raiden, as no one else in his life, has been able to step effortlessly past the walls the sorcerer has built to protect himself—his mind and heart, so damaged and broken from a young life in the gutters of an unforgiving city—to lay hands upon the deepest parts of him. He fears this, loathes it, in a way, because it symbolizes his ultimate weakness, the largest gap in his otherwise impenetrable armor. Yet he, ever at war with himself, loves it, deeply and completely, craving the nakedness such intimacy brings.

[[MORE]]

“I am also a mighty warrior, old friend,” Shang Tsung reminds Raiden, pressing his lips to the corner of the former deity’s mouth. Raiden does not smile and the gesture is, for once, unable to pull him back from his distraction. The sorcerer begins to wonder if the man has not lived these moments before. They have spoken little of Raiden’s life before it became entangled with that of his chosen champion and for many years, that had been just fine, a mystery which would reveal itself or which Shang Tsung would unwrap with great care and gentleness, as he had unwrapped the man’s habit on that fateful night just after he had secured Earthrealm’s safety for ten generations. He of insatiable greed cannot, naturally, hold back that curiosity for eternity and soon he will enquire after it. For now, he supposes, speculation will do.

“And you are fighting on behalf of your Emperor,” says Raiden sourly, knowing what has to happen, what must be done in order for time to continue its course. He has had many conversations with Lord Liu Kang on this exact subject and even a few with Shang Tsung, who, upon meeting Shao Kahn, took an immediate interest, if not an outright liking to him. “His tactics,” the sorcerer had declared, “are far too brutal for someone so old; one might have learned subtlety by now.” But the subtlety had come from somewhere behind the throne—if Quan-Chi’s brand of mad soul sorcery could be called subtle. In other timelines, Raiden reminds himself, he is insidious; now he is a raving zealot with my father’s head whispering blasphemies to him. But he is still dangerous. By winning the Kahn’s favor in the first tournament, Shang Tsung had ousted Quan-Chi as Shao Kahn’s favorite sorcerer; the great Emperor had even granted Tsung the use of Quan-Chi’s flesh pits, an offer Shang Tsung had graciously accepted out of pure, human curiosity.

It is said—in whispers, mind; no one would speak such a thing aloud—that the Kahn’s lovely daughter, Mileena, had been created here, that she is not his flesh and blood, but a copy of the girl Sindel had borne to Jerrod of Edenia. Shang Tsung’s informants had soon given him even more detail about her creation and the reason behind it. “Evidently,” he had told his divine consort one evening as the breeze became chilly off that weird ocean and they lay together under furs, “that mad fool, Quan-Chi, claimed he had the power of something called an Elder God—that he could reverse death. Sindel’s little Kitana was too far gone, they said, and her mind was in shambles. Clever Quan-Chi used his creation, Mileena, to save the Empress and make himself valuable to the great Kahn. How is that for family melodrama?” The power of the Kahn had been such that no one questioned Mileena’s place at his side and her mother, the queen Sindel, had regrettably gone quite mad and so only wanted a daughter to love and dote upon.

“Yes I am, pet, at your suggestion—or have you forgotten?” Shang Tsung’s grip has not relinquished its hold on Raiden’s chin, but he does not pull away.

“No,” he says quietly, “I have not.” Some things, certain events, must happen in order to keep the sands of time from shifting out of control, Raiden reminds himself. Liu Kang had told him that this is one of those events. The new keeper of time, thankfully, is not so cryptic as Raiden’s own, past self—or doomed future self, as time rolls. On the other hand, he is also not dying.

“Do you regret advising me this way?” Shang Tsung’s hand has slid its way around the back of Raiden’s neck under his hair, which is secured with a simple, but pretty hairpin of gold. The sorcerer’s forehead presses forward and their knees touch as he leans into his lover, drawing strength from their proximity. “It is my right to challenge him, as former champion, and as my island sits between all realms, I can ally myself with whomever I choose, can I not?”

“You can,” breathes Raiden, “and his choice of you as his ally and favored sorcerer has angered Quan-Chi, who now seeks to upset the empire of Outworld.”

Shang Tsung does not speak. This is more than Raiden has ever said about his own machinations. The sorcerer is under no impression that his companion is a true fool or simpleton in any way, but his sincerity often gives that impression, so hearing this side of things thrills him. He would take Raiden right here if his match was not coming up shortly. He may still do so; there can be time for them… there is always time for him.

“Even now, in his fury at the affront to him and therefore to his mad, dark god, he is opening a rift between Outworld and…. Elsewhere.” Raiden’s eyes close and he sighs deeply.

“So his dark god… does exist?” Only now does Shang Tsung interpose his voice, so curious is he about the goings-on of the divine aspects of a world which has known few gods. Raiden sighs, shoulders sagging. He signals for his champion’s other hand and it drops gently and obediently from the back of his neck to his lap. Shang Tsung flexes the other one, testing its strength carefully, drawing away from Raiden to sit up straight and regard him intently.

“Yes,” Raiden says eventually, “he is—a remnant of a… dead timeline.”

Shang Tsung feels his heart beat a little more quickly then. Timelines and worlds apart from his own—what riches and knowledge such a thing must hold. But dead? How can a timeline die? How can a world die? Aside from merging with another, a realm can never cease to exist, can it? He makes a mental note to check his library for any old texts which might hint at such a thing, though he is fairly certain if he possessed such a tome, he would remember it.

“And this rift?”

“Could be disastrous for Outworld, but its opening will ensure the Shokan people never ally with Shao Kahn, forcing him to rely upon the Tarkatan tribes as his foot soldiers. They are mighty and many, but…”

The lack of prince Goro in the next tournament ensures long life for Kung Lao, the soft-spoken, humble choice of Lord Liu Kang. A Tarkatan champion might be a worthy foe, but they, at least, only have two arms apiece. This shifts the sands of time, but not beyond Lord Liu Kang’s ken and control. Shang Tsung still fights for Outworld and Kung Lao still faces him. “And if the Tarkatan are allied to the throne of Outworld, the Osh-Tekk will not be; that is an old feud, and a bloody one.”

“So, my sweet, gentle emissary has a few schemes in him, does he?” Shang Tsung’s voice is a purr as Raiden passively finishes wrapping his hand and wrist.

“A few,” Raiden agrees.

“You are destabilizing an entire realm, o’ exquisite one,” continues the sorcerer. “I admire your ruthlessness.”

Raiden looks up and their eyes meet. Shang Tsung is hungry, his gaze roaming over the thunderer as if the man were utterly naked before him. Raiden knows Kung Lao will win—he must, for the sake of the timeline—and knows he will spare Shang Tsung which, in another life, embitters him and sends him limping foolishly back to a pitiless ruler who punishes his failure. This, Raiden knows, is something Quan-Chi would love to see, though the Netherrealm sorcerer’s mind is currently elsewhere. Shang Tsung is not the only one with informants. This time, however, Shang Tsung will not return to Shao Kahn, as his servitude is a ruse. Still, Raiden worries…

That worry presently evaporates as Shang Tsung’s oh-so-clever hands find his thighs beneath the layers of cloth which conceal them and push them gently apart. He is seated on an ornate bench of dark, carved wood, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and shaped with sensual elegance. It is an ideal place for someone as beautiful as Raiden to be seated—or so Shang Tsung opines. The cushion beneath him is comfortable, the best there is, and it supports him pleasantly as his former student drops to his knees between great, powerful thighs, looking up with glittering, obsidian eyes, asking only the permission of the deity-who-was.

“I would offer more,” Shang Tsung asserts with the weight of years and complete devotion dripping honey over every word, “but…” His eyes dart minutely to the door which will lead out and down to the arena for Final Kombat. His look flashes annoyance, as if the event were a mere inconvenience. Right now, it is, of course, and will be treated as such.

Raiden can feel his pulse rising, core beating hard in his broad chest, and a gentle flush of red-gold crossing fine-boned features. A distant rumble of thunder from an unexpected storm whispers of deep, aching desire, but the sorcerer awaits Raiden’s express permission. Coercion will simply not do.

#WIP #warring exes #asonedoes #aboutraidenmeta

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lowkeyjustvibing · 3 years

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Guess who decided to write more fanfic?

So I took those angsty IBVS headcanons, procrastinated for forever, and have finally figured out how I shall write this.

Also I decided to get some hurt/comfort up in here ‘cuz our favorite school king doesn’t deserve pure distilled pain without getting hugs.

IBVS by onebizarrekai

It was odd to say the least. Edward was known to be arrogant and boisterous, enough so that he drew the attention of anyone and everyone. So it was certainly confusing when the normally loud and proud school king slowly became much more quiet and secluded. No one knew what had caused it but after just a week Edward was an entirely different person. He was jumpy and hardly interacted with anyone outside of his inner circle. Easy to say, this caught the attention of many of the students.

“Hey, you know what’s up with Ed?” Chris asked, “I mean, he hasn’t shown up to any of the meetings and I rarely see him outside of class.”

“I dunno’,” Isaac said, not looking up from his sketchbook, “but yeah, it is a little weird that Mr. High and mighty is all secluded now.”

“I’m just worried.” Chris mumbled and Isaac gave him an odd look, “Hey! Don’t you dare. I just don’t want him to be hurt or something and we haven’t done anything to help him. I know you two don’t have the best relationship but you have to at least be a little concerned.”

After a moment of silence, Isaac sighed and set aside his sketchbook, “Alright, you caught me. Yes I’m a little curious about what’s up with the big guy, but what do you want to do about it? You can’t expect to just ask him what’s wrong and get him to pour out his heart or something. It was already difficult to get him to talk about like, anything aside from supernatural stuff before so I can’t imagine how sheltered about personal stuff he’d be now.”

“Well I’m getting the truth out of him one way or another.” Chris responded, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

“You should try asking Barry if he knows anything, he and Quinton are pretty close.”

Chris just nodded before waving goodbye and leaving to go find Barry.

-------

“I don’t know what’s wrong either.” Barry said sadly, “He doesn’t even come over anymore.”

Chris groaned in frustration, falling onto his back and frightening a nearby cat, “Great, so NO ONE knows.”

They both just sat there for a minute, neither of them wanting to break the silence.

“It’s just so frustrating!” Chris groaned, digging his palms into his eye sockets, “I mean, it’s not like the answer is just going to just waltz through the door!”

Suddenly, there was a loud bang coming from the kitchen and they both jumped. They glanced at each other and then tensed upon hearing the back door fly open and shut.

“Hello?” Barry called.

There was no response and Chris stood up, a fuzzy outline of a blade hovering next to his hand. Barry followed him as they slowly walked into the kitchen to see what was happening.

“Hey!” Chris called, “Who’s there?”

There was a quiet sniffle and then a weak voice responded, “S-sorry for j-just walking in...”

Barry blinked a few times before stepping forward, “Ed?”

Sure enough, the once proud school king was hidden in the corner hugging his knees to his chest. He was shaking and breathing unevenly and looked like a mess.

“Holy cow Ed,” Barry muttered, walking over quickly, “what happened?”

When he tried to reach out to comfort his obviously distressed friend, Edward flinched back, “D-don’t t-touch me p-please...”

Chris stepped forward, “Are you OK?”

Edward shook his head, barely stifling a sob.

“Is there anything we can do?” Barry asked.

“W-water.” Edward croaked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

It was then that Chris noticed that the other was wearing thick gloves and extra layers.

“Are you cold?” He asked, “I can get you a blanket.”

Edward shook his head slightly and Barry returned with a glass of water.

“Here.” He said, carefully handing it to Edward without touching him.

After confirming that he wasn’t hurt or anything, Chris and Barry walked back to the living room to give him some space.

“Did you see how much stuff he was wearing?” Chris asked, “He looks like he’s planning to go to Antarctica or something.”

Barry thought for a moment, “He said he didn’t want to be touched, maybe that’s part of it?”

Chris nodded, “But it’s weird, he was never this paranoid about being touched. Heck, he used to drag Isaac into closets. What changed?”

“That’s something he’s going to have to tell us.”

-------

After Edward finally calmed down enough to talk, Chris and Barry began rapid firing questions at him.

“Are you OK?”

“What happened?”

“Why were you so freaked out?”

“Did someone hurt you?”

“H-hey!” Edward stuttered, “I appreciate the concern but just... One at a time or something.”

Barry was the first to speak, “What happened?”

This seemed to catch the other off guard, “Well, umm... I just- Umm...”

“Here,” Chris interrupted, “let’s break it down a little, did someone do this to you?”

After a bit of hesitation, Edward nodded.

“Who?” The other two asked simultaneously.

“N-” Edward flinched, “E-emo kid...”

“Nevin?!” Chris asked incredulously and Edward flinched again.

Barry only grew more concerned, “What did he do?”

“H-he’d catch me a-after school and beat m-me up...” Edward mumbled, seeming to shrink into himself, “I-it sorta’ became an e-everyday thing. I’d get out of class and h-he’d drag me off somewhere and...”

“Holy...” Chris muttered, “Edward I- Oh my gosh... I’m so sorry man.”

At this, Edward broke and started crying. It took every ounce of self control in both of them not to rush forward and comfort their friend.

Barry rested a hand on Chris’s shoulder, “I’ll take care of him, could you go talk to Nevin?”

Chris nodded, his worry instantly forgotten as he was filled with anger and determination, “Of course. Take care of him while I’m gone.”

And with that, he was off again, this time with a burning sense of purpose.

--------

Chris knocked on the door to the Jovel’s house (To be fair, pounding would be a better word). After a few moments, none other than Nevin opened the door. He looked bored and vaguely annoyed, like Chris had just inconvenienced him.

“‘Sup Chris?” He asked nonchalantly.

At the completely unfazed tone, Chris couldn’t help the slight flicker of a knife appearing at his side.

“Well,” He said through gritted teeth, “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

Nevin gave him a suspicious look, probably noticing his tone, before moving aside, “Then come on in.”

“I’d rather not.” Chris muttered.

“Oh?” Nevin responded, “But I insist.”

Chris finally snapped. He grabbed Nevin and after yanking him out onto the porch, pinned him against the outside wall. Before the other could even speak, there was a bright red blade inches from his throat.

After recovering, Nevin finally spoke, “Oh, this was unexpected.”

“How DARE you.” Chris hissed, the knife edging just a hair closer.

Nevin gave him a confused look, “How dare I what?”

“You know what!” Chris spat, “Here, I’ll help you out. Two words, Edward. Quinton.”

Nevin looked at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. It took all of Chris’s willpower not to give Nevin a taste of his own medicine and beat him up.

“Oh I forgot about that!” He wheezed, “That was fun! Can’t believe you’re actually worried about that guy.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”

“Oh please, inform me.” Nevin drawled, once again looking bored and inconvenienced.

Chris felt his eye twitch and he dropped Nevin, “OK, how about I give you a demonstration then?”

As the other stood up, Chris noticed that his eye had turned to the unnatural cyan color indicating that his powers were activated. Then, to his surprise, a thick black liquid seemed to materialize on his shorter opponent.

“You want a fight?” Nevin said, grinning wildly, “You got one.”

-------

Meanwhile, Edward was sitting with Barry on his couch watching a movie. It took a while, but Barry eventually managed to convince his friend that he wasn’t going to be hurt. Not long after that, Edward was practically on top of him, furiously denying that the action meant anything. About halfway through the movie, the front door slammed open and Edward screeched before falling off the couch.

“Chris?” Barry called and received an affirmative grunt in response.

After hearing him struggle for a bit and mutter something about octopi, Chris finally walked into the living room.

Barry jumped up at the sight of him, “Holy-! I’ll go get my kit, stay right there!”

Chris groaned before flopping face first onto the couch. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and odd patches of black slime.

Edward looked worried, “Are you OK?”

“Peachy.” Chris responded, turning to look at him, “How ‘bout you?”

“Better than you I suppose.”

Barry got back with some medical supplies and started fussing over Chris. While he was getting cleaned up, Chris explained how he got into a fight with Nevin and “Taught that crazy goop lord a lesson”. Barry didn’t even question that statement, just telling Chris to go take a shower before he made even more of a mess.

“Want to finish the movie?” Edward asked after hearing the upstairs bathroom door close.

“Sure.” Barry responded, “Just let me clean off the couch first.”

-------

By the time Chris finally finished showering, realized he didn’t have spare clothes, and was supplied some sweats and a T-Shirt by Barry, it was already dark.

Chris swore quietly, “My dad’s gonna’ kill me when I get back. I should probably go before he gets even more mad.”

“Oh heck with your dad!” Edward shouted from the kitchen, “He’s gonna’ be pissed whether you go back now or a week from now! How ‘bout we all just hang out here for the night?”

Barry shrugged, “Sounds good to me.”

Chris was dumbfounded, “B-but I need to-”

“Ah shut up ya’ nerd.” Edward said, sauntering out of the kitchen, “You already had quite the day so there’s no point in going home just to get chewed out by your dad.”

“Besides,” Barry interjected, “I don’t think he’d miss that you’re wearing someone else’s clothes.” Chris flushed slightly at that statement, “I’ll toss your clothes in the washer and you can go back tomorrow looking like nothing happened.”

“OK...” Chris mumbled, still embarrassed.

After Barry left to put Chris’s clothes in the laundry, Edward jumped onto the couch, bouncing once and then burying his face in a pillow. Chris just grabbed the blanket and sat down on the other side of the couch, wrapping himself in it. Then, to his surprise, Edward grabbed a corner of the blanket and yanked on it, pulling Chris (Who had a death grip on said blanket) onto him.

“‘M cold.” Edward muttered, yanking on the blanket a few more times.

Chris was conflicted and incredibly flustered. On one hand, he wanted that blanket and on the other, he wanted to apologize for nearly falling on top of his new friend. Edward didn’t seem to mind though. In fact, he seemed quite content. It took a few moments of mental struggle for Chris to decide that being warm under the blanket was worth more than apologizing profusely. Barry finally got back, stifling a laugh at the sight of an unconscious Edward practically cuddling a very flustered Chris.

“Help!” Chris whispered.

Barry just grinned and sat next to them, “Sorry buddy, I’ve learned from experience that there’s no escaping Ed when he’s in a cuddly mood.”

With that, Barry grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled some onto his legs before leaning up against the arm of the couch. Chris sputtered a bit before succumbing to his fate and deciding to just get some sleep, almost instantly passing out.

---------

Anyways, I’m too lazy to write it out but Chris totally wakes up to Edward and Barry acting like an old married couple and giving each other kisses while they’re cooking. But yeah, I decided to write some good ol’ Edward angst and accidentally turned it into a poly ship, so sue me.

#general's fics #IBVS #Edward Quinton #Barry Price #Chris Jackson #This is probably so ooc #hhhhhhhh

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