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lady-literature · 4 years

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no point wishing on stars

aka the jasonette aladdin au literally no one asked for

This is a great big amalgamation of semi-canon miraculous, batman and a heavy dose of bastardized Aladdin but here we go-

The story goes like this:

Jason is our beloved street rat turned prince Boy Wonder and billionaire’s son (not that he’s gotten that far yet).

Marinette is Ladybug, is the Guardian, is our modern-day Jasmine. She’s next in line after Fu to lead the Order, which, I suppose, is like High Royalty for superheroes/magic users.

But before she can take her rightful place, she needs a partner by her side. It’s so stupid rule that says she, as a Ladybug, needs a Black Cat by her side in order to be properly balanced.

The only problem is, she doesn’t want one. Or, well. More accurately, it’s that she doesn’t like the ones offered to her, and she doesn’t quite like the idea of being tied to someone she barely knows, especially not at fourteen.

There have been many Black Cat candidates to cross her path but there has been only one she did not immediately veto. Adrien Agreste may be a Black Cat, but he cannot be hers. He will never be anything more than her dearest brother, and that is not what Creation needs.

Creation and Destruction—life and death—have a certain type of relationship. They are lovers, mated and married in every meaning of the word.

And, for as much as she loves and adores Adrien as her brother in her soul, they will never be like that. She will never want him the way she must should he take up Destruction.

So yeah. Marinette has a problem. And yeah, she has some time to figure it out, but the Order is looking to have her figure it out sooner rather than later. Adrien is a good place holder for now, but if Marinette doesn’t choose a Black Cat by the time she’s twenty-one, Adrien will either have to do, or she forfeits her crown and the Ladybug miraculous (which she would never do, she loves her people and Tikki too much to ever do that).

(wait? Does this mean I made Adrien the human equivalent of Raja?… yes. Yes it does.)

And, to spice this up just a bit more, let’s say Hawkmoth is Jafar, yeah? This little shit is really trying to push his son to be the next Black Cat because he wants power what’s best for his son. So he be out here sabotaging potential Black Cats because he’s an asshole his son is the best candidate at the moment. He could give less than two shits about if Mari and Adrien actually like each other that way, he will shove his son at her until she has no choice but to choose him.

Anyway, so Mari leaves the temple one day. Which is fine, she’s not trapped there or anything, she can come and go as she pleases! (she may have to normally take someone with her and is currently ignoring that rule perhaps, but that’s besides the point!)

So she’s at a market in Gotham, strolling down the street, having a good time enjoying being around normal people, when she notices a boy getting into some trouble.

(I’ll give you three guesses as to who it is and the first two don’t count.)

Jason was stealing from market vendors because the hubbub of the street is distracting and nicking a few scraps here and there is practically child’s play. Only, he miscalculates.

One vendor was paying more attention than he thought.

Mari’s across the street and sees the whole thing. Sees the vendor grab Jason’s hand in a bruising grip and snarl in his face.

She’s in between the pair before she even realizes it, mouth already opening around some made-up story about ill-advised dares and how ‘it won’t happen again, sir’ and ‘here, I’ll pay for that right now, no harm done!’

Jason stares at her utterly baffled and, thankfully, silent until after she’d already grabbed his hand and pulled him away.

Only, she pulls him away down the wrong alley. (Look. Mari’s a real sweet-talker and knows how to smooth ruffled feathers, but she is hardly street smart.)

Jason swears, and it’s the first words she’s heard him speak, and then it’s him tugging her along. Up a fire escape and over the rooftops because Jason likes to think he’s tough, but there’s no way he’s picking a fight with five guys bigger than him and wearing masks.

He likes to keep his heart beating more than he wants to keep his pride unharmed thank you very much.

They end up on a rooftop, panting and like, seven blocks away. Marinette is now very lost and with a strange boy who she doesn’t know. He seems… nice, and she’s a good judge of character, but that doesn’t mean much when they’re still very much strangers.

But then the two just look at each other and suddenly they’re both laughing.

And that, my friends, is the start of a beautiful friendship.

***

During those first few months, she and Jason just seem to click.

Mari starts leaving the temple more and more to meet up with Jason, and on more than one occasion dragging behind her a picnic basket bigger than her. (it’s stupid to let one of her friends starve just because he’s too prideful to take her food. So she plans lots of picnics for them both, and pointedly ignores the way he eats and hoards most of the food she brings.)

He is her friend—though she would be lying if she said she didn’t like him a bit more than what one would consider friendly.

And Jason, who is funny and kind and made sharp by the life he’s been forced into, likes her right back. She is one of the few great parts of his life, a bright spot in the darkness he has called his world for so long, and there are few things he wouldn’t do for her.

It’s… scary—just a bit—how important she is to him.

He tries not to think about it too much.

And it doesn't really matter anyway, because she is good and bright and amazing and he is… there’s nothing he can give her in return. Nothing good, anyway.

She deserves someone better. Someone who could buy her things as pretty as her and take her nice places.

Someone who isn’t a street rat.

And then he learns she’s Ladybug, right up there with Wonder Woman and Robin and all the other amazing people set on saving the world, and he feels he got that much farther from her. How can he ever compare?

Jason doesn’t wish, because wishing is childish and he learned too young that shooting stars don’t exist and he’s come to terms with the fact that this is his life years ago, all right? He doesn't need the burden of hope to weigh him down now.

(but perhaps, deep down, tucked away in the corner of his heart, there might be a thought. Small and scared and aching, he might think, ‘if only I could be there with her, if only i could fly with her, maybe then I’d be enough’)

Six months after he meets Marinette, Jason comes across the Batmobile.

His first thought is, this can’t be real.

His second is, I could buy Mari a real birthday gift with this.

His third thought is less of a thought because he’s already got two tires off by that point and then suddenly Batman is there and Jason is swinging his tire iron.

This then leads—somehow—to him winding up at Wayne Manor with Bruce Wayne and then he learns about Batman and Robin and he gets to be Robin and-

(and what else is a Robin meant to do but fly?)

It’s too good to be true. Wishes don’t come true and good things don’t happen to him unless their name be Marinette but… but Jason’s here and it’s not a dream. He’s no prince but, well… he thinks this might just be as close as you can get.

And, okay. He really does try with the whole secrecy thing, because he can understand why that’s important but, I mean… it’s Marinette, who is Ladybug. There really was never any chance of Jason keeping that particular secret, Batman or no Batman.

And about,,, two years pass like this ig. Mari is almost seventeen now, and Jason turned seventeen recently and the pair are getting closer and closer every day. They’re toeing the line of ‘more than friends’ but neither have really taken that next step.

The pressure is on Mari from the Order because she’s getting older and as much as she likes Jason, knows him but he isn’t a good candidate for Destruction and Mari must think of her people first.

Jason doesn’t get to be hers to keep and that aches but what else is she meant to do? She cannot—does not—want to change him in any way. So they stay, in their strange little limbo, with neither making a move.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

Hawkmoth hears of the boy finally, and is, obviously, furious.

He doesn't care if this boy can be a Cat or not, he’s going to ruin all his plans. So, there’s only one solution. He needs to get rid of him.

(i’ll give you three guesses as to how and the first two don’t count!)

Robin—Jason—dies, and Marinette feels when he does. She doesn’t know why or what happened, but the moment he leaves the world her blood turns cold and she feels sick.

Jason hasn’t even looked at the ring and already Marinette could feel the thread that had begun to tie them together. When she hears of his death—when she learns that he’s gone—Marinette shatters.

She shatters and cries and the world tips just a little, with the force of her sorrow, with the agony of her screams.

(justice is blind, yes, but is she deaf? Can she deny the sobbing of such a being as Creation herself? Can she stand, unfeeling, before the agony she has wrought?)

Marinette does not bring Jason back to life… but she has done something close. Has opened the possibility. Is, perhaps, the reason that six months later he screams and claws and drags himself from his own grave.

He is wrong wrong wrong, but he is also alive.

The league finds him, as they must. And Talia throws him into the pits, as she must. And Jason is reborn, screaming and angry and violent, as he must.

Marinette had known, Before, that Jason would not be a good match for the ring. He was tough and wild and willing to get his hands dirty if that’s what it took, but that was not what his core was. He was familiar with the rust and decay of back alley streets, but that wasn’t where he belonged. He would throw a punch but he didn’t relish the blood on his knuckles after a fight.

Jason was surrounded by destruction, but that’s not what he was.

Now… now the destruction he spent so long dancing with has slipped through the cracks in his mind left behind by the explosion. It ripped through his skin and slithered through into his veins until it settled in his heart like an overly smug cat.

Death and Destruction are inside him, woven in his ribcage and fusing with his blood, pumping pumping pumping its deadly rhythm and Jason is helpless to deny it’s tune.

Jason is a being of Destruction through circumstance rather than design, but make no mistake, that does not make him less.

(in fact, it may even make him more. To be remade from one’s own destruction is a powerful thing, and to be remade into Destruction? Well. There are few things more… miraculous.)

And we all know the next part of the story right?

Marinette mourns and grows and lives.

Jason rages and learns and plans. He’s come far from that street rat of a boy, and farther still from Marinette's petite oiseau.

But, two years after he comes back, when he ventures back to Gotham for revenge, Marinette takes one look at this angry, violent man calling himself Red Hood and she knows. He’s too familiar, even as he stands before her, more changed than she ever thought possible.

She meets the Red Hood when he comes for the new Robin, sweet little Tim who Marinette had grown to like despite herself. (He is not Jason, and never will be, but the boy was too shy and clever and earnest for her to have remained cold to him just because he wore the same colors once worn by the man she loved.)

She loves Tim in the same way she loves Adrien, simply and wholly and uncomplicated.

And then she is there when Jason comes for him.

Their reunion is not the stuff of fairy tales. It is not the beginning of happily ever after or true love.

Their reunion is a punch in the gut because it doesn't matter that he’s alive—except it does, because Mari has never known she could be so happy and so shattered at the same time—she is farther from him than she’d ever imagined she could be.

She reaches out for him, voice cracking around his name—because who else could this familiar stranger be?—and something in her shatters all over again when he flinches back from her touch.

“No,” he says, and it is a million things at once. He sends one last glare to Tim, who is still behind her, and then he’s gone.

***

Jason tries to avoid her.

Marinette allows this for a whole month before the whispers in the streets and the stories Tim comes back to her with, become too much.

She knows he is angry and out for revenge and building an empire out of the criminals that infest their city, but she doesn’t care. He was gone for two whole years and Marinette is tired of not seeing him-hearing him-touching him.

She has missed him like an ache in her chest and she doesn't care if he hates her or is furious with her, she just wants to see him. She needs to reassure herself that he’s alive, that he’s real.

And, it seems, the universe is on her side in this. In her chest, nestled there in the space next to her heart, there is what she can only describe as a compass, pointing to wherever Jason is like he’s her own personal north star.

The first few times, she’s yelled at or ran off. Or he runs off. Either way, for a while, the only moments she’s close to him are short and aching.

But she doesn’t let him run for long, and she doesn’t let him scare her off as she knows he’s trying to do.

Marinette had always been the more stubborn of the two.

Eventually, like a feral cat learning safety (like a hurt, scared animal relearning love), Jason lets her get close. He lets her in, lets her get close again.

The first time she sees him, without helmet or mask, she flings herself at him. Arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, clutching him like her life depends on it. He takes her weight automatically, hand beneath her thighs while the other wraps around her back just as tightly. (he longs for touch, she has relearned, but he is also so frightened of it. She will have to be brave for them both)

The second time she sees his face bare once more, he is still thrumming with energy from a fight, is still high on the feeling of broken bones and blood on his knuckles. The force in his chest, the clawing and raging thing settled just off-center of the very core of him, pulls him toward her and Marinette meets him halfway, her own bright, ruthless force like a magnet in her chest.

They meet in a clash of hands on skin and lips anywhere they’ll land.

It is the first time they fall into bed together.

It will not be the last.

Now, you may be thinking, ‘Lady! This isn’t very Aladdin at all!’ and to that I tell you: I fucking warned you. What part of bastardized-Aladdin didn’t you get?

Also, shh. This is my favorite part!

So Mari is in her own personal little honeymoon stage, right? She practically could not be happier because Jason is alive and he’s hers and, even if he’s more violent and a crime boss, he’s stopped attacking his family at least. Which is good, because Mari really didn’t like the sad look Tim wore every time he brought up Jason.

And, oh yeah. Through a combination of her own detective work and Tikki, little Mari realizes that Jason is her Black Cat. Is the only person her Black Cat could be, not because of destiny—though that had helped—but because of coincidence and the bond the pair forged themselves.

So Mari is, obviously, on cloud nine at the moment and she tells Adrien and Fu who are ecstatic for her, and announcements are going to be made the second Mari tells Jason and what could possibly go wrong?

Well, a lot of things really but the first thing is that, basically, Mari is asking Jason to marry her. Just a bit. And while they both know, in that nebulous way they always have, that they love each other, neither of them have ever actually said it.

And also, they aren’t really dating right now either. Mari’s been too busy trying to just get near Jason again that she hasn’t much been paying attention to normal relationship things like dates or labels.

So when she brings it up Jason is… well, caught off guard is likely an understatement. Which then makes Mari realize what exactly she’s just done and- shit. She’s ruined everything and Jason is going to run away again and the compass in her chest is just going to be a reminder of what she can’t have and-

Jason, who only moments before was terrified and in danger of bolting—because this is a lot and magic-marrying Mari comes with responsibilities and rules and a thousand strings he doesn't know what to do with—now stops and stares at her, babbling and so obviously panicked and something in him abruptly settles.

She starts pacing and he grabs her hand when she passes by close enough, reeling her into his body. She comes easily even in her frazzled state and the vicious clawing thing in his chest sighs contentedly.

“Why?” he asks, and it is a million things at once. Why him, why now, why, why, why?

There are a million ways she could answer, but the easiest? The most important answer is simply this: “Because I love you.”

His breath shudders in his chest at her words and her hands raise to settle on his cheek and the back of his neck, a protection of one of the most vulnerable parts of him, and he leans into her touch like a man starved.

Gods, Jason has loved her for years.

He loved her Before and he loved her in the pits, when all he had was the hate they kept stuffing in his chest, and he loves her now. She is his sun and he will spin around her for the rest of his life. But when it all comes down to it, one simple fact doesn’t change:

“I don’t deserve your love.”

Her hands press harder into his skin, like she can force him to understand through touch alone. “If everyone only got the love they deserved no one would be truly loved,” she counters.

“You would,” he says, quick and quiet and honest. Her breath hitches and he watches her eyes go wide. The hands he has on her hips tighten at the emotions he finds there.

“Oh,” she whispers, already pulling him down to meet her. “Oh you stupid, beautiful man.”

And then they’re kissing and- and it is not the first time they’ve done this, but there is something very different about this one.

They’re kissing, and this time, it feels very much like coming home.

***

And, perhaps, that is not the end.

Because there is still one wish left.

Because Jafar-Hawkmoth is still there, and he’s still murderous, and there a very real chance he’s going to ruin the wedding somehow.

Because there is never truly an end to a story, it just simply stops being told.

But none of that really matters. Our princess and her dearest street rat are together at last, and together they’ll get through whatever happens after the story stops being told.

They’ve always had a thing for impossible odds after all.

#maribat #jasonette #my typewriter #aladdin au

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diinofayce · 6 years

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Devil’s Backbone

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x Reader | Word Count: 1,882 | Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death, Character Death | Song: Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars

A/N: Sorry guys, this got a little dark on me. Thank you to my amazing 100 followers for your support. A/N-3/3: Sorry guys, I posted this last night and just c&p my taglist and didn’t activate. So if you’re getting a tag notification after having seen this story - that’s why.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I’ve fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me Oh don’t take that sinner from me

New York was falling.

Creatures streamed from a portal in the sky and the civilians ran in terror, hid in dark allies and wept, died under falling brick and mortar. The Avengers did what they could, but you were tired of watching. You were afraid, not for the people of Earth, or any of the super hero squad, but for the man who caused everything; Loki. You watched with Heimdall, forbidden by Thor to travel down to Earth with him only days prior. You watched as Thor fought with the men in the red and blue suits, you watched Loki’s capture, and you watched his trickery and escape. You hadn’t left Heimdall’s side, but you had had enough.

“Open the Bifrost,” you commanded of Heimdall and turned his gaze upon you.

“I cannot, my lady. Thor has left his orders,” Heimdall expressed and you gritted your teeth.

“And I have given you new ones. Open the pathway willingly or I will use force.” Your sword left it’s sheath with a ringing note as you stared down the dark skinned man.

“You would risk the punishment of disobeying orders for the likes of Loki?” Heimdall asked, ignoring the sword his eyes never leaving yours.

“I would risk everything for Loki.”

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do? I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you He’s raised on the edge of the devil’s backbone Oh I just wanna take him home Oh I just wanna take him home

Heimdall opened the Bifrost and turned to you one last time. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

You nod at him once before traveling the rainbow bridge to Earth. You land solidly on the cracked pavement of downtown New York. Your golden armor gleams in the small fires that spit and spark from fallen debris and corpses. You cast your eyes around the wreckage, ducking in time to not be taken down by caravan of aliens on flying machines, you catch Loki on the back of one of the machines. You hear a roar and watch as the Hulk jumps from one building to the other, raining cement to the streets below. You frown at the burst of screaming, did they not understand how many innocents the Avengers were endangering as well?

You take off at a brisk jog down the roads, your eyes open for Loki. You follow another trail of the flying alien’s and catch slight of glinting gold on the roof of a tall building. You watch Thor ascend the structure, Mjolnir spinning above his head and grit your teeth in resolution. You bend your knees in preparation to jump when the red and gold suited man suddenly blocks your path. Your grip tightens on your sword and you hold your golden and silver shield in front of you. You cannot read his face behind his mask, but you hoped you looked as intimidating as you felt.

“Another one of you out of towners? Really, tourism is getting out of control,” he snarks through his mask.

You frown and spin your sword in your hand. “I am here for Loki, nothing more.” You take an active fighting stance, ready to remove him from your path if necessary.

“Well, you see, that’s kind of what we all want right now. You know, besides stopping this mess your antlered friend created.”

You raise your brows and relaxed your stance, motioning to the destruction happening behind you. “You are making more of a calamity. You are containing nothing, metal man.”

“It’s Iron Man, thanks.”

“It does not matter. You and your companions are just as responsible for hundreds of deaths. Yes, Loki has fallen astray and we of Asgard will take care of it. But who will take care of you and what you have done?”

Tony froze as he looked to see the damages wrought as if he hadn’t really noticed before. You take the opportunity to strut past him and with a strong leap you make your way up the side with the tower with ease.

“Thor! Loki!” You yell as you land on the building with a crash. Both men stop their arguing and turn to look at you with shock. You slam your fist down on the roof, dust rising around you in a plume as you regain your warrior’s stance.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, he’s somewhere between A hangman’s knot, and three mouths to feed There wasn’t a wrong or a right he could choose He did what he had to do Oh he did what he had to do

Thor’s eyebrows knitted in anger, his cheeks flushing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he turned his back on his brother to approach you. “I told you to stay in Asgard. I forbade you from interfering,” the god of thunder roared, his golden hair flying around his face, strands catching in his beard.

“You do not give me orders!” you spat angrily. “I gave you the days out of courtesy to bring him home, but I stood by and watched you fail. I watched you get fooled by his amateur tricks that have been fooling you since we were children.”

Thor balked momentarily, the muscles in his jaw visibly clenching. You watch as he raises Mjolnir, almost in a challenge, before backing down. Your eyes shoot over Thor’s shoulder to Loki, who is watching with amused trepidation. He looked bedraggled and slightly deranged and you could feel your heart breaking at the sight.

“What would you have me do?” Thor asked, sounding helpless for the first time. “He will always be my brother.”

“Go help the others save the mortals, they are doing a poor job of it,” you answer, refocusing on the blond man standing between you and Loki. You reach out and place a leather covered glove softly on his cheek. “He may be your brother, but he is my heart. I will bring him home to us.” You smack his cheek sharply and steel your features. “Now, go!”

Thor nods at your command and with one last glower at his sibling, he launches himself from the building and back into the fray below.

Give me the burden, give me the blame I’ll shoulder the load, and I’ll swallow the shame Give me the burden, give me the blame How many, how many Hail Marys is it gonna take?

With Thor gone you finally got an unobstructed view of the God of Mischief in front of you. He seemed thinner and paler, the bags under his eyes were dark and hollow. You weren’t sure whether his clothing hung on him heavier or it was the weight of seeing his actions come to fruition. You took a couple slow steps towards him, the tip of your sword scratching against the concrete before you dropped your sword and shield to run into his arms. You sighed as you felt his arms wrap around you, but then he tensed and pushed you away.

“You should not be here,” he said sadly, refusing to look you in the eyes.

“You are right, I should be at home with you. Drinking wine in front of the fire or tangled with you in my bed. But I am not there with you, I am here with you, but you can end this and we can go back,” you tried to beseech him, try to stay calm and plead with him. Loki has always responded better when he thought he had the upper hand. “Come home with me, my love.”

You approached him again and rested your hand on the side of his face, forcing him gently to look you in the eyes. The green of his eyes swirled with turmoil and pain and you had to take a breath to steady yourself. He placed his hand over your own and lowered it to his chest.

“They would not have me back. Not like it was before, I would be a prisoner.” Loki stepped away from you again to approach the edge of the building and threw his arms wide. “Here, I can be king.”

You knotted your brows in anger and recollected your discarded weapons. “Do you honestly think your father would treat you as a common prisoner?”

Loki whirled on you suddenly, causing you to raise your shield in defense. The hurt your action created flashed across his face for less than a second before it was impassive again. “He is not my father,” Loki replied icily.

“He raised you as his own, Loki! He is as much your father as he is Thor’s. Do you really believe the Chitari are going to allow you rule of Earth? What will be left to rule when they are done with their invasion? It will be just you, my heart, just you on this godforsaken rock.” You sheathed your sword and reached for his hand. “Please, Loki, my heart, please come home with me.”

Loki closed the gap and takes your hand pulling you into his chest. In one swift movement he crashes his lips to yours. He always tasted so sweet, with the sharp bite of cold that you knew was his frost giant blood. He pulls back to capture your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling it softly before detaching from you and resting his forehead on yours. His helmet clinks softly against the warrior’s circlet wrapped around your head.

“I cannot stop, my darling. They will take you from me,” he whispers against your mouth.

You frown softly and reach up again to capture his lips softly this time. “Please stop this, Loki.” You beg one last time.

“No.”

“Then it is you, my heart, that have taken me from you.”

In one swift movement you pull the sword from your sheath and plunge it through his center. Tears fall down your cheeks in hot streaks as the hands that were at your waist wrap around your wrist. “I love you, Loki. But I do not know you anymore.” With a sob you push harder, twisting sharply and brace yourself as his weight comes down on your shoulder.

“My love?” Loki gasps in pain and confusion. Blood drips from the corners of his mouth. You slowly sink to your knees, bringing him with you. You pull his helmet from his head and drag your fingers through his dark curls.

“I am sorry,” you sob, tears falling onto his face as you brace yourself and pull the sword from his chest. You toss your sword to the side where it lands with a clatter. You wipe the blood from his chin with your thumb and watch as the Iron Man flies a missile into the portal. Looking back down Loki you bend down to kiss his forehead before closing his eyes.

Don’t care if he’s guilty, don’t care if he’s not He’s good and he’s bad and he’s all that I’ve got Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I’m begging you please Don’t take that sinner from me Oh don’t take that sinner from me

Taglist: Please message if you don’t want to be on permanent tags. Especially now that I’m working on more than just my series

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#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki fandom #loki fangirls #loki odinson #loki oneshot #marvel fanfiction #marvel #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic

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thechocobros · 6 years

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“SEE LUNA SAFE TO ALTISSIA” - part 17

Pair: Nyx Ulric / Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

Previously: message me so I’ll give you the links ;)

Words: 9344

Plot: Luna and Nyx didn’t fell in the Empire’s trap, Nyx didn’t had to use the ring and he survived. What would have happened if Nyx really had the chance to ‘see Luna safe to Altissia’, like he promised to Regis? Part 17: The final battle has begun. Thinking that Nyx is dead, Luna tries to focus only on her mission to guide Noctis. She is determineted to tell him the truth about the prophecy and to dispose of the malicious Astrals, but this will come with a price ...

Personal Comment: LAST CHAPTER BEFORE THE EPILOGUE! (an epilogue i accidentally deleted from my drafts but ok -.- ) I’m sorry for the horrible delay, I know I didn’t update in an eternity. I hope this big finale will repay your patience somehow. It was an extremely complicate chapter for me to write, more than the other ones probably, due to the action sequences. But here we are, my fix-it fic is over. It was an amazing journey, I loved it. It was long, difficult, but both Nyx and Luna deserved it. I hope you all think the same.

Let me know what you think, guys :)) I just want to thank @loveiscosmicsin for the costant help she gave me and YOU ALL READERS, because I wouldn’t have finished this novel fic if it wasn’t for your amazing support. I love you all.

Stay tuned for the epilogue ;)

Luna stood paralyzed before Ardyn Izunia, mouth agape in sheer terror. She was fully aware that the man was the most inconvenient of obstacles at that point of the fight. Leviathan’s power raging in the background she had no energy to face the Usurper at the same time too.

But for some kind of destiny’s joke, the man didn’t seem to have come to fight for now. He bowed deeply instead, taking his hat off in sign of respect.

“My fair princess! How long I have waited to meet you! The pious Oracle - the Personification of Purity - who rebelled to the prophecy that decided your destiny. A model for the future generations, to never accept a fate written by someone’s else hand. I barely was able to contained my joy when you slew the Glacian.”

Lunafreya frowned and pressed her fingers around the indented grooves of the trident, seeking support in its comfortable power. She knew that if things would have turned out badly, she could count on her white magic, but at the same time gears whirred in her brain, seeking for other possibilities. Wit had always been her best weapon since she was nothing but a scared little girl, powerless in front of the cruel Empire.

“You seem very well informed for a mere chancellor, Ardyn Izunia. So am I.”

“Then permit us to be honest to each other,” Ardyn sang with his mischievous voice, mellifluous enough to impress her, but not enough to mesmerize her.

“I didn’t expect you would response with a smile to the death of one of the Astrals, the very ones who wish to give the true king their blessing.”

“In a matter of speaking, the prince receiving those blessings was originally part of my plan,” he was attentive to not using the word ‘king’. “But perhaps I can handle it better without that condition. I’m a flexible man, after all. Anyway, let’s not speak of myself. I came here bearing gifts! This is an altar where sacrifices are offered afterall” he continued, indicating Leviathan destroying the city just a mile away. The goddess’s tail swept away an entire building in one swift motion.

Despair filled the atmosphere and soon the bleakness of the situation will embrace the Oracle as well. Luna’s focus on Ardyn was frustratingly deviated by her worry for Noctis who she couldn’t see anymore. Her first instinct was to run straight to him as soon as possible but then Ardyn gestured to the airship that brought him here. The hatch of the ship automatically unveiled an unbelievable sight in the cargo hold. Luna gasped and widened her eyes in disbelief.

The Crystal.

The ancient artifact bestowed upon the Caelum dynasty of yore and the object of desire that Niflheim made off with in the confusion of Insomnia’s mayhem. It retained a calm glow as it was simply anticipating for one to exploit its magic.

“What is the meaning of this?” Luna asked, trying to divert attention away from her confusion.

“Oh, don’t recognize the Crystal when it’s right before your eyes? The Empire, obsessed by their greed and whatever shiny bauble that caught their attention at the moment, hasn’t quite tapped into it.”

“The Draconian and the Infernian are sealed within it,” Luna said, trying to connect the puzzle pieces.

“You’re right. And you should give them a good wake-up call.”

Leviathan moved and another earthquake summoned a sort of small tsunami which almost reached the altar and swept Luna away. When she was able to stand on her feet again, her knees had bled through her dress and Ardyn Izunia was staring at her with the most malicious of the smirks.

“What game are you imposing?” she challenged, raising her voice over the storm, simply not in the mood to entertain him.

Ardyn extended his arms, feigning concord in a circumstance that hardly was.

“Why does everyone jump to that conclusion? Do you think that I’m not capable of charity? Why, I came all this way to bring the Crystal to you.”

No, of course Luna didn’t believe in the gesture or his words for a second. In fact, she immediately considered the option of fleeing while there was still a considerable distance between them, a distance that the Chancellor was aware of.

To awaken two more deities into the chaotic fray would only wrought more destruction upon them all, she knew it too well. But at the same time, she contemplated that an opportunity would be wasted if she didn’t. At any rate, chances of survival after calling upon them were slim, and if she perished, who would have rouse Bahamut and Ifrit in her stead? She had to give Noctis the opportunity to fight the Gods and reclaim the power of the ring at all costs.

Perfectly aware of following Izunia’s twisted games, she decided to do as he asked for now. She aimed her trident toward the Crystal and let the white magic flow from her. She began to sing and pray, perpetuating the ritual, a performance done way too well by now. As the white lights around them flurried, the Crystal started to tremble so much it almost disintegrated, and everything else in the area subjected to silence. Enclosed in the proximity of her calling, there was the reason why both Ifrit and Bahamut shouldn’t have been driven from the Lucian Crystal in such a violent fashion. Once freed, nothing in the universe could encompass the awesome power of their combined antithetic might. But it was now or never and Luna didn’t really have other choice.

In a instant, the Crystal’s energy exploded.

A burst of an raw, unimaginable force.

The incredible effort sapped Luna every ounce of her strength, never had she been close to death’s gate. The blood from her face dissapated, along with breath bated and heart had skipped a beat. The feeling of losing control on her own body overwhelmed her more than the fatigue ever did and more than the illness looming over her. It was unusual and somehow… unclear.

In the depth of the silent absurdity, Luna reached for her stomach, where she felt something indistinguishably protruding from her side.

She blinked, seeing a dark substance coat her fingers. It couldn’t be blood. It was not the right color.

With Luna’s bearings regained, her eyes adjusted to the Chancellor who had enclosed the distance at last, offering a malevolent smile to the Oracle’s confusion. The blade that met the mark of its incision couldn’t be confused with an hazy dream. It was real.

She had been stabbed.

There was no reason to look for a particular motivation beyond the unexpected act. Retrieving the weapon from Luna’s reach, Ardyn casually wiped the dagger with a handkerchief. Her role fulfilled, she was expendable in his eyes.

As she gasped and instinctively applied pressure to the wound, Luna had a delayed reaction to the pain. She was occupied with the regret of not surviving long enough to speak to Noctis one last time. What would have given to have the chance to make amends, to finally tell him about the prophecy, and giving him the chance to choose to save himself. She would have sold her soul in exchange of the opportunity to apologize, the thought had been on the back burner of her mind, in their correspondance, but it was too late. How selfish she had been before Nyx opened her eyes? All her life, she deluded herself into protecting Noctis by withholding the truth of his destiny? She never told her childhood friend that bearing the Ring would cost him his life and now, it was too late. She didn’t deserve forgiveness, nor mercy. She earned this death sentence.

She lifted her chin, noticing over Ardyn’s shoulders the colossal visages of Bahamut and Ifrit raised from the nothing after their prison was no more.

She also noticed Noctis, standing on the top of a building, looking at the chaos raging against him. He was ready to face Leviathan and probably also the other Astrals, but he was alone and still not at the peak of his power. It turned out clearly he didn’t use the Ring yet. It was just a matter of time before he realized that his only chance of survival was to doing it.

A tear streaked Lunafreya’s cheek. Ardyn best not misunderstood it as a sign of weakness, but desperation filled her veins like never before. She would have told Noctis the truth about the Ring, and permit him to choose his destiny even if it was the last thing she did in this life.

But it would mean that she would be reunited with her husband in the Beyond.

—————-

Luna didn’t know that Nyx was not dead. He was alive, refusing to stand ground at a crucial moment.

As soon as he understood that the airship was not leading him in the right direction, he warped from one rooftop to the next, never stopping. Things started to be even more complicated after just a couple of minutes when Leviathan was repelled by the Oracle’s magic. Nyx understood that his wife’s negotiations didn’t succeed and chaos erupted. Debris, crashing walls of water, and explosions hailing around him made evading almost impossible. He had to summon all the tricks in the books to reach an intact building where he took cover for a minute to catch his breath. He felt exhausted already and he got nowhere. On the contrary, he lost track of the altar... or what was left of it. In spite of this, he was totally able to see the fight was growing exceedingly violent.

Soon enough he felt ready to warp again, but a different kind of explosion prevent him from doing it. He froze, looking to the sea, outraged by the scene before him. Two huge and threatening entities appeared not very far from Leviathan, raising from the darkness with cries of hysteria and writhing manically as if they were wild beasts released from restraints. Maybe that it was, especially considering the circumstances.

Nyx couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bahamut and Ifrit?” he murmured, stupefied. Aside from fairy tales, he did not know anything about the Astrals before meeting Lunafreya, but she recently educated him about mythology, even at cost of sacrificing the safe and intimate moments they shared in bed. Not like Nyx could fault his wife’s bad timing of a time and place, it was a terrible habit, but at least the private lessons turned out to be useful. He was now able to recognize the Astrals.

The Glaive was aware that Lunafreya would attempt summoning Bahamut and Ifrit later on, but he was also aware that the Crystal was under the Empire’s control, possibly very far from here. So how come Lunafreya summoned them already? Something he couldn’t known must have happened.

“How is it possible? Where did you find the Crystal?” And then realization hit him like he was struck by lightning. “Izunia!”

The mere pronunciation of that name send a chill up to his spine. If the Chancellor found a way to Lunafreya, it meant that she was in mortal danger. And Nyx couldn’t believe she accepted to envoke two more enraged gods into the fray. It could only mean the situation was desperate.

“Damn, pulling the brave princess act again,” he cursed beneath his breath. He would tell Luna in person soon though. If he got to her in time.

“Nyx!” The unexpected voice which called up for him sounded like the frenzied mix between surprise and relief.

Nyx turned around to meet eyes with the Crown Prince of Lucis, covered in grime and soaked with sea water, a very far image from the one of royal blood would be presented. Now that Nyx knew the prophecy that Noctis should have fulfilled, the one of him becoming the True King of Light, he wondered if the Astrals have been not only malicious but also befuddled all along because there was nothing majestic in that skinny and clumsy young man. The universe dictated that he was the Chosen One? With a small smile, Nyx thought that maybe it was because Astrals thought he would have been the perfect lamb to lead slaughter – silent, pliable and compliant. Like in Lunafreya’s case, bad news were in store for them.

“Your Highness.”

“What are you doing here?”

In that moment Leviathan’s move threw a debris in Noctis’ direction and if Nyx didn’t warp in time, the impact would made its mark.

“About to go save Lunafreya’s ass, but I guess I can make time to save yours.” Nyx yelled in the attempt to be heard in all the confusion. “What’s up with you royal types and attracting the worst of every situation possible?”

Noctis lifted his chin and shoved the Glaive off him.

“It’s not like I asked for this and yet, here I am.”

Nyx sighed dramatically. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss this, so he didn’t comment any further and just helped the boy up.

“We gotta go. Did you use the Ring already?”

“They wouldn’t be alive if I did,” Noctis grunted, staring at the Astrals raging in the distance. “I … still don’t feel ready.”

When he caught the apprehension in those words, Nyx felt hesitation knot inside his stomach. If carrying the ring on a chain on his neck made the Glaive feel like he had a leash, wearing it on the finger must have felt like succumbing to the death. And the prince was nothing but a boy, brave but naive. Strong but inexperienced. Did he sense where putting the ring would have lead him? Did he guessed the required blood prince beyond it? If he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Should I wear it now, Nyx?” Noctis asked instead, looking at the Astrals in the distance. There was so much distress brimmed in his eyes and an hollowed echo in his voice that Nyx almost wished to shield Noctis away from every possible harm. Sadly, fleeing was not an option.

A pointless response was on the tip of Nyx’s tongue and remained unsaid, leaving him insecure of how to answer the prince. He had to have faith in his wife, trusting she would have guided Noctis until the very end, doing the right thing, and revealing him the truth, all with a smile on her lips. His main goal now was to protect them both.

So Nyx took Noctis’ shoulder and pulled him close, to encourage and to assure him he would have stand by his side, no matter what. Noctis seemed grateful for that hasty but heartfelt gesture and exchanging an understatement nod, they warped ahead at the unison.

The prince and the Glaive, off to save their princess.

———

If those were her last breaths, Luna would have used them to blow things in a way that Ardyn couldn’t ever predict.

Watching with distraught eyes of her own blood dripping on slippery stone, she retrieved her trident again, imparting all her power to it. A thick ring of light encircled her, vibrating and taking everything down like a tsunami. Her white magic yearned to reach the target, searching every perimeter of the atmosphere with spasmodic accuracy until it finally found the prince and another very dear person that Luna didn’t expect to sense.

———

Warping closer to the Astrals felt like shooting against the world’s end. It was fire and water, wind and earth, the elements shaken, the certainties lost in a vortex of unknowns. It hurt. It really did.

If Nyx and Noctis didn’t have each other to rely on, there was no way that they could safely navigate through the vortex of destruction on their own. There was only forward, but obstacles before them forced them to embark detour after detour and time wasn’t on their side.

But then, they sensed Lunafreya. Like a sudden slap on the face, they suddenly knew she was there. They did not see her face, nor her figure. But it was her and she was everywhere.

“Your Highness, it’s time!” Nyx screamed, seizing the prince’s arm as he pointed at Leviathan, the closest divinity. “Take her out, I’ll cover you!”

Noctis nodded to the Glaive and focused, absorbing Luna’s magic from the chaotic atmosphere with deep breaths and closed his eyes. He secured himself to the wall of a building but he was rewarded for his concentration when he begun to levitate, the ancestral Armiger appearing from the nothing and circumnavigated about him.

Nyx looked at him in awe, holding the kukris in his hands, feeling that his own weapons couldn’t compare, much less leave a dent. For a moment he was certain that Noctis would have been fine against Leviathan without his help and such an intuition found confirmation when Noctis projected the first attack.

It was a blast.

Fueled by the Oracle’s white magic, Noctis warped and slit, weapons serving him like a dozen of new arms. Nothing dared to move again after his lethal and unstoppable contact. Nyx had troubles in following his lead in the chaos but whenever he caught him, he saw him hitting the target with great precision and he felt so proud of him and even more so of Lunafreya, who lent such an outstanding strength to him.

It was then his mind caressed the memory of Luna that he felt his heart ache in the desire of being reunited with her as soon as possible. He quickly gazed the altar and the gods in the distance with renewed resolve and his feet started to move by themselves. First, they trotted, then they ran, and in the end, he warped. Without taking his eyes off Noctis, he got closer to his wife and finally reached for her.

———————

But what he expected to be the fulfillment of his promise and an happy reunion, quickly turned into the worst nightmare when he faced the truth of what happened during his absence. An absence that almost swept away the light from Luna’s eyes.

“Nyx…” she whispered, letting the trident fall and trying to lift herself up from her forearms.

Luna would have thought she was dreaming if the pain she felt reminded her that the time on this world was to a close.

“Lunafreya!”

Luna lifted her chin enough to see the Glaive warping next to her, panic spreading all over his face. She found again all the details she thought she lost forever: the small tattoos, the braids, the shape of his jaw, the perfect lips now split and covered with blood. His strong arms picked her up, touching her with desperation and at the same time, delicately.

“I thought you were d–” Luna started, but her breath halted abruptly, stealing away her words.

Nyx adjusted her in his embrace and checked her out from the point of her head to the tip of her heels. His heart fell in a black abyss as soon as he noticed the wound on her abdomen and the urge of doing something almost brought him to the edge of the sanity.

“I’m fine!” When he screamed, he was angry. Damn, he was so angry. This was not supposed to be happening. “What happened to you? What–?” A grimace of pain moved on Luna’s beautiful forehead and she felt the urge to hide her face in his neck to alleviate her suffering. She wanted to cry because he was real, he was alive, and she was dying instead. Where she was headed was somewhere her Nyx would not be.

“Nyx. Nyx…” Her voice was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. I did all that I could, I–”

“Hey, the prince got the Ring, okay? He’s gonna fix this mess. You did it. Now look at me. Stay with me. You’re not dying on my watch, Lunafreya.”

Luna smiled and looked at him expectedly.

“You did your job. You delivered the Ring to Noctis… and you came back as promised.” Nyx got drawn by the sweetness in her tone and in that moment everything around them disappeared, the raging Astrals, the decadent city, the chaos, the wounds. It was just the two of them, looking at each other in the eyes, trying to stop the time and capture eternity in the middle.

“Told you I would,” Nyx whispered, caressing her cheek with the thumb, wiping away the water of the ocean. Or maybe, it was her tears.

“Thank you… My dearest Nyx. Help Noctis now, I beg this of you. I beg you.”

“You still have to tell him about the Ring,” Nyx said, frantically, hoping to offer her more reasons to stay, like his wish to remain forever together wasn’t enough.

Luna surprised him by answering, “I will.”

Her promise left Nyx speechless. Then her lips moved, but no sound that he could make out until he leaned in. She gained all her remaining strength to whisper, “I love you” and closed her eyes, looking so tired and pale.

Nyx’s eyebrows furrowed, panic stirring in his chest as soon as he understood what was happening. The acutest pain hit him and paralyzed him. He wanted to say something but couldn’t. His lips were trembling badly. Tears pushed and asked to be released, but he couldn’t do that either. So he just stared at his wife, numb.

“Nyx!” Nyx recognized the voice. It was Noctis, calling for him from a close distance, like an echo, it barely reached him. Another voice joined, a different one, with an aristocratic accent.

“Noct!” This was Ignis. He arrived there, too.

But the Glaive ignored them both. He kept staring at Luna. He got closer to her lips and pressed his forehead to hers, trying to gift her his warmth, praying in vain to save her.

When he failed, he felt the world stop moving.

—————–

When he almost finished Leviathan off, Noctis had ran toward the altar, sensing Luna’s magic abandoning him. The attempt had caused him pain not only because Leviathan’s hysteria: Bahamut had joined the battle, taking the Goddess of the Sea’s side and throwing the young Prince in the ocean like he was a mere puppet. Noctis couldn’t explain how he survived that.

He felt the Ring calling for him, asking to be used but he did his best to ignore it, certain he had to wait a bit longer. Just a bit longer.

So Noctis swam to the river, Luna’s white magic sneaking away from his veins. As soon as he reached the altar he understood why. She was dying. So pale, so beautiful, curled in Nyx’s arms.

“Nyx!” he called, but then Noctis fell to his knees, a sudden tiredness embraced him. Something else was happening, something inside him. He didn’t even had the time to panic because energies were quickly abandoning him. He had the time to look for the Ring in his pocket, pressing it against the palm of his hand.

“Noct!”

The prince turned aside and noticed Ignis alongside with Ravus. He smiled to his loyal advisor then his sight got blurry. The ring toppled to the pavement and he fainted.

————-

Ravus was still paired up with Ignis when they headed for the altar. But as the High Commander’s breath hitched in seeing his sister’s corpse, Ignis ran to Noctis’ side instead and quickly checked his pulse. Sensing it was still there, he sighed in relief but at the same time searched for the cause of his fainting and founded nothing but the ring beside him. He took it with justified fear and then swallowed, turning around to look at Nyx and Ravus.

The Glaive was huddled there, staring at the woman in his arms. His eyes were empty, haunted by the final words bestowed to him. Not even Ravus, destroyed by seeing his sister lifeless, could equal his level of numbness.

Ignis understood. He understood far better than Noctis or Ravus ever could. He knew what meant dedicating your life to someone and not being able to protect that person in spite of every effort. If Noctis wouldn’t been revived, he would have felt dejected from existence in the same way. So he stood up, thinking of getting closer to Nyx and Ravus to offer them comfort, but there was not time for mourning because the Astrals were still raging in the distance and because someone appeared not very far from them.

“Ardyn!” Ravus seethed, recognizing him.

“Hello there. What a happy reunion in such a distressful time.”

Ignis quickly assumed a defensive position, certain that he wouldn’t have let him closer to Noct or Luna. “Nyx Ulric! On your feet!” he called, praying that the Glaive would abandon his comatose status and react because they needed him now more than ever. “Nyx!”

When Nyx lifted his eyes, there was death inside. "Give me the Ring,” he said.

Ignis gasped. Nyx knew what using the ring would mean. When Insomnia was under attack he saw Ravus using it and suffered the consequences. Lunafreya had told him that Noctis himself - the Chosen one - would have consumed his life for using it. So when he asked to Ignis to hand him the Ring, he knew that what would have been the consequences, but he just didn’t care. Lunafreya, his princess, his wife, his reason to live, had died in his arms and this made him reckless. His life meant nothing now she was gone. He failed his mission. He didn’t protect her. To atone for such a sin, he would have sacrificed his life to kill the murderous Astrals and maybe also the Usurper, so Noctis didn’t have to.

“No, Nyx. Using the Ring is a right reserved to the True King and only Noct –” Ignis started, but got interrupted by the Glaive’s prompt response.

“You wouldn’t use it if it was Noctis in Lunafreya’s place?”

Ignis didn’t reply, averting his gaze with a grimace. So when Nyx reached for the Ring, Ignis hesitated just for a second before handing it over to him. Damn the consequences.

It was fast. Nyx wore it before Ignis’, Ravus’, and Ardyn’s shocked eyes. And the darkness fell on that dimension, bringing Nyx face to face with the powerful kings of the past.

—————————-

Blades of grass caressed Noctis’ cheek and he woke up. At the beginning he couldn’t recognize the perfume of the sylleblossoms, too much time was passed since he last smelled it. Twelve years, probably.

As he stood up and the blue color of the flowers filled his eyes, he understood he was inside a dream, there was no other explanation to such a contrasting scenery. Trapped inside the body of when he was just a eight years old boy, he looked around, searching for Luna, the only one he shared the memory of the sylleblossom field with.

“Noctis?”

There she was, the younger version of her. Blond hair on her tiny shoulders, the cute little dress, she was exactly like he remembered in her fondest memories.

Noctis felt his heart warming up, childhood dreams filling with bittersweet tenderness his mind repressed from the associated pain of her visage.

“Luna?”

“So you found your way here.”

Noctis stood up and looked at her. Once again, they were two children in a flower field, talking surrounded by peace.

“And you found me” Noctis whispered then, comforted by that thought.

“A chance to see you once more. Who would have thought?”

“Luna. Where are we? What’s happening?”

“I needed to have a moment to speak with you, Noctis. Before I go.”

“Go where?”

In that moment, the wind swished graciously and Luna’s beautiful white dress follow the breeze, getting longer in the air. When Noctis lifted his chin to look at her again, the child was gone and an adult woman, mature and emotionally drained, replaced her instead. Still, she was beautiful.

“Where you can’t follow, Noctis. I’m dying. I enjoyed my moments of happiness. Since I left my goodbyes with Tenebrae months ago, I knew this day would have come,” she whispered, but her echo could be heard from the distance in the irisdescent atmosphere. “The Astrals ordained my death and rebelling against them came with a price. I’m ready to the fare as long as you, Nyx, and the all of Eos are preserved.”

The mention of that name in the conversation woke doubts in Noct’s mind. Even if he was trapped inside the body of a child, his memory of an adult was able to reach for the image of Luna dying with Nyx’s lips on hers. That caused him pain but also a dazzling feeling of emptiness.

“You love the Glaive, don’t you?”

Luna let a second pass and then nodded.

“I was happy, Noctis. He made me happy, even for just a little while. So don’t think you couldn’t save me because in a way... He did already when nobody else could.”

Noctis forgot how to use the tongue to speak for at least one minute straight. The feeling inside his heart was confused and uncertain, very similar to the frustration of not being able to do what he always wished to: helping Luna.

“What… What should I do then? What do you want me to do?”

“Your burden is heavy enough. You still must banish the Darkness from our Star, Noctis. Ardyn Izunia is the Usurper and even if we’d succeed in killing the malicious Astrals, he still would try to have his revenge on your lineage. The only power able to destroy him is the one restrained in the Ring, but about that you must be warned of something your father and I never had the courage to share with you.” Luna could barely conceal her sadness looking at the child she shared so many fond memories with. He really cared for her, as much she cared for him. It was about time to speak him the truth and guide him one last time before parting ways. They were like parallel lines, after all, always so close, never destined to entwine.

“What is it about?”

“The Kings ask for a blood price. The Old Wall can be summoned from drawing the essence of your life.”

“Does it mean I’m gonna die…?”

Luna’s heart ached.

“So speaks the prophecy, Noctis.” The spark died in the boy’s eyes and Luna had only a faint hope to offer him. If she would have suggested him a corect line of action which implied saving his life, she would have considered her calling of Oracle really fulfilled. Guiding him was her mission, after all. Making him happy was her wish. “But you can defeat it, together with your best friends and with the loyalty of the Glaives like Nyx. So many people are ready to stand by you all along, Noctis. So many people are ready to challenge fate to see you safe. Not a single life will be taken if you will share your burden with all of them.”

“Share my burden…? How?”

“Inside the Crystal, you’ll find an answer. The Kings of Yore will show mercy to their descendants. Once you’re inside there, your trials will start and you’ll enter into reflection. Remember you’re not alone. If you’ll keep in mind that you don’t have to carry your burden alone, you’ll manage to survive the cruel fate the gods chose for you.”

A sudden and far noise broke the peace of the meadow. The sylleblossoms delicately waved, the earth underneath their feet did, too.

Noctis panicked a bit like the kid he seemed, while Luna looked upon the sky with sad eyes. Understanding what was happening, she got so close to tears and had to battle a lot to be strong.

“What’s going on up there?” Noctis screamed. The dream they were trapped in started to collapse.

“You belong to the realm of the living, Noctis” said Luna then, aware of running out of time, “Godspeed. Reclaim your throne. Nyx has certainly used the Ring already like the stubborn fool he is. Don’t let the Kings burn him alive for his recklessness, I beg of you. Join forces with him.”

The sylleblossoms around them started to melt and moved like waves of water. Still, Noctis had questions.

“What about you?” Luna shook her head in response. “No! Luna!” The mysterious flow pulled Noctis away from his friend and no matter how much the boy streched out to reach for her, he just couldn’t touch her.

Luna didn’t ask to be saved though. She was smiling, because she told Noctis the truth in the end because Noctis would have saved Nyx and together they would have saved the world.

Her duty was done.

Her calling finally fulfilled.

———————

Nyx found himself floating in an indefinite blue space, surrounded by darkness and clueless of what expecting next. He figured that such a place was an alternate dimension used by the Kings to get in touch with the mortals but he couldn’t be sure. Yet, all that space, with no appropriation of space or size, made him even more anxious than he already was. He was sure that the Kings of Lucis wouldn’t have welcomed his impudent initiative, so he stood there alone for a long minute, in silence and uncertainty, contemplating the possibility of his imminent death.

“Show yourselves, Kings of Lucis!” he called out in the end, tired of waiting.

Like they were sparks of blue fire bursting out of a volcano, the spirits of the kings appeared all around him, minacious and powerful. They didn’t make a sound nor move a breeze. What did he expect from ghosts? And Nyx hoped that ghosts may go gentle on him.

“You call upon the wards of this world’s future, mortal. And if you come lusting for our power, you must first stand in our judgment,” one of them started. Nyx thought it was the most important among them so he turned around until he faced him.

“You did nothing as Insomnia burned and now, you did nothing as the woman who did so much to preserve the light in the world - the woman who dared to challenge the gods when nobody of you did – suffered and died. She is the blood of the Oracle, but you let her alone in this fight!”

Nyx’s voice trembled as he spoke so, but didn’t end it there. On the contrary it screamed out loud. He was angry, he was in agony, he was ready to fight not only the Gods but also the ghosts of the Kings of Lucis in order to receive even the slightest hope of bringing Lunafreya back. The pain of having lost her had hurt him so badly that he was ready to try and risk everything. He would have gladly got down in hell, sunk his feet in the river Styx and fought the devil himself if it was necessary. Everything. Everything to keep her safe - or in this case, to bring her back.

He didn’t want to think it was over and that she was lost forever, not yet, but he couldn’t deny that the situation was kinda desperate.

“Man is a fool creature, clinging to his past and cowering from his future” answered the Kings in fact. “Wasting his strength on bygone days. And what future are you wards of? So shortsighted. And cursed never to rise above it. It does not fall to us to guard your city or your woman.”

“But it falls to you to guard the future!” Nyx screamed back.

“Guarding the future is something we do of our own accord. At a time we so choose.”

“The longer you wait, the more the world burns! Old or new, or whatever it is, give me your power. Now! Destroy the gods. Banish the darkness. If you can’t save her, don’t let Lunafreya’s death be in vain!” Nyx’s voice was starting to get not only reckless, but also really desperate. With Lunafreya gone and the prince unconscious, if the Kings of Lucis would have refused to help him too, there would be no hope.

He wanted to save everything and everyone, it was something written in his blood and he couldn’t help with it.

“You do not command us. Yours is not even royal blood.”

That statement hit Nyx’s nerves. He couldn’t believe that the Kings would have been so irrational and stubborn to refuse his request just because he wasn’t a member of the royal family. Truth to be told, he could have asked nicely, but there was no time for it. They had to listen to him, and quickly. So he opened his mouth to try to work out a response and give them a piece of his mind when another voice joined the conversation, interrupting him.

“His may be not. But mine is.”

Nyx boggled and turned around in shock.

He may have not spoken with that voice so often, but he would have recognize it between a milion similar ones.

Noctis was standing there, some steps away from him, lifting his chin to face the Kings, an unspoken courage on the face. He was raising his right hand in the air and it was then when Nyx noticed the ring on his finger. Puzzled and confused, the Glaive checked his own hand, seeing that the ring had dissapeared from there to materialize on the prince’s. This caused an hesitant smile dawning on his face.

“The Ring. How…?” Nyx whispered, adressing to Noctis. “How come you’re here?”

Noctis glanced at him briefly and smiled wryly. “Luna.”

That name made Nyx’s heart lighten and enlarge. “You spoke with her…?” he asked increduolously.

Despite his question, Noctis walked ahead, ignoring him to address the Kings instead.

“Father.” One of the shadows twirled gently and bent down, getting closer to Noctis with obvious familiarity. He didn’t say anything, so Noctis did first, “Grant to Nyx Ulric to go on living. I’m gonna need him as much as I’m gonna need the support of my friends. That’s how I can defeat the prophecy, isn’t it?”

“The prophecy is matter of the gods and the Kings put it into action. You must know by now that the power of the Ring costs a life because it’s fed with vital energy. No one can change this” the mechanical voice of the ghost king replied.

“What if each one of us sacrifice a piece of their own life instead?” Noctis asked it as a question, but he looked pretty confident about his suggestion. “In that case, you’d have your blood debt and we all would survive long enough to enjoy the light of the dawn for years.”

A deep silence fell among the ghosts of the kings.

“Who plotted this scheme?” Someone asked. Surprisingly enough, there was stupor in the question like they were outraged that someone actually dared to elaborate such a proposal.

Noctis didn’t answer but his grin milded with a tender expression, revealing the truth without speaking a word.

Luna.

It was certainly her the one behind the suggestion.

King Regis - it was clear it was him under the solid armor which made him hard to recognize - stepped ahead, slowly. “For years I mourned your fate, Noctis. I would have done anything to save you and I still would. But your life is very high valued, your request cannot be granted so easily. If we accept, how many people would have to share your burden when it was meant to be only yours to bear?”

“I don’t know. How many people died for me until now? Without my knowledge?”

Regis boggled at the veiled accusation, hit right in the feelings. In his mind shocking images of Insomnia’s destruction probably appeared, because he immediately seemed to submit.

“I’m sorry, Noctis. I was only trying to spare you the pain... I thought your destiny couldn’t be changed.”

Noctis’ face frowned in suffurance. “I wish I knew about what gods had in store for me, Dad. We would have find a solution together. And maybe … you’d still be here, too.” The boy almost started to cry but he quickly hid the feelings behind a mask of resolution, determined to settle down the right priorities. He looked at his finger, were the ring was positioned. Glowing with a menacious shade of red, it looked like an horrible instrument of death.

“But we can still change destiny, Dad. I’m going to get home back. Trust me. Believe in me.

King Regis took a long minute before nodding. For some reason, Nyx imagined he was smiling under the helm.

“My wayward son is ready to be a king, then” he said then, a voice so human in spite of the eerie reverberations. And he stepped back, to rejoin the rest of the Kings. “He’s right. A lot of people will be ready to lend him their strength. We must prepare to pay our blood debt and Noctis will do what he must. Let’s grant him our power and send the Glaive back with him.”

There was a long silence, but for some reason, the King who spoke first - the most hostile one - didn’t bother to object. It was like he trusted King Regis completely even if he was technically the latest addition to the club.

“Very well, Chosen. You and the impudent Glaive return to the realm of the living. We’ll grant you our powers. And then you’ll enter into Reflection, for you, the journey has just begun.”

But Noctis didn’t seem to be satisfied yet.

“The world is going to need a guide while I’m inside the Crystal. Who should I trust for this? Ravus? I don’t think so. You all know that Eos always looked to only one person for inspiration,” he added, knowing exactly he was crossing a line he shouldn’t have get close to. Asking to the Kings a ressurection when he just obtained the greatest powers almost for free was really… audacious. In spite of this, there was the sparkle of a smile on his lips. Like he knew that Kings wouldn’t ever deny anything to their beloved last heir.

Nyx realized he was not so shameless compared to him. And for this reason, he promised his eternal loyalty to that young King instantly.

“Now, now, Young King. We take lives, we don’t give them” one of the Ancestors replied though. “The favor you’re asking is something only the gods are able to grant. Throw them on your feet and they shall do as you order. They will give back the life they slowly sucked away all along. The Oracle is not of our concern.”

Noctis turned. He and Nyx shared a deep and meaningful glance.

Nyx didn’t know what to say, so great was the confusion and the emotion. He just saw history being written under his very own eyes and he could barely realize it.

“Of course. The Six ripped off Luna of her white magic, and if we kill them one by one, they’re gonna give back what they took. Luna’s life included. So, we can stick to our original plan” Noctis whispered, opening the palms of his hands and closing his eyes. The Ring glowed again, glowing red, and Nyx understood they were going back to reality with an unbelievable pact sealed with the old Kings of Lucis. Unable to formulate into words the strong emotion he felt inside, he just stepped ahead, closer to Noctis. As he reached for his shoulder, King Regis interrupted him in the attempt of stealing another promise.

“Nyx Ulric. You used the Ring and this will take a major tool on you, no matter if you’ll survive or not. The old wall is no joke and you was so reckless to ask for it. However, I am getting used to trust you with the lives of the dearest people I still have on earth, because I know you didn’t let me down and never will. Take care of my son.”

Nyx took only one instant to figure what Regis wanted to say. The Ring was made of black magic, the darkest and the most powerful one. If it was true that the life price would have requested a certain amount of strength from Noctis’ best friends, a major price would have come upon Nyx, because he dared to use the Ring, going way too far. He couldn’t think of playing with fire without getting burned. At the same time, he couldn’t regret trying. So he nodded with a serious expression.

Regis probably was satisfied of his courage, so he added, “However, once that Luna is back, she will help you fighting the darkness of the Ring’s repercussions. Godspeed.”

And if that was the deal to be struck, the darkness didn’t scare him.

So, he smirked like he was used to, “Where do I sign?”

——————-

With a flash made of light, they returned back to reality.

Ardyn didn’t got any closer and the Gods were still raging behind, so both Nyx and Noctis realized that just a couple of seconds had passed since they left the real world to speak with the Gods.

So they didn’t lose any more time, they both sprinted up on their feet and summoned their weapons, Nyx the kukris, Noctis all the ancestral weapons in his arsenal. Shoulders against shoulders, they shared a nod and silently agreed on what to do.

They parted ways without even the need to wish each other “good luck”, because no luck was needed. They both had the power of the Kings of the past and that was an assurance of victory already.

Noctis threw himself agaist the Astrals first, knowing they were the priority if they wanted to clear the path to Ardyn and if they wanted Luna back. With the Ring on his finger he was unstoppable and lethal while Leviathan was heavily injured already. He didn’t took a lot of time to knock them off, one by one, but Nyx didn’t notice anyway. In fact, everything happened so fast that Nyx could barely aknowledge the sequence of action at all. He didn’t have the time to see Noctis killing Leviathan and Bahamut, then Ifrit, then summoning Titan and Ramuh and dispose of them too. He didn’t have the time because he was busy keeping Ardyn occupied until Noctis would have been back and he did it amazingly.

Like Regis’ ghost warned him, the power of the ring was taking a toll on his body already. He was feeling the dark magic of the Kings running through his veins, leaving marks similar to burning cinders on his skin. In spite of this, he didn’t bother. He would have kept the promise he made to Regis: he would have stood by Noctis side, no matter at what cost. He would have gifted him his own vital energy at the right moment. And he would have survived to see Luna running back in his arms.

Nyx learned that hope was the most powerful magic in his own arsenal. Without it, he wouldn’t have been the hero everyone labeled him with when for the first time in forever, he felt to stand the title.

Thinking of this, the power of the ring overwhelmed him to the point he completely lost the control on time. Maybe the pride and the self condidence were pushing him towards the darkness quicker than he could expect. Once again, he didn’t care.

Ignis and Ravus came to help him and that was when Ardyn himself started to lose the fight. All of a sudden, the Usurper couldn’t avoid the blows delivered by the kukris, nor the trajectory of the magic, and Nyx felt the darkness inside him getting stronger and stronger, he lost his soul to it.

He kept casting death spells, until the climax brought him to the point where he could barely remember how to breathe.

That was the moment when a voice called for him.

“Nyx, that’s enough.”

He couldn’t stop immediately, even if he wanted to. He kept attacking Ardyn, like another wave of darkness had deleted his rationality, replacing it with pure fury. It was not until he recognized the voice calling him that he halted.

“Nyx.”

He gasped.

His vision blurred.

He stopped this time.

He let the kukris falling on the ground and all of a sudden he felt like the powers of the ring abbandoned him, which made him kneel down and almost faint. His heart missed a beat, confused by the lack of adrenaline he previously lost himself to. If a pair of pale arms didn’t embrace him, he would have certainly crushed his face to the ground.

The scent of her hair hit him first. Then the warmth of her skin. Nyx sighed deeply, finding relief even before completely aknowledging what was happening. He used his last reserves of strength to hug her so tight that he feared losing her if he didn’t hold her close.

“Ardyn is gone,” she whispered in his ear, delicate like a sylleblossom and gentle as a breeze.

He was not instead. Trembling and panting, the Glaive asked harshly, “Is he dead?”

“No, my love. But he will be, one day. By the hand of our King, not ours.”

Fair enough.

Only then, Nyx sighed deeply, slowing regaining control on his muscles. As the power of the kings started to leave his body, he felt the skin melting and the brain going empty. He almost wanted to cry to give to vent the numbess, but he ended up abandoning himself to her, burying his nose in her hair.

“We both did enough, Nyx. Let’s take a break.”

Her voice was so calm, and that was the only thing that prevent him from falling apart.

Nyx flinched back to look at her, eager to involve other senses in the relief of having her back. And Lunafreya was there, real and alive. He admired the square shape of her jaw, the bones of her collarbone, the crystal blue of her beautiful eyes. She was covered in powder and dirty water, but she never looked so human and beautiful. He immediately reached for her cheeks, to caress them and wipe away a tear stemming from the source.

“You’re back,” he whispered, still shaking. The spirals similar to burning cinder reached his neck, but the only touch of Lunafreya’s hand took it away with a glow. Her healing magic was his cure. Not even when he made love to her thinking there was no tomorrow, he felt more intimately connected to her like when she cured him in that specific situation. She literally sucked away the darkness inside him with the delicate touch of her fingers and that felt like heaven. With a sigh of relief, he leaned forward to kiss her smile. When they interrupted the kiss a minute later, she finally managed to nod.

“What did you offer to the Kings in exchange of my life?”

“Nothing more than what we already planned to offer. The lives of the Six.”

Luna opened her mouth in disbelief and immediately checked the marks on her stomach. Nothing was visible under her thin and white dress, which meant they were all gone. The knife wound created by Ardyn was gone, too, and only the stain of the dark blood smudged the fabric. The destruction of the gods inverted the course of her destiny, exactly like they originally expected. When Noctis killed them, their death gave back her life, her magic and her health.

Realizing this, Luna gasped but the shock on her face was well concealed by the calm of her inner confusion. She was just too surprised to actually show it. She just stood like that, Nyx’s hands on hers, and said nothing.

In the meantime, around them the fog had cleared, revealing that Ardyn had dissapeared. Ravus and Ignis - exausted by the surreal fight - limped toward Nyx’s and Luna’s direction, dismay on their faces that in Ravus’ case quickly turned into excitement.

“Lunafreya!” he screamed, shamelessly stealing her from Nyx’s arms to hug her like he never did before. Luna gladly accepted his affection for once, wondering why she had to die before seeing his brother act like when they were children. “You were dead. How…?”

Nyx stood up with difficulty, looking at the weird spirals on his burning skin slowly dissapear, leaving behind scars. Shelving the mixed feelings he had towards the Ring’s blood price and Noctis’ survival, he focused on the view of Altissia around them.

Destruction and chaos was everywhere.

The corpse of the gods had dissapeared immediately after their death, but the signs of their rage remained in the felled buildings and broken bridges. The darken clouds in the sky opened a little, so the weak rays of sunshine could touch the flowers destroyed by the water, the upside down tables and chairs of the restaurants and the broken glasses of the windows. It was a distressing view, but Nyx could only feel relief.

The Gods were gone. Somehow, they accomplished the impossible. But if the battle was won, so it wasn’t the war. Izunia was still alive and he would have spread the Darkness upon all Eos.

As a matter of fact, he looked for Noctis and noticed him up there where what was left of the altar was located. He stood all alone with the Crystal next to him. Even from the distance, the ring on his had was extremely visible, as much as the sad expression on his face.

His eyes met Nyx’s, and he smiled. That look meant a lot for them both. It meant “I will be back soon I promise”, “go, we’ll settle the rest”, “hold on until the day I will reclaim the throne”, “take care of them” and also … “take care of her”. Nyx somehow understood all the layers of the glance and simply nodded, clenching the jaw in a nervous and silent movement.

Then, Noctis quickly glanced back at Ignis, looking for Prompto and Gladiolus who were running in their direction. A soft smile warmed up his expression. In that moment, Nyx noticed that something was different in him, already. His way of standing tall was different, his shoulders were straighten up, his face looked more mature. And when he turned his back to his friends to enter inside the Crystal, Nyx observed the awareness in his walking.

The young prince would have been a great King once he would have come out of the Crystal. He would have lived long enough to rule well on Eos, sharing his burden with his loyal friends. With him, too.

While he was thinking at this, Luna’s fingers slid between Nyx’s ones, delicate as feathers. The Glaive turned to watch her positioning next to him, holding up to his arm. Her eyes were glowing like diamonds under the rays of the sun, a sun that would have shown rarely in the next years.

Nyx found inspiration in watching her, knowing that she would have lead Eos during Noctis’ absence, spreading hope in his return.

So, it was it. The moment of the separation had come. Darkness would have fallen upon them. But it would have been temporary.

Nyx and Luna stood in silent reverence as they watched their future King dissapear inside the Crystal, leaving the burden of the world on their shoulders.

#lunyx #lunafreya nox fleuret #nyx ulric #final fantasy xv #kingsglaive #ffxv #see luna safe to altissia #obina writes and this is weird

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fanfic-collection · 7 years

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Loki x Reader: Swan Song - Ch 4

In the morning, you woke up, once again in the apartment. You felt stiff all over, and were only mildly surprised to see that your top was in tatters and your panties were across the room, clearly flung haphazardly to the side.

You groaned softly as you struggled to sit up. Peeking under the blankets, you were surprised to see that your skin looked clear, and you only felt like you were covered in bruises.

Stumbling into the bathroom, you saw that all of Loki’s love bites had also vanished from last night.

“He must’ve taken the disguise off while we were together…” You muttered while you washed your face.

After you showered and finished getting ready for work, it was another short ride to Stark Tower where you had to make sure you informed Steve you were leaving. You couldn’t risk the fragile connection you had made with him by letting him think that you were avoiding him.

“Yea, I have some work outside of the country to take care of.” You explained, standing just inside the lobby of Stark Tower, Steve standing in front of you.

Captain Rogers frowned dejectedly, “Alright, well, when you get back, maybe we could see a movie or something.”

Beaming at him, you nodded excitedly, “I’d love that!”

“Great!” Steve hugged you gently before stepping away with a light blush. “Travel safe.”

You waved at him as you hurried away, out to another waiting taxi where you would shortly be whisked away to Loki’s helicopter and then off to your beloved’s abode.

As the helicopter flew along, you stared absently out of the window, wondering just how much longer you had to wait until you reached your destination.

Straightening up, you saw the roof of Loki’s castle come into view. Your eyes lit up in hope as you strained to see him.

With a heavy shuddering, the helicopter landed. One of the guards opened the door and you quickly jumped out, scanning frantically for Loki. Two guards stood near the door leading inside and you sighed sadly.

“Miss (Y/n)?” One of the guards called.

A door leading inside opened and you saw a familiar man walk out. Incredibly tall, dark wavy hair, piercing blue eyes, and sharp prominent cheekbones: Lord Sharpe.

“Of course it’s (Y/n).” Sharpe growled. Then he turned towards you and flashed you a brilliant smile. “My lady,” he offered you his hand and you eagerly took it. Then the two of you were quickly inside and moving down a long hallway.

Sharpe snaked his hand around your waist as the two of you walked.

“In disguise, my king?” You asked, shifting uncomfortably at the foreign look of Loki.

He rolled his eyes and a shimmer of green flowed over the two of you. You passed a reflective surface and were pleased to see both you and Loki were back to your regular appearances.

Unable to help yourself, you turned and grabbed Loki’s face with your hands, pressing your lips to his and demanding you kiss him. Loki moaned into the kiss, but before you could gain access, he had taken your hands and firmly pulled away.

“Love,” Loki smirked at you, both of you having come to a stop. “As much as I would like to continue this discussion,” you whined at him, trying desperately to touch him. “We are on a time schedule.”

You finally stopped and pouted. “Fine.”

“I’ve missed you my queen, believe me, more than you know.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. After a second, he kissed you gently, opening his eyes again as a shimmer of green fell around you.

Loki conjured up a mirror and held it out to you. You scowled at the reflection.

Everything about the image was wrong: hair that was bright was now dark, hair that was dark, now bright. It was the complete opposite of your normal appearance, down to the piercings and tattoos.

“He likes this?” Even your voice sounded wrong.

Loki grimaced apologetically, “I told you, he was very particular. I would kill him myself, but you know how people get when you blatantly kill someone.”

“It’s for you.” You muttered, finally handing the mirror back to him.

“Thank you love.” Loki sighed, “When this world is mine, is ours, I shall never send you away again.”

“You spoil me.” You smiled.

Loki smirked, “Your ride will drop you off at the man’s residence, he’s a general of a large militia organization. After he’s disposed of, return to the vehicle, it’ll be assured that you return to me. I’ve made sure already that you have a few days away from New York. There are far too many polite frivolities that I must be part of to attend alone. Dignitaries to win over, alliances to be forged, it’s easy to forget the countless meetings and dinners that sort of work entails.”

“Allies with humans?” You frowned.

“Thor will notice my absence eventually. Raw power won’t conquer this realm before then, not alone. I’ve already seen first-hand how unruly humans can be. I will take care of Thor, and the beast, but for now, I will continue to work without showing my hand completely.” The green glow shimmered around Loki until Sharpe stood before you again. “Shall we?” He held his arm out to you again. You allowed him to lead you the rest of the way down the hall before ultimately parting ways.

Once outside, you entered into a large SUV where a dress to change into hung beside one of the tinted windows. It was a floor length black dress. It had a deep V-neck top, dipping dangerously low on your breasts. On one side, there was a slit that went up the entire length of your leg, all the way to your thigh.

You frowned thoughtfully, interesting tastes and a curious choice for the occasion.

“Miss (Y/n)?” The driver asked as you stripped down.

You paused briefly, noting the partition between you and him. “Uh, yea?”

“Are you ready?”

Rolling your eyes, you replied, “Yes, I can change while you drive.”

There was a pause, “Yes of course.”

Once you were changed completely, you sat back in the seat and began strapping on your tall stilettos that had also been placed for you to change into.

Before long, the car had arrived at a grand and luxurious hotel. As you exited the vehicle, you estimated that at it was less than an hour until sunset. It shouldn’t take too long to seduce your client; after all, he believed you to be his escort for the evening anyways.

You strode into the front lobby, idly looking around, smiling pleasantly at anyone who saw you. You were friendly enough to not seem suspicious, but not too friendly as to appear randomly approachable.

The elevator ride to the penthouse took a long time, rising painfully slow. You shifted where you stood, able to feel the cold metal of your blade pressed high against your thigh. You briefly allowed yourself to wonder how far you would have to take this man before you could convince him to trust you.

The farther you went, the more displeased Loki would be, and the more wicked his punishment. The thought alone made you smile and you could feel a faint arousal growing.

Then you stopped. You weren’t sure of anything about your client. The smile vanished from your face as you recalled Loki’s vague description of this man.

Abruptly, the elevator jerked to a stop, the doors rang and opened. Two large burly men stood on opposite sides of a grand door and glared down at you.

You smiled demurely before confidently approaching them. “I’m here to see the general.” You purred, Loki’s magically induced accent rolling heavily off your tongue.

“Hold it.” The second man stepped forward and started patting you down, searching for weapons.

The other took your purse and opened it.

You had done this too many times to show any outward signs of fear, but that nagging worry of being caught still flickered across your mind.

Luckily the knife was on the inside of your thighs.

The man patted your outer leg, then moved to begin his search on the inside.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow and stepped back. “You’re going to touch your boss’s goods?”

He frowned and looked to his companion uncertainly.

The first man shrugged, handing you back the purse, “She’s just the boss’s whore.”

The second man pulled away and stood up, “Right. Have fun lady.”

You beamed at them before allowing them to open the doors and pass between. Once inside, you paused to listen to them talk.

“Bad form doing this.” The first man muttered.

“No shit. It’s his own damn fault though, always has to have a slut wherever he goes.”

The first man sighed, “Well, it’s been a week since he’s doubled security after refusing that man…”

“Sharpe?”

“Yea him, been a week since he refused Sharpe’s offer. Even with all this security, nothing has come of it.”

“Maybe Sharpe really did take no for an answer?”

The other scoffed, “Have you met that guy?” His eyes widened fearfully at the memory. His companion shook his head. “I saw Sharpe do an interrogation, I’ve seen some shit doing this job… that man though, he didn’t flinch. Hell, he was smiling by the time the screams started.”

“Heard he’s not human…”

You smirked from the other side of the door, their voices barely audible but you could still hear them discussing Loki.

Perhaps if Frigga hadn’t fallen ill and died when Loki was young – leaving him to his own devices – maybe, just maybe, the monster he had long since become wouldn’t have been born. Without Frigga, Odin barely managed to hide his contempt for his adopted son.

And then, perhaps, if you didn’t glean so much pleasure from the chaos he wrought, things might be different.

As it were, Loki never wanted to be a lost prince, all he wanted was power and the throne Odin had constantly held just outside his reach.

After Loki’s fall from the Bifrost, any hope for his humanity had been burned away at the hands of Thanos. Loki was now a force of nature and destruction, tethered only to mercy through you. His love for you had become something of an animalistic need and together you flourished.

Once more you smiled, looking forward to returning to him. Hopefully this job would move quickly.

The smile nearly fell from your face as a short, squat man rounded the corner of the hotel room, undoubtedly leading to the bedroom.

He had a squashed pug like face and was covered in hair, everywhere but his head. It was greying and horribly unkempt.

You swallowed hard, plastering the smile back onto your face. “General.” You purred, screaming inwardly, your body begging you to flee.

“My lady,” he wheezed, smiling at you and revealing yellowing teeth.

You could see he was already sweating. You walked towards him, suppressing shudders, before grabbing his hands. They were, as you had suspected, clammy to the touch. His eyes lit up and he stood on his toes to kiss you.

“An eager little boy, aren’t you?” You purred, slowly backing away, leading him to the bedroom. You closed your eyes, desperately picturing Loki as you started whispering profanities to the man. He followed after you eagerly, until you made it into the bedroom and your knees hit the back of the bed.

You collapsed onto your back as he crawled on top of you, planting sickly kisses on you and fondling your breasts and sides. After allowing him his fun for a moment, you rolled him over so you were on top, straddling his hips.

You grinded your hips down on him, uncertain if he was hard. Based on his glazed expression, you figured he was, but you couldn’t feel it through his trousers.

You sighed inwardly; Loki’s, well, everything, really did spoil you.

After a few minutes of foreplay, kisses and heavy petting, you removed a length of rope from your purse and securely fastened him to the bed by his neck.

He grinned at you wickedly as you undid his trousers, allowing his rather disappointing cock to spring free.

Unable to bring yourself to actually touch him, you reached up under your dress, as though to pleasure yourself at the same time.

You could see his face growing red as oxygen slowly continued to be cut off.

“You disgusting pig…” You whispered. The man swallowed hard, the rope making it difficult. You carefully pulled the knife out from its concealed spot.

His eyes widened fearfully as he saw the blade.

“Don’t worry, this is part of the treat.” You whispered. Then you placed your hand near his mouth as you plunged the dagger into his stomach. He let out a piercing scream that you quickly muffled with your hand. “Can’t leave you unsatisfied, can we? I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t get you to scream.” You purred, hand firmly pressing down on him as he continued to moan in pain.

You pulled the rope away briefly and plunged the dagger into his neck, breaking off the hilt so the blade was completely lodged inside. His eyes glazed over as he stopped moving. You returned the rope over his neck, hiding it from sight.

Finally you stepped away and surveyed your work. You checked his pulse, waiting a few more minutes to make sure he was dead. As you left the room, you glanced in the mirror; the black fabric of your dress hid any blood stains.

You stopped in the bathroom to wash your hands and make sure all signs of your work was covered before returning to the door and leaving. The two guards looked down at you in surprise.

You chuckled sheepishly, “He really has no stamina.”

They nodded, the first answering, “Not too surprised.”

“You might want to let him sleep, I don’t think he’d take kindly to being woken any time soon. If he wakes and claims he’s not satisfied, well,” you paused, “you have my number, I’m certain you can contact me.” You nodded at each of them in turn before reentering the elevator and ultimately exiting the hotel.

In an empty parking lot nearby, you saw your ride and eagerly ran to it.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” you grumbled to the driver, looking forward to returning to Loki.

It wouldn’t be long and you would be in his arms once more. Well… you had other business with him first. Then you’d be in his arms. You smiled excitedly, squirming in your seat at the thought.

#Loki x reader #multi chapter

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iphoenixrising · 7 years

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Heavy in Your Arms con’t

@satire-please wanted the finish. I just can’t say no.

I’m so heavy

Whirl of colors. The spasm of his gut and throat, bile and cold sea water. Fist in his diaphragm, forcing the rancid waterfall out.

Pain racing up his spine and his fingers form claws even in the sodden gloves, ready to start tearing at the flimsy silk covering wood and plastic trapping him, ready to start from the inside:

—Screaming until he’s spitting blood, torn something there (that’s why his voice is fucked even now)

—Crying for Bruce: save me, don’t leave me in the ground to rot (but you fucked up, didn’t you? Why would he come save the Robin who failed? Who would?)

Heavy

—It’s dark and I’m scared (and now he’s forgotten how to fear the night, never fucking again)

—Where...Why? (because you should have never went after her. If you’d have stayed, the clown wouldn’t have taken your stupid ass the fuck apart. Shoulda put a gun in your mouth instead, not like you don’t always chicken the fuck out)

—Broken, bleeding fingernails (but getting through all that earth, and the first breath of tainted Gotham air was like salvation)

—Air...have to have air (no, asshole. You should have just fucking stayed dead)

Heavy in your arms

In and out. Things are flashes and snatches when he gets snippets. Movement kills it because his leg is muted but still a mess with inevitable pain waiting on the outskirts with a whole lotta lemme talk at ‘chu for a minute.

The blood loss might have made him slightly more insane than the Pit. Slightly because he’s seeing things in starks and spectrums. He’s the guy what always saw shit in shades of grays.

I’m so heavy,

Seeing things in color, just like him, his boy. Always had to be on the opposite ends of the scale because in some way they both got it— that bitch, Justice? Blind as fucking bat, yeah?

He snorts at it while the wind dries his hair and fuck he’s getting hit in the face with the battering of a cape, telling how far gone he’s got to be at this juncture.

B wouldn’t come for him, that shit is just plain stupid.

Heavy

But as stupid as it is, the kid in him buried in some dark corner, some un-fucked inch of his soul, the kid that coulda, woulda, shoulda been the right Robin...the part he can’t carve out, no matter how sharp the knife is, how strong the steel, how covered in gore it’s gets in his hand, that part still fucking hopes.

—Save me, Bruce.

Stupid little punk. Didn’t cha learn any better? You already done proved you ain’t worth the effort.

Heavy in your arms,

Out.

Back with it to the low, dulcet tone of a wrought-iron fire escape. One of the sturdy ones built back in the twenties when they intended shit to last. He can place himself by that noise alone— it’s the block of apartments on 152nd, his side of Gotham. He knows every building and bolt hole, all the old trolley stations (from back when it was the talk of Gotham, before it became the Narrows and dilapidated into drugs and low-income housing) and closed entrances to the subways, he knows the niches.

He knows where sin lives. Just another mark in the book, baby. Ya know I got it in spades.

And is it worth the wait?

The safe house is one of his. He knows it by the way the creaking mattress shoves a spring into his ass cheek.

Death seems further off since his leg is set in a complicated splint and elevated. Bodysuit is gone and his ribs wrapped just this side of too much. Someone was pissy about picking him up off the pier.

When he gets an eyeful of the slumped bird beside his shoulder on the bed, he gives a rough huff because some assholes have to show up like the motherfucking cavalry or some shit.

(Lemme go. When it’s time, Timmy, it’s time.)

He has enough in him to lift the hand just enough to fit at the back of Tim Drake’s neck, being smooth and easy with it. His fingers work up to scratch lightly at Tim’s scalp just like he’s seen his boy do a hundred times, knows it’s Red’s weakness.

All this killing time?

“You. Fucking. Asshole.”

Sounds about right.

“What do you think he would do if he heard half the made fucking ramblings I heard last night?”

Pacing, moving, doing because Timmy gets that kind of pissed off. You know, royally. He’s still in the Red Robin body suit, thrumming with energy now that some of them are going to live like the rest of the shithead population. At present, he’s cutting up a banana with feeling. One he apparently ain’t shy about sharing.

“Fucking up your second chance? Just giving up and I’m sorry.”

He winces for the banana.

Are you strong enough to stand?

“Timmy, c’mon, calm it down. Coming close...ain’t easy fer me. Gets my head all jacked-up with the…” and is he really going to do this? He and Baby Bird are good now, can work together, can snark, can siddown and have a burger on the ledge of the Wallstone. He has his own code into the Perch, got a coffee mug and set of pajamas.

But he’s never—

Only with Kory and Roy. Only with his boy.

And only when it tries to cut itself out. When it’s poison in the back of his throat.

Protecting both your heart and mine?

But it’s got Timmy turned away from the counter, facing him in the dim dawn starting to eek through the blinds. And Baby Bird is calm, rant tuning down, giving him the weight of his stare and full attention.

“It’s like,” and he has to look away, to stare up at the ceiling, to blink and keep himself away from the final moments, to gather a whole different kind of strength, “alla the bad comes first ‘cause....’cause I don’t remember enough of the other side to know if it matters, you feel me? The first time I was a shithead, but I died as Robin, trying ta save my mother, and...it was fucking noble. But when it comes again...Timmy, when it comes for me again, what if the good don’t outweigh the bad?”

Who is the betrayer?

“What if the scales ain’t never gonna be square now? ‘Cause I got ta come back.”

Who’s the killer in the crowd?

“What if I don’t get anywhere but gone. Maybe you don’t get the choice again. Who fucking knows?”

The one who creeps in corridors

“And the only good things I got to offer up...the only thing I done right this time...is that I made it square with you...and...and with him.”

And doesn’t make a sound

He must be hitting shock or something because he doesn’t even hear Timmy move. There’s just warmth when he’s already so fucking cold inside and out. Just like first waking up when all he could see was darkness and the inside of that casket wasn’t as comfortable as it looked to the meatbags on legs lookin’ down.

But his hands can move just enough to grip Tim’s shoulders from behind, he can lay his face in the side of that neck and be fucking grateful.

My love has concrete feet

The window gives under real strength, banging fast and hard.

He comes up enough to snag the .45, not screaming when the pain train hits full speed ahead. Tim’s already got pellets, even though he’s holding the younger of them to his hurting chest with his free hand because he ain’t gonna let Timmy go down that path before it’s his time—

When Nightwing leaps through, fast and furious, a whirl of feral destruction. Every muscle in his body is tense, a beautiful picture in that suit, and he must be feeling the glad-ta-still-be-breathings because he can appreciate his boy animalistic grace when he’s utterly pissed the hell off.

It’s always a sight to behold.

Tonight? It’s even better.

My love’s an iron ball

And the slow roll of those hips is the start of something utterly terrifying, the first Robin, former Titan, former Batman, and a whole lot of sexually charged vigilante powerhouse could be gearing up for a massive roundhouse to start the fight or could be a breath away from ripping your fucking clothes off to give you the ride of your life.

Or.

Could be hitting the wall with such stark relief that’s an inescapable hold and lips on his forehead, always a soft Romani prayer a litany against evil, a plea of protection and strength.

But his boy knows. Knows him down to the bone. Is achingly soft and easy, the whiteouts up on the mask so those blue eyes are overwhelming.

Wrapped around you ankles

“M’ sorry, sweets,” is rough because almost drowning had that effect, but his boy is a sucker for the real pet names, always has been.

“You asshole,” Nightwing pulls off the domino to becomes his baby, his sweet, his sugar (his redemption, his avenger, his guardian angel), and the arms get tighter, making the pain arch in his abdomen, but it ain’t all that. Naw, there’s always worse.

Over the waterfall

“You should have waited. I said I was on the way.”

Wouldn’ta mattered. We both know that.

“I was almost too you when the warehouse exploded. Jesus, Jay, I thought— I thought…”

“Aw, naw, sweets,” and he’s pressing his mouth under his boy’s watery eyes, “I’ma hard motherfucker ta kill. Ain’tcha figured that out yet?”

“Fuck that, we both know better.” And those eyes spill over, making tracks through the dirt of Gotham still on his face.

This will be my last confession

If only...if only he could be the man his boy deserves.

Instead, he’s the man he knows how to be, and draws the older vigilante down to fit their mouths together in a sloppy rendition of what might be a kiss, but is more breathing each other’s air, gripping each other to make sure it ain’t just a dream.

And he don’t have ta see it ta know his boy is gripping Timmy’s hand like a lifeline, like he’s a part of them.

He also knows Timmy’s gripping back just as tight.

I was a heavy heart to carry

My beloved was weighed down

My arms around his neck

My fingers laced to crown

None of them bitch when the two mobile vigilante strip down to boxers and crawl in bed with him. Tim’s cheeks and upper chest are a disturbing shade of red, but they don’t comment on it, not when they can’t let go of him any more than they can let go of one another.

They bracket him easy-like so the knee under his restrained leg takes some of the pressure off, and two fingers push hard enough to make the nerve clusters blissfully silent instead of radiating to his pain receptors.

His face is nestled in the crook of his boy’s neck, those long fingers rubbing soothing circles on the back of his neck while they all ignore the shamefully wet hitches in his breathing.

His grip is tight in Tim’s hair again, his shaky hand scratching against Baby Bird’s scalp to punctuated the point.

I was a heavy heart to carry

But he never let me down

When he held me in his arms

My feet never touched the ground

And it’s a crazy thing, one that strikes him at dark places where he stores the old pain and remorse, how he never thought he’d be worth this kind of grief. How no one would be stupid enough to mourn a piece of shit like him. A stupid punk-ass what got himself offed.

But while his phone lights up with worried texts from Roy and Kory, while B is on his boy’s comm demanding to know the Red Hood didn’t bite the big one again, while Alfred is stress baking and B is pleading for them to put him on so Alf will just chill the fuck out, while Timmy grips him, nuzzles a warm nose into his cold jugular, and his boy holds him in the present, those dark corners get...just a little bit of light.

Not too much to taint the darkness in his soul, just a slice enough so he can see how bright and white it is, so he can remember how warm it was to move into the first time, so he doesn’t have to be as afraid when the next time inevitably rolls around again.

I’m so heavy…

So heavy in your arms...

#oh god #heavy in your arms #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #possible dickjaytim #but still dickjay #my fic #my writing #satire asked for it #inspired by florence + machine

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zevakritpel · 7 years

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✺◟( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)◞✺ at long last....kihaikise.... not even close to finished, but if anyone is interested in reading the start of my (somewhat violent, definitely swear-y) mafia/loan shark au haiki/kihai (subtle hints of nijihimu???!?!) .....here is what i imagine to be part 1/3 of .....chapter 1. orz. i have the rest mostly written out but. i thought i might as well post this and see if anyone actually wants to read more (´༎ຶ ͜ʖ ༎ຶ `)

Haizaki Shougo prefers to adopt an "I do whatever the fuck I want, whenever the fuck I want" sort of attitude to life. Whether it's money, women, bloodshed, booze... anything Haizaki desires, he simply takes. Like this, the notoriously ill-mannered--albeit troubled-- young debt collector runs the high of fucking, drinking, gambling, senseless destruction, bullying debt-wrought businessmen out of their money...and all without consequence. And it's fucking great.

Or at least it should be. But lately...

Nothing is satisfying anymore.

Haizaki clicks his tongue impatiently--this is stupid. He's not seriously about to dwell on this pointless shit, alright?

He tilts his chair back so that it balances precariously on only two legs, then props his feet up on Nijimura's office desk. He kicks same papers off the desk top in the process; (obviously), it does not even occur to him to pick them up.

Bored, Haizaki lolls his head back and glances over at his "coworker", Himuro Tatsuya, who's been sitting in the corner for the past half hour: the hood of his black sweater over his bowed head, wordlessly staring at his phone. ...oh shit, he actually might be be asleep; it's hard to tell, since the guy barely ever moves his facial muscles.

Tch. What a dull plaything.

Haizaki rocks back even farther in his unstable chair, absently fiddling with the rings on his fingers.

He considers riling up Tatsuya, but that seems like it would take too much effort: despite his short fuse and violent streak, it's pretty difficult to get him to break his expressionless doll-face. No, these days Nijimura would need to get involved. And he's not even here--

BAM.

Nevermind. Speak of the devil...the actual devil...

"WHERE!!!"

Nijimura snaps, making a characteristically violent entrance as he kicks open his poor, poor office door, slamming it hard enough into the wall to rattle the office desk from force of impact. The remaining papers flutter off the top, onto the floor.

"WHERE THE FUCK is that bastard Hara?! He's a week overdue with his payments, at this rate I'll be pulling the interest out of his goddamn asshole."

The formidable loan shark Nijimura "bossman" Shuzo appears to be a touch more...stressed than usual. His thin shades have slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing a pair of underslept, bloodshot eyes; his normally slicked-back black hair hangs limply over his forehead. All-nighter?

Unfazed by his boss's rage, Haizaki raises a hand up lazily in greeting, grinning slightly as he brings his other hand up to his mouth. He flicks his tongue just above the silver band around his thumb.

"What, ya didn't hear? That Hara fuck killed himself just last night." Not entirely true, but he's been dying to push someone's buttons. Even at the cost of his own well-being.

"He what."

Before Haizaki can milk this reaction, Tatsuya (so he was awake, the trick bitch!), cuts in with a cool monotone (ever the killjoy):

"Police report says a body matching Hara's description was found in Tokyo Bay early this morning. Riddled with bullets... And his hands cut off."

Nijimura removes his sunglasses and slides his steel grey eyes back to Haizaki, staring at his subordinate with a look completely void of patience.

"Accomplished all that by himself, did he?"

Haizaki shrugs.

"What? You already knew that fucking idiot was tryin' to fuck over Akashi, of all people. Pretty much suicide, right."

"Not how that works" Nijimura hisses, pressing his fingers against his temples. He steps over the mess of papers scattered on the floor as he walks closer to Haizaki's chair.

"Uhhh, I think you'll find that's exactly how it work-AH FUCK."

Haizaki finds himself very painfully reminded of why he shouldn't bother pissing Nijimura off too much, especially not when bossman is within kicking distance of his chair. He lies there, on the floor, for a few seconds, seriously reflecting for once.

"Whatever," Nijimura exhales, looking much calmer than before; keeping Haizaki's uncouth ass in line is cathartic, it would seem. The loan shark adjusts the cuffs of his mauve button down shirt and puts his sunglasses back over his face.

"Since that shithead actually had the audacity to get killed off by those yakuza pricks before paying his dues, so help me God I will reach into the pits of hell and get back every single yen owed me." Nijimura reaches down and grabs Haizaki by the cuff of his bomber jacket, forcefully pulling him back up to his feet.

"But first, you and I are going to his apartment before it's crawling with pigs...Tatsuya,"

Nijimura's manner of speaking abruptly becomes much gentler.

"You're okay here on your own? All the other guys are out, so you're the only one I can ask."

Himuro smiles demurely and nods yes in response. Oh for the love of-

"What the fuck, why does the wife get to stay behind? Typical." Haizaki complains, earning himself a smack in the back of the already-possibly-concussed head.

"Owww, fine, fine okay fuck I get it. Let's go see if Hara has a secret lovechild we can extort or whatever."

As he follows Nijimura out the door, Haizaki feels the need to disturb a juuuust one more shit, you know, for the road:

He makes a detour to the "doll"'s side of the room and throws an arm around Himuro's shoulders. As expected, Tatsuya reacts violently, but before he can get a punch in, Haizaki swiftly slides a hand down and pulls out a cigarette from the pack tucked in Tatsuya's pants' pocket, then steps back to safety.

Himuro turns his head and glares at Haizaki with his unobscured right eye. Haizaki winks as he skips back, towards the exit, slipping the stolen smoke between his lips.

"See ya later, ane-san" he salutes with two fingers.

Himuro sees him off with a stoically raised middle finger.

Outside, the sky is grey. A gentle breeze blows the taste of pollution through the air. Haizaki throws his arms up to stretch them, somewhat rejuvenated by Tatsuya's vehemence. Still, he can't seem to shake this deep restlessness curdling under his skin....

"Oi, Haizaki," Nijimura calls out, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and rummaging for his car keys.

"Don't antagonize him so much."

"....haha do you really need to be so overprotective? Gross."

Nijimura purses his lips, unlocking the door to his large silver sedan. Time to get going.

***

"Oi, oi, oi, what the fuck is this?!"

Nijimura slams his foot on the breaks of his car, and the subsequent inertia from this sudden move results in Haizaki's entire body jerking towards the windshield. Before Haizaki can open his mouth to complain, he finds his boss has already flown out of the vehicle, bee-lining towards whatever he meant by 'this'.

Disgruntled, Haizaki rubs the back of his neck, craning his head to the side to test for any damage. Today's injuries are really piling up, and it's not even noon yet. He squints out the car window to see for himself what 'this' is:

There, standing by the entrance to Hara's sketchy-ass apartment complex, are two sharply-dressed individuals. To the left, turning to greet the fast-approaching Nijimura, is that... pink Momoi Satsuki woman, the one with the huge tits and dirt on pretty much everyone in the damn city. She's wearing a white blouse today, and her rosy hair is pulled up in a sleek bun today, revealing a sliver of tattoo that reaches all the way up to her nape. And off to Satsuki's right, is an even more familiar face.

Haizaki sits up straight, instantly forgetting his pain. The corner of his mouth twitches: so he's here too, huh. Well, well.

The debt collector takes a moment to loosen his shirt collar, then pulls a gun from inside the car's glove compartment and tucks into his waistband before exiting the car and following the path of his superior, to the front of Hara's building.

A conversation has already started:

"Now, Nijimura-san, we're here on behalf of Kuro-"

"Yeah, yeah, I already know what Akashi's wakagashira is up to here. So if you two could kindly turn back and tell your fucking boss to resurrect that useless Hara bastard so I can get my money back, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Satsuki giggles and takes a drag of the menthol between her delicate fingers, her peachy-pink eyes sparkling knowingly at Nijimura. She proceeds to say something sinister in honeyed tones, but the nature of the rest of the exchange is lost to Haizaki.

After all, he only has eyes for is distracted by..

"Ryouta~," he hisses, pushing towards the man standing off to the side.

"So you're here, too. I thought I smelled a bitch."

Kise Ryouta flinches, his golden eyes narrowing with unmasked disgust as they follow Haizaki's approach.

"Very good, Shougo-kun!" the yakuza chirps sweetly, clasping his black-gloved hands together in mock-praise. The temperature behind his false smile is around -40 degrees of freezing spite.

"As expected of Nijimura-san's stray dog. Such a keen nose you have, it's no wonder your master keeps you on such a short leash."

The corners of Haizaki's mouth twitch up. He grabs Kise forcefully by the collar, pulling him in close.

Fake ass pretty boy piece of shit yakuza.....nothing would please Haizaki more than tearing this bitch down from his high fucking horse and distorting that pretentious, mocking face....

Due to the nature of their respective jobs, Haizaki and Kise run into each other a little too much for comfort. An occupational hazard of working in underground business. And this Ryouta's a real piece of work, everyone seems to think he's an angel.

So damn annoying.

"Taking a break from blowing half the group, are ya?" Haizaki grins, licking his lips, but still carefully gauges Kise's reaction.

....Which is to curl his pale fingers around Haizaki's wrist and squeeze. Hard.

Owww...

"Try not to get too close, Shougo-kun," Ryouta murmurs in a low, sugary voice, but actually leans in closer, so that their faces are only a few inches apart.

"Son of a ...bitch."Haizaki almost recoils in pain as Kise slowly digs his nails deeper into his skin. This little bitch....

"You're still so untrained. I don't want to have to go in for a rabies shot; Midorimacchi has enough on his plate."

For some reason, Haizaki finds himself unable to respond immediately, as he usually would. The reason is decidedly not the fact that, from this proximity, Haizaki can feel the heat of Ryouta's slightly smaller body next to his, nor is it the faint scene of cologne from Ryouta's neck, or....

Wait.

"Ahahahaha, you really wanna die, huh?" Haizaki regains his senses, shoving Kise into the wall of the apartment complex. Whatever the fuck is happening is very clearly a sign that Haizaki should start a fight, right now, immediately.

The expression on Ryouta's face suggests that he's on the same page. Good. Prepare to get fucked up, pretty boy.

However...

"Haizaki" Nijimura calls out in a warning tone, while at the exact same time, Momoi chimes in with a:

"Ki-chan, play nice!"

Both Haizaki and Kise freeze, obviously both having forgotten their respective superiors have been standing, right there, the entire time.

The bitch and the stray exchange a brief glance, then push away from each other.

Tch. This isn't over.

****************************** to be ..continued.....soonly......i hope there was something u could enjoy here. .when i finish the rest of “ch 1″ i’ll probs put it on ao3 BUT I’M SHY （╯ ͡° ل͜ ͡°）╯︵ ( ͜。 ͡ʖ ͜。)

#haikise #SCREAMS INTO MY PILLOW #i just #feel like i should apologize somehow #ahhhhhhhhhhhh #kizaki

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