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coffeebanana · 3 months

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It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet… Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should. No. His eyes flicked downwards. No, no, no, no— All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.

Some nightmares refuse to fade.

***

[Read the full fic below the cut or on Ao3!! CW: panic attacks, dissociation, depression]

Please, no.

Chat squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to rid himself of a sudden, blinding panic pounding through his skull. But it was too late. Ladybug’s slate-stained image was seared into his mind, her face frozen in pain, devoid of everything that had once painted comfort across his soul.

Her mask was half-torn, such that Marinette's bare cheek was cradled closest to his chest. Like maybe he'd tried in vain to protect her from the blast.

From his own destruction.

A choked sound ripped itself from his throat, a painful lump following in its wake. He had no way to fix this, nothing to do but pull her in closer. To tighten his arms around her precious, fragile remains.

Another mistake.

She crumbled in his grip; ashes floated up like a mosaic, blinding his vision. Frantically, he pawed at the air—trying to gather her fragments, to force her back together. If he caught enough, perhaps he could papier-mâché her likeness. He could use his tears as glue.

But there was no time for that before a fiery breeze tore through the street. Marinette’s remains were swept away, and only Chat’s strangled cries could follow.

The further away they fled, the more he came undone. There was nothing left to tie his mind together, to keep his pain from exploding like a supernova.

Nothing to keep the world from collapsing in on him.

“What did you expect?” Nightormentor’s voice sliced through the smoke. “You’ve always been poison to the ones you loved most.”

NO!

With a frigid gasp—one that curdled his tar-slicked insides—Adrien awoke. Once again, there was a darling weight in his arms. Only this Marinette was warm and solid. Her limbs were tangled in the blankets she'd pulled to her side of his bed, and one of her hands curled slightly into his T-shirt as her breath tickled the fabric.

She was alive.

Adrien just wasn't sure his heart still knew how to beat.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, both drenched in sweat and trembling. His chest felt like someone had trampled it, and every attempt to breathe sliced further into the wound.

When he closed his eyes, the world was still on fire.

Stomach lurching, he carefully rolled Marinette’s weight off his chest. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t listen to the even sounds of her breath without hearing echoes of his own sobs slip between them.

The room spun around him as he stumbled to the bathroom; the world still appeared as though through smoke—muted and unreliable, the air too thick to breathe. He collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet, his empty stomach convulsing, only to realize the sickness inside him wasn’t the kind he could expel.

He remained there, braced against the toilet seat, until his limbs eased their shaking enough for him to crawl away. Even so, he barely made it to the wall beside the sink before one of his arms gave out, and his cheek slammed a little too hard into the handle of one of the cupboards he twisted into a seated position. Hissing in pain, he let his face press against the wood there, shuddering at the way the cold surface shocked some life inside of him.

Time ceased to make sense after that. One moment, his chest was burning, pain reverberating through his back as he struggled to fill his lungs. The next, it seemed he’d become a giant cloud. A numb expanse of icy droplets, ready to fall at a moment’s notice.

Light gradually awakened the room, a subtle warmth flickering near the edge of his awareness. He only fully realized the day had come when, somewhere beyond the door he’d left ajar, the bed creaked.

“Adrien?” Marinette called. Her voice was gentle, but pierced through him all the same. “Everything okay?”

No.

Panic set in anew as footsteps approached. He swore he could somehow taste the blood pounding in his ears, and he clamped his mouth shut to keep from crying out. To keep from breathing, even.

He didn’t want to be found. Maybe, if he held his breath until his lungs screamed again, he’d remain concealed in his lifeless fog.

But ironically, it was harder to keep from breathing when that was his actual goal. He sucked in sharp breaths, timed to his heartbeats, and hid his face in his hands.

“Oh, Chaton...” Marinette’s slippers scraped across the bathroom tiles, coming to a stop within his sight. Too close. “Did it happen again?”

He managed a nod, bottom lip quivering as he bit back a sob.

A long exhale piqued his attention; it started as a noise from above and ended as a warm breath against his cheek. Kneeling at his side, Marinette rubbed her hands against her thighs.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Adrien shifted his jaw from side to side, guilt hooking its talons into his gut. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

It wasn’t a lie; he felt plenty bad about inadvertently dragging her here every night. She deserved the comfort of her own bed, regardless of whether he could actually get any sleep without her. So the least he could do was actually let her get enough rest.

But it wasn’t the truth, either.

And as she took his hand, carefully smoothing his fingers over hers, he had a feeling she knew it.

“Adrien…” She tugged his arm upwards, pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Biting his lip to keep from disagreeing, Adrien squeezed his eyes shut. With one less sense at his disposal, he was all too aware of the way she lifted his hand further, unfolding his fingers to press against her cheek.

“See?” she whispered, breath tickling the inside of his wrist. Her head twisted to the side, lips planting a kiss on the heel of his palm. “Everything’s fine.”

He swore he could feel the remnants of destruction prickling against her cheek. It took everything he had not to jerk his hand away.

Nothing was fine.

No matter how he’d come into this world, and no matter how much he despised the fact, Adrien would always be—in some way or another—his father’s son. Sometimes he swore he saw a glimpse of the man when he turned too fast in the mirror. Other times, a flash of fury would seize him; with a sickening sense of satisfaction, he’d know what it might felt like to be a villain.

Even worse, he was his mother’s son. His very existence had killed her.

He’d killed both his parents, in the end.

So no matter how much Marinette tried to console him, Adrien knew the voice of his nightmares had a point. He was a danger to her, to himself, to the world.

It might not even end up being his choice. All it would take was someone finding out what he was, and stealing the two rings he still couldn’t stand the sight of.

He was, at most, a liability. And Marinette deserved more than that.

She never agreed with him on that point.

“Look at me,” she said now. An edge crept into her voice, one that shocked him into listening.

His heart jumped at the blue of her eyes—filled with all the warmth that the fiery world of his nightmares had failed to hold.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking.

“No, no, no. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just…” Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, okay?”

Adrien couldn’t say it back. He couldn’t find enough truth to shove into the sentiment—not when that was all buried beneath his own misery. It was like he’d returned to his nightmare, with smoke charring his throat and one all-consuming fear.

Just the tiniest wrong movement could ruin everything.

But if he didn’t give some kind of response, Marinette would only worry. So he tugged on her hand—maybe a little too hard considering her yelp of surprise—and guided her to sit between his legs. She moved readily into place, and Adrien forced himself to ignore the fear spiking through his veins, hugging her back to his chest.

Once settled, she twisted around and tried to crane her neck upwards, reaching a hand half-blindly up to his cheek. Heart squeezing in his chest, he tightened his grip around and pressed a kiss to her head.

She remained tense for a moment too long, but finally sighed and melted back against his chest. Her hand trailed lazily back down to her side, and her breath spilled into a hum of contentment. With her gaze fixed firmly ahead, Adrien could finally breathe again.

He didn’t want her to see the few tears he’d finally let slip down his cheeks—even if she’d no doubt hear his sniffles or feel the way the cries rumbled in his chest. And he didn't want her to examine him to deeply, to discover what he already knew.

One day, he would surely disappoint her.

#coffebanana fics #miraculous ladybug #lovesquare #post-reveal #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #antichat #nightormentor #post-s5 #angst #bittersweet ending #cw panic attack #cw dissociation #cw depression

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steviewashere · 2 months

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In the Fire of the Sun

Rating: General CW: A dementia fic, that's as much of a warning as I'll offer Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Wedding Anniversary, Steve Harrington Has Dementia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Falling in Love Over and Over Again, Yearning, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Inspired by The Notebook (2004)

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a fire that never goes out." (in the most metaphorical sense possible)

💕—————💕

Eddie shuffles through the carpeted hallway of this center once more. He comes in right as it opens for visiting hours. Eight in the morning, sharp. Every single day. And has been doing so for the last few years.

Why?

Simple. Steve’s there.

Has been, actually, for the same amount of time Eddie’s been visiting. They’re both in their late seventies now. Time has treated them nearly equal. Aching limbs. Wrinkled and spotted skin. Grey hair. Crows feet. Though, time gave Steve one extra thing that Eddie will fight God about.

Dementia.

It’s ravaging him little by little. And Eddie bears witness. Began with the minor forgetting, always soothed by words and gentle touches, the praise. And then it was bigger things. Confusion and getting lost and mood swings that were almost unmanageable. It all felt so rapid, even if it was slow. But Eddie was there. For every moment of it. And still is there, just…Not in the same house anymore.

He hates coming through the center, though. It’s so clinical and sterile and depressing. Well, technically it isn’t. The rooms are done all nice, filled with furniture and soft blankets and beautiful fake plants that Steve can water if he feels the need to. But it’s not their house, which was painted by the people they love, filled with knick knacks of their lives, photos of their child and their grandchildren and all their friends. Though, Eddie supposes he shouldn’t complain, if Steve is mostly comfortable here. There’s a few things for Steve to interact with, hobby wise. A piano, some knitting circles, board games, but mostly music. It’s nearly poetic, to Eddie, that music is what dementia patients seems to cling onto the longest. It’s especially poetic considering Steve fell in love with a musician.

Sometimes, while Eddie is here, he’ll play music for everybody. The nurses and doctors and patients alike. Still able to share his gift, even in the face of something so…not dark, exactly, but challenging. Because any moment with Steve is pleasant—even if he doesn’t remember most of the time.

Eddie gets his visitor badge. A little sticker for his shirt. He’s taken up to Steve’s room and waits in the doorway for permission to go in. It could be a bad day, but based on the soft smile received from the nurse, it’s one of the better days. Meaning, Steve’s less irritable, still long term forgetful, but lovely.

Steve looks over to him. The hazel eyes that Eddie fell in love with nearly sixty years ago, soft and glistening. His forehead prominently wrinkled. Hair thin, but mostly there, a light silvery grey. He’s got better hair than Eddie—that can be admitted, his hair is just like Wayne’s now, gone with the wind. At least time hasn’t taken Steve’s beauty.

“Hello,” Steve greets, polite and sweet. His voice is slightly garbled, deep and velvety.

“Hello,” Eddie parrots. He holds out his right palm for Steve to take. Smiles softly when he does so. “I’m Edward,” he introduces, “though you can call me Eddie.” He taps his sticker. Loves the way Steve’s eyes still track his every movement, even with something so simple and mundane. The nurse hangs by Steve’s shoulder, nodding at Eddie when they lock eyes. Eddie smiles bigger at Steve, letting their hands drop. His palm tingles from Steve’s ever glowing warmth. “You must be the Steven Harrington I’m always hearing about,” he says.

Steve visibly grimaces, which is a good sign. A great thing. He groans. “That tastes awful in my mouth,” he states. “Though I can’t—How come that tastes bad?” He looks over to his nurse, but doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’ve heard some people call you Steve, does that sound okay? Shorten your name like mine?”

He nods. Relaxing. “That sounds great.” Steve smiles. And Eddie is like a sunflower in the face of the sun. Yearning to reach out, to touch, to feel and hold. But he knows that he can’t, or at least shouldn’t. “So…Eddie, you’re a visitor?” His finger taps on Eddie’s chest, on the white word: VISITOR. Eddie blossoms. “You came to visit me, I’m assuming. What are we going to do today?”

Eddie bites back his grin. Steve’s finger is still on his chest. He wonders if Steve even remembers putting it there, part of him hopes that he’s doing it on purpose. He hums, thinking. Though he’s got planned, “We’re going to take a walk outside, if that’s okay. I brought some music for us to listen to while we look around. It’s a pretty day outside, a little chilly, but the sun is bright out there. What do you think?”

“I like that,” Steve enthusiastically says. Which makes the good day even better. “Though I don’t know who you are, you have really good ideas. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that before. From somebody you might know,” Eddie says, offering out his hooked arm. Almost dances in place when Steve wraps their arms together. “He’s a good guy, too. Really good looking. Very kind. Think you’d like him.”

“You should bring him with next time,” Steve says. They make their way down to the front doors of the center. Arm in arm.

“Maybe I will,” Eddie says, even though the guy is already there. “I will if it’s a good day.”

The day really is beautiful. Leaves littering the ground, browns and dark greens, many of them bright yellow. A good color. Everything is just…good. There’s a little concrete path on the side of the center. Nestled really nice to a small creek. It’s quiet.

Steve is a comfortable weight at his side. They step in tandem. Feet matching each other. Eddie makes them stop at the end of the path, walking out to a grassy clearing, standing out watching the subtle ripples in the creek.

“It’s pretty,” Steve murmurs. “Reminds me of fish. For some odd reason.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Makes me think of fish, too, funny enough. The guy I told you about?” Steve nods beside him. The slow up and down bobbing of his heavy head. He’s still got glasses after all these years, they’re kind of crooked. Eddie itches to fix them. But Steve stares ahead of himself, at the water, a little crinkle between his eyebrows. An instinct in Eddie says, Soothe. But knows he shouldn’t. Knows he can’t kiss that away, not anymore. He takes a deep breath to reground himself. “Well,” he begins. “That guy is my husband. Or…No, he still is. He really likes to go on adventures. Loves doing things in silence. And when my dad—“ He means uncle, but that doesn’t matter. “—when my dad was still alive, we’d go out and fish. My husband and I, we’re too old to fish comfortably now, but he was always better than me. Earned him my dad’s respect, tell you that.”

“Your husband sounds fun,” Steve says, smiling with it. “Y’know, I have this friend—“ Eddie perks up at this. Usually, there’s nobody that Steve talks about. But if he’s willing. “—She has a wife. I don’t remember much about her, but I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Robin, Eddie knows. Of course. He can’t wait to go home and call Robin to tell her all about this. “I’ll have to meet them some time.” He moves his palm from where it hangs loose at their hooked arms, brings it up slowly, and settles it on Steve’s bicep, squeezing. Steve doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure,” Steve mutters. “I just hope you have good taste.”

Oh I have the worst, Eddie thinks, you’ve told me that before. He walks them over to a nearby bench, still staring out at the water. It’s glistening ripples, the few birds that swoop down to rest, some stray leaves. Pulls out his phone, looks at their playlists he’s left the same over the years. Finds Steve’s. And clicks shuffle. “I think you’ll like this one, actually,” he says.

The first song to play is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”, their wedding song.

Beside him, Steve hums, settling back into the bench. His eyes are closed peacefully. A small smile to his lips. Face soft in the glow of the sun. Eddie is a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower. He aches so bad to trace his fingertip down the bridge of Steve’s nose, on the curve of his lower lip, to kiss him and dance with him and hold him like there’s no tomorrow. Like there’s no tomorrow where he comes back, a stranger.

“I’ve heard this before,” Steve whispers. His eyebrows furrow. He’s still smiling, but he’s focusing somewhere on something. And Eddie wants to comb his fingers through Steve’s brain, pet over the diseased areas, pat the memories, nestle the good that Steve remembers. “I see a face in my head,” he says. Asks, “Can I tell you what I see?”

“Sure,” Eddie whispers as soft as possible. “Tell me all about this face.”

Again, Steve settles. Shimmying further into the bench, taking Eddie with him. They lean back. Like sitting on their couch, watching reruns, eating Chinese takeout, gossiping about their neighbors, gazing at their daughter painting messy pictures of their love—pink and yellow splatters on the coffee table. (Eddie thinks about how those dried paint stains never left. How he never cleaned them. How Steve never complained. He’ll go home tonight and look at them. He will weep.)

“It’s a man,” Steve starts. “He’s white. Clean shaven. Got this bulbous nose and pretty pink lips. Kind of pouting,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself. Eddie snorts beside him. His eyes burn a little. “Dark, dark brown hair. Wavy around his face, kind of frizzy. But it looks like it’s been styled back into a bun, his bangs curled inwards.” Steve takes a deep breath, sighing dreamily. “His eyes…Wow, Eddie. These eyes are probably my favorite thing I’ve ever seen. So deep, big, almost like a deer. They’re shiny with tears. But he smiles at me, I’m warm.”

Eddie squeezes at Steve’s bicep again. He takes a stuttering breath. “The way you describe him…He sounds like a—“

“A painting,” Steve finishes. “He says something to me. Calls me Stevie. Calls me baby. That…I like that.” His eyes flutter open. And he swings his head to the right, looking directly into Eddie’s. “I like that, but there’s also a number there.”

“What’s that?” Eddie kindly asks.

“Fifty. I don’t really know why—Hey, wait a minute,” Steve rushes. He sits forward slightly. His eyes widen. The arm still wrapped with Eddie’s squeezes in a vice grip. “Your eyes…I’ve seen your eyes before.”

Eddie perks up. It’s happening again. Doesn’t occur all that often, especially in the last few months. But sometimes, sometimes his belly flips and his chest flutters and he’s taken back to the clearing that Steve confessed his love in—twenty years old, his eyes alight with passion, hair flopping all over the place. Him beautiful and peaceful. And, yeah, that’s what Eddie sees in front of him now.

“I’ve seen them before,” Steve whispers. He raises a hesitant palm to the side of Eddie’s face. Landing gently. Cupping, warmth radiating from him. He’s still a furnace. He’s the same. The Steve that Eddie fell in love with, he’s here and still inside there, he’s in the palm and in Eddie’s chest. He’s here. Steve inhales sharply. Clarity in his eyes. How he tells a story with just his pupils, the quick darting, the tears that pool in his waterline—Eddie will never know. “Eds?” Steve calls out.

A part of Eddie crumbles to his feet. He hasn’t heard that nickname in so goddamn long. He bites back the sob that wants to tear through him. Instead, places his free palm over the back of Steve’s. Thumb tickling his knuckles. “Hi, Stevie. Hi, baby,” he murmurs back. “How are you, love bug?”

“Eds,” Steve breathes. “I—What are—You look different.” He chuckles, it’s congested, it’s wet. “Is it our anniversary? Please, is it—“ Eddie nods in the hold. Steve sighs, crying slightly with it. There’s so much ache here, it hurts in the sweetest way possible to even have his simple touch. “God,” Steve softly sobs. “I’m sorry that I forgot. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I tried to remember.”

Eddie squeezes where he’s still touching Steve. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes truthfully. His chest seizes, that sob yearning, creeping. “Just sitting here with you for our anniversary is enough.” I’ll always be here to help you remember, he doesn’t say.

The way Steve relaxes, the relief rushing through him is enough for Eddie. Every single day with Steve is enough. Even in the moments where he’s completely lost in the world, somewhere dark and cold and lonely. Even when he gets angry and lashes out, slamming his palms on Eddie’s chest. Even if every time it makes Eddie physically pulse and hurt. He hurts. He’s a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower.

“Okay,” Steve rasps. “Okay, Eds. Okay.” He leans into the warmth of their bodies, sides a single line. Connected. Stitched together by everything, the matter of the universe. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Eddie murmurs.

They’ve got maybe five minutes before Steve is gone again. Back to Steven. To the stranger in his room. A guy who sees brown eyes in his sleep and is unsure who they belong to. They’ve got five minutes, but Eddie will treat them like lifetimes.

He’ll come back tomorrow. And they will remember. And he will ache. But he will love.

“I love you,” he says.

And with the last thirty seconds they have together, Steve sighs, all the emotions under the sun (and Eddie is the sunflower soaking up all that is Steve), “I love you, too.”

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 26 #angst and hurt/comfort #bittersweet ending

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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 4 months

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“A Strange Little World”- Loki x Reader

As the walls of duty and destiny close in around you and your secret lover, Loki proposes that you wash your hands of it all and start your own palace of dreams out in the realms.

Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!F!Reader Content Warning: sexism, forced marriage, military conscription, Odin is a massive c**t, some lusty thoughts, mostly longing and comfort fluff Word Count: 5.1k

You liked to ‘play house’ with Loki, but it didn’t mean the same thing to you that it would to other couples.

Whereas the mere mention of the game for most would conjure images of naughty romping and playacting in the buff, for two good little citizens of Asgard’s elite, it was a bit more literal than that for you.

Your lives were already so chaotic, with expectations raining down upon you like hot stones, forcing you to duck one way and leap another every waking second. Loki, as a prince of the realm, was moved around by his family and tutors like a pawn on a chessboard. He was kept constantly on his feet with everything from physical training to seidr sessions, diplomacy lessons, holding court, touring the front lines, etc. Odin had even begun to parade possible brides before his second son, evidently refusing to accept your rank as worthy of the royal family.

For your part, you were also being tossed about the whipping winds of life as a courtier. Finishing school had been rough enough, but your quest to join the Valkyries had only just borne fruit. Alas, this was against your father’s wishes to marry you off instead. Your days were spent doing everything in your power to convince your family to release you from a marriage contract made to a distant cousin years ago in order to join the elite team of fighters.

Not to mention, Odin considered Valkyries to be worthy of a prince’s hand.

What you never understood was how Odin, in his supposedly infinity wisdom, couldn’t foresee that allowing two youths to run around as playmates in childhood could possibly lead to a romance as adulthood took hold. As children, you and Loki joked about what you would name your own sons and daughters. When you both began to realize the jokes were turning into sincere wishes for your future, it all changed forever. Odin began eyeing you with suspicion and disdain where he once smiled with fatherly affection. He’d outright rejected your suit when Loki brought it to proposal.

Once it became all but apparent that your affectionate interludes with Prince Loki were temporary at best, you refused to give in to it. Instead, you began meeting in secret, which was easier than imagined for a Prince and his muse, for behind the armoire in his bedchamber was a hidden door, which led to a small winding staircase. The hidden passage led to a cozy sitting room with only a few chairs, a table, and a fainting sofa over by the window. The room was trimmed in gold, the walls a faded, light green. Perhaps once it had been used for the same purpose it now was, but for one of Loki’s own ancestors (you only hoped they approved of you more than the Allfather did).

Nothing brought you or your princely lover more joy than to sit in his private parlor and regale one another about your stressful days bowing to the whims of the Allfather’s court. Thus, like a married pair, you chose to sneak away after supper each night to Loki’s chamber to have dessert and tea, and to pretend that the hard, demanding world outside his window wasn’t there, perhaps dissolved away in an after-storm fog. Perhaps his sitting room was flying through the clouds, up, up, and away from Asgard…

The lovemaking was always sublime, but even at your quietest, sipping tea and sharing a slice of pastry, you were in paradise as long as he was beside you. You hung on Loki’s every word, no matter what he was describing or how well you understood it. In return, he smiled and took your hand whenever you expressed your own fears for your future.

“Like a husband and wife,” Loki had tenderly whispered once, a grateful smile unrolling like a banner across his lips. “I cannot tell anyone else what I express to you every night with perfect ease.”

You and Loki did what no one else in any of the nine realms bothered to do: you listened to one another. Loki wove a tapestry of emotion, conflict, and dreams whenever he spoke. Even describing the most mundane of daily activities was like listening to a sonnet. He observed the world differently from most people. His mind was beautiful (as was the rest of him). If only his wonderful thoughts weren’t wasted on unreceptive ears like the King’s.

Additionally, it was obvious that he found your own rambling monologue like the preface to a grand story in which he just had to immerse himself. Whether you were bemoaning your betrothal plans or how itchy your ceremonial robes were, he drank in your every word like a rich, intoxicating wine.

However, not every night was for unloading your troubles. Some nights, like the one you presently found yourself in, were for fantasy. You and Loki had just finished making love in his bed, and now you were wrapped only in his bedsheets and sitting in his secret room, waiting for dessert to be delivered. Loki had only covered his lap for the sake of the servant when he came with tea.

“Did you take the contraceptive I sent?” he asked once the servant left.

“Of course,” you replied, sighing to yourself. “I always do.” Of course precautions would be necessary if you were to continue sleeping with the Prince, but it sometimes drove home a fact that gave you great sorrow: one day soon, someone would be proudly carrying Loki’s heirs, and it wouldn’t be you.

He sat back in his chair and spread his legs apart, rendering the small lap blanket he’d halfheartedly covered himself with entirely useless. He looked out the window into the fading summer light with a dreamy gaze in his eye. “I’ve been thinking, and I don't like Henrik for a boy after all.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the teapot, at least until Loki instantly sat up in order to get to it and pour your cup before you could do it yourself. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a sip of the hot, floral tea, letting its mellow aroma settle your nerves for a moment before adding your thoughts. “And I told you before I won’t EVER allow a child of mine to be named…ergh…Henrik.”

Loki gave a hearty chortle as he reached for a handful of candied pecans from a small bowl. “Too common for my Princess’ babe, is it?”

“Too common for a stable raker,” you retorted. After a moment of silence, you added, “Out of curiosity, do you have anything better in mind?”

“There are hundreds of names worthy of a child of the royal family,” answered Loki, popping two nuts into his mouth and taking a moment to chew and swallow them before carrying on. “However, there are far fewer names worthy of a child of ours.”

You wanted to move forward with your scenario, naming your offspring, planning your household, raising your future higher than it could ever be in truth. However, you had something you needed to tell him now, before anything got too difficult for you to say.

“My father has summoned Birger for the official betrothal,” you blurted out, causing Loki to startle and put down his tea cup with a little too much force. “He says he shall arrive tomorrow.”

He scoffed, leaning back again in clear disapproval. “Does your dear father know that marrying one’s cousin is nothing short of repulsive?”

“You know he is of the old ways, he knows most disapprove of his plans,” you said sadly, looking at your reflection in the cup before you, a single tear falling suddenly from your eye and landing in the middle of the brown liquid. “But that still doesn’t save me from it!”

Loki grunted like a frustrated boy, biting his lip to keep from letting the entirety of his unflattering judgements loose on you. He was still your father, after all, and Asgardian custom always demanded respect from one’s children. But something was occurring to him: an idea slowly coming into focus behind his eyes.

You’d expected him to say something by now. “Loki? Darling? What is it?”

“It suddenly makes sense,” he answered, leaning over the table and extending his arms out to you, open-palmed hands asking for yours. “My dear, I’m afraid they’re plotting deliberately against us, your father and mine both.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, gasping with surprise as you folded your hands into his from the other side of the table.

“Odin informed me over breakfast today that I am to serve my military conscription, beginning four days hence.”

“No!” you nearly shouted. “Please at least say he’s sending you to Vanaheim or Alfheim--”

“--regrettably, Thor and I are both being shipped like common rats off to Svartalfheim. There’s rustling in the air of an invasion.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

For you, the tears came more freely now. “But it’s dangerous there! You could die on the front against the Dark Elves!”

Loki shrugged. “Even Odin wouldn’t sacrifice his sons so thoughtlessly. We will be fighting from the tents, my darling, please believe me.”

“So, the King is sending you away to fight at the same time I am to be formally engaged,” you realized. “Tearing us apart forever.”

Loki squeezed your hand as his skin turned cool. “A mandatory conscription is for ten moon cycles,” he reminded you. “You will be wed by the time I return.”

“And you can’t get out of your duty?” you asked frantically. “You’re a Prince! Use your privilege to revoke it!”

He shook his head and brought your right hand to his lips, where he placed a sweet, tender, sad kiss on your fingers. “Desertion is death, even for one such as I.”

“Then what are we to do?”

He shrugged, at a loss as much as you were. “I have no idea, I’m afraid.”

After a moment’s awkward pause as you contemplated your dilemma, Loki added, “And your cotillion, which I presume your father will hold with all the appropriate pomp?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Loki looked over his shoulder, toward the setting sun in the window, which cast orange beams of light about the room behind your heads, giving the room a peaceful glow as night set in. “Truly, I thought Thor would have at least had his engagement gala by now with Sif. Meanwhile, I’d only imagined my own with you.”

You bit on your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“However,” he went on, running his thumb casually over your knuckles, “I can imagine they are a rather dull affair. After all, every debutante ball I’ve been dragged by the ankles to witness has had the energy and excitement of an execution. A betrothal ceremony and celebration can hardly be better, can it?”

“As if that sentiment helps how I feel,” you mumbled.

You tore your hands from Loki’s grip, getting up from the chair and going over to the window, your back to Loki. After a moment, you sensed him moving in behind you before wrapping his arms around your belly, swinging you softly back and forth.

“You know it’s a crime to turn your back on your sovereign, Princess,” he said, his deep, gentle tone mismatching his words.

“Sadly, you aren’t my sovereign. Odin is,” you whispered, barely audible even to him. “And it seems to me that he has us like flies on his web.”

Loki’s mind was floating away the more he touched your warm body. “How lovely the sunset is tonight, chasing the fog away. Wouldn’t it be divine to walk down to the orchards on the edge of the city to watch it from the rolling knolls?”

You smiled and closed your eyes, losing yourself in fantasy. “I can almost hear Juni and Vali giggling and running around one of the fruit trees. Vali always tries to steal a lemon to throw around at her, the rascal!”

A moment of silence. “Juni?”

You turned your head, jerked out of your luxurious inner tableau. “Yes, Juni.”

“Vali is considerable,” Loki admitted, “But Juni? Is our daughter a cat?”

You giggled as Loki’s silly ramble reached a climax. “Can you see her debut? ’Now announcing to the court and the Nine Realms…Her Royal Highness, Princess Juni of Asgard?!’” His mock horror nearly brought you to your knees in laughter. “I’d sooner name her Thora.”

You turned around, facing your Loki and slowly cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. “Maybe we should stop this. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Juni will never be. Nor will Vali or any other of our ghost-children.”

“Ghosts are dead,” Loki stopped you, leaning into your cheek and shutting his eyes. “Our children are merely yet-to-be.”

“Never to be,” you corrected him, leaving the pair of you in depressed silence for minutes until he broke it with a kiss and a sigh.

“I should leave you,” you said, your eyes flooding with hot tears again. “Maybe it will be better if we never see each other again.”

He looked hurt by your decision, even frightened. “I can’t do that. I want to spend our last hours together in your arms and weaving our false hopes together in this strange little world we’ve made together.”

“Tell that to your father, and mine,” you snapped back, turning away again, not wanting for him to see you break down entirely. “It would make the separation even more difficult for us if we don’t just ignore one another until you leave for the front lines.”

After yet another uncomfortable pause, you felt Loki put a hand on your shoulder. It felt cold.

“Perhaps so,” he finally agreed. “But if you ever need me, I’ll come to you before your heart beats again.”

With nothing to say that wasn’t an outpouring of pleas and love, you quickly abandoned him in his secret closet, crestfallen and lonely once more. You didn’t make it back to your rooms in the palace, needing to hide behind a statue of Allfather Bor to hide your sobs.

Your father, Njord, was descended from one of the lesser branches of the Asgardian elite families. No royal blood to speak of flowed through your veins, but just enough nobility to warrant membership of the highest social class, and some degree of access to the court and King.

There was also just enough prestige in your lineage to call for a formal debutante ball when you reached majority, as well as a formal engagement cotillion to acknowledge the arrival of your bridegroom, complete with a banquet barge that spent the day floating carelessly in circles around the palace moat.

Njord, social climber he was, spared no expense for the revelries in order to show off the little status he held, going so far as to dare to extend an invitation to the royal family themselves. The barge was decked in your family colors: sapphire blue and silver, in the form of perhaps a few too many banners and garlands. You thought the decorations were so many that the yacht could sink under the added weight.

You were arrayed in the finest sapphire silk your parents could find, which, as it turned out, was merely a gown borrowed from a relative who’d never worn it. Still, between the soft, clingy fabric and the shimmering silver family crest hanging at your throat, you were a radiant sight.

Traditionally, the barge made three laps around the palace without the bridegroom on board. On the third go-around, he would embark and make a presentation before you and your parents, after which the boat would continue circling all afternoon as everyone aboard flooded their minds with wine. Those first three laps took nearly an hour to complete, and each second that passed, each inch that was sailed, you grew more and more nauseated.

You may as well have jumped into the water. You were already drowning in a sea of insincerity, lost in waves of mindless chatter about dish patterns. Meanwhile, your soul floated above your head, looking for Loki in each window of the castle, wondering which room he sulked in. Was he watching as your yacht floated by? Was he trying to get a good look at you in your dress? Or did he turn away and flinch as you rode past?

Birger and his mother, a widow with a perpetually-puckered lip, boarded without incident as the barge made a temporary berth at the palace gate. He was dressed in matching color to yours, his shiny blonde hair swept back into a bun, a gold chain obscured by a few to many ruffles at the neck. He was handsome, but his big brown eyes looked somewhat vacant, as if he was only partially aware of his surroundings. Or perhaps, he was looking for you.

Led along a red carpet, Birger and his sour-faced mother bowed at the waist before you and your parents, beginning the formal engagement ceremony,

“My father-to-be,” mumbled the hapless groom, “I am here to present myself as a suitor for--”

Trumpets sounded suddenly from within the palace in the musical chord that always announced the approach of the Allfather. It was so well-known that everyone turned and bowed at the knee in reflex, aside from yourself and Birger, who was still standing dumbfoundedly in front of you.

“It can’t be!” exclaimed Njord excitedly. “Y/N! Bow! The Allfather is here!”

Odin sauntered regally to the barge with his usual entourage following adoringly behind. The King was flanked on each side by his sons. Thor wore his usual light armor and red cape, looking as dashing and prideful as he ever was.

Loki, of course, had dressed himself as formally as possible, wearing every piece of princely insignia he owned, flaunting his rank like a peacock’s tail. His dark green jacket was buttoned to the chin and had nary a wrinkle. He’d braided his hair in a rope down the back of his neck, a style he knew all too well that you adored. Over his chest laid a gold sash tied at the hip, and around his legs were black trousers lined at the hem with gold trim. He even wore the tiny gold earring studs you once gifted him with for Jol.

You wanted him. You needed him. And he knew this ceremonial outfit of his drove you wild.

You scoundrel, you thought to yourself, your eyes unable to detach from his image as he drew closer.

“Lord Njord of the Westlands,” Odin called out, his booming voice going against what would otherwise have been expected from his old man’s frame, “I greet you in jubilation at the engagement of your only daughter, and my sons and I hope to join you in your revelries this afternoon!”

Njord looked about to urinate. “I…ugh….YES YOUR HIGHN--”

“--we greet you most humbly and invite you to our feast!” interrupted your mother, much more calm. “We are honored by your attention, Allfather!”

“Then let the festivities continue!” Odin declared with joviality. A cheer rang up from everyone aside from yourself, your intended, and your soul mate. You and Loki were tense and sorrowful. Birger was nervous now that his presentation would be witnessed by the most powerful man in the Nine.

The royal procession moved onto the barge, and once the boat sailed once more, Birger was invited to continue his formal proposal. He had come with a poem of his own creation: a simple, four-lined stanza about marriage that didn’t even rhyme. Afterward, he took out a lyre and began stroking out a painfully simple song that was traditionally taught to children as a first assignment at a music lesson. Loki was cringing from the stern of the boat, near a door that led down into the hull. You tried hard to stifle a giggle, and the urge to reject the man right out only grew as the insipid ballad went into third and fourth reprises.

You were so distracted that Njord had to recite your line for you after the presentation was (finally!) finished: “My daughter accepts your suit, and four cycles hence, you will wed before the Allfather and share in your joys and sorrows until the end of time.”

Your sadness reached an apex when you realized that not only would Loki be away for ten cycles, but with your wedding so soon, you could be well into a pregnancy by the time he returned, and what image would that be with which to greet your soul mate?

Another cheer rang up, but your nausea was making your face turn hot, and you only had a moment to absorb the event before the world turned to watercolor before you, and you sank to your knees. In your stupor, you could hear a few gasps, your mother calling your name, and a few scuttling feet.

Taking off like a shot, Loki got to you first in spite of the distance between you, using his godlike speed to ensure that he would be the one scooping you up instead of your fiance.

No matter, he was still standing on the red carpet, dumbfounded, a string having snapped on his lyre.

Loki ran with you into the hull, slamming the door behind him and seeking out anything on which to lay you down. He came across a cushioned bench under a porthole, and as soon as he set you down, you came back, smiling at the view of his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t eat this morning out of nerves.”

“Understandable, Princess,” Loki muttered sweetly, taking your hand in both of his, closing them around yours as if they held a precious jewel inside that needed to be protected. “You should know that this was all Odin’s doing. He’s trying to motivate me to turn my back on you by bringing me here.”

“I thought so.”

He went on. “Yesterday, he tried to tell me that you were excitedly preparing for your wifely duties with your…cousin. When I didn’t believe him, he forced Thor and I to attend the party today, as if rubbing my nose in your engagement would rend my love from me!”

Loki leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Do you need water, love?”

You nodded, even as the haze around your vision faded and your senses returned.

“Have another fetch it then, and leave us.”

Odin’s darker, authoritative voice was enough to force Loki to stand at attention, conditioned to do so from the first day he toddled upright. He’d followed you below decks.

Loki looked at you with concern, but you replied by stubbornly shaking off his offered arm as you got to your feet. “It’s okay, love,” you said to Loki. “I presume the Allfather wishes to personally congratulate me on my engagement.”

“Indeed, and to see to your health, of course,” Odin replied with a frown, looking expectantly at Loki again. This time, upon hearing your release, Loki defiantly kissed your brow again before looking his father in the face, brushing past him angrily to go upstairs.

After he was certain that Loki was gone, Odin turned back to you. You did give him a small curtsy. “I am glad to see you on your feet again,” remarked Odin. “Tis a pity to see a bride fall ill at her own cotillion.”

You didn’t answer him with words, instead refusing to look him in the eye deliberately.

Odin went on. “Of course, it is the proper course of action for you to move forward with the marriage, and I am glad to see you obeying your call to be a wife.”

Again, you refused him a reply, shifting your feet uncomfortably, wishing Loki would return with water for you.

“You would have made a poor valkyrie,” he continued, musing as if it weren’t an insult but a mere fact, “You lack the discipline and swiftness. I’m unsure why Brunnhilde accepted your bid at all. Perhaps it was a kindness.”

“Because she knew after I was inducted, you’d have no further excuse to refuse my suit,” you finally replied. “She and I are friends enough that she knows my heart.”

“I am the King of Asgard, I need no excuse to refuse any suitors who wish to taint my son’s lineage with their common blood!”

You shrunk back a little, genuinely hurt.

“You will both come to realize in time that I am only doing what is right. Your cousin is a suitable husband. Perhaps if you agree to end this silly affair with my son, I will double the worth of your wedding gift in gratitude.”

You scoffed and ignored the bribe. “So tainting Loki’s lineage with my blood is a mortal sin, yet tainting my own with incest is not a crime?” you asked incredulously. “My King, your logic repulses me. Please execute me instead.”

Odin didn’t seem to expect this. “Well, being so rash would hardly be appropriate here.”

You nodded, rolling your eyes and completely losing your decorum. “I should have known a creature with no heart wouldn’t understand!”

In the heat of the moment, you put your life on the line to brush past Odin, turning your back on him and immediately running back into the open air.

Loki was not far from you, but you didn’t move toward him, instead running to the ship’s railing and looking over the side. The moat wasn’t particularly deep, but no one, not even your father, knew you could swim.

Maybe, I could--

Turning back to Loki, running toward you full-tilt, you winked at him before leaping over the railing in one move. Your sapphire silk flew up behind you like a banner as you dove headfirst into the moat, swimming around the bend and out of sight.

You didn’t hear the splash from behind as Loki executed a perfect swan-dive in after you.

Moving quickly, you were able to find a small portion of the moat’s edge where you could hoist your body onto the side without climbing. By then, the barge was on the other side of the palace and wouldn’t be due to double back for nearly an hour.

Still, you could hear the chaotic shouts for you calling out from behind, and you quickly snuck behind a bush in order to wring out your soaked dress. You didn’t want to wait too long, and you were able to sneak your way out of town without being noticed or taken for anyone other than a soaking-wet maid in a ruined ceremonial dress dashing toward the beach.

The shores of Asgard were littered with waterfalls that poured out into the open sea. You hid behind one, tucked in a small cavern in the rock, waiting for Loki to come to you. There, no one else would find you and drag you home. However, you’d been here with Loki before. He knew the significance of the spot. He only needed to bide his time until he could slip away from Odin’s attention.

Father will whip me for hours for this, and then move up the wedding to tomorrow, you thought woefully.

The sun began its afternoon descent, and while you could occasionally hear guards and search parties calling out from the sandy shore, no one thought to look behind any of the cascades for you, and by teatime, it sounded like they’d given up or moved on. You were beginning to get cold, wondering if you would have to find a room in an inn for the night. Hopefully, no one would recognize you…

Fortunately, when the faint green glow of seidr began to split the falls open from the middle outward, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, you knew Loki had found you, and just in time.

There he stood, about ten feet below you on the shore giving you a dry spot to climb down the cliffside. He held a horse’s reins in his free hand, and the huge white stallion he had in his captivity was saddled and antsy to run.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized as you fell into his arms. “I swam after you, but you try getting past an entire city of people when you're Prince. Plus, I had a few things to gather for our ride.”

“Ride?” you asked, wiping away a tear with your closed fist awkwardly.

He nodded with a wink and a sneaky grin that was laced with excitement. “I think after today, we’ve both had enough of this nonsense, haven’t you?”

You smiled and stepped up to pet the beautiful creature on the snout. It leaned into your hand with a gentle exhale, indicating his contentment.

“Indeed.”

He helped you onto the horse, and then took his place in front of you at the reins. You’d never ridden before, and so you wrapped your arms tightly around Loki’s waist, which made him chuckle.

“Normally, I would protest that this was too tight a grip. However, it being you…you may hold me even closer if you can manage it.”

At first, you maintained a death-grip on him as you began riding off along the beach, away from the palace. Quickly, however, your trust of Loki and relief that you were putting distance between yourself and your intended gave you confidence, and only after a few minutes, you began to relax.

“Loki, when will we return to Asgard? Tomorrow?”

He brought your hand up to his lips, where he took a moment to kiss every finger. Each touch of his soft lips against your skin sent tiny bolts of lightning up your arm and down your spine.

“I was thinking, perhaps, my sweet Princess, that we would never return to Asgard. Let us find a new plot of land and make ourselves the King and Queen of it!”

“But your conscription!” you protested. “You cannot submit yourself to the axe on my account.”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “My projection will, however, be most glad to lose his head on our behalf.”

You rode vigorously along the coastline for a few miles until the sun was setting over the watery horizon, when you slowed to a trot, convinced that you weren’t being pursued by Odin or your father and Birger. Asgard itself was no longer visible behind you, and only the faint glow of the city’s hazy aura polluting the indigo sky indicated its continued existence.

“Loki, my love?”

“Yes, Princess?” he cooed back, squeezing your hand affectionately before returning it to the reigns.

There was nothing but the beach and sky before you for as far as you could see. “Do you…do you know where we’re going?”

A brief pause. You couldn’t see it from behind him on the saddle, but you knew Loki was grinning.

“Of course not, my dear. But isn’t that the best part of all?”

I'm back and revitalized (and married)! :D I hope you enjoyed my little return fic! HAPPY NEW YEAR!

RANDOM TAGGIES: @acidcasualties @buttercupcookies-blog @fictive-sl0th @gigglingtiggerv2 @gruftiela @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @mischief2sarawr @maple-seed @simplyholl @wheredafandomat @xorpsbane @holdmytesseract @joyful-enchantress

#loki #fanfiction #mcu #mcu loki #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #mcu fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki/reader #loki fluff #fluff/comfort #asgard #elopement #loki x reader comfort #run away #bittersweet ending #odin sucks #arranged married

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nburkhardt · 1 year

Text

“I’m sorry, but I don’t like you like that”

He doesn’t know what hurts more, this or the memories of ‘our love is bullshit, you’re bullshit’ in his ears as he ignores the burn of his eyes. Ignores the stares and the silence.

He faintly wonders if maybe this is a curse, if he’s destined to be alone and that everyone he’ll ever love just can’t love him back.

Maybe it really is him?

Before anything else is said, he leaves. He doesn’t hear the shouts, doesn’t hear the apologies or the waits. Can’t handle being there anymore.

His eyes are burning, his heart is gone and he’s done.

Hawkins is a curse, all it holds for him is hurt and pain. He needs to leave, needs to be away. Wants to leave, wants to be away.

He feels the hand of someone on his arm and he doesn’t remember stopping, blinks hard to see past the tears. It takes only a few minutes to find Robin standing there, also with tears in her eyes. Her mouth is moving but his ears aren’t working, still buzzing with “I don’t like you like that” and a faint “you’re bullshit” ringing along side it.

Shaking his head, shutting his eyes tight. He leans his head against her shoulder and shakes, cries and feels her pull him close. Holds him tight and he curls his arms around her, trying to stop the tears and sobs.

“Oh, Stevie, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here, I know it hurts.”

He clutches her tight and he sobs. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. He could’ve sworn- he really thought- really thought this was it. This was it, he thought he had a chance. Really.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“It’ll be okay, I swear. You’ll find someone, someone who loves you just as much as you love them. And I love you so much, Stevie. You are everything to me and you deserve it”

He shakes his head, it’s not true. He did find someone and they tore his heart out and called it bullshit and stomped all over it. He found another and they picked his broken heart up and decided to toy with it before ripping it to shreds with a simple “I don’t like you like that” and it’s so, it’s so juvenile.

“Yeah, yeah it is. And you know what? Fuck him, fuck him and everything about it. You can do so much better, I swear. Okay? Do you hear me, Steve? Do you?”

That’s when it slams into him, he was speaking out loud in between sobs and Robin was speaking to him. He nods and thinks hard at what she said, “I can’t Robs, I can’t do this anymore” he whispers and maybe even whimpers a bit, “I- It hurts so fucking much, I can’t be here anymore”

She pulls away and cups his face, his vision is still blurry but he can see that her face is red with tears too, “then we leave, we’ll leave. Okay? We can go anywhere. We can- we can just say fuck Hawkins and find something new- something bright and colorful. Find somewhere, where you can shine”

He can’t help but choke on a laugh and a sob, tries to shake his head. Stopped only because Robin holds him still, “We- I can’t do that to you-“

“You aren’t, Steve. I’m doing this for you.” She smiles and pulls his head closer to place a kiss to his forehead, “All this town has given you is pain and heartbreak, I’m calling it. We’re leaving”

“Isn’t that just- just running away?”

She shakes her head and pulls him close into a hug, “Even if it is, you deserve to run. We’ll pack up all of our things, either say goodbye or don’t, but we’re leaving. I can’t stand around and watch you break again. I can’t let you stick around longing and hoping that maybe fucking Eddie Munson decides to change his mind. I will not let him break you again”

There’s nothing he can say to that, he just hides his face in her shoulder. Holding onto her to keep himself from falling even more apart, listening to her hum and sway him to help him calm down. To stop from breaking even further, she whispers and promises him that she’s here. She’s not going anywhere.

And he believes her. She is his soulmate but he’s still hurting. He doesn’t know when it will stop, if they leave tomorrow it’ll still be broken. He’ll still faintly hear the “I don’t like you like that” mixed in with “you’re bullshit” in the back of his head. Doesn’t know if when he’ll not hear those phrases, doesn’t know if he’ll ever get their faces out of his head when they said it out either.

It hurts and his heart is in shreds. Being held together by his soulmate and maybe with her it’ll be protected.

~~~~

I’m sorry 🥲

#not steddie but also not not steddie #steve harrington angst #Steve Harrington fic #stranger things fic #platonic stobin #it’s alllll angst when it comes to steddie in this #Robin is the best person for Steve in this #I’m totally sorry for putting you through it with steve 🥲#they aren’t running away they’re just going on adventures together #I made myself cry with this too so #nburkhardt writes #angst #but also some comfort?#bittersweet ending

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gelatina-destroyer · 7 months

Text

Simon and Betty's Song | Cake and Fiona

"You were a wonderful experience"

"You were...everything"

#fiona and cake spoilers #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #betty grof #golbetty #fanart #adventure time #will i ever recover #probably not #bittersweet ending #you dont understand he was bettys wish #at least he realized what he was doing wrong #loved how she protected him even in the end

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ginnsbaker · 8 months

Text

Maybe You Were The Ocean

Summary: Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life.

Word count: 6.3k+ | Tags: Heavy Angst, Character Death, Bittersweet ending

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by @gingiesworld:

Y/N and Wanda have been together for a while and Pietro calls Y/N one night, needing a lift home from a friends party. On that night they get hit by another drunk driver and Pietro dies on impact. As time goes on and the other driver is arrested, y/n still blames themselves for Pietro's death. Even though Wanda continuously tries to tell them otherwise but they won't listen. They then yell at her "why don't you blame me? You should hate me for your brother dying." Before walking out. Can be either a happy or sad ending buddy. Whichever you decide

Author's note: I changed some minor details in the request, hope you don't mind Gingie. Thank you for this gut-wrenching monster, it allowed me to practice writing in past tense (so out of my comfort zone lol). Title is from "black flies" by ben howard, listen to that as well when you read ;)

Masterlist

Now

You haven't been to something like this in what seems like ages.

That something being a wedding.

And if you were to keep count, you'd realize you've been to more funerals than weddings in your lifetime so far.

Your best friend looks like a goddess in her white dress—and anyone with eyes can see that the groom is the luckiest man on earth.

You’re fixing your hair in front of the mirror when she approaches, wearing a smile that you’ve never seen on her, a smile you’d never be able to put on her lips yourself. It’s a smile reserved for him—that lucky bastard.

She gently taps on your shoulder. “You’re going to make me cry if you keep looking so stunning,” she teases, her voice light with laughter.

You chuckle, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “It's your day, and nothing can overshadow how beautiful you look.”

“Promise me something,” she says suddenly, her bright eyes locking onto yours.

“Anything,” you reply without hesitation.

“Promise me that you won’t stop looking for this kind of happiness. Promise me you'll find someone who puts that same smile on your face,” she whispers.

Your throat tightens, words caught somewhere between heartache and hope. “I promise.”

Then

You were eight years old when you moved to a new neighborhood.

At that age, it felt like the scariest thing that had ever happened to you. Your parents divorced, your mother got full custody, and once the judge made that call, she packed up everything familiar and moved you to a new state: New Jersey.

It was what she could manage back then. This place was nothing like the spacious suburbs you remembered, and your new apartment building seemed no bigger than your old living room back in California. The place had just one bedroom, and it was hard to tell where the dining area stopped and the kitchen started.

You resented her in the way a child might, not fully grasping responsibility or consequences. You were upset she took you away from your friends and the comfort of your old life. You didn’t see back then the bruises hidden beneath her shirt, the ones your father left. You only learned about them when you turned eighteen. By then, your resentment had faded long ago.

A week after moving into that aged building, you encountered the twins next door, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. Initially, you met Pietro when his mother sent him over with some food to welcome you and your mom to the neighborhood. It wasn't until you and Pietro became inseparable friends, spending every possible moment together, that you met Wanda.

When you did meet her, you weren't fond of her. She seemed aloof and mostly kept to herself. Unlike her expressive brother, Wanda seldom voiced her thoughts, making conversations with her feel uninspiring.

You and Pietro often clashed with Wanda over the television. You both wanted to play video games while Wanda preferred her sitcoms. Pietro would let Wanda watch her shows briefly before forcefully switching channels just to annoy her. Eventually, Wanda would retreat to her room in tears, and Pietro would steel himself for a reprimand when their mother returned home.

You would give Wanda a piece of chocolate because you felt bad, but you never asked Pietro to stop, fearing he might stop being your best friend. In return, Wanda would lend you her pocketbooks you’d never quite finish.

You hadn't realized it back then, but that dynamic would continue well into your teen years. With Pietro stirring up trouble left and right, you being caught in the middle, and Wanda, from a distance, observing you with cautious interest—perhaps wishing it had been her who brought the welcoming food instead of her brother.

Now

The wedding isn’t going to start for another hour. There have been delays due to the weather.

With the archways and open corridors adorned with blooming flowers and drapes, the venue looks nothing short of magical, even with the looming clouds. From where you stand, you extend your arm, letting the light drizzle kiss your skin. Each droplet feels like nature's way of playing with the day's emotions—adding both melancholy and charm.

Someone nearby remarks, “You know it's considered good luck when it rains on one's wedding day.”

You merely smile politely in response.

“Are you a friend of the bride’s or the groom's?”

“The bride,” you reply.

“Oh, fantastic! Maybe you can convince her to finally see she’s way out of his league!”

You shake your head at the joke. It’s not even the first time you've heard it today.

Then

It wasn't until you were fifteen and Pietro, seventeen, that the troubles you found yourselves in became more serious.

It had also been a few months since Pietro introduced you to drugs other than weed. At first, it was just an occasional joint passed around at a party or behind the school building. But Pietro wanted to try riskier substances. You weren't as keen but didn't want to be left behind by your best friend.

One evening, after trying something a bit harder than usual, you and Pietro were wandering the streets, laughing way too loud. In his intoxicated state, Pietro suddenly swung at a parked car with his bat, smashing it. Almost immediately, patrol lights shone bright, and stern police voices could be heard from almost everywhere. Pietro got cornered, but sheer panic made you bolt. Ditching your best friend felt terrible, but the terrifying thought of jail—especially knowing the mess it'd be for your already stretched-thin mom—made you keep running.

Still shaken, you made your way to Pietro's apartment, knowing you had to be the one to tell his mother. Her reaction was a storm of emotions—anger, fear, desperation. She demanded you stay with Wanda while she went to confront the nightmare at the police station.

“I think I'll just head home,” you murmured to Wanda, not wanting to impose any further.

She glanced at you, her eyes searching. “Have you had dinner?”

You hesitated, then lied. “Yeah, I ate earlier.” The truth was your mom had been away for work for three days, and the fridge was almost bare.

The small home you came to know felt overwhelmingly spacious as you sat alone, burdened by the guilt of having left your best friend behind. But mere minutes after sinking into your worn-out couch, a knock came at your door. Opening it, you found Wanda, a bowl of steaming paprikash in her hands and a soft smile on her lips.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Your face lit up in relief at the sight of the food, more grateful than you could express. Just as you were about to thank her, your stomach betrayed you with an embarrassingly loud growl. Wanda let out a genuine laugh, and for a brief moment, you felt like a burden had been lifted.

“Guess I was right,” she teased, handing you the bowl.

As you eagerly began eating, Wanda settled opposite you, her expression growing serious again. “What were you two even thinking tonight?” she asked softly.

Swallowing, you sighed, “I tried to stop him, Wanda. But I couldn't talk him out of it.”

Wanda looked down, her fingers playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I don't blame you,” she finally said, her voice gentle, “I never do. In fact, I sometimes wonder how much worse he might've been without you around.”

A moment of silence hung between the two of you before Wanda whispered, more to herself than to you, “I'm so worried about next year.”

Curiously, you looked up from your food, "What do you mean?"

“Pietro's turning eighteen. He was supposed to get a baseball scholarship, but with this run in with the police, that’s probably hanging in the balance now…” she trailed off.

Your heart sank. You had known Pietro had big dreams tied to that scholarship, dreams that now seemed to be teetering on the brink. "And what about you, Wanda? What's your plan?"

Wanda took a deep breath, and her face lit up slightly, “I got accepted into Columbia. It's amazing, really. But…” She sighed, looking down, “Even with the scholarship they offered, I can't afford it. Plus, with everything going on, I think I need to be here, help Mom out, you know?”

“That's tough,” you whispered, feeling a pang of sadness for the bright future she might be putting on hold.

She nodded, “I'm thinking of starting work and maybe attending community college for a bit. It's not Columbia, but it's something.”

“That's... that's just unfair,” you whispered, setting down your bowl, your appetite momentarily forgotten. “If there's anyone who deserves to be at Columbia, Wanda, it's you.”

Wanda looked up, her eyes filled with something you didn’t recognize.

“I wish things were different,” you continued. “I've always thought of you as one of the most intelligent people I know. And not just smart, but kind... genuinely kind.”

She took in your words, the distance between you two closing slightly. “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving yours.

Then, with a flash of resolve, she inched closer. “There's something I want to do,” she began, her voice a whisper. “Something I've wanted for a long time, but it never seemed right. I don't think there'll be another perfect moment, another chance. Not after tonight.”

Before you could process her words, she was leaning in, the space between you disappearing. Your eyelids dropped, and for a heartbeat, everything else melted away as her lips met yours.

For the longest time, nothing made sense to you. That was, until Wanda Maximoff kissed you.

Now

Your best friend's walk down the aisle feels like the longest part of the ceremony–at least to you. The sight is so magical that time seems to stand still. When you snap back to reality, the priest is asking if there's anyone in the crowd who wishes to object to the marriage.

Nobody breaks the silence which lasts a mere two seconds. It's a rarity these days for anyone to object. They only happen now in movies. Modern weddings are more intimate, almost closed-door affairs. The guest list is meticulously curated, ensuring anyone with a complex history with the bride or groom remains absent.

You watch the ceremony unfold, every word, every shared glance, making you feel more trapped by the promise you made earlier. You'd promised to chase that very kind of happiness, the kind that was unfolding right in front of you. Yet as you watch, there's this nagging feeling at the back of your mind, asking if you ever really will.

What they have feels like a world apart from where you're seated.

You try to be genuinely happy for your best friend, and on many levels, you are. But you–you’re the last person to believe you deserve even a fraction of such a miracle.

Then

The kiss, as Wanda had promised, never happened again.

At least not for the duration they remained neighbors. Soon after, she and Pietro moved to another town for their studies. As for you, you and your mother also moved shortly after their departure, to a nicer neighborhood that’s closer to Manhattan where you also transferred schools.

For five years, you didn't see either of them. No calls. Nothing on social media. But that didn't stop them from occasionally drifting into your thoughts. Especially that memory of your first kiss.

That was until one night, while dining alone in a midscale Soho restaurant, you looked up to find Wanda as your server.

She wore a simple black uniform that most servers donned, but she carried it with an elegance that made her stand out. For a moment, you thought she didn't recognize you, as she professionally presented the menu and described the evening's specials without missing a beat. But then, as she was turning to leave your table, she paused and looked directly into your eyes.

“It's been a long time,” she said, her voice becoming more familiar as she shed her professional facade.

You nodded, struggling to find the right words. “Yeah, it really has. I didn't expect to see you here.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. I... well, I needed a job while I finish my degree.”

You both chatted briefly, catching up on lost time, but Wanda was called away to attend to other patrons. As she bustled about, you found it difficult to focus on your meal, your gaze repeatedly drawn to her fluid movements around the room. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and she'd offer a fleeting smile, a touch of color rising to her cheeks.

After a while, you signaled for the check. Wanda was quick to bring it over, her fingers brushing against yours as she handed it to you.

“How's Pietro?” you asked tentatively.

Wanda hesitated, her eyes betraying her composure. “He was released from prison about a month ago,” she began, taking a deep breath. “It was tough, but he's doing better now. Trying to change, you know? And he... he misses you.”

Baseball never happened for him. College too. You wished you hadn’t lost your connection together. Perhaps you could have made a difference.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured. “Life just... took over.”

Wanda nodded with understanding, but remained silent.

As you prepared to leave, Wanda slipped a note along with your bill. It read, “It was good to see you again. Maybe we shouldn't wait another five years?”

Beneath these words, Wanda had also written down her phone number.

You waited a total of three days to call Wanda.

Wanda was... an open-ended chapter in your life. It wasn’t that you hadn’t been with other women since she stole your first kiss, but she remained a persistent afterthought in every relationship of yours that ended.

It didn't help that you'd left a bookmark in her chapter, aware that revisiting it had the potential to alter the trajectory of everything.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, it's me,” you hesitated for a moment, wondering if she would recognize your voice after all these years, “From the restaurant, the other night?”

There was a brief pause, then her tone softened, “I hoped you'd call.”

You were grinning so hard that it didn’t occur to you that you hadn’t responded to her in a while when she gently teased, “Took you long enough.”

“Three days isn’t that long,” you defended with a slight chuckle.

“Well, in the grand scheme of things, no. But in the context of us? It felt like an eternity,” she admitted.

And it truly felt that way. Finding Wanda over the past several years hadn't been impossible or even especially hard. Yet, both of you had consciously let things drift. You had navigated through college, and Wanda, well, she'd been engaged in whatever endeavors she had pursued.

But that night, it felt right to call her. And you hadn’t realized you were waiting to find her again.

You and Wanda scheduled to meet some time during the week and the conversation should’ve ended there. But neither of you wanted to hang up, and Wanda quickly asked about your college experience and the new neighborhood you'd settled into after their departure. By the time you both ended the call, nearly two hours had passed, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

It was evident; the bookmark you'd placed hadn't lost its page and it was easy to ease once more into its pages.

Now

The sun has set when the newly-wedded couple finally arrives at the reception.

You're seated at a table filled with strangers, but your best friend made sure to place you next to a woman she's been raving about—one she's suggested more than once you should date.

Her name is Natasha and she’s gorgeous beyond words. She's so striking that you find yourself wondering if she's even your type. Typically, you've steered clear of people who seem universally more attractive than you, a defense mechanism to sidestep lingering insecurities from over the years.

But as she leans into your personal space, you can’t help but respond to every question and laugh at every joke she throws your way.

Maybe it’s safe to let yourself enjoy this, even just for tonight.

Then

It was scarcely two weeks since that encounter with Wanda at the restaurant, and there you were, in her bed.

It was cramped and the air conditioning kept failing many times during the day.

But you didn’t care.

You had known this woman for almost your entire life, and you'd waited just as long to be in her bed like this: with your arm growing numb under her weight, her head resting on your chest, and your nose buried in her hair.

She stirred slightly, her fingers tracing patterns on your chest. “Did you ever think...?” she began, voice hesitant.

“Think what?” you prompted, adjusting slightly so you could see her face.

“That we'd end up here, like this?” she whispered, her eyes searching yours.

You smiled, thinking back. “I don't know if I let myself think about it. But I hoped.”

She chuckled softly, her breath warm against your skin. “I had a feeling you'd say that.”

The sheets beneath you were thin and had seen better days, but it didn't matter. The world outside, with its faint hum of city life, seemed so far away. Yet, the world outside seemed irrelevant. All that mattered was the rhythm of her breathing syncing with yours and the warmth of her body next to you.

Every so often, she'd shift, mumbling half-formed sentences that would make you chuckle.

“Is the penguin wearing a bowtie?” she murmured in her half-asleep state.

You laughed softly. “What penguin?”

“The one in my dream,” she mumbled, snuggling closer to you. “He's quite the gentleman.”

“Sounds like a classy penguin,” you teased.

She smiled faintly, her eyes still closed. “He reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Oh? So, I'm a penguin now?” you quipped, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“In the best way,” she whispered, pulling you closer. “My dapper penguin.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only you would dream of something like that.”

“And only you,” she murmured, lips against your chest, “Would be there in that dream with me.”

While Wanda seamlessly reintegrated into your life, with Pietro, however, things weren't as straightforward. His past, speckled with run-ins with the law and a battle against addiction, made you and Wanda wary of him, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You could tell he was on the mend though, especially when six months into your relationship with Wanda, Pietro was able to hold a job for that same duration. Yet, his living situation with Wanda was far from ideal. Their apartment was snug, to say the least. His room was barely big enough to fit his bed.

You wished you could help, but with college expenses looming over you, your hands were tied. The thought of asking Wanda to move in with you played on your mind constantly. It seemed like the ideal solution: she would have a more stable environment, and Pietro could fully occupy the apartment, giving him some semblance of independence.

“What do you think about moving in with me? I know it's soon, but…” you asked her one night in the quiet confines of your dorm room.

“I don’t think I’m allowed to live here with you,” Wanda said, a bit amused at your suggestion.

“I didn’t mean here,” you replied. “I meant finding an apartment for the two of us.”

“That’s just adding more expenses, Y/N. I can’t let you do that when you can stay here without any costs,” Wanda countered.

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “It's not about the money, Wands. It's about... us. Having a place of our own. And it would also give Pietro the whole apartment.”

Wanda's eyes met yours, searching for a hidden meaning. “Are you saying that because of Pietro? You think he's a burden?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no, it's not that. I just... I see how much you worry about him.”

Your fingers found hers, lacing together as you both sat on the edge of your bed. “I get it,” you began, exhaling softly, “But I thought about Pietro too. He’d have the apartment all to himself. More space, more independence.”

Wanda's eyebrows knit together in concern. “And what if he…” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “Relapses or needs me?”

You tightened your grip around her hand. “We wouldn't be too far, Wanda. And maybe giving him that space and trust will help him more than you think.”

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I know you're thinking of what's best for all of us, but Pietro's situation has always been so... fragile.”

Wanda looked at you, her eyes filled with emotion. “I'll think about it,” she whispered.

“Take your time,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Whatever you decide, I'm with you every step of the way.”

“Promise me,” Wanda said, her eyes hardening, like she’s on the verge of tears or something worse. “Promise you’ll be with me always.”

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Always.”

Now

“It’s not everyday you find the person you’ll be spending the rest of your life with.”

Short and sweet, but that's your whole speech, cliches and all.

“I never thought I'd see the day,” you start, nodding towards the newlyweds with a smirk. “But hey, miracles happen.” You raise your champagne glass. “To two people who finally figured it out. Cheers.”

Your best friend laughs, rolling her eyes affectionately at you. “Trust you to keep things real,” she murmurs, clinking her glass with yours.

And that’s when you see her, amongst the cheering crowds.

In the middle of all the people, she stands out. Always has. It doesn't matter where or when, you can always spot her. Your heart skips a beat, just like it always does. It's like everyone else fades a bit, and she's the only one in focus.

Wanda Maximoff.

Pristine in a scarlet trumpet gown, her hair pulled into a tight, strict bun. A few stray tendrils of hair have escaped the bun, framing her face in a way that gives her an almost ethereal quality.

As you take a moment to really look at her, you notice the fine details. The way the light catches the small diamond earrings she wears, making them shimmer just so. The delicate curve of her collarbone, revealed by the gown's off-the-shoulder design. And her eyes—always her captivating eyes–that hold an entire galaxy, scanning the room until they land on you.

The shock in her eyes mirrors yours, and for a moment, everything else blurs. Your legs wobble, threatening to give way beneath you. The room's atmosphere grows thick, or perhaps you're just struggling to catch your breath.

Beside you, the bride and your best friend, Maria, notices your sudden change in demeanor and follows your gaze to its source.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

You manage a shaky head shake in response, pushing through the crowd to escape the room. But you can hear Maria, not too far behind, calling after you.

Then

“So, Maria,” Wanda began once your friend had left and it was just the two of you in the cafe. You had been so keen for the two of them to meet. But with Maria spending a whole semester in Germany as an exchange student, their only prior meeting had been a brief video call that interrupted one of your dates with Wanda.

“How did you two get so close?”

“Did I never tell you about that?”

Wanda shook her head, taking a sip from her now lukewarm cappuccino.

“Freshman year. We were looking for this book and it only had one copy in the school library, and believe it or not, we reached for it at the same time,” you recounted with a wistful smile.

Wanda's face shifted ever so slightly, a change you didn't quite catch.

“We both really needed it badly, so we promised to take turns using it, and we ended up studying together for weeks.”

“That sounds like something out of a movie,” Wanda mused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

“It kind of felt like that,” you admitted, laughing softly. “From bickering about who would get the book on Mondays to sharing our notes and coffee breaks. Before we knew it, we were inseparable.”

Wanda hummed, her eyes flitting restlessly around you.

“What is it?”

Wanda shrugged. “Nothing.”

You frowned slightly, knowing her well enough to see past her facade. “Wands, come on,” you coaxed. “Talk to me.”

She looked away for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “It's just... it's hard sometimes, hearing about these memories you shared with someone else, when I wish I had been there with you.”

“Wanda,” you began gently, “There are moments in your past that I wasn't a part of. But what matters is now. Right here, with you.”

She sighed, her posture deflating a little. “I know. It's silly, isn't it? To be jealous of a close friend of yours.”

“If it makes you feel this way, then it's valid, no matter how silly you think it might be,” you assured her.

She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. “Growing up, our worlds were confined to that same apartment building. The people, the routines, everything was predictable. And now... being out in the world, seeing you connect with others, it's just... intimidating. And, honestly, a little scary.”

You paused, smirking a bit. “You know,” you began, but Wanda cut in, “What?”

“It's just...Do you even know how happy you make me?” you said, a bit sheepishly.

She looked like she was about to say something, but you quickly added, “Seriously, Wands.”

Wanda blinked, clearly taken aback. “You have this strange way of turning things around,” she said with a soft chuckle, her face turning a shade pinker.

“Because I love you.”

Neither of you had said it up until now. And it’s quickly evident that it was the right thing to say, at the right moment.

She took a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with her cup. “You always jump in headfirst, don't you?” Then, looking up into your eyes, she added softly, “I love you too.”

You grinned, feeling a weight lifted. “Took you long enough.”

Now

The grand ballroom doors open with a soft whoosh, the muted melodies of a string quartet drifting into the cool night. You step out quickly, breathing in deep gulps of fresh air, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Memories of Wanda Maximoff, which you've tried hard to keep buried, surge to the forefront of your mind.

Maria, noticing your abrupt exit, quickly follows you out. “Hey,” she calls out softly, her heels clicking on the stone path as she reaches you. “Are you okay?”

“Why is she here?” you exclaim, the pitch of your voice inching towards a sharp octave.

Maria gently grabs your arm, offering solace. “I had no idea she'd be here. I promise. She must be someone’s plus one.”

You swallow hard, trying to steady your suddenly spinning surroundings.

“Y/N?”

“I'm okay, Maria,” you say, forcing a weak smile. “Sorry about this. It's your wedding, and you shouldn't be out here with me. Go back, enjoy your day.”

She looks conflicted, torn between staying by your side and going back to her new spouse and guests.

After a moment, Maria steps forward, enveloping you in a tight hug. “Promise me you'll be okay?”

You nod, hugging her back. “That’s too many promises in one day. But yeah, I’ll be okay.”

It’s just Wanda, you tell yourself.

Just the girl who could always bring out that special smile in you—the same one Maria had when she said, “I do.”

Then

The call came unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

You and Wanda had been dozing in her room for a few hours, following a particularly exhausting fight that concluded with even more exhausting—and mind-blowing—make-up sex.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” You instantly recognized Pietro’s voice. “Hey, listen, can you pick me up? I'm at a bar,” Pietro said, his voice tinged with guilt and slight slurring. “I... I swear I didn't do anything. I got promoted to store manager and I treated a few colleagues to celebrate. I'm a bit tipsy so I... I'm sorry to bother you.”

There was a pause, and you ran a hand through your hair, exchanging a glance with Wanda who now sat up with a worried look.

“Which bar?” you asked, trying to keep yourself calm.

“Mike’s Tavern,” he mumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your keys from the nightstand. “Alright, I'm on my way. Stay put.”

Wanda frowned, her gaze conflicted. “I want to come with you,” she said, her brows furrowing together in concern and sleepiness.

“You should stay,” you said, sliding into your jeans. “It's a bit of a drive to New Jersey. You've had a long day, and you need to rest. I'll handle this.”

She bit her lip, torn, but finally nodded. “Please be safe. Call me if anything happens, okay?”

“I will,” you said, leaning down to give her a brief kiss on the forehead before making your way out.

You didn't call Wanda on your way back from New Jersey, but not because nothing occurred.

Rather, something did happen, and you weren't conscious enough to make the call.

You and Pietro made it to the hospital.

Wanda was an emotional wreck, grappling with the challenge of dividing her attention between her brother in ICU and you being wheeled into a separate ward.

An hour later, she didn't need to decide any longer.

Pietro Maximoff's time of death was called just as you started regaining consciousness.

The days following Pietro's death were a blur. You'd wake up, immediately feeling the weight of the world pressing down, your every moment drenched in guilt in the form of alcohol and, sometimes, your own vomit.

Though you weren't close to Pietro anymore, he was slowly turning his life around. And while a drunk truck driver caused the accident, your own haste to get back to Wanda made you reckless.

That choice haunted you daily.

That choice made you believe that Wanda hated you in secret.

You began avoiding Wanda, her presence a haunting reminder of the brother she lost and, in a twisted way, the brother you felt responsible for losing. The relationship you cultivated turned into something that only existed as a label. Otherwise, it didn’t exist at all. It faded, just like the gash on your face that you acquired from the accident.

Nights blurred into days, and sometimes, it was hard to tell which was which. Friends would find you in bars or on the rooftops, looking worse for wear, lost in your thoughts. Yes, Wanda grieved, but she was also lost without you by her side. She yearned for your comfort, your grounding presence; instead, all she got was your voicemail.

The breaking point came on an evening when she didn’t hear from you for two weeks. On a hunch, she decided to visit your dorm room. The last thing she expected was to find Maria there. While the situation was innocent enough, to Wanda's overwhelmed and grieving heart, it felt like a betrayal. Maria, sensing the rising tension, made a hasty exit, leaving the two of you alone.

Wanda's eyes glittered with rage and sadness. “Is this it?” she demanded. “Is this how we handle grief? You shut me out and bring her in?”

You looked away, the walls you had put up to protect yourself now seeming like a prison. “It's not about Maria,” you murmured, your voice empty, almost lifeless.

Wanda's red-rimmed eyes searched yours, looking for a glimmer of the person she loved. “Then what is it? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

“Why don't you blame me?” you suddenly screamed, tears blurring your vision. “You should hate me for your brother dying!”

For a few moments, there was a deafening silence, interrupted only by your quiet sobs.

Wanda's hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “I've never blamed you. Not once.”

You remained quiet, refusing to let Wanda lift your chin from your chest.

Wanda continued, “Life is a series of 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. You can't control everything. And neither can I. We both lost him, Y/N. I don’t need more loss by losing you too.”

“Maybe you already have,” you whispered, finally looking into her eyes.

Wanda's voice cracked, “You can't be serious. What are you saying?”

You felt drained, worn out. “I don't know how to be us anymore, Wanda.”

She looked devastated. “So you're just walking away? Because we're hurting?”

You just wanted to be able to breathe again. You just wanted all of the pain to end, even if it meant letting her go.

Wanda's face crumpled, her voice rising. “So, that's it? You're just giving up?”

You could barely muster the strength to speak. "I just think... maybe it's easier this way."

“Easier for whom?” Wanda yelled, unable to hold everything back any longer. “I don't need easy, Y/N. I need you. But if you're so set on this, then be honest with me.”

You took a deep breath, your throat tight. “I think we need space, Wanda. A break.”

For a moment, it looked like Wanda might collapse. She took a step back, her gaze cold and hard. “You think a break will fix this? Fine. But don't expect me to be here waiting when you come around.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and left.

The last image of Wanda Maximoff etched into your mind as you closed her chapter.

Now

You half-expect her to seek you out after you left the reception. So, when the familiar scent of Wanda’s perfume wafts over, you keep your back turned, taking a long drag from your cigarette rather than acknowledging her arrival.

“Can I bum one?” she asks, her voice softer than the last time you heard it.

You hand her a cigarette without a word, watching her closely as she lights it. Her fingers, slender and pale, bring the cigarette to her lips, and she takes a long drag, exhaling with a sigh.

She looks so different, yet so achingly familiar.

Her hair is red—a detail you missed earlier. But now, standing this close to her, you can pick out everything that’s changed about her.

And you hate how good you are at doing just that.

For a few minutes, both of you stand in silence, letting the smoke swirl around in patterns before it gets carried away by the wind.

Wanda breaks the silence. “It's been a while.”

“Did you know it was Maria’s wedding?” you ask, finally gathering the courage to look at her.

She hesitates, exhaling a plume of smoke before admitting, “Yes, I did. But explaining to Steve our... complicated history and why I'd refuse to be his plus one seemed harder than just going with it.”

“Steve?”

She looks down, taking a moment before murmuring, “Steve’s my fiancé.”

Your eyes instinctively flit to her left hand, landing on the glimmering diamond ring. It's large and hard to miss, and you almost want to laugh that you hadn’t noticed before.

There’s a long pause between you both before you find your voice. “Congratulations, Wanda.” And to your own surprise, you genuinely mean it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, an action you still find so endearing after all these years. But you’re not supposed to find anything about her endearing anymore. They’re not supposed to make your heart race. They’re not supposed to make you feel light-headed with desire.

It hits you painfully just how possible it is to stand mere inches from someone, yet feel oceans apart.

Wanda takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily.

“You know,” Wanda says, her voice soft, “I never really got to apologize for how things ended between us.” She shakes her head slowly, tears forming in her eyes. “I was angry, hurt... lost. And when you tried to come back, I was already seeing someone else. By that time–”

“–so much has happened and I’ve hurt you too much,” you finish for her, a pained smile on your lips. “I’m sorry too.”

Wanda's breath hitches, and for a moment, she's transported back to your dorm room. She's spent a long time wondering what might have happened if she had stayed. But that choice belongs to a different timeline, a version of her that might have been braver than she feels now.

You pause, glancing at your hands before meeting her eyes. “Are you happy, Wanda?” A part of you hopes she's found happiness, yet another selfish part wishes she hasn't—because if she hasn't, maybe there's still a space for you in her life.

Wanda meets your gaze, her eyes shining with a clarity you hadn't seen in years. “I am happy,” she confirms softly.

The unexpected rush of emotion tightens your throat, and your eyes mist over. But you fight it, forcing a big smile that wrinkles the corners of your eyes.

“That's great, Wanda,” you say. Your heart aches a bit, thinking how happiness can feel like a double-edged sword.

Reading your expression, she asks, “What about you? Are you happy?”

You promised Maria you won’t stop looking for the kind of happiness that brings people together.

So, now you hang onto the hope of that promise.

“Getting there,” you answer, the corners of your mouth lifting ever so slightly, “I will be.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #oneshots #steve rogers #wanda maximoff au #maria hill #bittersweet ending

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monokyubey · 9 months

Text

Catching his eyes

Denji angst time!!!

The soft light filters in through the nearby window, casting pillars of light onto his soft blonde hair. His expression is surprisingly tranquil as he sleeps, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open lightly. Although this reveals razor sharp teeth, it seems unthreatening in this morning light. Seeing Denji this peaceful almost makes it worth it. Almost.

When he came to you in the middle of the night to lament to you about his suffering, you found it almost impossible to turn him away. As always, you would be his comfort when he had nowhere else to turn. You wanted to help him, after all, you knew how hard he always had it. He had once told you that you were similar to his old dog, whom he could share his dreams with. That you would always listen to him. That’s what you wanted to be for him. But it was so damn hard. Afterall, these dreams of his always starred a girl he could never quite get, and one you could never quite be.

Makima.

“Makima.”

As you said it quietly to yourself, even the name felt wrong on your tongue. It felt like poison, a slow working but fatal poison. Perhaps that is what it was to your relationship with the confused boy in front of you. As he slept on your couch, you could almost imagine that her name would never cross his lips again. But of course, you doubted when he actually rose for the morning that it would take more than five minutes for her name to be brought up by the excited boy. Sometimes you wondered if it was actually love in his heart for the red haired woman, or he simply didn’t know how to express his true feelings. Despite all the time he had spent pouring out his heart to you, you still weren’t quite sure.

When had this happened to you? When had you allowed yourself to fall into this confusing chaotic relationship that would never be a relationship? Afterall, Denji was unaware of your feelings. Even if he knew, he was eager for romance so he might accept even with no feelings of reciprocation. The flame in his heart would always burn bright for the girl with the golden eyes. Before Denji, you had never seen Makima in this way. In your brief interactions with her, she had always seemed untouchable, but not unkind. She seemed to still care for her job and the people around her. Yet now, Denji had put a filter over your eyes. Sometimes you could see what he saw, you could see why she was so perfect. Still untouchable, but now she was worthy of adoration, worthy of worship. It was true, you could see why Denji had easily fallen for her. And yet the pain in your heart whenever she came into your gaze remained.

Perhaps it wasn’t just seeing her. It was seeing him. His expression. His adoration. He was usually so loud, so obnoxious, so uncaring about others’ opinions. Yet around her, he grew silent. Respectful. This was a phenomenon you had never seen Denji experience with anyone else.

Its not that you wanted that with him. You didn’t want Denji’s worship. Even asking for his love felt too much. Perhaps you just wanted his consideration. Just wanted to be in the running for his affection.

Sometimes you could imagine it was there. When he came to you late at night, and you would offer him tea made with way too much sugar (just the way he likes it), a piece of toast with his favorite jam, and a patient ear; you could just barely see it. Just hardly there, glimmering below the surface, you could see something. Some emotion in his eyes. You didn’t quite know what it was. You didn’t want to give yourself false hope, but just like him, you liked to dream.

Afterall, there had to be a reason he came to you. There had to be. Something inside of you refused to accept his reason of “Power would make fun of me” or “No way I’m talking to Topknot, he’s my rival!”. You never considered yourself an egotistical person, but you had to be special. Denji wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise. You were his confidant, a role you took with honor. You would always be there you this strange boy who had wormed his way into your heart.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound of an alarm startled you from your thoughts, even startling Denji awake as well. As you walked over to click it off, you heard him groan lightly.

“Ugh, thanks for setting an alarm for me. Aki would be on my ass if I was late again”.

There it was again. You didn’t think you’d heard him say “thank you” to anyone else but you. And of course, Makima. But that had to mean something, didn’t it?

“No problem. Do you want some breakfast before you head out?”

Your eyes dragged over his tired frame. He was still dressed in his public safety uniform, although much more disheveled now. His tie was undone, his shirt was half unbuttoned, and everything he was wearing was wrinkly. If you had more time, you would offer to fix his clothes for him, even going as far as to get out your rarely used iron, sitting forgotten in your closet. However, you knew he was under a time crunch, so his heavily creased clothes would have to do. His eyes, though they looked tired, lit up slightly at the prospect of food. A fleeting thought crossed your mind about how you wished he would look at you like that. How pathetic you are.

“Hell yeah! But it’ll have to be pretty quick or I won’t have time to get back to Aki’s before work.” He grinned as he spoke though, clearly more excited about breakfast than worried about what Aki would do to him if he was tardy. You turned your back to him, rummaging through your cabinets to find the baked goods you had procured yesterday. Although giving them to Denji would require you to go out again for food sooner than you expected, it would be worth it. Despite the fact he would probably never reciprocate your emotions, you would still always yearn to keep him happy and healthy. You would remain on the sidelines for him, if it meant you could see his delighted smile become a constant.

As you turned back to him, that very smile was on his face, his eyes aglow with happiness. Even if it wasn’t for you, you’d take it. You knew Denji would continue to come as long as you’d let him, seeking someone to listen to and in turn help him understand his complicated emotions. And you intended to always be there when he looked. You just wished he was looking at you for a different reason. And some part of you, would always wish to be the girl with the red hair and golden eyes.

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zootopiathingz · 15 days

Text

A Promise in the Dead of Night

“I’m scared…”

Her voice is but a whisper, that Alastor barely registers her words at first. When he does, he feels himself tightening his arms around her, his mind already preparing to shield her from danger that he’s not made aware of.

Something’s been off about Charlie’s behavior and he hasn’t been able to determine the reason. From the moment she stepped in his room, he’s known she hasn’t been in her usual perky mood. It’s not unlike her to pay him a visit in the dead of night. Hell, it’s practically become routine for them. If he doesn’t end up falling asleep with her in her own bed, he can expect to find her hours later in his room, quietly requesting that she stay. And he never refuses. How could he possibly turn down such a request from the radiant, smiling princess of Hell?

But tonight, that gorgeous smile of hers that normally greets him when she enters a room was absent from her face. Her piercing eyes that could read all the secrets of his soul were puffy from tears she must have dried before coming to see him. She hasn’t uttered a word until now. She simply opened the door and walked over to join him on the sofa he sits on and crawled her way into his arms. He hasn’t questioned her, but he finds it odd that she had been so quiet. Not even a laugh, or even a breath. Has she been holding her breath the whole time?

Alastor brings his hand up to the back of her head that lays against his chest, raking his long claws through the soft strands of her golden hair. “Of what, dear?” He asks, his voice only slightly louder than hers.

She doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least. Instead she just further nuzzles her head against him, burying her face into the fabric of his coat like she’s trying to hide from something. Alastor swears he hears a faint whimper escape her—a sound that not only catches him off-guard, but fills him with rage. Several thoughts run through his mind like a herd of deer. What could have happened to her that would send her into such a fragile state? Who hurt her…?

Before jumping to conclusions, he decides to continue with his gentle approach. He shifts slightly, taking her chin between his fingers to lift her head away from his chest, her gaze instinctively meeting his. He’s met with the most heartbreaking look of vulnerability she’s ever displayed. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“What’s troubling you, my darling?” He questions her again, his thumb tenderly caressing the soft, milky skin of her face.

Charlie sniffles and briefly shifts her gaze downward as she struggles to answer in a way that makes sense. “I.. I don’t know.” She sighs shakily. She knows it’s a pathetic response, but she doesn’t know how to explain the hell-storm wreaking havoc in her mind.

Alastor stays quiet, only giving her a look that urges her to go on. And when she looks at him again, she does, however reluctantly.

“Oh Al.. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and no matter what I do, it won’t leave me alone.” Charlie lets out a small hiccup of a breath, leaning her head forward slightly, longing to lay on his chest again. “I keep having these horrible dreams. They play out differently, but they all end the same way…something bad happens, or someone attacks us, and one way or another, you get taken away from me. I don’t know what happens to you after. I always wake up before I can find out, but I’m afraid that it means you were…”

She pauses, not wanting to actually finish the thought aloud. She knows she doesn’t need to, anyway. Alastor can easily fill in the blank.

His signature smile, sealed by his lips at the moment, tightens at the corners. Charlie doesn’t see it, but his blinking eyes go wide for just a moment. It may be just a coincidence, it had to be. But what are the odds that they were both struggling with bad dreams about losing the other to some unknown force of darkness? Alastor hasn’t let it affect him like Charlie clearly has, because to him it shouldn’t have meant anything.

But to know that his princess was facing the exact same troubling phenomenon…that was a cause for alarm.

He doesn’t tell her of this. No, he refuses to worry her any more than she already has been. It’s his job to ease her worries, not increase them. It’s a burden he’ll bear for them both. What’s one more, anyway?

He pulls her in close to him as she snuggles into his arms. “Oh Charlie, you must not fret over something like night terrors.” He assures in a calming tone, trailing his hand up and down the length of her back. “They’re just dreams, after all. They cannot hurt us.”

“That’s the thing. What if they’re not just dreams?” Charlie argues, her body growing slightly tense at this thought she only just now realizes she has. “What if..it’s a warning?”

Alastor doesn’t even want to entertain the idea. He doesn’t want to imagine that that’s the reason behind their shared unconscious terrors. No, he won’t give into the fear. It will only consume them, and then they will be doomed to face it.

“You shouldn’t think like that, dear.” He says, leaning his head down, resting his chin atop of her head. “It will do you no good. You mustn’t let your fear control you.”

Charlie closes her eyes, her voice reverting back to its pitiful hushed tone. “I can’t stop it.”

There’s a brief moment of stillness between them. Neither dares to move from the warmth of the other’s touch. The air grows quiet, with only the cackling flames of the fireplace providing any source of sound. That is, until Alastor slowly lifts his head and pulls her back to face her again. The look in his eyes takes her aback. His grin is as wide as always, but there’s a subtle glimmer of sadness in his gaze that she’s never quite seen before. She’s not sure if she should feel touched that he’s grown so comfortable to express such vulnerability in front of her, or horrified of the meaning behind it…

“Then tell me what I can do to make it go away.” He raises his finger up to brush her bangs away from her forehead, before resting his hand against the side of her face, cupping her face in his palm. “Whatever it is, it will be done. Just name it.”

Charlie frowns softly, staring at him quietly for the longest minute. She’s not sure there’s anything he can do to make this all disappear. Alastor may be a powerful overlord, wielding immense power that has left even her impressed. But sadly, he can’t just snap his fingers and rid her of her fears like he wishes. Miracles like that weren’t possible down here in Hell.

There’s one thing he can do, though. As simple as it may be, it’s what she needs him to do.

Charlie leans her face into his palm, bringing her own hand up to hold his wrist as she looks deep into his eyes. “Just..promise me that no matter what happens, if anything happens, that nothing will tear us apart from each other.” She says, her voice trembling more and more with each word. “Whether these are just stupid dreams or not, I cannot lose you, Alastor. So please.. promise me now.”

Alastor gives her an incredulous look, raising his brow a little, just before he leans in, inching his face closer to hers.

“Charlie..my princess,” He speaks firmly, his voice lacking any static or filter that it normally carries, “I swear on my damned life, I will never let anything take you away from me. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Nothing is ever going to keep us apart. Do you understand?”

She nods slowly, and as she blinks the tears she’s been fighting back threaten to burst like a broken dam. Alastor kisses her, the tender touch of his lips bringing her a warm sense of comfort. He then pulls her back into his reassuring embrace, and at last the woman crumbles down. She cries into his shoulder, clinging onto him like she may lose him for good if she even thinks of letting go. He doesn’t say anything, knowing he’s said all he can to bring her solace and all he can do now is simply be here with her.

But they both know his words held nothing but truth to them. Charlie’s been the one good thing to ever happen to him in a long, long time. And he would sooner die again than ever let something rip that away from his grasp. He will hold onto her and use everything in his power to fight for her, and he will do it all with a smile on his face.

It’s alright, my love. Is his immediate thought when he hears that dreadful sound of her sobbing. He hugs her as close as he possibly can, letting his eyes fall shut as his face presses onto the mess of hair on her head. The shadow that resembles his shape looms over the pair, hovering its claws protectively over the woman in Alastor’s arms.

Anyone who tries to take you from me will be faced with a fate worse than death…

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goldenavenger02 · 5 months

Text

i said "i love you" (you say nothing back)

After defeating the Hoarder, Nya finds out exactly what Cole means when he says that it feels like the earth is screaming. Meanwhile, Cole knows that his and Geo’s time is running out.

“We’re gonna need to head out first thing in the morning,” Nya explained as she followed Cole around, the two of them on their own journey to find two sufficient air mattresses for her and Sora to sleep on for the night, but she had a much more pressing matter on her mind, “so, you and Geo?”

“What about Geo?” Cole asked, kneeling down next to a pile of junk and starting to dig through it.

“I just think it’s nice that you found him and the others, that you had others after the Merge,” Nya shrugged as she got down beside her best friend and started to dig through the pile of trash beside him while a much simpler time came to the forefront of her mind, “remember that true match machine?”

“Oh my god,” Cole laughed despite the thin lines of pain around his lips that Nya could only see in a certain light, “I nearly forgot about that stupid thing.”

“What, the machine that resulted in you and I going on one date? Where afterwards you said “I’m not talking to Jay, but you can’t pick me”? How did you forget that?” Nya couldn’t contain her laughter as they stood with zero luck and continued to walk, no longer in fear of the Hoarder now that it was trapped in a jar.

“I still can’t believe that was the last piece of the puzzle.”

“Yep, one date with me. That’s all it took for you to realize that you were gay,” she grinned, but it was quickly replaced by a frown of worry about where her yin was bubbling its way back to the surface of her mind, “I hope that the others find him.”

“Hey,” Cole’s voice was comforting as his hand rested on her shoulder, forcing her attention to him, “we will find him. One of us will find Jay, I promise. I mean, you and Sora found me in a place that, according to most people, doesn’t even exist. That’s gotta mean something.”

“I wish you would come with us.” Nya sighed, pulling an air mattress pump off of the top of a pile of junk, relieved to find that it was only slightly dented and battery powered.

“You know I can’t. Not until I can find a way to bring them with me,” Cole sighed, examining the device, “it would kill me to leave them-” the cry of anguish as he dropped to his knees forced a horrific scream from Nya’s lungs.

“Cole!” She rushed over and knelt down before pulling her best friend into her arms, “Cole, what’s-”

“Get Geo.” Was all he said before his eyes fluttered shut and his body went limp in her arms, making Nya’s stomach churn with worry; she tried to lift him so she could get him back to the Rookery, to find his boyfriend like he said to do, but despite her own share of muscle from the years of being a Samurai and then a ninja, he was still too heavy for her.

So she did the only thing that she could think to do and started to yell out, “Sora! Geo! Riyu! I need help!”

…

Nya’s heart pounded painfully in her chest as she looked around at the others surrounding her; Bonzal was crocheting, her boney hands working slowly but expertly with the light blue yarn that was reminiscent of her own gi. Fritz and Spitz were sitting on the ground, gluing together popsicle sticks into what she assumed was a log cabin, similar to how she had done it when she was their age. Sora and Riyu had gone out to resume finding mattresses for the two of them to settle for the night, insisting that since they had found a pump, a mattress had to be close by.

Nya couldn’t help but wonder if Bonzal’s crocheting was nerves or not with how slow she was working; she couldn’t help but remember her boyfriend’s anxious movements, his hands working nervously on all sorts of projects and inventions if only just to calm his overworking mind.

If he had been with her in this current moment, Jay would focus on trying to comfort her own nerves, using his own words to ground himself, but she didn’t dare wish for him to be there even in the comfort of her own mind, not even a good experience with a Dijin could change that.

With how at ease the boys were, even if they weren’t outwardly showing their nerves, Nya couldn’t help but wonder if what had happened to Cole was somewhat normal for the children he was now practically calling his own, for the skeleton who outwardly didn’t care for much but her craft projects as well as her weird collections and for Cole’s boyfriend, who was in the room just down the hall, tending to him.

It wasn’t that it was unexpected for Cole to have a boyfriend; ever since he came out to her, Nya was aware of the persistent crush he had once had on her brother as well as the brief romance that he had shared with Plundar. If she was being completely honest, she had been expecting it for a long time just like she knew the others had been expecting her to get back together with Jay.

But she couldn’t stop herself from wondering about Geo, the outcast of Shintaro that had found his way into Cole’s heart. They hadn’t spoken much to each other aside from the explanation of his own elemental powers, not that it wasn’t either of their faults given the attack from both The Hoarder as well as Dr. LaRow.

Admittedly, Nya couldn’t help but wonder if it was just her wanting to get to know the Munce, or if some part of her was still guarded from the mess that had been what had gone down with Harumi and Lloyd and as a result, wanted to protect the others from going through anything like that again.

She was so lost in her own mind that she hadn’t even registered Geo, slowly opening the creaking, wooden door until he approached the line of her vision, “how is he?”

“He’ll be okay,” Geo’s voice was steady, like anything about Cole passing out for seemingly no reason after expressing earlier in the day that it felt like the earth had been screaming ever since the Merge was okay.

“How are you so calm about this?” Nya questioned with a raised eyebrow, “this isn’t normal and not just in Ninjago. It’s not normal at all.”

Geo didn’t answer at first and Nya assumed that it was due to the fact that he was refusing to acknowledge her question, but she was surprised when Geo led her over to a small table pushed into the back of the room and handed her a hot mug of steaming chamomile, a scent she instantly recognized from her days working at Steep Wisdom.

“I don’t like scaring Fritz and Spitz,” Geo admitted as he passed her a small dish of sugar before taking a sip of his unsweetened tea, looking right at the young boys as he spoke, “they’re just kids. Kids who look at Cole the same way that they look at me.”

“So they’re your sons?” Nya pressed while sweetening her tea.

“In all but blood,” Geo affirmed, “the four of us, we were all rejected by our biological families, so we made our own and when Cole fell from the sky, we only assumed that he was like the rest of us.”

Nya nodded; she was instantly brought back to those cold autumn mornings in Ignacia where her feet would be so cold that she would instantly go to Kai’s bed and snuggle up to her furnace of a brother; even when he complained about her cold feet on his warm legs, she knew that he was grateful that at least he could provide warmth.

It had just been the two of them surviving together, hoping that the other villagers would take pity on them to the point of at least offering them a warm meal if they didn’t buy some of the extensive stock of weapons that only dwindled as they grew up.

In a weird way, she had been thankful for being taken by the skeleton army; after all, it wasn’t like they hurt her and afterwards, they had the guarantee of comfy beds and warm meals while Kai continued his training to become the master of fire.

“So, what happened out there?” Nya questioned, now that the chamomile was starting to calm down her anxiety and replaced it with the need for answers, “and why are you all so calm about this?”

“I know you said that this isn’t normal, and you are completely in the right, but it has become our normal,” Geo explained, stopping to take a sip of his tea, “a few weeks after Cole arrived, he fought the Hoarder for the first time. But when he used what he calls his “earth punch”, he confided in me later on that the earth struggled to obey his mastery and it felt like the ground was in agony.”

“So the pain is from his earth punch.”

“Not exactly,” Nya couldn’t stop her eyebrow from raising in confusion, but after being in so many confusing conversations throughout the years, she knew when it was better to remain silent, “after that day, he started to develop these migraines, he told me that he always hears the cries, but that he can drown them out. But some days, like today, it’s too strong for him.”

Nya swallowed in sympathy; after she had been brought back from the sea, she had been forced to go through the withdrawal of the lack of elemental power she had seen both Kai and Lloyd go through in the past. It had been painful to say the least between getting used to her own body again as well as the usual flu-like symptoms that came with having the elemental energy ripped from one's body.

But consistent migraines like that, long after the event that originally caused the internal turmoil, that was new to her; not impossible, but new. Just like everything else that she had learned within the past few weeks since she reunited with Lloyd.

“Is there anything that helps him get through the bad days?” Nya asked, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her face where it had fallen out of her ponytail, only to be disappointed when Geo shook his head.

“Not much. We haven’t been able to find any sort of medicine or herbal remedy to decrease the pain, but physical contact helps him ground himself, so it’s something.”

That was something that didn’t surprise Nya at all. Cole was always the first one to give and accept hugs to whoever might need one ever since she first met him; she had a particularly strong memory of the two of them holding onto each other tightly after a conversation about ghosts and newfound powers.

But as Geo spoke, every word rattled inside of her mind and filled it with the fact that Geo was not deceptive and had zero malicious intent for her friend. Rather, he may very well be the best match she had ever seen for Cole.

“Then you should go be with him,” Nya insisted, putting her now empty tea cup down on the table, “I’ll clean this up and make dinner.”

“Are you sure?” Geo questioned as she stood, taking his empty cup with her own towards the sink, “you and Sora have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Geo, you are the first person I’ve met that has truly loved Cole,” Nya put her hand on the Munce’s to ensure that yes, she had his attention, “and right now, you are the one he needs. You’ve helped him through this before, I would have no idea what to do.”

Geo nodded as he stood, and Nya could have sworn that she saw a shiny tear trickle down his cheek but he made no move to acknowledge it as he walked back toward his and Cole’s shared bedroom, only stopping to turn back toward Bonzal and say, “help Nya with dinner if she needs it.”, before disappearing behind the wooden door.

…

Cole knew that if he stayed perfectly still and kept his eyes closed, the migraine would pass. It would take time and he would be bedridden for the rest of the night, but he knew that the throbbing in his mind and the subtle churn of his nauseated stomach would pass.

In the years that had passed in the Land of Lost Things, he got used to the throbbing of the scar that had come from the rift in the sky sealing around the left side of his skull.

He knew that any of the other ninjas would have been just as freaked out as he had been when it had started, he also knew that it had been foolish to believe that it had just been from the lack of adrenaline from fighting the Hoarder that first time.

But, he had Geo to get him through it by letting him rest his pounding head on his chest and the comforting squeeze of his arm around his shoulders. It didn’t stop the pain, the nausea or even the fainting, but it was enough for Cole to ground himself and know that he would get through it just like he had before.

“Hey,” the tender whisper broke through his thoughts, resting his gentle hand on Cole’s bare shoulder which gave him the strength to open his eyes in the pitch black room, “how’re you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Cole couldn’t stop his voice from trembling as he spoke because even moving the muscles in his jaw sent a flash of pain through his head, “like shit, the migraines…” he hesitated, but given the little of Geo’s face he could see through the makeshift blackout curtains that covered their windows, Cole knew that his boyfriend knew exactly what he was gonna say, “I think they’re getting worse. The screaming is getting louder.”

Geo’s mouth was pushed into a tight line, the face he made whenever he was deep in thought; Cole had seen it before, when the two of them discussed the Hoarder with Bonzal to try and figure out what exactly it was and how to stop it for good, as well as when the migraines first made their appearance and Geo had tried everything to remove the pain before it was decided that they should just try and manage the pain instead.

“You should go with Nya, Riyu and Sora tomorrow,” Geo finally spoke, and despite the pain, Cole immediately sat up in protest, “Cole, lay back do-”

“I am not leaving the boys, I am not leaving Bonzal and I am not leaving you,” Cole shook his head and fought back the wave of nausea that it caused as he grasped onto his boyfriend’s hands, “you four can’t leave, I can’t leave you.”

“Ninjago has more sufficient medical technology-”

“But Ninjago doesn’t have you,” Cole cut him off, his vision trying to dim around him due to the overexertion, “I need you, Geo.”

“I don’t want you to leave, Cole,” Geo’s voice trembled as he set a gentle hand on his chest, forcing his throbbing head onto the pillows, “but I also don’t want to lose you.”

Cole sighed as he chewed on the edge of his lip; he understood everything Geo was saying and he knew that his boyfriend wasn’t pushing him away because he no longer wanted him around but more so that he couldn’t find another solution to the problem and he knew that, in the depths of his mind where only the truest honesty inside of him was, he knew that the only solution had to be stopping the Merge Quakes.

“I love you, Geo,” Cole sighed as he moved to allow the Munce to get in bed beside him so he could rest his head against his chest, knowing that if this was the last night that he would be with Geo, then he was going to make sure that it ended on a good note, “and I swear that as soon as all of this is over, I’ll come back and bring you four with me.”

“I know you will,” Geo spoke softly before pressing his tender lips to the top of Cole’s head, wrapping his arm around his shoulders, “and Cole?”

Cole turned his head to look into Geo’s shiny eyes, feeling his own tears start to build up from both the migraine and knowing that this could very well be the last time that he shared the night with his boyfriend.

Despite all of that, Cole couldn’t help but smile when their lips met, the familiar sensation of nothing but pure love bringing his attention away from the pain for just a few moments before Geo pulled away and said what he got his attention for in the first place.

“I love you too, and if you can’t get back to us…” Geo stopped to push away Cole’s sweaty, raven-black hair away from his throbbing scar, never putting his fingers directly on it.

“Don’t finish that,” Cole pleaded, gently taking Geo’s purple fingers in his own hand, “I will come back to Bonzal, to the boys and to you. We’ll go back to Ninjago, and you guys can meet my dad,” he started to ramble, which he knew was from both the exhaustion and the migraine taking away his focus, but he had this conversation with Geo before deep in the night after they had their first kiss.

“And if we decide that Ninjago isn’t for us, we’ll go live with your friend, Queen Vania, in Shintaro,” Geo continued, pressing more soft kisses against Cole’s head while speaking, “and we’ll keep raising our boys where they’ll be as safe as they can be and where Bonzal will have so much thread and yarn that she’ll never run out of things to crochet or sew.”

“And when they’re a bit older,” Cole stopped to yawn, his eyes fluttering shut as he continued to mumble, “maybe we’ll have another one. I’ve always wanted three, you know.”

But as he let his eyes stay shut and his mind started to wander into dreamland, he heard Geo speak for just a few more moments.

“A girl, who we’ll name her after your mom,” one more kiss pressed to his forehead followed by a “good night, Cole” and after that, Cole couldn’t hear his boyfriend speak anymore.

He thought he heard the voice of Master Wu calling out to him, pleading with him to follow him, but it quickly faded to an empty void.

…

Spitz had burst into tears as soon as he heard that Cole would be leaving, his sobs turning into sniffles after Cole hugged him with a little bit of super strength and insisted that he would be back as soon as he could be.

Fritz was just as sniffly as Spitz when he hugged Cole tightly, but was much easier to cheer up with the promise of meeting the others, especially Kai, and the promise that he would be brought back the newest in ninja action figures.

Bonzal didn’t say much before leading the boys away, she didn’t even hug Cole, but when she stuttered over “bring me any bones you find, rock boy,” he knew that she was pushing back any of her emotions so he and Geo could have a proper goodbye without Fritz asking more questions about the dragon cores or Spitz becoming inconsolable about Cole leaving again.

But when the door closed, leaving the Master of Earth and the Munce alone, neither of them could break the silence as Cole pulled the backpack of his few things over his shoulder. He was still exhausted from the migraine that had overtaken him the day before, but the pain was gone and the screaming was quieter now.

Unfortunately, that also meant that his departure from the land he had called home, and the people he had called home for the last few years, was very real and not just an argument between him and his boyfriend.

“You be safe,” Geo’s voice broke through the seemingly impenetrable silence that had filled the living room as he rested his palm in Cole’s, the small burst of powers forming a brief heart shape around their hands, “you come back to us.”

“Geo,” Cole swallowed harshly, his mouth dry as he did, “tell me to stay and I swear, I will unpack this bag faster than the elemental master of speed,” Cole knew that he wouldn’t since he was the one who told him to leave the night before, but he was pleading just the same as his voice trembled into a honest stutter, “I-I love you.”

He should have known that Geo wouldn’t say another word, but the last thing he expected was for Geo to let his hand fall before walking with him toward the entrance. Cole wanted to take his hand again, to drop his pack and insist that he was staying, but that’s when Geo spoke one more time, pressing his hand to Cole’s cheek as he did, his eyes full of earnestness.

“You have to leave.”

And with that, Geo removed his hand from his cheek and turned around toward their bedroom, leaving Cole to stand in the entryway by himself.

His shaky breath filled the room as the water in his eyes started to fall, but he lifted his arm up, wiped away the tears, pulled the backpack tighter onto his shoulder and forced himself to walk out of the Rookery for the last time.

Despite that, he couldn’t stop himself from turning around for a brief second to try and get a glimpse of Geo from the window, only to remember that the blackout curtains were still up; so he continued walking toward Nya, Sora and Riyu to tell them that he would be going to follow Master Wu’s voice instead of coming with them.

But he knew that he wouldn’t tell Nya the reason that he was wiping heartbroken tears from his cheeks and if she pressed, he knew that he would have to lie to her only so she didn’t release any of her powers on the Finders.

‘I will return,’ Cole told himself as his eyes caught onto the small group in front of him, ‘and we’ll all make it back to Ninjago.’

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undeath1245 · 1 month

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A fan scenario for the finale's ending

Uzi is laying on her bed in her room, alone. This takes place either in the colony after a huge battle against the Solver or in a huge spaceship (most likely Tessa's) after the destruction of Copper 9. Uzi tries to go to sleep after all the pain she endured, but with little progress. She then looks at a photo of her, N, and V, as well as the apology drawing N made for her in "Heartbeat". Uzi Doorman (narrating): "Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if I could have saved both of them. Despite all of what happened, I can't help but miss them." Uzi: "I'm gonna miss you guys so much." Serial Designation N (quietly): "We miss you too, Uzi." Uzi (weakly): "You guys may be death machines built to destroy me and my colony, but you were the greatest friends I ever had." N (a bit louder): "It's alright, Uzi." Uzi (now crying): "Great, now my auditory hallucinations are getting louder, and it's making it really hard to move on from them!" Serial Designation V: "That's because we aren't hallucinations, you idiot!" Uzi: "Huh?! N? V? Is that you?" V: "Ugh, yes, it's us. Somehow, we haven't moved on yet and wound up in your head." Uzi: "My... my head? Ho- Hold on a second." Uzi immediately tries to go to sleep, with the help of a deep sleep program equivalent to sleeping medication for humans. As she finally does so, she winds up in her own subconsciousness. We then see her swimming through the purple void, trying to find N and V. Uzi: "N? V? Where are you? Come on, you guys have got to be around here somehow. Geez, how big is my subconsciousness? Maybe I need to dive a bit more down, or up-" Uzi immediately stops swimming to see N and V, each of them now looking similar to V's concept design. They have both evolved into "robot angels". Uzi: "N? V?" N: "Heh, heh, hey, Uzi. We're... robot angels now." Uzi begins to tear up. N: "So, how have you been?" Uzi immediately embraces both N and V. Uzi (in tears): "I... I thought I lost both of you!" N: "Heh, you did, but only for a little bit." V: "Yeah, you're acting like we died or something." Uzi: "It's just... It's just so good to see you two again." As the camera pans away from the trio and back into the real world, we see Uzi sleeping happily, with a digital tear streaming down her left side. The credits then begin with a music box rendition of "Disassembly Required".

#Glitch Productions #Liam Vickers #Murder Drones #Uzi Doorman #Serial Designation N #Serial Designation V #scenarios #predictions #bittersweet ending

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heqvenlymoons · 2 months

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I Gave You Immortality, I Can Take It Back Anytime

Daminette One Shot | Soulmate AU | AO3

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has always known she was immortal. Maybe not always.

But there had been multiple instances in her life that proved she was.

Like when she was four, she and Nino had been playing catch when the ball he threw at her bounced and rolled onto the road. Seeing no cars in sight, Marinette had rushed onto the street to grab the ball when a car seemed to have spawned out of nowhere and sped towards her.

She had frozen in fear, not able to move when the car miraculously broke down just as it was about to hit her. Her parents hadn’t let her out of their sight for a while after that incident.

That night, she remembered seeing a boy about the same age as her with green eyes, tanned skin and a permanent scowl on his face as he crossed his arms and looked at her with an air full of superiority as he snapped, “Be more careful.”

She had thought the dream was weird and never saw the boy again until when she was six. She somehow contracted pneumonia and was sent to the ER for a life-threatening emergency.

She slept at the hospital that night, afraid and alone, her parents weren’t allowed in the room as the sickness was contagious.

She saw the green-eyed boy again, this time looking older than he was when she last saw him. His scowl was the same, looking down at her with disapproval as if she had sought out the sickness on her own and gotten sick on purpose.

“Don’t look at me like it’s my fault,” She snapped, unhappy with his disapproving expression.

He looked surprised but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared, the scowling expression slipping back like it never left in the first place as he spat, “It is your fault! If you never went near that sick person in the first place, you would not have contracted the disease.”

Marinette stomped her foot, unwilling to let the boy talk to him like that. “It’s not my fault I’m sick! Everything hurts! I’m scared and alone, I don’t need to add you yelling at me to the mix.”

By the end of her rant, she was struggling to contain her tears, the frustration of everything she had been holding back while she had been awake came tumbling out.

The boy’s face softened slightly and he shifted, looking uncomfortable at the girl looking so close to tears. He gave a hesitant gentle pat to her head as he said, “Get better soon.”

The following morning when she woke up, her pneumonia had been cured.

Since that night, the mysterious boy appeared more often on days when she got hurt or injured, and with her clumsy nature, she saw the boy every few days.

“I just realized I don’t know your name,” Marinette asked one day as they hung out in the dreamscape.

They were both doing their own thing, with the boy focused on his sketchbook and Marinette working on some colouring book.

He grunted, not happy with the interruption. “That is not important.”

She closed her colouring book and got up to snatch the sketchbook from his hands.

“Hey!” he glared at her, hoping to intimidate her but she was stubborn, not giving in.

“It’s important to me. I want to know who my friend is,” she said, referring to his earlier statement.

“We are not friends,” he grumbled, looking away.

She stuck out her tongue. “Too bad. You’re stuck with me, you always appear when I sleep.”

The boy stubbornly avoided her gaze, focusing on some shelves behind her instead.

“Just tell me your name. Please?” She whined, putting on her best puppy doll eyes, his scowling expression faltering as he all but melted at the adorable expression she was making.

He huffed, trying to act like he was unaffected by the look but Marinette knew better. She had come to figure out his weakness as her puppy doll eyes and she used it to her full advantage.

“Damian. Damian Al Ghul,” he said, glaring at her.

Her smile was bright, his glaring eyes softening immediately and she was happy she had finally got him to tell her his name! He was going to be her best friend, it would be the last thing she did even if he continued to be stubborn.

At 13 years old, she was given the ladybug earrings and became Ladybug, the heroine of Paris.

That came with a price. She was injured more often, her meetings with Damian in the dreamscape every few days turned to every day.

He had somehow known her identity as Ladybug as soon as she saw her the night after the first Akuma and he had thrown a fit about it.

At 16, the akumas had escalated. Before, when the Akumas avoided killing and only stuck to injuries now weren’t afraid of taking more ruthless measures.

Multiple times when Marinette thought she was about to die, something miraculous happens to change it like the universe was being warped to make sure she doesn’t die and in a way, avenges her while it was at it.

About to get lava sprayed and incinerated from an Akuma? The lava gun runs out of lava fuel, allowing her and Chat Noir to catch him off guard to break the akumatized object.

A car getting thrown at her by an Akuma and about to crush her? It missed, somehow ricocheting off a building and hitting the Akuma square in the face.

That one battle where Hawkmoth himself shows up and has her cornered, about to grab her earrings? He gets attacked by his own Akuma.

An Akuma that absorbs the powers of miraculous holders and cataclysms her? Oh would you look at that, the Akuma gets sidetracked at the last second— courtesy of Chat Noir— and the wall behind her disintegrates to dust instead of her.

She could go on. It was absurd and a bit (utterly) ridiculous if she was being honest but at least her life never really seems to be in any real danger.

She had thought maybe it had something to do with her donning the ladybug miraculous and it was giving her insane luck, she even consulted her kwami about it.

Tikki had debunked that theory, looking confused as she did. “I’m not sure what’s happening to you, Marinette, but the ladybug miraculous isn’t the reason. The ladybug miraculous can give you a little luck at times but there must be balance, which means you would also have bad luck days. All those circumstances weren’t the outcome of lady luck and not to mention, you never seem to have any bad luck days. Even when you do, the event always somehow gets altered at the last second.”

Marinette had brought up her theories to Damian but he always looked uninterested and avoided the subject so she stopped bringing them up in the dreamscape.

She had a hunch on why this was happening but she denied it and pushed the possibility out of her mind. Damian never said anything about it, so she wouldn’t either. She was good at denying things, it was how she never figured out Chat Noir’s identity.

Now at the age of 17, Marinette was still contemplating if she was somehow immortal when Scarecrow broke in while her class was given a tour of Wayne Enterprises.

“So this is the famed Akuma Class, you people are the perfect test subjects for my new and evolved fear toxin! I wonder what fears you all have… Oh well, I’m about to find out.” Scarecrow announced, looking around in excitement like a kid in a toyshop for the first time. He pointed to Lila. “You! You look the most scared… Wonder what you’re afraid of, hmm?”

He looked to his henchmen. “Bring her here!”

Marinette rubbed her temples. She might not be Lila’s biggest fan— an understatement— but her hero complex won’t let her stand by and do nothing.

Even when it was completely Lila’s fault that Scarecrow had taken an interest in them— you can’t go around saying how you knew the Waynes and not expect any kidnapping attempts for ransom.

No matter, Marinette can take Scarecrow’s attention off Lila and make him focus on her instead. Marinette knew death avoided her like the plague at this point and if she wasn’t immortal, then maybe she was just insanely lucky.

“Let her go,” She said in a tired voice, not putting much energy into shouting but her voice rang clear in the quiet room as everyone looked fearful.

Scarecrow looked delighted by the prospect of someone volunteering. “Oh, a volunteer I see?”

He waved his henchmen off and they dropped Lila, causing her to tumble to the ground with a gasp, the henchmen moving to grab Marinette instead.

Marinette let herself get manhandled towards Scarecrow as he grabbed his syringe, the pointy tip of the needle gleaming in the light.

The fashionista in her wanted to protest at the sack-like mask he was wearing and she bit her lip to keep from saying anything to anger him. It’s not like she’s seen worse, Hawkmoth has a worse fashion sense if she was being honest.

Of course, her mouth didn’t stay shut for long and spat the words out without her permission, the need to critique his fashion overpowering her self-preservation.

“Nice mask,” She quipped, she couldn’t keep the sarcasm off her tone even when her very life was on the line. “Are you participating in the next potato sack race or are you trying to start a new fashion trend with that?”

Scarecrow’s eyes flashed with anger at her remark and he moved forward, pushing his henchmen out of the way, about to stab the syringe into her bloodstream when she acted on her instincts as Ladybug and sent a roundhouse kick to his face, catching the mad scientist off-guard as he lost his grip on the syringe and fell backwards.

The syringe seemed to have flown in the air in slow motion, the tip of the needle stabbing into the arm of the fallen villain and injecting the fear toxin into his bloodstream, making him get a taste of his own medicine.

Marinette allowed her lips to twitch upwards at the sight, her guardian angel had struck once again. Her slight smile faded away at the thought, not wanting to come to terms with the facts.

She turned to see that Batman, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing had arrived, looking dumbfounded at the scene.

Red Robin stepped forward, looking cautiously at the screaming Scarecrow before addressing her. “Miss? How did this happen?”

Marinette hummed, looking nonchalant. “You can say he got a taste of his own medicine… literally.”

The Batboys burst out laughing at her pun while Batman looked unimpressed.

“What you’re saying is, Scarecrow was hit by his own syringe?” Batman asked, looking suspicious.

She shrugged, looking towards her class to see they were being ushered out by Ms. Bustier.

“I did a roundhouse kick to his face,” She admitted, making eye contact with Ms. Bustier who waited for her at the exit. “It caught him off guard and the syringe was knocked out of his hand before the pointy tip landed on his arm.”

The suspicion in his eyes didn’t clear as he responded, “You must have been extremely lucky. This happened too conveniently, don’t you think?”

Batman was prodding for something but she couldn’t find it in herself to care about the interrogation or to quell his suspicions. “Mr. Batman, I was just in a traumatic situation and now have PTSD. If you don’t mind, I would like to join my class and spend the rest of the day at the hotel to get my mind off of the traumatic experience,”

She could see Red Hood trying not to laugh at her reply as his shoulders shook and she turned away without waiting for how the Dark Knight would respond.

She walked away to join the rest of her class as she heard Batman tell Red Robin to get the cure for Scarecrow.

──────────

As she went to sleep that night, she pushed the day’s events from her mind, and the fading laugh of Scarecrow dissolved into the quiet stillness of the dreamscape.

Damian was already in the dreamscape like usual and was glaring at her with his arms crossed and looking annoyed.

Marinette sent him her brightest smile, hoping to soften his annoyed look at her recklessness.

It worked, his eyes softening, although he didn’t uncross his arms as he pinned her with the look he had on every time she did something that injured or almost killed her.

“I know you did that on purpose. What theory did you think you were trying to prove?” Damian asked, unhappy with her lack of self-preservation.

Her eyes were wide, looking the epitome of innocence. “Did what?”

He scowled, the soft look in his green eyes gone as it glittered with annoyance. “Tt. Don’t you take that tone with me. You know exactly what you did, don’t make me say it. It is getting increasingly harder for me to save you every time.”

To his horror, tears were glistening in her eyes and he tried to backtrack but the damage was done.

“You died, didn’t you? Before we met? You were so young,” Marinette whispered, the tears falling as he didn’t respond. His silence was enough to confirm she had been right all this time.

She looked away, unable to look at him as she came to terms with the facts she had been deadset on denying since young.

Damian reached out a hand and looking hesitant, he moved forward to hug her from behind, his arms going around her waist and causing her to freeze at how he was initiating physical contact.

“Angel, I was never sure how to break the news to you… but it seems like you’ve always accepted the fact, albeit subconsciously. I did not mean to keep that fact away from you.” he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and savouring the moment.

He was right, even if she was actively denying the fact that he was dead, her subconscious had long already accepted.

Since Damian had died before they met, their soul bond activated upon his death, the universe gifting them with the dreamscape and making it so that they would never be apart, even in death.

There was a catch— she could only meet Damian in the dreamscape if she was injured or came close to death and he warped the universe to ensure she would avoid death.

It was why she had always been clumsy, her heart knew he would be waiting for her in the dreamscape and wouldn’t be able to see her unless she was hurt in some way even if her mind hadn’t accepted it.

Marinette voiced her thoughts out loud and he tugged her to face him, his green eyes meeting her blue ones with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

“I don’t wish to see you hurt, Angel. I do everything I can to make sure you don’t die by saving your life at every turn. You need to stop with your recklessness,” he said, trying to look stern, although he didn’t look very convinced he was going to get through to her.

She was stubborn and he knew it.

He reached out to wipe her tears away with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Thank you, Damian, for everything,” she whispered, the weight of her unspoken emotions palpable in the air between them.

With a trembling smile, she tried to lighten up the mood even as her heart felt heavy. “You know I won’t. How else will I see you every night to make sure you aren’t feeling lonely without my company? Besides, I know you will always watch over me.”

Marinette knew her response held some truth to it, she didn’t like the thought of Damian feeling lonely in the dreamscape. She wouldn’t stop being clumsy, if only so she could see him every night in the dreamscape.

He softened at her words, though he still didn’t look happy. “I gave you immortality, I can take it back anytime.”

She went quiet at that, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you?”

His brows furrowed, a rare show of his confusion. “What?”

She elaborated. “Why don’t you? Take away my immortality that is.”

His brows deepened, not understanding why she was asking him such a thing. “You deserve to be happy.”

Marinette shook her head, stepping closer to him. “What if my happiness is with you? Why do you save me every time when you could’ve let me die to be with you?”

Damian’s eyes held sadness but no signs of regret at his repeated decision to save her. “You deserve to live the life I could not. You have dreams to fulfill and many things to discover in life. It is not your time yet.”

At her shocked silence, he continued. “You don’t know how hard it is to let you go every time. I am afraid that one of these days I will no longer be able to find it in me to let you go and bind your life to mine in the afterlife forever.”

The tears she had managed to keep away started to come back at his heartfelt confession.

“Please, I beg of you, don’t try to die anymore. Live your life, the life that I did not have the chance to live. If not for yourself, then do it for me,” he looked desperate, his stoic mask cracking, allowing her to see every emotion he was feeling.

Her lips quivered, the tears flowing from her eyes and dropping to the white smokey ground, the droplets absorbing into the void like it was never there. “Will I ever see you again?”

Damian allowed himself to smile if only for her sake, the muscles feeling strange at the unfamiliar expression. He could see her eyes dropping to his soft smile and how her eyes were tracing his features, committing it to memory.

“When the time is right. I will always be here when you need me, mon ange. This is not goodbye,” he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

Marinette closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in his presence before it was time for her to wake up.

She would live her life and fulfill her dreams.

For him.

#maribat #mlb x dc #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #damian al ghul #soulmate au #oneshot #angst with a hopeful ending #bittersweet ending #my take on the soulmate au #focuses on the concept of immortality #has supernatural elements #whether they are romantic or platonic soulmates is up to the reader's interpretation

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kingofangst · 5 months

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A Senpai's Sacrifice

OKAY RIGHT NOW I AM IN MY FEELS OF ANGST AND SADNES. I AM COPING RIGHT NOW.

So here is a bittersweet one-shot I created, where surname-san makes a tough decision and sacrifice! While I incorporated some of the lyrics of Unravel by TK Ling (DIsclaimer: I do not own the rights to this song) to darken the mood. This has nothing to do with my Jujutsu Kaisen fanfic au: A Nexis's Peril, this is a totally different oneshot I wrote myself. Enjoy the derpession!

Characters: Itadori Yuji, Kugisaku Nobara, Mahito, past reader, past Satoru Gojo, reader-senpai, reader is gender-neutral

Warnings: Graphic violence, past bullying, that's about it

P.S: Made some edits when I noticed I saw some typos and I had to change it from "he" to "they" to make it gender-neutral. Sorry about that!

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There were...there are two Mahitos. That explains why Nobara damaged Mahito's soul, she fought a clone and used her resonance to Mahito's clone as an effigy to damage Mahito's soul-

Their blood freezes when the real Mahito switches places with his clone

"RUUUNNN!!! KUGISAKI!!!"

The pain in Itadori's voice made Surname-san recoil, but pales in comparison as they watch the real Mahito charge at Kugisaki who is in shock at the scene before her. Then everything went in slow-motion…

No...no no no no no no no no NO!

This wasn't how things were supposed to end...they didn't expect things to turn out this bad without Gojo-sensei…

Kugisaku...Kugisaki...Kugisaki...Kugisaki...KUGISAKI!!!

They can't afford to see their own kouhai, who they watched grow in the past months, this fiery and passionate girl of steel taking out two Special Grade curses with Itadori 5 weeks ago, die in front of them or Itadori who has already lost so much...from Shibuya's destruction...Nanami-sensei's death…

There's no place in this world that they would want more than to see their kouhais safe and happy, away from all of this...Okinawa sounds like a happier place to be in than here…

"Cursed Technique: Kyomu no Ten'i..." They manifest with their cursed energy, having their hands out, creating a sphere of black energy, getting lighter and lighter as they prepare themselves for their last stand…

"...Shin'en no Kokan!"

"You're a weird kid, you know that?"

"Huh?" They question, looking up at a classmate in their 4th grade science classroom, eyeing the other kid.

"I said you're weird...how are you even good at making things explode when you can't even make friends?"

Those were the words that stuck inside of 10 year-old Surname-san's head since the 4th grade. They weren't the most sociable kid, nor the funniest, nor the most popular. But they knew they were different from anyone else in that classroom and in the school. How does one explain to someone who is purely human that they can see curses at a young age?

Oshiete oshiete yo sono shikumi wo

Surname-san saw the green and purple curse swarming around the antagonistic kid's shoulders like a cobra, it's weird seven eyes staring back at their eyes. Of course, Surname-san didn't do much except leave, as the kid continued to shout and bully them as they walked away. School was horrible, life was horrible as a foster kid, they had no will or desire to even fix things. They thought they were cursed since birth.

Boku no naka ni da ga iru no?

A week after their hardships, a tragedy happened, one that happened in their school. The day that they lost their entire class and grade to a horrific curse…the very same one that was on the kid that bullied them…

Kowareta, Kowareta yo kono sekai de

The hideous, cobra-like curse, slithering towards them from corpse to corpse, taking one life after another while they watch the carnage before them, shivering in fear

Kimi ga warau nanimo miezu ni

Running through the bloodied hallways of the school while the curse was hot on their trail wanting to consume them and their soul, shouting eerily “you’re weird!” “you will never make friends!” “why can’t you just die?” the words are all too familiar, from the very voice of the boy that is now dead. Now they stood in a corner and trapped between a wall and the path of where the curse was, hissing with a maniacal grin. The individual felt scared, horrified and was the only one alive against this very strong, hideous being.

Beings they have seen on a regular basis, the sheer malevolence and disturbance of them from humans. As the curse leaped forward and went in for the kill, the individual shielded their faces as if to not face the gruesome fate that awaited them, unknowingly producing black circles that shot out to the curse. Instead of hearing their flesh and bones crack, they heard thuds and sounds of pain yelps. They open their eyes to see a shocking sight before them. The curse, in pieces, held separately by black swirling voids, crying in pain before starting to vanish into thin air.

Kowareta boku nante sa iki wo tomete

They never knew they could produce such abilities from their hands. How on Earth did they do such a thing? The crashing of windows burst through, shattering on the floor, startling them when a tall figure with white hair, all dressed in black with shades lands on the floor, their feet crunching the glass that shattered. The male, looking between them and the now evaporating curse and the odd, circular black things exorcising the curse, is surprised and impressed. He watches the curse being destroyed, before walking up to the frightened child that began crying silently.

Hodokenai mou hodokenai yo shinjitsu sae freeze

“That was you?”

“H-Hai- I don’t know I- I don’t know what I did b-but everyone d-died and it chased me and I-I…I was running and I d-didn’t want this to eat…eat me-!” Their hiccups and sobs overtook their voice as the taller figure realized what this kid had before pulling him into a hug after a traumatic and grotesque event.

Kowaseru kowasenai kurueru kuruenai anata wo mitsukete

“Kid, what’s your name?”

“Surname first-name…” They sobbed into the male’s chest, finally letting out their pent up emotions of being bullied from school and foster care, not being seen as a person, not being defended by the guardians at foster care, not being able to have a happy life since birth. They felt cursed and just wanted to be erased from this world.

“You’re not a curse…” Is what the male tells them is what makes them realize they said it out loud. “You are a special human being. One that can control your cursed energy and can be able to use a cursed technique. Surname-san, my name is Satoru Gojo, and you are a sorcerer. I see you’ve had a rough life judging by what you said out loud. So let’s forget about that, forget what life throws at you, and let me help train you?”

And so, they took his hand, out of awe and pent up emotions of what this male told them, saying “You’ll be doing amazing things, surname-san.”

“SURNAME-SENPAI!!”

YURETA YUGANDA SEKAI NI DANDAN BOKU WA SUKITOTTE MIENAKU NATTE

One second, Kugisaki found herself in shock, staring at Mahito’s hand inches away from her face, then the next second being pulled in a black void that was endless, before seeing light and same beige tiles of the place she was in, falling beside Itadori whose pained shout she heard echo the hallway. She turns in time to see her senpai, in the exact place she was in, horror taking her features as Mahito’s hand swipes Surname-san’s face. They switched places with her!

"Surname-senpai! What the hell did you do!?"

MITSUKENAIDE BOKU NO KOTO WA MITSUMENAIDE

So this is what it feels like to be touched by Idle Transfiguration, they think as Mahito’s evil cackle erupts in the atmosphere before gripping their head in discomfort. They already felt their soul begin to unravel, their brain starting to become painful.

Kugisaki didn't want to admit the grim truth of their senpai's actions. But no matter how much she tried to think otherwise, she couldn't think of one. Because...Surname-senpai sacrificed their life for her by switching places at the exact moment Mahito was supposed to touch her, and taking her place.

DAREKA GA EGAITA SEKAI NO NAKE DE ANATA WO KIZUTSUKETAKU WA NAI YO

“SENPAI!!!” Both of their voices called them out, fear and horror in their tone. This isn’t how they wanted to die, or go out. But if it means to save someone younger than them, then it’s worth that sacrifice. The memories of them since entering Tokyo Jujutsu Tech pouring in like a movie film, each memory of them with their classmates…

Maki…Toge…Panda…Yuta…gomenasai…looks like I won’t be treating you all to sukiyaki at Ginza…

"Gomen, Kugisaki but I promised Nitta-chan and Maki that I'd help you survive." They chuckle sadly, knowing the pain is only increasing and seeing Kugisaki's angry and horrified expression with Itadori's terrified one.

OBOETEITE BOKU NO KOTO WO

The drops of blood from both of their nasal holes, dripping rapidly, along with their head feeling as if it is going to implode, makes them gaze up to the scared eyes of Itadori and Kugisaki, their eyes widening in horror at how Surname-san is looking. I am so sorry you have to see this…

Oshiete

Maki…Yuta…Toge…Panda…Hakari…Hoshi…Gojo-sensei…Fushiguro-kun…Yaga-san…Ieiri-san…I…I am so sorry for this…I can’t make my promise…but…arigato

Oshiete

“Itadori-kun, Kugisaki-chan…thank you…for making me believe I was a good person…live a long life…both of you…”

Boku no naka ni

Those were the final words of their senpai, before hearing a gross popping, then witnessing their head explode into flesh, blood and brain matter scattering the floor and their uniform before the headless corpse falls to the floor with a sickening crack to the floor.

Then, the hallways echoed nothing but Itadori’s and Kugisaki’s cries…while Mahito was cackling at the demise of someone important to them

Dare ga iru no?

Itadori's cries echo the hallways the loudest alongside Kugisaki's crestfallen and tear-gazed expression. Itadori couldn't take it anymore...the tears cascacding down his face as his eyes lose the brightness in them completely.

Their senpai's bloody, mutilated and headless corpse was in front of them.

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Congratulations, you'll have depression now. You're welcome!

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