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samblackblog · 3 years

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2. Interview with the Devil

⎔ MASTERLIST ⎔ REQUESTS ⎔ FEAR STREET ⎔ UNDER YOUR SKIN ⎔

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: dominance, teasing, control, mentions of female stimulation, language, mentions of abuse, violence, angst

A/N: sorry its been a while coming, I've been busy. Think i found all the warnings, don't hesitate to tell me.

← Chapter 1 ▫️ Chapter 3 →

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Last night was quiet, no arguing to disturb your sleep. You wish that meant you slept well. Instead sleep eludes you while thoughts of the encounter with Sheriff Goode invade your thoughts and when you wake in themorning you were sure it must have been a dream. The cautionary warning ticket reminds you otherwise as you stare at it on the coffee table sipping your morning tea. Your fingers tap the side of the mug, reflecting the anxiety swimming around your body. It is currently seven thirty in the morning, what time does the station open? Does it even shut? Were you expected dead on time at opening hour or were his words an empty threat. “If you fail to turn up at the station tomorrow…” You understood his meaning last night and believe him to be a man of his word, among other things. The tea mug slams down on the coffee table, sloshing hot liquid everywhere. You make a mental note to clean it up later as you rush to the bedroom to quickly change; pulling on a pair of old jeans, white t-shirt and a beige cardigan only managing to get a few buttons done before slipping some shoes on and heading for the front door. You take the stairs two at a time, being careful not to slip, but something grabs your attention halfway down. The door to the downstairs apartment is open. You hadn’t noticed in your frustration last night but the police must have kicked it down. The door is buckled near the keyhole, splitters coming out in every direction. Pity fills your chest as you think of the poor woman who lives there, how she’s been treated and now not even a secure place to live. The feeling is soon replaced when you remember she got you into this predicament with the Sheriff anyway.

With a renewed sense of urgency you exit the complex and start down the street at a half running half walking, somewhere in between, pace. It takes less than twenty minutes to get there on foot but you’re filled with dread as a police cruiser passes you by, only five minutes away from the station. You don’t dare look to see who is in the car, you already know. Shit. How bad can he possibly make your life? He’s only one man and there must be some higher official so he doesn’t abuse his power… or maybe not. You lose motivation and your pace slows, arriving at the station for eight fifteen. Begrudgingly you pull the heavy door open and walk into what feels like your doom. Hoping to be greeted by some annoyingly energetic young receptionist, you couldn’t be more wrong. He waits, propped against the welcome desk, one hand at his side while the other leans on the waist height counter. You wish he was wearing the usual smug grin, but instead he watches you with a cool expression, not portraying much emotion. He’s wearing his official business façade. What did you expect? Of course he would be, he’s at work. He doesn’t say anything before glancing at the clock on the wall above you playing it calm and collected. Finally you give in, speaking first: “Should we proceed?” you prompt eager for his attention to be elsewhere. Without speaking he lifts his free hand to point in the direction of an interview room, not needing words to show his authoritative energy which sparks nerves in you. You stand at a stalemate for a few seconds, neither one of you moving first. He shows no signs of budging, so you reluctantly start walking down the brightly lit corridor noticing how bland the walls are in an intimidating way with nothing to stimulate or distract the mind. You stop at the first door not sure where it was you’re supposed to be going, he doesn’t correct you as you look back at him on the approach. He stops by you and leans in closer than necessary to open the door, keys jangling as he slips them into the lock. You turn your face away from him to show your contempt as the door swings open revealing a dark cold room with no windows. He waits for you to step inside before switching on the lights to reveal an empty room save for a table and two chairs. He shoves past you as the door behind you clicks shut. You realise he’s treating you like every other criminal that’s been here. Well, not every criminal, you can’t imagine he pulls a chair out for just anyone. It’s an act, all of it. One that he knows works. He doesn’t wait for you to take the seat before sitting himself down opposite, staring at your vacant chair. Let’s get this over with. And with that thought you sit yourself down, carefully, keeping yourself on guard. You scan the room, eye flickering to the CCTV in the corner. Other than that, there’s no tape recorder or paper. Nothing. He pulls his chair closer to the table, legs manspreading to assert dominance and hands on the table all the while his cold blue eyes stare into yours. You stay where you are, not wanting to get closer than needed and cross your legs. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your nails digging into your palms to regain some focus. The door to the room swings open as another officer walks in carrying a brown manila folder. You squirm in your seat not liking the idea of being trapped with two males but to your relief the newcomer only hands the file over to the Sheriff before leaving the two of you alone again. You lean forward slightly to see what the file was as the Sheriff flips it open revealing a mugshot of your neighbour. He pulls a blank document out and starts filling in the sections.

“Name?” He bluntly asks. You don’t reply quick enough so he reiterates it “Name?” He glances up at you, eyebrows raised “Name and Date of birth?” You snap into action giving them. “Do you have any proof of identification if we wish to check up on what you provide here today?”

You nod, following it by giving your answer “Yes.” His eyes return to the page in front of him scanning for the next part relevant to you.

“Do you know this man?” He asks, pushing the mugshot towards me. You nod which leads him to ask “Do you recognise this man to be Mr Thomas Brown?” Your voice catches in your throat as you attempt to answer.

“No, I mean, I don’t know his name?” You clarify

“I thought you knew him?” He's trying to trip you up, making you question what you were saying.

“I know of him, only as the man that lives downstairs.” His eyes turn away from you.

“Do you know the wife?”

“Only in the same way.”

“Mrs Brown says you could testify, have you-” you rudely jump the gun and cut him off, knowing full well what goes on in the apartment below yours. Having been in a similar situation yourself, you’re quick to defend her.

“Yes. I can hear it all night long, most nights. He’s a brute.” He nods his head in understanding. Maybe he’s not so bad after all if he’s willing to help. “Are you going to help her?” you blurt out, catching him off guard. He leans back in his chair and for a moment his guise slips, allowing you a glimpse of the compassionate, albeit tired, devoted Sheriff.

“I’m going to try.” Just like that his hard exterior goes back up. He continues to press you for answers, going round and round in circles until you have enough.

“We’re going in circles.”

“Why are you so interested in your neighbours?” And there it was, the question you’d been dreading. It floods your brain with horrific memories rendering you unable to speak. He studies you, feeling sorry as he hits the nail on the head yet also accomplished in working you out. “Perhaps you relate a little too much to Mrs Brown… was it a boyfriend?” he probes. Your eyes wander up from their position staring at the table to meet him. Hatred and rage burns in you, lacing your stare with heavy tension. You want to scream at him but where would that get you other than giving him satisfaction? You have, undeniably, a good poker face, but years of reading people gives him the upper hand. It’s the small flickers in the eyes and the change in pupils. You were hiding something from him. “Or was it your daddy?” You stand up, the chair pushing away from you. Jackpot: daddy issues he makes a mental note.

There’s no need for words, your fast escape from the room says it all. You don’t look back as he follows you out to the corridor, watching you leave. Morning air hits your face sharp and tangy as you suck in rapid breaths in an attempt to stay calm. You leave the station grounds, waiting until you’ve rounded the corner before dropping to a crouch and grabbing your knees as waves of nausea hit. You fight against the memories of the past that flood your brain. Your right hand flys to your left arm, pinching the skin with your nails until bright red crescent moon shapes appear on the smooth skin. Tears well in your eyes at the pain of the marks but it pushes all other thoughts away. You forbid yourself to ever think of this morning ever again. Reluctantly your feet start to move, carrying you back home. You have a few hours until your shift starts, enough time to eat and get ready. You spend the rest of the morning lounging around the apartment, drinking coffee and eating toast before going for a shower. You rush getting dressed as the shift nears. The shift itself goes by incredibly slowly, the entire time you’re dreading a certain someone showing up to mess with you. But he doesn’t. After six hours you’re thankful to be finishing, tiredness has set in, your limbs feel heavy and your eyes sting. The rest of your evening goes quickly following the same boring routine as always. Dinner, TV or book and then bed. Sleep came to you quickly once you’d crawled beneath the duvet, your body sinking into the soft mattress and immediately relaxing. The world fades away.

***

Thud.

It’s the middle of the night, silence fills the air, but something has woken you. Or did you dream of it? No, there had definitely been a sound. You lay in the dark, straining your ears to catch it again.

Thud.

There’s no missing it the second time as someone pounds on your door. You reach out of the cozy duvet where it’s warm and safe, to turn the bedside lamp on and illuminate the room. You grab the cardigan you had discarded on the end of the bed and pull it on, covering yourself before setting two feet on the ground. Creeping across the carpet you head for the front door, which is eerily silent. Now would be the perfect opportunity for a spy hole, you curse the decision not to have one. Instead you opt for calling out, asking who was knocking at this hour.

“Open up” the familiar voice rings out, “It’s Sheriff Goode.” You pull away from the door, hesitant as to why the Sheriff is at your apartment late at night. What could possibly have happened. Nerves eat at you as you realise you’d walked out of the interview. Did that also count as perverting justice? Would this be another ticket, or worse? Your hand reaches reluctantly for the lock, sliding it back on itself. The door opens to reveal him, standing with his arms against the frame, hair slightly dishevelled from long hours in the office, eyes slightly sunken. Something about his appearance makes your nerves disappear to be replaced with butterflies. If it was official business he would be dressed to impress.. “Can I come in?” You hear the softness in his voice, the gentle plead to his tone. This is the side of Sheriff Goode that not many people see, one that makes you forget the ass he can be. It’s seductive. You don’t think about it before opening the door wider to grant him access to the apartment. He takes a few long strides into the room as you shut the door, closing the two of you off from the world. You stare at him expectantly, looking for an answer as to why he is here but he offers no explanation.

Finally you speak, “Is there something I can help you with?” Your voice is husky from sleep, he notes, unable to deny how sexy it makes you sound.

He clears his throat trying to piece together thoughts but he can’t take his eyes off you and can’t concentrate properly. “I have some questions” is all he manages, leaving you more perplexed, the nerves coming back. Perhaps it is official business after all.

“I’ll have to go back to the station tomorrow-“ you start to joke before he cuts you off.

“Why are you like this?” He asks, a playful quality to his voice, which has gone down an octave into a low sensual tone.

“I don’t understand…” you purse your lips in thought as more confusion hits you. He takes a step towards you, as you suddenly become aware of the tension in the room. He’s radiating authority as he comes closer still, making you nervous but also excited. Something in you wants to test the waters more but you don’t get the chance.

“Why are you so…” he grasps for words, his eyes travelling your body taking in your short pyjama shorts and the camisole exposed beneath your cardigan. The top of your breasts peak out teasing him as they start to move under the deep breaths you draw in proximity to him. He can’t deny loving the way he feels around you, powerful and dominant and the way you feel around him. Finally he finds the words “why are you so damn irresistible?” Your mouth drops in shock not expecting this turn of events. His body is so close to yours it takes every ounce of concentration left to focus.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t play coy with me.” He flashes that boyish smile “I know you feel it too.” He backs you into the door leaving you no escape route, his hands planting firmly beside your head. All you see and feel is him in your space, in your senses. There’s no room for anything else. He leans in to whisper against your ear “How am I supposed to focus all day long when you haunt my thoughts?” His breath is hot against your cheek and sends tingles down your spine. You can smell his cologne, and under it his scent. It drives you wild as heat ignites in your core. His mouth moves closer until it hovers inches from your neck, his right hand sliding down the door to grab your hip before his lips caress the soft skin by your jaw. You move your head to give him better access as he plants a trail of kisses down to your collarbone. The other arm finds itself following the pursuit of the right and works its way around your waist pulling your body closer until it’s pressed tightly against his. A gasp falls from your mouth as he gently bites the dip in your neck, before sucking on this same spot. Your hands wrap around his neck and lock into his hair with a vice like grip earning a moan from him. You smile to yourself as you discover a weakness of his but it soon disappears to be replaced with a whimpering moan of your own as his hand travels from your hips to your ass and pulls you onto your tiptoes. His head moves away from your neck as he takes a moment to admire his handy work, tomorrow morning would reveal a nasty love bite. A claim for all the world to see. You look up at him with heavy eyes, arms still around his neck. He knows what you want but needs to hear you say it. He wants to hear you beg for what you’ve denied, the feelings suppressed. He’s known since the minute you laid eyes on one another, despite your best efforts to dislike him. The stronger your contempt grew for him, the more his desire matched it.

Your cheeks flush as he stares down at you, which riles him up further. You notice his eyes move from yours down to your plump lips, as he thinks about what he’d like your mouth to do, before travelling down to your chest. Something inside him snaps as he crashes his lips to yours, hungry for your touch. The movement slams you back into the door earning yet another moan from you which was music to his ears. He slid his tongue past your lips as your hands moved to his chest trying to quickly undo the buttons of his blue shirt. There was urgency in your actions, desire lacing every move. Nick decides he isn’t going to let you have what you want, not just yet. You need to know who’s in charge around here. His hands come down to enclose yours on his chest, stopping them a few buttons down from his neck. The kiss breaks as you look at him, aware of the change of atmosphere. He locks his fingers around your wrists bringing them above your head which isn’t hard being so short, he moves his positioning so he can secure them with one of his hands, keeping the other free to do as he pleases. It comes down to your right breast, squeezing it through the fabric of your top. Immediately your nipples harden at the sensation, delighting him endlessly. His fingers trail across the skin at the neckline of the top, threatening to go below. Your eyes shoot him a pleading look which is met by a devilishly smug smile.

“Say it” He whispers, eyes boring into yours as if in doing so he could read your mind, “Tell me…” he trails off as his hands slips below your camisole and he cups your breast. He grows hard at the feel of you, his growing erection pressing against your hip. You try to squirm free of his grip to get a hand loose but it’s impossible. Your head rolls back as his fingers pinch your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and index. Your breath hitches as you try to subdue a moan. Nick isn’t having any of it, he wants you exposed, not just your body, but your feelings too. He wants to know he’s been right all along.

“Nick” you whine as you lift yourself away from the door and press yourself to him, lips inches from his. He senses you’re close to admitting total surrender as he glides his hand down your body and slips it inside your shorts. Your eyes flutter shut as his fingers start to work circles around your clit, your resolve melting away into nothing. It’s all over too soon. His hand retreats, earning a glare from you while the other drops your arms. He pulls away from you, putting space between the two of you. He eyes you in the state you’re left, breathless and flushed with a burning need for him. Your eyes drop to the floor in embarrassment at the realisation of what just happened and at how quickly you became putty in his hands, but more so of how much you wanted it. You find the courage to meet his gaze, how can he remain so cool and collected? Truth is, he has one hell of a poker face. Underneath he’s just as much a mess as you are. The heat between your thighs burns with a renewed sense of directive as you take in his appearance. His hair which was already disheveled, is now sticking out in multiple directions from where your hands ran through it. His eyes are dilated and watch you intently as you ponder your next move.

“Nick…” He hears the surrender in your voice at the loss of not knowing what to do. You don’t know the next move. You’re a good girl, you don’t play like this and don’t know how to respond but your eyes speak a million words. They draw him back in and he takes your hands again, holding them against your body as he watches your face for a sign. “Nick” you whine, “Please.” There it is. He lets your hands go and they automatically fly up to his neck pulling him down into a passionate kiss. You pull away, forehead against his as your fingers lace through his hair. “I need you” you pant. It’s enough for now, but he makes a mental note to teach you how to properly beg later. “Please Nick, fuck me.” He didn’t think he could get harder, but hearing you say that made him stiffen more. You lean in and kiss him before biting down on his lower lip, fueling not only your desire but the monster within too.

You sit bolt upright in bed, your eyes flying open. The room is dark as your eyes scan around searching, moonlight leaking in through the window. You’re alone. Your body collapses back onto the mattress, duvet tangled around your lower half. Your chest heaves under your heavy breathing as you realise it was all a dream.

“What the fuck” you announce to the empty room, trying to wrap your mind around why you were dreaming of the sleazy, annoying, ass that is Sheriff Goode. Despite that, you can’t ignore the way you feel, your nipples are hard and your legs are squeezed together in an attempt to relieve the tension that’s built in between your thighs.

Your body was betraying you, worst of all, it was betraying you to him.

#nick goode #sheriff goode #sheriff nick goode #nick goode x reader #nick goode one shot #nick goode mini series #nick goode imagine #sheriff goode x reader #fear street trilogy #fear street 1994 #fear street #ashley zukerman #samblackwrites #shadyside #sunnyvale #goode is evil #Under Your Skin (Nick Goode)#smut #Nick goode smut

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whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump · 2 years

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Febuwhump - Buried Alive

It’s 2 am on February 1rst in NZ, so I can post my first Febuwhump drabble! It centers my superhero whumpee Icarus. The rest of his story will take place a few years later when he’s an established hero, so this is kind of a prequel I guess.

Masterpost here.

CWs: whump of a minor (17 yo), manhandling, burying alive

Icarus is so excited he can barely sleep. It is his first night in the HQ, the big house where all the “Boys Club” heroes live together. The most famous and powerful heroes in the country, and now Icarus is a part of their ranks.

Jordan, their leader, had shown him around the house, and introduced him to the rest of the team. There was Lee, who could start fires in the palm of his hand. Matthew, the healer. Tyler, the telekinetic. And Jason, the speedster.

They had all eaten dinner together, cracking jokes and sharing stories, and Icarus had felt his heart grow warm at the feeling of belonging. It felt like a family. After dinner, Jordan had bench pressed the couch with Icarus and Tyler sitting on it, showing off while Icarus dissolved into laughter. Lee had shown him to his room and bid him good night, and now he lies in bed, thrumming with excitement and already imagining how tomorrow will go, his first day as an official superhero. Eventually, he nods off, a smile on his face and bright dreams in his head.

He wakes when he feels a hand clamp over his mouth.

His eyes fly open, adrenaline surging through him in an instant. Instinctually, his body shoots up, trying to fly away from the unknown threat. Before he can get more than a few feet off the bed, a hand lands on his chest and pushes, and Icarus is slammed back down so hard the breath is knocked out of him.

He gapes, lungs struggling to pull in air, unable to cry out for help or even move. A hood is pulled over his head, and when he’s yanked off the bed he can’t get his feet underneath him in time and ends up being dragged out of his room.

When they reach the hall, he can breathe again, and he fights, yanking against the arms holding him from either side.

“Help!” he screams, and his heart plummets when there is no answer. Oh god, what have they done to my friends?

He plants his feet, pushes up, willing his body into flight and hoping to dislodge the attackers holding him. Before he can escape, an unseen force slams him back to the ground. He groans from the impact, and the attackers take advantage of his confusion to pull him further down the hall.

He hears a door open, and the realization that he is being taken somewhere sends renewed energy through him. He struggles, lashing out with his elbows and feet, but the people holding him don’t budge, and he’s pulled outside with his bare feet scrabbling on the grass.

All of a sudden, he’s spun and thrown down, landing on his back on a hard surface. Before he can get his bearings, he hears something slam down above him. Under the hood, his vision darkens, and it suddenly feels harder to breathe.

He brings his hands up, and to his horror, feels his palms push flat against something, barely five inches from his chest. His hands push out, and collide with wooden walls.

His mind whites out with terror. He is in a coffin.

The claustrophobia and hood combined make it impossible to breathe. He rips off the hood, blinking his eyes to adjust and panting for air. He can barely make out anything, just the shadow of the lines on the planks above him.

His hands come up automatically, pressing with all his strength against the lid, but it won’t move and oh god, oh god, he’s trapped, he’s trapped—

Something lands on top of the lid. Over the thundering of his heart, Icarus thinks he can hear the sound of a—a shovel, and there it is again, the sound of dirt hitting the lid—they’re burying him alive, no, no, no, please no—

Unbidden, a whine slips out of him, high pitched and frantic with terror, and he slams his hands against the lid, pounding his palms against the unrelenting wood over and over.

“HELP! Somebody please help! Let me out! Oh god, PLEASE!” he screams, his voice breaking on the last word. But no one responds, and Icarus is alone, alone and trapped, and he’s so scared he doesn’t know which will kill him first, the fear or the lack of air.

The lid still isn’t moving, and his hands slide down it in a panic, nails catching in engraved paths. They are scratch marks, Icarus realizes with horror. He is not the first to be trapped in here, not the first to die in here, and oh god he doesn’t want to die.

Already, his breaths are coming shorter, and he whimpers, tears sliding down his cheeks at the thought of dying like this. It can’t be like this, it won’t be, he won’t let it, and as he lets out another sob, he feels fear-driven strength surge through his veins.

With a desperate scream, he slams his hands against the lid, levitating his whole body to add to the momentum.

It moves.

It’s just the slightest shift, but it is enough, enough to keep going, so he does it again. And again, and again, until the whole thing has come loose, and dirt starts to trickle in through a crack.

He sobs again, because it’s not over, but he takes a deep breath, holds it, and shoves the lid away from him. Immediately dirt pours on top of him, and it’s everywhere, weighing down his legs, spilling across his face and blocking his nose. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and forces his arms up, desperately clawing up until he finally feels his hands break the surface. He shoves his arms apart, forces his head up, and then, finally, surfaces.

He gasps, spitting out dirt and coughing, struggling to pull air in as he lifts his head. His eyes are still shut, eyelids covered in dirt. He digs his fingers into the ground, straining to pull the rest of his body free as he pants harshly. Finally, when his feet come free, he lies still, exhausted and shaking.

Then, with a jolt, he remembers. His head shoots up, adrenaline surging through him as he prepares to fight his attackers. He is halfway to his feet, when he freezes.

The faces he sees are not the known ones of the city’s most wanted villains. Nor are they shadowy strangers.

They are his teammates.

As he sways, shellshocked, Jordan looks up from a stopwatch in his hand, grinning.

“Two minutes and twelve seconds!” he exclaims, his voice cheerful. “That’s almost a new record!” He laughs. “Beat Matthew’s time by more than half.”

Icarus looks over at Matthew. The healer is sitting nearby, staring at the ground.

“Wh…what?” he croaks out. His voice shakes.

“Aw, come on man, it’s all in good fun. Can’t be a superhero without some life or death training right?”

Lee snorts. “Oh, it’s training now?”

“Training, initiation, whatever you want to call it. Either way, you survived, so you’re officially a part of the team!” He throws his arms up in celebration at the end of his statement.

Icarus doesn’t know how to respond. He’s crashing, coming down from the adrenaline and the fear that feels like it will live in him forever. He cannot fathom the reality he is being shown, so far removed from his ideas of family and friendship and heroism. His breath hitches, and he swallows back a whimper.

“Oh come on dude, don’t be a baby,” Jordan scolds, no longer smiling.

Icarus recognizes the emotion that creeps through him when Jordan meets his eyes. It’s fear. It freezes his tongue in his mouth, so all he can do is shift his eyes demurely to the ground. It’s enough to appease Jordan. He yawns.

“I’m beat. You put up a hell of a fight.” He shoots Icarus another sly grin, then heads back into the house.

The rest of the boys follow him in, drifting off to their separate bedrooms, until only Icarus and Matthew remain outside.

The healer lifts himself off the ground and comes over to Icarus, who stands still, blank eyes fixed on nothing. Matthew lays a hand on his arm, doesn’t react to Icarus’s flinch. Slowly, he guides him to the ground.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

Icarus blinks. Yes, he thinks, but it is not the kind of hurt that Matthew’s powers can heal.

“Your hands,” the other boy says softly, and only then does Icarus feel the pinpricks of pain radiating from his palms. He looks down. Splinters of wood poke out of the soft flesh of his palms. Blood trickles from a few of the punctures, and several of his nails have broken.

“Oh,” he says dully. He hadn’t noticed.

Gently, Matthew takes his hands. Icarus inhales sharply as he feels the healer’s powers start to take effect. A slow tingling spreads across his hands, and he watches as the skin reforms, pushing the splinters out so they land harmlessly on the grass below them.

“It’s not usually this bad,” Matthew says quietly, not looking up from his work. “Just try to keep your head down. They’ll find a new target eventually.”

He turns Icarus’s hands over, checks that they’re completely healed, then stands and goes back into the house.

Icarus watches him go. He is shaking, even though it’s a warm summer night. He shifts, dirt falling off his pajama pants. He has a feeling they won’t ever feel clean again. He thinks he could stay crumpled out here forever, or at least until the sun rises and there’s a chance of feeling warm again. But that is not what heroes do. Heroes…heroes get back up. So he does, swaying only slightly when he stands, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other to get back into the house.

He freezes at the threshold of his room, taking in the blankets he scattered when he was pulled from his bed. He can’t imagine just pulling them back into place, falling asleep in the bed as if he wasn’t just robbed of his safety in it. Instead, he pulls a comforter to the floor, strips his filthy pajamas, and lies down on the padded cover, pulling it over himself as tight as possible, as if to protect himself from an inevitable attack.

He tries to sleep, he does, but the tears rush out and don’t stop, and even as he tries to choke back his sobs, terrified someone will hear, he can’t stop crying.

He wants to go home.

Another sob forces it’s way past his lips, and he bites down on his fist to muffle the sound.

This place is the closest thing he has to one.

taglist: @whumpinggrounds :) (please let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

#my writing #of heroes and villains #icarus the hero #whump #whump writing #febuwhump #febuwhumpalt1

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

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Ever Since We Met

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After making a bet with Odin, Loki finally has a chance to prove he is worthy of being heir to the throne. Under mysterious circumstances, you find yourself stranded on Asgard, left with no option but to team up with Loki and help him win the crown. Now posing as visiting royalty, you must be careful of rumors in court that say you’re not who you claim, all while battling your growing feelings for the raven haired king. But some things are easier said than done because secrets, you’ll soon learn, can be deadly. Chapter Summary: Before Odin leaves for Alfheim, Loki makes one final bid for the throne. A bet that has the power to alter his future. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Greetings guys, gals, and non-binary pals! I am beyond excited to share this story with you! It takes place pre-Thor 1 and will update every Friday until we reach the end in about six months. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot

ESWM Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake @electroma89 @joyfullymassivewhispers @darkacademicfrom2021 (Both tag lists are open; message me to be added!)

⚜︎ Masterlist | Next >>

Disclaimer: Gif not mine.

Thankfully, the halls outside the throne room were empty, leaving plenty of space for Loki to pace back and forth. He never would have let his anxious energy show in front of others, but right now it was just him. The guards had gone in to announce Loki to his father, gain permission for him to enter. It was ridiculous that he couldn’t just waltz in, the prince thought. Then again, that’s all he was. A prince. Not the king.

See, Loki had been trying his whole life to prove his worth to his father, desperately attempting to show he was deserving of the throne. But nothing had worked, and whispers that Odin was going to announce his heir any day now were common throughout the kingdom. And not a single person was saying it was going to be Loki. Luckily, the younger Odinson didn’t give up so easily.

“Prince Loki,” one of the guards said with a little bow of his head as they re-emerged from the throne room. Loki immediately stopped his nervous movement and looked him in the eye. “The king will see you now.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Loki replied, regal as ever. “As you were.”

Taking a final gulp of air, he pushed through the heavy golden doors and walked towards Odin. As a child, Loki had always thought his father looked so imposing sitting on the throne, as if he had in his palm the fate of all people. Well, now Loki was grown, and he knew that the old man sitting in that glorified chair did hold someone’s fate. His. And if Loki wasn’t careful, Odin would crush his dreams, his destiny, without so much as batting an eye.

Loki’s heeled boots clicked on the cold floor, as if counting down the steps left before he could make his request. They were, perhaps, a bit more formal than something one might wear on a regular basis, but he figured why not dress to impress? His semi-formal cloak swooshed behind him, and he had to resist anxiously fiddling with the fabric. With his hair slicked back and combed perfectly in place, he thought he looked very princely, but if all went well, he was going to be far more than that.

“Your majesty,” he greeted Odin in the formal way he’d been taught since birth, bowing at his waist. Oh, how he so despised that part; if he had it his way, he’d never bow to anyone again. At least he didn’t have to kneel as most of the lesser nobles and commoners did.

“Rise my son,” Odin said with a wave of his hand. “Why have you felt the need for this audience so close to my departure?”

“Well, father,” Loki began. He summoned all his strength to keep up his nonchalant facade. “It has come to my attention that you have invited Thor to join you and mother on your diplomatic mission to Alfheim. An invitation, I might add, that he has accepted.”

“Yes, yes,” he yawned. “What of it? I hope you are not looking to come. The convoy is already full.”

“On the contrary, I think it best if I stay here.” Loki studied his father’s expression a moment before continuing. “To rule the kingdom.”

It was painfully silent in the near-empty throne room. And then Odin began laughing. Not chuckling, but full on laughing at his son. This was perhaps the most embarrassed Loki had ever felt, and there wasn’t even anyone else in the room. But all he wanted was to show his father he was capable of ruling. That he would make a far more competent king than his oaf of a brother. This was a critical moment, he knew, and he couldn’t let any cracks in his armor show. He kept his face completely neutral as his father slowly ceased his cackling.

“And why should I allow for that. You see, Loki, I have already chosen my successor, and it is not you,” Odin bluntly explained as Loki’s blood began to boil and hopes began to drop. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and he’d wake up to make his plea for real. No such luck. “The official announcement was going to come upon my return, but it seems cruel to keep it from you now.”

All the times Loki played this out in his head, it never went quite this poorly. Never in his wildest dreams had he been expecting Odin to admit what he already knew deep down; he’d lost. But all his training, his preparing, his effort to show that he was the one deserving of the crown, could it really be for nothing?

“Come now, my son,” Odin said when Loki took too long to reply. He wondered if his father was trying to have a comforting tone. If he was, he was failing miserably. “You always knew I would have to pick one of you. That only one of you could take the mighty throne of Asgard.”

Yes, but I should be the victor, Loki thought, ignoring the tears pricking the back of his eyes. The last thing he would do was cry in front of the Allfather. Especially when he still had a chance to make this work in his favor. All he had to do was keep it together for the next fifteen minutes and alter his argument a little. If Odin was taking drastic measures, maybe that’s what he had to do, too.

“I do not think you should act so rashly, father,” Loki spoke up, voice impressively even. “After all, you have yet to hear my proposition.”

“And what might that be? Speak, son, and tell me.”

“Let me rule Asgard while you are gone. If I do well, you wait to make your decision on who will be your heir, allow me to continue to compete for the crown.”

The old king laughed again, not as loudly as before, but just as unkindly. “Why would I do that? I see no way in which this benefits me.”

“On the contrary, as a prince, I would have the right to plead my case to the Allmother if you took me out of the running. It would be a long, tedious process if you had to go through all the right channels to prove my brother is better suited for the kingship. And then again, they might not even find that he is. Or I could even challenge Thor for the crown, if it comes down to it. Such scandal to mark the end of your reign would be a shame, do you not agree?” He paused for dramatic effect, and to let the words sink in. “However, should I do poorly on the throne, I would have no argument to make, and would back down peacefully.”

The tension was so thick, Loki was tempted to whip out one of his daggers to try to cut it, and give himself room to breathe. But even the subtlest of movements would give way to an accusation of weakness, so he stood where he was, his piercing gaze staring into his father’s one eye, waiting for him to speak. Odin tapped his fingers on the arm of his throne, mulling over the very thinly veiled threat. By the time the king was opening his mouth to speak, Loki felt ready to scream.

“Very well,” he finally conceded. “But your success will be according to my terms. There are three things a good king needs. The first is the respect of those he rules. The second, fear and awe of his enemies and allies alike.”

Loki’s eyes flitted down for the briefest of seconds before looking up with renewed confidence. “And the last?”

“Worthiness,” Odin continued, standing up and walking down the steps, “to have the crown on his head.”

More eagerly than he would have liked, Loki nodded. He was certainly clever enough to figure out a way to prove he had each of those. It seemed that his silver tongue had not failed him today. But before he could say he accepted the terms, Odin had one last stipulation to add.

“You may not set foot out of the kingdom. Everything must run smoothly while you are here. Is this understood?”

“Yes, father, it is. And you will not interfere with my reign,” Loki replied, distrusting something about the look in the old man’s eye. “So then, do we have a deal?”

He considered for a moment more. “Yes, we do. From the moment I leave tomorrow until the second I return, you will be acting king of Asgard.”

“Thank you, father. You will not regret this,” Loki said, bowing again before leaving.

Whether he left before his father could say anything or if he never planned to at all, Loki wasn’t sure. It hardly mattered anymore. Now, his future was nearly set, for certainly he was already admired to some degree, right? Or even if he wasn’t, he’d been preparing for this day his whole life, studying his father. He knew how to be king, and he’d be damned if he let anything ruin this opportunity.

After a fitful night of sleep, Loki saw his family and their entourage off at the Bifröst. True, he was more than eager for them to leave already, but he did his best to mask it. After all, his eagerness may be mistaken for arrogance, and that was no way to start his reign.

“Alright, brother. I bid thee well,” Thor said, clapping him on the back. As far as Loki was aware, neither he nor anyone else knew of the specifics of the bet that had been made, save for his mother and Heimdall, who had been tasked with keeping an eye on him. “Do not get too comfortable on the throne, though.”

“Good luck, my son. I have every confidence in you,” Frigga said, cupping his cheeks.

Loki looked to Odin for him to speak some final words of parting. When he didn’t, Loki said, “Thank you, brother, mother. I wish you all safe travels and shall be awaiting your return.”

He waited until they disappeared into the rainbow lights and, with a nod in Heimdall’s direction, headed back towards the palace. The throne. Almost reverently, he circled it once before sitting down. Feeling perfectly pleased with himself, Loki didn’t even notice the bright flash of light in the distance. Nor what came with it.

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snarkywrites · 4 years

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Saturn Direct: Onward

Saturn stations direct on September 29th, 2020 and we can all breathe a little better knowing that one of the astro giants is finally moving on. We have been on a ride with Saturn in Capricorn since 2017, learning a lot about ourselves and our relationship with authority. We continue to experience the impact of government with these Saturn and Pluto transits. Where we are now is not the same place, we were several years ago. This has been a transit of maturity of growth and pain. Many people saw the world with new eyes, our rose-colored glasses were shattered. The horrors were outlined for us, but we have also learned to see some hope in the darkest of hours. Saturn in Capricorn has exposed the changes that need to be made on a societal and political level. This has been a powerhouse transit, moving and reshaping us from the core and reflecting in our environment. The collective has felt Saturn in Capricorn, but we know that together, we can all hope for greater change in the future after learning the lessons and facing the consequences from this transit. Here’s to growth for the years to come and hope for a better tomorrow.

Aries – Saturn has placed you in a position where you can either sink or fly. If you have worked and powered through the last couple of years, with the fire and drive of not giving up, congratulations! Saturn direct means you can continue to go forward without feeling blockages when it comes to your career. However, with your ruler currently retrograde it is still not smooth sailing. Consider this a time to get your plans going and feel the momentum building until dreams start to take off in November.

Taurus – This transit will have you sticking to your convictions without second guessing yourself. Saturn direct powers you through the next phase which will have you more focused on status and achievements. You are very much in a contemplative state, analyzing your past achievements and failures but the good thing is you are learning from them. Get ready to feel more empowered as we approach the end of the year.

Gemini – You have been going through one of the harshest transits for the last 2.5 years but now you are slowly feeling the weight being lifted from your shoulders. That sense of optimism will begin to peak through with Saturn finally going direct and exiting Capricorn at the end of the year. Use what you have learned during this transit that has shaped who you are and where you will be headed. You are not the same person from 2017, instead you have grown and matured. The road has been tough, but you will see how the journey was worth it.

Cancer – Saturn direct means you will finally be able to see the truth behind your relationships. No longer will you feel like you are mirroring partners because now you have grown to learn more about yourself and what you seek in someone else. This Saturn transit has been rough but empowering. There is more motivation to get the achievement you desire and the recognition from your peers. You are learning to embrace the limelight and to allow yourself to shine. No more hiding your glow since you have so much more to offer to the world.

Leo – You have given it your all during this Saturn transit since 2017. There have been a lot of obstacles for you to overcome but Saturn has taught you a lot about being diligent and patient. You have learned that even if you give it your all, you are still going to face challenges and the outcome will not be what you originally planned. You’ve excelled at coordinating, fought and learned to understand your limits while refusing to back down or give up. During the next several months you are rekindling with your fire energy thanks to the trine your sign is making to Mars. You can see the finish line and are awaiting your victory.

Virgo – The state of your romantic life is probably not the same as it was 2.5 years ago. Saturn might have brought about a person who turned your world upside down but the experience, although tough, was a learning lesson for you. For those who are single, this transit made a change in your social circles. During the retrograde it was possible you reminisced and learned about the changes you need to make for romances. Your dynamics with others will also change moving forward. Saturn direct will have you focused on rebuilding and restructuring how you view yourself and your ideology.

Libra – One of the tougher transits for you and it would make sense why you will not miss seeing Saturn in Capricorn. The retrograde period brought you back to your roots and the emotional experiences you might have felt with partners. This Mars retrograde might also have brought back some painful memories that you need to learn to cope with to move forward. Mars and Saturn are making you move from the tough waves that life brings you and the unexpected changes. Your identity has changed because you might feel more empowered and mature given the position you have been put in. It is possible you were thrown into a leadership role at work, school or even made some tough decisions at home. Saturn showed you what you were capable of and how independent you can be.

Scorpio – A rough transit to have because it can open some emotional wounds you might have at home or with friendships. Saturn retrograde taught you that to interact with people, you need to listen and be patient. Being explosive during this transit over the last several years has led you nowhere. To avoid drama and fights, you needed to truly listen and change some mannerisms. You have developed a sense of courage, especially in the workplace or school. With this planet finally going direct, you know your strengths, how good you can articulate your thoughts and how to manage situations with different groups of people.

Sagittarius – This Saturn transit has felt like a redo of Saturn in your sign. You continued to face similar challenges with identity and truly learning the meaning of independence. Saturn in Capricorn taught you to be more open to accepting and forgiving yourself and this is what you are working on now that the planet is direct. The boost from Mars will allow you to burn through the emotions as you continue to reshape your thoughts and philosophy during this process. Get ready for some excitement as you can feel the cashflow begin to change and the optimism growing since Jupiter, your ruler, is also direct.

Capricorn – Who am I? Is the question you probably repeated to yourself several times during this transit. Saturn retrograde had you pouring through different situations as you tried to maintain stability in your life while the chaos ensued. You are the fighter, with Pluto, Jupiter, and Saturn currently in your sign. The pressures and responsibilities piled but you managed to keep your cool (sort of). Now with Saturn and Jupiter doing direct, you can once again plan and see the road ahead with clearer eyes and a smile. You will feel renewed as Saturn stays for the next few months before finally exiting your sign.

Aquarius – With Saturn direct here, you feel some of your pressures melting off as you come to peace with your subconscious. The issues now with Saturn will involve your own maturity but that all begins to manifest when Saturn enters the sign of Aquarius. This is a period where you will be mentally stimulated, driven to connect with others and will discover your own inner voice. Many will be open to listening to what you have to say. Your experiences can serve as a healing experience as well. Saturn has taught you how to heal, to grow and to motivate others. You will wake up from the cloudiness Saturn presented and will take on the world inspired.

Pisces – The pressure is off and now you can once again feel like others have your back. Saturn direct will have you remembering the pain or excitement you felt during this transit. There might have been close friendships that have ended but you made new ones. This path has not been an easy one for you and Saturn in Aquarius will present some of the similar themes from this transit. You are learning to become more independent and self-reliant. However, you will also learn to seek help from others if you are in need because certain situations can be hard for us and we will need the support system from others.

#Saturn #Astrology #Horoscopes #Aries #Taurus #Gemini #Cancer #Leo #Virgo #Libra #Scorpio #Sagittarius #Capricorn #Aquarius #Pisces

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skvaderarts · 2 years

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Hiraeth Chapter 98: Cinders

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Ninety-Eight: Cinders

Note: Sorry that this went up slightly after midnight! It took a while to edit this chapter, and I didn't wake up until 8:00 p.m.! Either way, I hope you like it! I hate when I miss a deadline by a few minutes!

(-~-)

A strange sort of stillness settled around the area as the winds slowed. The air had reached its coldest point, and the trees no longer swayed in the frigid air, content to stay as they were. They had been rooted to this spot for hundreds of years, much like the curse that had hung over the land they stood on. Their roots ran as deep as the superstitions that had built this place, and as deep as the hatred that had driven once good people to do malicious and terrible things. The same hatred that had once driven the matriarch of a coven to curse the innocent and to break her pact of sanctity all in the name of something that would not change anything.

Grief.

Perhaps the greatest equalizer, it was the very thing that had driven the original founders of this place to settle these lands, and it was the very thing that had driven them away once the battles had ended. But then grief became a festering hatred, and it left a curse upon everything it touched. And since that day, hundreds of innocents had died in the name of one child who would not have wanted this to happen in the first place, and no vindication was brought upon the very person who placed it. It was cruelty for the sake of cruelty, pettiness in response to pettiness. Hate for hate’s sake. And none of it reduced the agony or solve the problem, and it most certainly didn't bring back The ones that had been lost. Instead, it left a legacy of punishment for those who had committed no crimes, and no punishment for those who had. It was the worst kind of evil, and to think that it had originated from within their own house was enough to make them sick.

But then, out of that snow-covered stillness was born a dim light that grew exponentially until the winds returned, funneling upward from the ground and into the sky as they carried with them the only thing that could render what had been done undone. The only thing that could mend what had been broken and prepare the entire region for a new beginning. In situations like this, there was only one single thing that could signify a new beginning for a place seeped in damnation, corrupted to its very core, and rotten down to its very foundation. It was the seedbed of renewal.

Flames.

For the second time that evening, the night sky around Lympha became bright and brilliant, but instead of the golden light born of a summoner's ultimate sacrifice, it was the kind of brightness that only fire could bring. The kind of light that signified the destruction of homes and houses; of mortar and brick and stone. The chaotic result of combustion via carbon dioxide and nitrogen, to name other things. The kind of heat that could stave off the undeniable prickling of frigid skin. It would heat up the night, and die down within the hour, unable to spread any further, but more than enough to do the job for now.

And at the center of it all was one young witch, her hands thrust into the sky above her as columns and swirls of nearly white-hot flame twirled around her in an infernal swelling hellscape of funneling ash and regressive heat, the limits of her power reached. In just a few minutes' time, there would be nowhere to hide for any of them, and with that came the revelation that tomorrow would not come if victory was not assured. If they did not all leave here, none of them would. There could be no further uncertainty. For the night was long, and the air was cold. There would be no waiting until the morning came. Not among the flames.

The icy grip of the snowy night would return, and with it, unbearable cold, and then sudden heat that would end when they ended, their minds betraying them into thinking that perhaps it had begun to warm if they too had done the same, and in shedding the only thing that protected them from the cold, they would succumb to it. Hypothermia. But that would not come to pass unless they should fail. And she had never known defeat.

If there was one thing that she knew, it was that the flames would bend to her will. And when it came to this place, her will was to see it reduced to cinders. In this place where so much pain and suffering had occurred; let it all be reduced to ash and dust. Let it settle and blow away in the breeze like the memory of it had in the public eye. Let the unrelenting flames stoked from necessity burn brighter than the darkest night in a place filled with nothing but bad memories and needless death. And even if no one ever returned to this place, the land could finally be at peace, no longer gripped by the darkness that had held sway over these lands for so very long. It ended tonight. What was important was that they didn't as well.

As Flora lowered her arms and panted heavily in the cold night air, she looked around the area. There was no sign of the summoner yet, but she knew that it wouldn't be long before he was forced to come outside and she was able to see him. She didn't expect him to exactly walk up to her and introduce himself, but she knew that he had very little in the way of places to retreat to if he didn't wish to burn to death. None of them did. She had made sure of that. Now all she needed to do was wait for the perfect opportunity to attack. She just hoped that that opportunity would be sooner rather than later. As hot as the flames were, it was still pretty cold out here, and she wasn't sure how long the winds would decide to stay away. They were all working on borrowed time and they knew it.

Just then, out of the doorway to the general store came a shrouded figure, limping through the snow. They seemingly struggled to stay on their feet, their injuries clearly grave even if she couldn't see them from this distance. Flora held her ground, unwilling to give any leeway to her potential opponent. She wasn't sure what he was capable of, and as such, she was on high alert. But as he stumbled into the light and out of the darkness, he fell to the ground in front of her, landing on his knees and breathing heavily. And she was finally able to take a better look at him.

Now clear in the light of the flickering flames was his mask, cracked but somehow still attached in spite of everything. His robes were tinted a deep crimson now, soaked with his blood as the result of a particularly deep upward arching slash became visible to her, the cold probably the only thing that had saved him up until this point. It seemed that Sirrus had truly gone for a killing blow, and she wasn't sure why he was still alive other than the fact that he was just unfortunate enough to pull through in spite of everything. The kind of power that her red hair acquaintance had unleashed upon him was something that was not typically used for combat in this manner, so perhaps that had something to do with it. But regardless, it was generally lethal in all forms, and seeing a human who had survived it was something else, even if she had been informed that he had been possessed by a Devil Prince. There was truly something special about this one.

Labored breaths became evident to her as he faced down towards the snow, seemingly unwilling to look her in the face. He was clearly struggling to stay conscious. She could tell that much just by looking at him. But the one thing she didn't understand was why he had come before her and was now panting at her feet. The obvious answer was that he was injured, but why he had decided that he should approach her instead of sneaking around behind her to attempt to kill her or something was beyond Flora. It was just such a strange thing to do.

"You… set the fire."

In all honesty, it actually took her a second to realize he was addressing her. His voice was so low and heavily tinted with pain that she was genuinely surprised to hear him speak at all. Looking at him, she wouldn't have guessed that he still possessed the ability to. He was clearly suffering. But he had somehow mustered the strength to do it, and she wasn't sure if she should be genuinely impressed or horrified that he still had that much mental capacity remaining given his current state. His resilience was impressive, if not slightly troubling.

Still panting slightly, Flora nodded in confirmation. She put her hands on her thighs, arching her back forward slightly as she took in the frigid air. The smoke burned her lung slightly, and she was thankful that she wasn't any closer to the buildings. Just because she could control fire did not mean that she was not beholden to its consequences. "Yes. Yes, I did."

Wheezing slightly, the gravely injured summoner coughed, spitting a bit of blood onto the pavement. He shook his head slowly as though he could not believe something, and she got the impression that it wasn't just the fire that was on his mind. He seemed to be genuinely taken aback by what she had done, sure, but this was clearly not entirely about that. He had other concerns. "We're going to freeze."

"Probably." She said in a matter so sarcastically indifferent that it seemed to actually shock him slightly. He looked up at her for a moment, his gaze falling back towards the ground a moment later. He chuckled, a wet gurgling noise apparent as he did so. She was no doctor, but she was willing to bet that he had blood in his lungs. He seemed to fully understand now that she was not here to play games with him, not that he had necessarily thought that to begin with. She had no way of knowing for sure. No, this was beyond that point. He needed to be careful who he was toying with. "Come to bargain so as not to burn?"

He shrugged in visible apathy, his disregard for his current condition apparent. What difference did it make at this point? There was no victory to be had here. He had been defeated wholly and truly, and his master had fled him. He had been abandoned and broken, physically and mentally. What else was there for him to do? Laying in a flaming building and waiting for the flames to consume him was definitely an option, but there was no guarantee that that would happen after he finally passed on. He was better off out here, even if the outcome might still be the same eventually.

Flora stood there and looked up at the sky for a moment, closing her eyes as she exhaled deeply and slowly. Her lungs felt better, but it was best that they did not spend an extended amount of time in this kind of inferno. She was actually starting to get hot and that wasn't going to last for long if the winds returned. This was her ultimate bluff, and she hoped that she was good at playing her cards. "I've been authorized to offer you an accord. There's no bargaining in it for you, though. It’s a yes or a no answer kind of situation, and to be honest, your probability of survival isn't high either way so… "

Groaning in obvious distaste, he spat blood onto the pavement in front of him, coughing again and slowly moving his hand up to press on the space between his chest and throat. She could tell by the way he inhaled that his lungs burned, and they probably weren't functional to their full capacity at this point either way, so that wasn't the best thing for him at the moment. He probably couldn’t control it, though. He shuttered, seemingly physically revolted by the idea of surrender. And then he laughed slightly, looking up at her and shaking his head. "You don't have what it takes."

A soft chuckle came from Flora's chest as she closed her eyes before opening them again and rolling them, shaking her head. She held her hands out on either side of her and slowly rotated her palms so that they faced upward towards the night sky before snapping her fingers and igniting both of her hands in the same brilliant flame that now consumed the city. She stared down at him, an intense look of calm overtaking her as she allowed her distaste for him to become a parent, no longer concealed by even the thinnest veil of kindness, her long hair blowing in the wind as the edges of her locks ignited. Flora was not the sort of person who was going to kill an unarmed opponent, but she most certainly was the sword who would leave someone who had tried to kill members of her family to freeze in a burning city. She was offering him this parlay as an extension of goodwill to satiate her own humanity, but that humanity didn't necessarily have to be quenched. Her morals could be quelled if need be, which of course did bring into consideration whether or not they were truly morals, but no one was uncompromising. There were always exceptions. Always.

"Try me, mate. See what I’m “capable” of."

Agreus stared at her in notable silence for a moment before making eye contact with her, their gazes meeting for a period of time until everything around them seemed to fade away. She did not back down or flinch, and after a moment that felt like a lifetime, he seemed to understand that he had lost this fight. Even under his mask, through the cracks that had formed in it, his facial expressions were clear. And he wore the face of a man defeated, and by a teenage witch no less. It had to be quite the embarrassing thing to such a proud summoner, to be apprehended by someone he probably looked down on as weaker than him. But this was not a battle of power. This was a war of attrition thought by will alone. And Flora's resolve was stronger by a landslide. Frankly, she was done giving a shit, and he knew it. She would end him if she had to. No hesitation.

With another weak cough, Agreus kneeled further to the ground, clearly in a bad way. His health wasn't getting any better out here. Far from it. But if this was the only chance he had at possible survival, even if he did not believe that there was anything to survive for at this point, then he would take it. Moment by moment, clarity returned to him now that he was stripped of the presence of the devil prince, his influence no longer lingering in his mind. And minute by minute, he dwelled on his own mortality and morality, wondering just how much he had eroded it in his pursuit to please his master. He wasn't sure what he felt right now, but it was unpleasant and he did not want to acknowledge it. "Don't waste your efforts on me. You possess talent. I possess nothing."

Flora scoffed at the statement, shaking her head as she stepped forward and reached into her pocket, taking out something that she had brought from within the hotel. She found an old bike lock in there, the least magical thing that she could have hoped to use in a situation like this, but something that would have to do. He was going somewhere very secure, and whether he liked it or not, he probably wasn't going to be coming out. But she had to get him there first, and she would be absolutely daft to think even for a second that even after surrendering to her that he would just simply walk to where they wanted him to go. She expected him to fight back and to struggle and resist, it was simply who her opponent was. And there was nowhere near enough faith in humanity in her to believe in the innate goodwill of others. She had taken that chance many times, and it had basically always blown up in her face. Good deeds always lead to punishment, and she had had enough of that for one day.

"Stop your sniveling. You have plenty of time for that later." Flora said as she grabbed his arm and pulled it forward, wrapping the chain around his wrist before twisting it around his neck and then around his other wrist, locking it behind the back of his neck. An unorthodox way to secure someone, sure, but it did ensure that he wouldn't be able to easily fiddle with the lock or grip anything. After all, it was a little hard to open a door when your hands were basically tied to your neck, wasn't it? She then forced him to his feet, watching as the summoner groaned in discomfort at the idea of having to stand, his legs nearly buckling. She noticed that he was limping, and his leg was injured. An old injury from another time perhaps? "Hurt your leg?"

He let out a sort of wet cough, shaking his head. "I got what I deserved from that little summoner. I overstepped and I was put back in my place. An eye for an eye years in the making." He said simply, seemingly acknowledging something that she had never considered. She knew that this summer had hunted V down on behalf of the demon prince, but she admittedly hadn't been there at the beginning of this affair. She could tell by their reactions that everyone else had run into him multiple times before she had met him even once, but she wasn't privy to basically any of the history between them. It was an interesting aspect of this situation that she hadn't really considered until just now. "Very literally."

"Oh yes, I remember that. I remember that indeed. How could I possibly forget? I’m certain that he hasn’t. If not for my intervention, he would have certainly bled out."

Flora glanced over her shoulder to see Magnolia emerge from a building behind her, the witch’s left hand raised out in a manner that implied she was ready to strike him down if need be, her other freehand on her staff that was now reattached to her back. She held her hand just slightly behind her back, her fingertips brushing against the center grip. Magnolia possessed none of the leniency that her young niece did, and that was saying something considering how little Flora possessed at this point. The young witch watched as her other two aunts came from behind two of the other buildings in front of them, Aluta clearly exhausted, but now able to stand. And she had no doubts as to the fact that her aunt would probably snap her fingers and end him if given the opportunity. Willow simply seemed content to fold her arms and stroll over, her interest in having this over and done with before it got any colder evident.

"Vergil's oldest child? What did this one do to him?" Willow said to Magnolia, nearly spitting it. Her disgust towards the perverted magic and treacherous evils that he had committed could not be understated. There were few things she hated more than those who used insidious power to destroy and corrupt the minds of those around them, but adding attempted murder to the mix was surely a way to make it considerably worse. “Then you will live long enough to face his judgment.”

Magnolia turned her attention back to the captured summoner, looking him dead in the face as she leaned over and made eye contact with him. She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure where to start. They had to keep him alive long enough so that she would have an opportunity to think about it. "From what I understand, the injuries this one inflicted on poor sweet V were so severe that it caused him to awaken his demonic blood. He then turned the tables on this one here and slammed him through a conduit, nearly causing it to go critical. It's still in rough shape, but it appears to be stable for the time being. Another thing we will have to worry about because of this one."

Coughing again, Agreus nodded feebly in response to her statement. He had no objections to make. There was no point. V had certainly done that, and to say that he had been shocked by the sudden turning of tables would be an understatement. He hadn't sensed the slightest bit of demonic power coming off of that child until the moment that he had sent a shock wave of it slamming into every edge of the cave. The next thing he'd known, he'd been within the grips of one of the most powerful devils he had ever encountered. It had been utterly mind-shattering, and his respect for his opponent could not be understated. After all, he’d nearly died shock before almost being literally ripped apart but V’s bare hands, and he hadn’t even been at his full strength. No, those who wronged him lived purely at his behest. He’d gotten a glimpse of what V could do, and a part of him had relished the opportunity to see him flex that power again, but nothing he’d done to provoke him into displaying it again had garnered the slightest bit of effort on the white hair’s part. It was hard to explain. But then again neither were some of the other emotions he felt towards him. It was hard to understand just how much he wanted to speak with V at this point in time. He wasn't sure they had much to talk about, but it would be interesting, nonetheless. Perhaps he would hold on at least that long.

Aluta approached quietly, standing with her sisters as they waited for the gateway that they needed to open to appear. They would fetch Sirrus from his safe place within the confines of the car once they knew that it was safe to proceed. But until that time, they were going to have quite a bit of waiting to do. They had given an exact time, but all of them got the impression that something just wasn't right. But until the gateway opened, they had no way of knowing, and they simply hoped that everything would be all right until then.

(-~-)

Morgan sincerely regretted every aspect of the plan that had led them to this outcome.

The trio said barricaded behind a large door, Hydrangea in the process of turning some massive sphere to attempt to pinpoint the exact location of where her relatives were. She had her eyes closed, clearly concentrating on honing in on their energy as Magnolia's bird sat mere inches away from her, working as a sort of channeling device.

After what felt like a lifetime considering the number of demons that were outside of the door vying to get inside to kill them and harvest their blood, she felt the door shift, and something in the room changed. A sort of electric hum became audible as they watched a blue glowing light coat the edges of the black doorway in front of them, its round arch filling up to the middle with a sort of standing water that seemed to ripple like the surface of a lake. The symbols that adorned the outer edge of the frame glowed brightly, working as a sort of indicator as to what was going on despite the fact that she couldn't read a single bit of it. The strange energy that encompassed it radiated off of the door, filling the entire room with a brilliant but haunting light as a cold breeze chillier than any HVAC system could achieve slammed into the room, bringing with it particles of what appeared to be snow and ash. And all the while, she could smell smoke and flame. She wasn't sure if that came from within the home or the other side of the doorway, but either way, something was burning.

This was something clearly beyond the pale that she had no reason to try to comprehend or be exposed to, but they were far beyond the point where that mattered. It was actually fascinating, if she was being perfectly honest. She wasn’t afraid. She just hoped that the magical artifact that she had been gifted by hydrangea would be enough to protect her should the doors fail, and she and Brenowon were doing everything in their power to keep the door closed. The wood could split, and the hinges could bend, much as they were now, but she would not let go of the door. It was the only thing between them and the hordes of demons outside of the door. They would have to take her down with it.

Off in the distance, she could swear that she heard the sound of gunshots and the clanging of swords, the shouting of voices that she did not recognize apparent but still not immediately helpful to her. She had no doubt that Lady, Trish, and Lucia were still alive. It was going to take more than a hoard of weaker demons to take them out. This was not their first rodeo, that much was clear. They had been holding their own for the better part of two weeks, so this siege on the house was probably nothing more than an exhausting inconvenience for them. That being said, she hoped that they were able to reach this end of the house quickly. They knew that shouting at them probably wasn't going to help considering the sheer amount of noise, but they had tried it moments ago, and a part of her hoped that they had been heard. She had not come this far to die behind a locked door. She would fight, but she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t need help. They all did.

Moments later, a foot stepped through the doorway, bringing ash and snow with it as they stepped through the doorway and into the brightly lit room. The figure in white robes was led by Flora, genuinely a sight for sore eyes. Morgan wasn't sure whether or not She would be able to do anything to help, but she was glad to see her safe either way. She'd seen enough good people get hurt today.

Willow and Magnolia followed shortly behind her, pulling what appeared to be some sort of hotel luggage cart with them. And on the cart was a figure with red hair bundled into a pile of bloody blankets. It was Sirrus, and even without being able to see most of his body, she could tell that he wasn't doing well. She had no idea what had gone so wrong, and last she had checked, the red-haired man was supposed to be in the underworld with V and his family! There had clearly been a massive change of plans at the last minute. Either that or… No! She couldn't think that. He had to be alright! She couldn't ask just yet, but she had to know that he was okay. That all of them were okay. None of them deserved to suffer because of the machinations of one individual and his set of pawns.

"Something's going on, isn't it darlings?" Magnolia asked tiredly as the door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the torrent of cold air and seasonal weather that had been carried through behind them. She didn’t even need to ask, let alone look. It appeared that she had noticed that they were holding the door shut, and couldn't help but chuckle to herself in exhausted disbelief as she realized that something had gone horribly wrong while she was gone. She literally couldn't step out of the house for a few minutes without the apocalypse rolling up to the front door, could she? One of the perks of knowing the Sons of Sparda.

Brenowon Not an agreement as he turned around, pressing his back to the door in an attempt to keep it closed. Upon seeing Agreus, He growled and raced forward, lunging at the summoner in an attempt to exact some sort of vengeance upon him. It was clear that he genuinely hated him, even if he hadn't spoken a word about it previously.

"You sick bastard! I can't even believe you're still alive! You were going to hurt my sister!" He snarled as He raced forward and decked his former cult master in the jaw, nearly sending him careening to the floor if not for the fact that Flora was holding him up under one arm. She made no move to stop him, but Morgan pulled him back, understanding her brother's fury, but entirely unwilling to allow him to exact his vengeance right now. As much as she hated to admit it, they had better things to do at the moment than tell the summoner a piece of their mind. Still, she turned and looked at the man in the long robes, fury evident in her eyes as she realized this was the man who had been willing to hand her over to a demon Prince to do with as he pleased simply at the behest of that very same monster. And for what? Power?

She let Bren go but for hauling back, running, and kicking him in the knee so hard that this time he did buckle, falling to the floor and nearly hitting his head on the podium that held the spherical control device for the door. He groaned and discomfort, seemingly shocked at just how hard she had kicked him. She then stepped back and folded her arms, shaking her head as she sighed in discontent. She wasn't even sure where to start with him. Perhaps it was best that she just not bother? That was going to be her policy for the moment. How lucky for him.

Magnolia patted both of them on the shoulder before stepping forward and unlatching the lock on the door, cracking her knuckles as she adjusted her shoulders. She then held out her hands in front of her, and the air pressure in the room changed before the door slammed open and a torrent of strong wind shot down the hallway like an air cannon, eviscerating the demons in front of her, and slamming any that had the temerity to remain in the hallway back a few dozen feet into the wall at the far end of the hall, knocking the wind out of all of those present who were on her side in the process as their backs hit the nearest wall on either side of them. There had to be at least 20 of them, but as she snapped her fingers and Porter staff from her back, her bird surged forward and a hail of lightning went shooting down the corridor, enveloped in the thundering wind that carried downward strike. The demons cried out in momentary terror before being reduced to nothing more than I said pile of dust on what would otherwise have been an immaculate floor. She then stepped forward and gestured for the rest of them to follow her, making her way down the hallway in a sort of hurried walk as they made their way back towards the entrance hall. She knew a shortcut back. A door behind one of the bookcases that only worked one way in case of emergencies. And considering how badly hurt Sirrus was, this certainly counted as one.

"We need to make our way to the infirmary wing. Posthaste. And we'll have to fight our way there. Are you prepared to do that, young ones? Willow said if she looked over at Morgan and Bren, Flora standing just behind them still holding the beleaguered Agreus in her grip. She knew that neither of their young guests were warriors, but these were low-level demons that shouldn't pose too much danger to them so long as they kept their wits about them and stayed aggressive.

Bren grabbed the nearest thing that he could get his hands on. It was a sort of metal lantern stand that resembled a candelabra. Not the best weapon, but completely adequate given the circumstances. They'd only been given enough time to grab one magical artifact, and he had insisted that his sister take it. He hadn’t the slightest idea how to use magic anyway, and although his sister didn't either, he wanted to give her the best chance of surviving in spite of her numerous protests to the contrary.

Morgan clutched the small piece of carved stone in her pocket that Hydrangea had gifted her on the way down here. According to her, it was a training talisman gifted to children who were starting to learn their power. She had been told that if she possessed the aptitude, the stone would be able to protect her. She wasn't sure what that aptitude might be, but she had been told a phrase to recite should she need to use it, and it was burned into her psyche, perhaps as a result of her adamant desire to not die here. She exhaled heavily and nodded. They were going to make it to the far wing of the building, and they were going to do it now. None of these demons were going to stop them from saving Sirrus.

"Let's do this." She said firmly, her eyes locked on the task ahead. Everyone here had fought to protect her from the forces of the underworld. It was her turn to help protect them. “I’m not scared of these weak assholes anymore. Let’s take them out.”

(-~-)

This is it, folks! 6k Words! This chapter felt good to write, not gonna lie! You know what’s coming next week, don’t you?! Chapters 99 and 100 (Seriously, wtf I really can't get to the point, can I lol?!) are going to be one hell of a ride, and I simply cannot WAIT to have you read them. I have a long week of writing ahead of me, and you have a lot of anxiety lol! Get the tissues ready because we're about to play Soliloquy Saga: Prepare to Cry Edition! OMG, I am so fucking cringe I can’t stand it…

Hope you all had a good week! See you in the comments, and I’ll see you all next week! I have a lot of planning to do this weekend! Again, sorry for the late upload! The day just kind of slipped away from me.

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sleepylixie · 3 years

Text

Only Fools Rush In

Crown Prince! Jeongin X fem! Reader

Fantasy AU, Loose retelling of Sleeping Beauty.

7k words, Platonic pairing, Beware of non-graphic mentions of death( only mentions, with respect to curses and dark magical behaviour ), slight violence in fight scenes (not explicit at all), NO mentions of blood.

Songs: Can’t Help Falling in Love(DARK) - Tommee Profitt // Tomorrow We Fight - Tommee Profitt ft. Svrcina

|| Prologue ||

A/N: @magicbehindwords hello, Carolyn! Tis me, your Secret Santa!! Man, you have the chillest vibes, I really enjoyed figuring out this fic for you! I had something entirely different planned, but you saying you enjoyed a good high fantasy read ended with me happily derailing and plunging into the Fantasy Woods instead xD I hope you enjoy this offering(I know it’s really late hhh I’m vv sorry T^T)

There will be one more fic joining my pair of Christmas gift fics! As a part of @hanflix With Love, Chistmas holiday collab, I will be posting a Jisung fic soon! Anyways, onto the fic!! Do let me know what you think, my ask box is open! ~

Drop me an Ask! || Masterlist

It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful. - F. Scott Fitzgerald

1-JEONGIN

“.....Crown Princess of the Western Isles.”

An elegantly dressed young lady stood before Jeongin, her hair falling over her shoulders as she sank into a neat curtsy. He cursed himself for not catching her name during her herald. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” her voice was a smooth serenade, the words rising and falling in an unfamiliar accent . Her eyes didn’t flit away from his gaze or widen in flirtation, but maintained a steady gaze akin to his own. Jeongin’s brow arched slightly- she was brazen, playfully so.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” He bowed back slightly, suppressing a sigh at the repeated action he was forced to perform. He had been meeting the multitude of ladies Ataloria had to offer for what felt like time immemorial. It was the same old thing, over and over again- bow, exchange pleasantries, have them whisked away by the herald before speaking about anything of consequence. The hall was abuzz with quiet laughter and chatter, the excitement palpable for the biggest celebration the kingdom had seen in centuries- The Rose Gala.

Ataloria was a kingdom ruled by women ever since it’s conception- queens of enormous power, wealth and cunning who turned the once tiny valley town into the biggest empire of its confederation. While a queen could rule Ataloria solo, a royal son would require a woman in wedlock to rule with him, cementing his place on the throne for him. To make sure their kingdom’s prince found a suitable wife before his coronation, the tradition of The Rose Gala was born.

In the son’s 18th year, a celebration would be held in Ataloria inviting ladies from every corner of the kingdom to the Rose Palace(his home) for a chance at the Crown Prince’s hand. Such was the fairness of the bygone queens- they believed that nobility was a reflection of character, not blood.

“May I have this dance, Your Highness?” Jeongin met the princess’ eyes, surprised- none of the previous ladies he’d met had yet to ask him for a dance, but here was this princess, her twinkling eyes matching her smile as she held her gloved hand out. A smile pulled up the side of his lips as he accepted her hand, leading her into the centre of the dance floor. She was bold, playfully so- he liked it.

The band picked up a soulful waltz piece as Jeongin swept the princess into his arms, the two of them melting naturally against each other as they began to move. She was well- trained, Jeongin noted, because she moved with fluid ease, balancing her movements with his despite this being their first dance together.

“How has the Gala been so far, Your Highness?” Her accent was less pronounced than it was before, but Jeonign shrugged it off. It was likely because he was getting accustomed to it. “It has been quite an interesting affair, my lady. I hope the preparations for your arrival and living have been up to your standards.”

“You live in a beautiful city, Your Highness” she giggled lightly as Jeongin twirled her out and back into his arms, unfaltering in their motions. “Yes, the capital of Ataloria has lived up to the many expectations that us outlanders had of it… But I wonder, Are you always this formal?” He allowed a smile of his own to creep up his face- her stubbornly casual behaviour intrigued him more than he’d like to admit. “If you insist on thinking me formal, I must insist that you address me by my chosen name and not by my title… your name, my lady?”

An amused grin lit up the princess’ face, her hand tightening almost infinitesimally on his shoulder as the music crescendoed to a high.

“Y/N, Your Highness. My name is Y/N.”

2-JEONGIN

The moon was creeping higher in the sky when Jeongin slipped into the highest tower in the north wing. It had been a struggle to slip away from The Rose Gala, a faked headache finally allowing him to rush back to his chambers and gather up his belongings so he could sneak his way to the North Tower.

His previous princely outfit had been exchanged to lighter, more rugged garments of the darkest black, embroidered with threads of silver. A snicker bubbled to his lips at the thought of the ladies in the Rose Hall, of how they’d react if they saw their sweet yet aloof prince like this- scratching a pentagram onto the stone floor with an air of familiarity he hadn’t exhibited to them.

Spellcasting had been a guilty passion for Jeongin ever since he sat in on his mother’s meeting with the silver-eyed spellcaster coven that resided just outside Ataloria’s borders, thoroughly intrigued by how they wove enchantment into words and items like it was second nature. He was forbidden from interacting with them, however. His mother told him that some knowledge was beyond the ears of an ordinary mortal and such boundaries must be respected without error.

However, curiosity had driven him to swipe a few books from the coven elders, fascinated by all the information that lay between the covers. It became a habit to steal some of the spellcasters’ books during their visits, replicate them as soon as possible and return them to their original resting place in the coven’s temporary living chambers.

Over time and innumerable incidents of trial and error, he learnt to wield the energy that thrummed in the world around him. Starting from simple levitation, he worked his way through more and more complex spells as his capabilities expanded. Not a single soul knew about the prince’s penchant for spellcasting- it was a secret he guarded fiercely, for fear that he would be frowned upon and misunderstood for communing with dark spirits.

Sitting back on his haunches, Jeongin admired his handiwork- purple candles decorating the cardinal directions on the pentagram, the flames flickering a warm yellow. 5 crystals lay in a circle in the center of the pentagram, all identical in shape but unique in shade. Sigils of protection, enhancement and power decorated the edges and also littered the floor in a circle around him.

Since most of his arcane knowledge came more from reading than practicing, he’d spent months in this very tower room, mouthing the incantations until he was fluent in the foreign language and practicing drawing the sigils until he could draw them in his sleep. There was too much at stake with this spell to get something wrong- the safety of Ataloria, to be specific.

Saying the first words of the incantation out loud stirred something wild in his veins, instantly feeling every wave of energy throbbing around him. It was darker, stronger, almost turbulent in nature, unlike the freely flowing, easily shaped energy he’d always encountered before. But he would endure, because this spell was not a question of just his capabilities, but also the country he’d one day rule.

This Winter Solstice night, he would cast the biggest spell of his short life as a spellcaster.

This Winter Solstice night, he would cast a warding spell around the Atalorian borders.

If everything went perfectly, the warding spell would need no renewal- it would transcend the life of the caster and instead be latched to the power of the kingdom’s crown.

Shivers of cold anticipation slid over his body as the energy began to swirl around the pentagram, his focus honed to a razor sharp edge as his words began to bend it to his will. It was time.

3-JEONGIN

Jeongin knew that something was wrong the second he stepped out of the tower. The Rose Gala wasn’t the quietest affair; the muted sounds of string instruments and chatter had rung through the walls until he cast a sound-dampening spell around the North Tower. Now, despite lifting the spell and stepping out… an eerie silence hung in the air, heavy and stifling. There was none of the merry-making that he’d heard before.

Keeping to the shadows, he crept down the corridor towards the main staircase and stopped short. The guards posted near the sliding doors of the north wing were fast asleep, leaning against the wall and slumped onto the floor. A shiver slithered down Jeongin’s spine. This wasn’t normal. The guards in the palace were nowhere close to lax in security, especially during nights of revelry.

Catching hold of one guard’s shoulder, he shook him hard, hoping that the jostling would wake him up. But he only crumpled to the floor, completely unaware of the world. Almost like he was….no, He couldn’t be. Jeongin fell to his knees before the man, scrabbling for a pulse at the man’s wrist- no, he was alive. Very much so. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he got to his feet, warily scanning the top of the main staircase on the other side of the sliding doors. The silence was almost deafening as he made his way towards the staircase, looking down at the main lobby of the castle-

Everybody was asleep.

It was almost like a wave of sleep had taken over every guard, guest and staff in the palace, rendering them silent and slumped on the floor the second they encountered it. A maid was leant against a pillar, a tray of champagne lying toppled next to her. A herald lay on the floor, curled up next to the skirts of a slumbering lady in red silk.

Stumbling away from the bannister, he collapsed on the top stair, a rush of panic overwhelming him- was he at fault for this? Surely he wasn’t… But what if he was? What had he done wrong? Was the timing off? How was he to fix this?? What was he going to do-

That was when he heard it.

Cutting through the thick silence was a husky, haunting melody, singing words that tore through his mind, bringing back faded childhood memories. He remembered being afraid first, finding solace next in the voice and its wistful song. As he grew up, his slumber came faster and deeper, rendering him unable to listen to the walls’ song. But he didn’t forget the words. He never did.

However, the voice didn’t echo from the walls the way he remembered- this time, it was coming from the very hall The Rose Gala was held in.

“Wise men say only fools rush in...

But I can’t help falling in love with you…”

The voice continued singing the same lines as Jeongin hurried down the staircase and towards the hall, the open doors spilling the chandeliers’ lights into the modestly candle lit corridor. The marble floor of the hall was laden with ladies’ skirts and gentlemen’s capes and cloaks, every single person including his dear parents and family fast asleep- except for one.

Y/N.

Jeongin watched as she sang to herself, her arms held out almost as if she was… she was waltzing with somebody. There was something so haunting about the sight to Jeongin- maybe it was the song that spilled so easily from her lips or the way she danced with nobody but the air to accompany her. Her skirts clutched in one hand, she swept back and forth in front of one of the windows, the only person awake amongst a sea of sleeping people.

“Wise men say only fools rush in...

But I can’t help falling in love with you…”

“You can come in, Your Highness.” her voice lacked the Isle accent he heard before-if anything, she had the exact same accent as his own. “This is, after all, your palace.”

So much for staying hidden. Jeongin cautiously stepped into the hall, eyes narrow as he marked her every movement. But she was calm as she dropped her arms to her sides, turning to face him from across the hall, her smile the exact same as before- brazen, confident, playful.

“Do you have something to do with this, Y/N?” He demanded, his voice quivering with the pent-up panic he was struggling to control. “Oh no, Your Highness,” Y/N responded, beginning to pick her way across the sleeping people towards him. “That’s the question I must ask you. What did you do to my home?”

Jeongin instantly stiffened, one hand going to his belt for his dagger and the other, encompassed in ice-cold hoarfrost. There was no point in hiding his powers, especially if he was alone with…. Whoever she was. To his shock, her eyes lit up in joyous surprise. “Oh, I see you’ve learnt to conjure the elements. You’ve come far in your spellcasting studies, Your Highness.”

“Greetings, Your Highness. I am Y/N, the guardian of the Rose Palace.”

“Oh, this sweet girl?” she raised her arm before brushing back her intricately curled hair with an uncaring flick of her hand. “ Her name is Yelina. She asked me to… assist her in courting you. I assure you, Your Highness, I’m not from the Western Isles nor do I have the need to spy on you.”

“Assist? Yelin- What are you going on about?” Jeongin’s temper finally reached a fever pitch, his voice raising in frustration. “I expect a straight answer from you, whatever your name is. Who are you, and do you have anything to do with this?”

The young lady in front of him dipped into a bow- it wasn’t the neat curtsy he’d seen at the beginning of the night. This was a deep, sweeping bow, almost mocking in nature as she nearly knelt to the floor and rose in one fluid motion.

Her eyes were silver when they met his, a stark contrast from the dark eyes that had peered out of her face before. “And you, young prince, have just caused trouble you might not be able to mend.”

“How do you know that, Y/N?” Jeongin’s voice was as cold as the ice wreathing his fingers, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his rising anger in check. “Do the Western Isles dare to spy on its future monarch?”

Just as Jeongin began to advance toward her, his eyes blazing with fury at her twisted answers, a velvet soft laugh from the doors cut through his haze of anger. He caught the way Y/N’s face paled, her demeanour stiffening as she caught sight of who stood behind him. Whirling around, he saw a man walk into the hall, his plump lips pulled back in a satisfied smirk.

“How very quaint of you, guardian.”

His voice was dark, almost sensual in it’s smoothness, a terrible age ringing in every syllable. His hair was a deep purple, drizzled with streaks of white that hung inelegantly over his eyes. A dark cloak fastened at one shoulder fluttered around his feet as he moved further into the hall. There was something wrong with this man, Jeongin realized as his grip tightened on his dagger. The energy in the room had taken a nosedive with his arrival, leaving him with barely a few strands to hold onto.

“Nobody nor the stars give a damn about your opinion, Chris.”

Jeongin started at Y/N’s cold voice ringing from next to him, her eyes narrowed in derision as she stared down the purple-haired man. However, the man wasn’t fazed in the least, his smile only widening in response. “Is that any way to talk to your elder, young one?”

That was when Jeongin noticed the flash of quicksilver in Chris’ eyes- identical to Y/N’s.

Spellcasters.

4- Y/N

“You’re no more my elder than that band of heathens you used to lead.” you spit, stepping in front of Jeongin. You could sense his surprise as he watched your form change- hair turning white, your forehead wreathed with icy blue flames. It probably must be quite overwhelming for him, but you couldn’t spare that much throught- Chris was not to touch a single strand of his hair, stars be damned.

“You’re not welcome here, Chris. Begone.”

“When has that ever stopped me, little one?” Chris’ silver eyes narrowed in a sardonic smile- only, it wasn’t a smile but a soulless show of teeth. “Besides,the intention of my visit was only to extend a hand of gratitude to the crown prince behind you.”

To his credit, Jeongin didn’t so much as flinch, matching Chris’s stare for icy stare. “From the guardian’s stance, I presume your hand of gratitude isn’t one to clamour for.” A rueful smile dragged your lips upward; Jeongin had never been the type to mince his words.

“I must insist, Your Majesty,” Chris’ very stance glittered with the stench of malice, your magic tingling unpleasantly around you. “Or must I call you Jeongin, for you will not remain a royal much longer?”

“I’ll stop you right there.” You growled, fists clenching as blue flames sparked alive in your hands again. “Do not speak of the crown prince that way.”

“Or what, little one?” Chris laughed aloud. “Will your sweet crown prince run his country to doom yet again?”

“W-What-” Jeongin spluttered behind you, confused and bewildered. Chris cut through his stammered sentence, his words carrying over Jeongin’s. “Your spell backfired, princeling. Instead of protecting your kingdom, you sent them all to the one place where they’d never be harmed- their sleep. If only you knew the nuances of spellcasting. Stolen knowledge can only do so much, you know. I allowed you to steal the books, foolish mortal boy. Did you really think you were sneaky enough to swipe from spellcasters??” Chris snarled mockingly at you and Jeongin. You could sense the terror rippling off your prince; taste it like copper on your tongue.

“ Your kingdom will fall to death soon, all because you couldn’t keep your sticky mortal hands to yourself and mess with power you don’t deserve to know, princeling. All of this,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide in sinful exultation, “Will belong to the heathens Y/N spoke about-” And a spear of fire threw him off his feet, sending him flying and crumpling against the far wall.

Stalking towards his prone figure, you pulled him up and slammed him against the wall, your hands clutching his cloak. A line of blue blood trickled down from his hairline to your sick satisfaction, his lips pulled back in a pained snarl. A snake of your flames bound his arms together as you stared him down, silver for silver.

“This kingdom has never been yours, neither will it ever be.” Your voice was soft, icy, pointed. “It belongs to Ataloria now and stars be damned if I don’t make sure it stays that way.”

“You’re a traitor to your own kind, Y/N.” Chris spat in your face, struggling against the flames around his wrists. “Do what you wish to stop this. You and I both know this curse will be fulfilled by that foolish mortal you protect. You’ll get your comeuppance when your princeling’s folly renders this kingdom obsolete,little one. That’s a promise.”

With those final jarring words, he disappeared in a plume of red smoke, leaving you alone with a shell-shocked Jeongin and Ataloria’s sleeping citizens.

5- Y/N

“The land that Ataloria stands on is home to a lot more history than you know, Your Highness.” You bustled into the basement kitchen with the prince at your heels. Jeongin slumped in a chair at the wooden table, his head hidden in his hands. You couldn’t recognize if it was fear, regret or anger, because the only thing you could sense from the prince was a mixture of emotions too complex to gauge.

The both of you had spent the last couple of hours placing temporary warding charms over the entirety of Ataloria- If your brother could break in, god knows what else could. It was no mean feat, especially for two spellcasters and a vast country. But Jeongin rose to the task, his brow furrowed with concentration as he burned perfectly drawn sigils onto the map and spoke incantations with a clear, soulless tongue. The sun rose as you worked on the warding charms- it was bordering early afternoon by the time you led him to the kitchen. It fascinated you how easily the craft came to him; it wasn’t natural for a mortal with no magic in his veins.

“I don’t want to hear it, Y/N.” He sounded small, exhausted, shattered. The night must have been extremely overwhelming for him, you realized. The pressure of being responsible for an entire kingdom’s destruction must not be the easiest weight to carry. “If you’re guardian of this palace, then why didn’t you do something to stop me?” You could hear the blame, the self-loathing in every sentence, but you let him speak. “All these years, you watched me through the walls, sang me lullabies, but didn’t bother to stop me from digging myself a spellcaster grave.”

You gulped, pulling yourself together as you took a seat next to Jeongin. This was not going to be an easy story.

“Your Highness-”

“Call me Jeongin.”

“This story possibly holds the key to righting the wrongs of the night past. Do yourself the favour of listening, Jeongin.” A wave of his hand and straightened posture signalled you to speak, the only response you received.

“The entirety of the Southern Sphere was ruled by spellcasters, their power much greater than those of the spellcasters in your country. Then, this area was called Erus Nox. The spellcasters ruled with great pride and fairness- mortal and Spellcaster coexisting amongst each other with great peace. The capital was not too far from what you now call the Western Isles. Over the centuries, corruption began to take root as it did in any great empire. Many spellcasters did not believe that mortals deserved rights equal to their own, that mortals were the inferior race because of the magic their veins couldn’t hold.

“Soon enough, there were mortal killings in the bowels of the city.News reached my- the Spellcaster King and he ordered his cavalry to round up the perpetrators and have them publicly sentenced to the gallows for breaking the peace. That decision didn’t sit well with the spellcaster nobility, who were now driven to believe that the King.. our king favoured the mortals more than his own blood. Rumors were circulated that the royal family were weak beings, pandering to the whims of their mortal population...it wasn’t true. None of it was. But it spread like wildfire, and suddenly there were mass killings in the suburban areas and the noble circle every other day.”

“Wait, how do you know so much about this?” Jeongin asked you suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. “This clearly isn’t common information. Were you.. Were you one of the rebel forces?!”

“No, you impatient brat.” You bit out, your clenched fists creasing crescent shaped indents into your palms as Jeongin stopped short at your unfamiliar, condescending tone. “If you absolutely must know, I was the crown princess of Erus Nox. Don’t interrupt me, or I will freeze your mouth shut.” A glimmer of amusement flashed past Jeongin eyes at the barely-veiled threat, aware of how different you sounded from barely minutes ago. He nodded at you to continue, so you did.

“My father and I were particularly outspoken against the heathens ravaging the country. We did everything in our power to curb the nonsense, the fanaticism of the rabid spellcaster rebellion. Towards the final days of the… the era, my family and I rallied the mortals and sent them to the closest mortal-dominated towns in the country. By the time the last human group left, it was too late.

“The rebels broke down the wards and- and sent nearly my entire family to the darkness. My father and I fought until we were forcibly subdued. I was made to watch as my father breathed his last, strung up to the throne I was meant to inherit.”

“From his last dying breaths, my father cursed the entire kingdom to fall apart the second he passed. He cursed the land to only cater to a mortal queen when the right lady stepped up, and continue to have only queens in power- may the masses be ruled by the very race they considered inferior. But before he could complete his incantation, he passed into the darkness.”

“Because of the holes his incomplete incantation left behind, the rebel forces brought in Chris to lighten the weight of the curse.- my trusted advisor and confidant,” You shook your head bitterly, the betrayal still ice in your spine. “He was my trusted advisor and confidant, a spellcaster inferior in power only to my family.

“He had no choice but to let the mortal queens part run its course- but he wrote into existence that one day, a mortal prince with a penchant for spellcasting would be born. When he came of age, he would prick himself on the sharp edge that is the art of spellcasting and bring down disaster upon the kingdom as he knows it. At which point, the crown-less kingdom would be ripe for the spellcasters’ picking, heralding the royal son’s folly as a reason for the mortals’ inability to rule- Erus Nox would be restored in all it’s bloody glory for these savage, power-drunk hordes.”

“As for me, well,” You let out a bitter laugh. “Chris had other plans for me. He had resented being my subordinate all along, and took the opportunity to even out his petty grudge. He bound my soul to the castle that was meant to become my home after my coronation, forcing me to watch Erus Nox’s destruction from what was meant to be my chosen headquarters.”

You sighed as you struggled to keep your voice steady, bluntly ignoring the glance of pity that Jeongin sent to you. “He magically sewed my lips shut, forbade me from speaking about the curse and the crusade to anybody, destroying most of my magic reserve and reducing me to.. Well, Guardian of the Rose Palace. But it seems,” you grinned wickedly, your demeanour switching instantly from forlorn to...wild and wicked. “Chris has always had a chronic problem of underestimating me, despite having to trail after my skirts for decades on end. He weakened his curse on me in the heat of the moment back in the hall, when he told me to do what I wish to stop him.” Jeongin’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping in surprise.

“S-So, you’re free?”

“Well,” you cocked your head in thought. “As free as I can be, without a body to inhabit. This young lady’s body is already quite tired out from the exertion I put her through…. But that’s besides the point.” Your eyes glittered in thinly veiled joy, tinged with malice. “This time, he’s truly going to get what’s coming for him.”

6- JEONGIN

“Chris left a glaring loophole in his incantation. It was a possibility he didn’t entertain, because it was a sheer impossibility in his eyes.” Jeongin listened closely as Y/N laid out the information she’d gathered over the years, and the conclusions she’d arrived at from it. The two of them were still sitting at the table where Y/N told him about the story of Erus Nox. His heart was heavy from the pain he felt from her words- being a prisoner in the same castle you were meant to rule from must have been the worst kind of pain to bear.

“..He did not consider the possibility of the mortal prince being alive to right the wrong he had committed.”

Jeongin gasped, sitting up straight in surprise. “That seems like a stupid possibility to overlook.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Jeongin.” You chuckled. “It was quite by chance that I noticed the discrepancy, but yes. Chris’ curse will be obsolete if you undo the spell you wrongly cast.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the chair. “How do you propose we do that?”

Y/N’s fingertips pressed against each other, her elbows balanced on the table edge. “That warding spell you tried to cast- show me what you did. If we were to find out where you went wrong and undo it, Ataloria must likely be revived.”

Jeongin rubbed the back of his neck in thought, processing Y/N’s words. “How long will it take for you to find my errors?”

“Depends on how long the incantation is. ”

“Then what are we waiting for? You know where the North Tower is.”

“Stars above, Chris is a nasty hellhound for letting you swipe this book,” Y/N cursed, carefully taking the book from him and flipping it open. “This book contains incantations that even the most seasoned spellcasters of the current age can’t cast right.” Jeongin’s shoulders slumped as he took a seat on the floor next to her kneeling form.

Stepping carefully over the throngs of peacefully slumbering people, Jeongin led Y/N up to the North Tower. The room was as he’d left it- chalk smudges and bits of purple wax dotting the floor. Pulling open a dusty drawer, Jeongin picked out the book he’d taken the incantation from.

“I really should have kept my nose out of spellcasting. “He muttered softly, watching her turn the brittle browned pages carefully. “Would have saved the world a lot of trouble.”

“You’re such a self-absorbed little thing,” Y/N quipped, still absorbed in the pages of the spellbook. “This was your destiny, one that Chris wrote for you. You’d have come across spellcasting and fallen in love with its craft in one way or another. Besides, you’re in the presence of a master spellcaster- Oh, is it this one?” Y/N pointed at the page in front of her.

Jeongin nodded miserably. “Yes, that’s the one. This is the modification I came up with.” He pulled out a dog-eared, heavily scribbled piece of paper from between the book’s leaves, handing it to her.

“You’ve got some balls trying this incantation without any formal training, that too with modifications!!” Y/N exclaimed, scanning the pages of the incantation. “I’m surprised that an eternal sleep is all you caused after ruining it.If you had cast this right, it would have completely removed the possibility of a siege on Ataloria’s borders ever again.”

“I know. That was why I took the risk of casting it. It would have been ideal to protect the borders.”

“No, you don’t get it.” She spared him a glance laden with calculated curiosity, “This spell is extremely volatile, because of the number of variables it includes- even more so with your changes. It’s strong enough to ward away any mortal or spellcaster who isn’t welcome within its borders. This could decimate the spellcaster siege, if you recast it right. It’s… It’s genius. You’re better than I anticipated.”

“It was all for naught, I ruined it regardless,” Jeongin sighed. “If you’re that good of a spellcaster, can you undo and recast the spell instead?”

“I am still a spirit, so the doors to these kinds of spellcasting are closed to me.” You frowned. “It will take me a long time and power I am yet to find to cast a body for myself, so the fastest way to revive Ataloria would be for you to undo the spell with my guidance.”

An iceberg lodged itself into Jeongin’s heart at the thought of having to cast a spell again. He swallowed thickly, the fear turning his thoughts slow and sluggish. “I’m not sure that is a good idea. I’m clearly not meant to dabble in spellcasting, I’m but a mortal-”

“Does spellcasting make your blood sing, Jeongin?”

It only took Jeongin a split- second’s thought to answer her question. “Yes.”

“Then why must you be scared of failure?” Y/N’s eyebrow arched. “Even spellcasters make mistakes. That doesn’t stop us from pursuing the craft, does it? Also..you’re not alone now, Jeongin.” She placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “ This craft was never meant to be exclusive. I knew mortal spellcasters who bent energy to their will much better than many spellcasters by blood. You’re a natural at this. I believe in you.”

Jeongin’s face crumpled as a few tears escaped his eyes unbidden. The idea of pursuing spellcasting beyond a hidden passion sent a thrill through his body despite the havoc his previous attempt had caused. The possibility of failure, as daunting as it was, only pushed him to practice more, be better- He wiped the tears away. If not for himself, at least for the good of Ataloria...

“Are you certain that this spell could protect Ataloria from future harm?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure of it.” she sounded confident; Jeongin had no reason to distrust her.

“You truly believe that I can undo the spell ?”

Y/N stood up, the book in one hand as she held out the other for him to take. “I do. Are you up for the challenge, Your Highness?” She used the title like a teasing nickname, her eyes creasing into a smile as Jeongin took her hand, hauling himself to his feet.

“As much as I’ll ever be.”

7-JEONGIN

“Do you remember everything I told you?” Y/N leaned against the door of the North Tower, watching closely as Jeongin went through the same preparations as last night. The pentagram and sigils drawn, the crystals and candles laid out, Y/N’s paper of corrections and developments on the new spell clutched in Jeongin’s hand.

“Yes, I think so.” He huffed out a breath, the air fogging in front of him. The sun had set, giving way to the twilight darkness. This night was eerily similar to the night before- the sun was high in the sky, the stars against the cloudless sky. But tonight, his kingdom’s fate hung in the balance, because a group of magical elitists couldn’t admit defeat.

“Thank you, Y/N.” His gratitude clearly caught Y/N off-guard, judging from her widened eyes and parted lips. “Oh- I-”

His thoughts wandered to the people that lay deep in slumber around the castle and the kingdom- his people. Their fate and safety lay in his untrained novice spellcaster hands. Jeongin’s jaw tightened, his resolve strengthened. He would do everything right this time around, no matter what it took. For his people.

Before she could answer, a resounding boom ripped through the tower, shaking the floor under their feet. Amidst the pebbles and tiles falling from the ceiling, Jeongin saw Y/N hurry to the window in the tower wall, her expression shifting from confusion to fury.

“Chris realized his mistake.” The words sent a chill down Jeongin’s spine. The energy-sucking feeling he’d felt in Chris’ presence was one he did not wish to encounter again-

“I’ll hold him off,” Y/N’s brow and wrists blazed in the same icy blue fire he’d seen that morning, her silver eyes flashing dangerously. “No matter what, don’t step out of the room, do you understand?”

That was when Jeongin saw the silver line etched at the entrance of the door, a flare of silvery energy encompassing the entire room around him- A forcefield. Y/N stood on the other side, her voice loud yet muffled as another explosion rocked the foundations of the tower. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND, JEONGIN??”

The energy that picked up around him was as wild as he remembered, a hurricane almost throwing him off his feet from the time he uttered the first words. If anything, it was almost chaotic, the wind screaming in his ears as he struggled to keep the incantation running. It was almost like the energy did not wish to be undone, rebelling against his attempts to right the wrong.

“YES, YES I DO!” He yelled, lunging for the spellbook that had fallen to the floor. He had no time to spare, maybe if he worked the incantation fast enough no harm would befall Y/N or his people, there were his people in the castle, he couldn’t mess up-

He could hear the distant crackle of fire and the screech of metal outside the forcefield- Y/N was making good on her word. It would only be fitting if he did the same.

8- Y/N

You dodged another arrow of ice, a hiss slipping through your teeth as you pulled yourself to your feet. “Tired already little one?” Chris called out, his fists ablaze with red-tinted ice. His eyes blazed a bright silver, almost white as he advanced towards you.

“You wish, blood traitor,” You snarled back, tossing a wave of shadow energy at Chris, but he only danced out of range. “It seems to be so!” He cackled, another gust of energy pushing you backwards on the smooth marble.

The two of you stood at the entrance to the North Tower, right outside the forcefield you’d left around Jeongin. You could only hope that he was doing everything you told him to do. You gritted your teeth, rallying what was left of your magic. Yelina’s body was strong, but she wasn’t a spellcaster. The constant magic use was taking a toll on her while the stress of inhabiting a mortal body taking a toll on you. Your magic wasn’t made to inhabit a mortal body for too long-you could only hope that the two of you held out long enough to give Jeongin the time he needed…It was time for some old-fashioned trickery.

“You can’t get through the forcefield I put around him even if you get past me, Chris. It’s beyond your capabilities.” You grinned at the way Chris’ eyes narrowed. You’d hit the right nerve. “I know for a fact you’re too proud to bring any of your heathens with you,” you taunted further, revelling in his clenched fists. “Keep your nasty tongue to yourself, Y/N-”

“You were embarrassed by the loophole you left, weren’t you?” the mocking sweetness in your tone had a growl ripping out of Chris’ throat, an angry vine of energy flying towards you. You ducked, allowing it to break through the plaster and cement of the wall behind you, a raucous laugh bubbling up your throat. Keep him occupied, keep him occupied until Jeongin completes the incantation-

“You came here alone to fix it. You’re just as I remember, Courtesan,” you exclaimed, dancing out of the way of Chris’ attacks, until one flash of lightning caught you unawares, slamming you against the wall. Chris’s purple hair was almost black in the darkness as he materialized in front of you, his snarl showing pulled back teeth ready to pounce. His hand tightened around your neck, squeezing slowly. “I should have killed you that day in the throne room-”

“ Social climbing, greedy, proud,” you choked on the little remaining air you had left in your lungs, defiantly staring Chris down. “Always overshadowed, can’t do a single thing right-”

“You little-”

Your eyes screwed shut, waiting for the final blow- which never came.

9-JEONGIN

“You- There’s no way you reversed the spell-” Chris screamed, his silvery bright eyes almost white in the moonlight darkness. He could feel Chris’ magic rebel against his own, the intensity almost enough to make Jeongin see stars, but he held on. His magic’s grip tightened on Chris, who choked and spluttered to silence.

“You’re not welcome here, Chris.” Jeongin’s voice was louder than he thought, bolts of magic bodily pulling him away from Y/N. She slumped to the ground, coughing and spluttering, but his attention was speared upon the thrashing man in the clutches of Jeongin’s roiling magic.

“Y/N told me you had a chronic problem of underestimating people.” He sounded calm, almost conversational to his own ears. How was he so calm?

“I must agree for tonight, a foolish mortal boy will be the reason for your downfall. I hope your entire association remembers that before ever thinking of laying siege upon my kingdom again. Leave, Chris. And never return.”

“I would not lay my bets on that, mortal scum.” Chris snarled, finally finding his tongue before dissolving into thin air, Jeongin’s magic letting him leave. The castle was alive yet again, with faint murmurs and loud screams. He could hear the sound of life everywhere- and it finally hit him. He succeeded.

An incredulous laugh spilled from his throat, almost instinctively moving towards Y/N as his grin grew wider. He’d succeeded, he saved them, he did it all by himself-

He knelt before her, gently helping her sit up and open her eyes.. Dark eyes that were decidedly not the silver he’d gotten accustomed to. It was Yelina that stared back at him, not Y/N- her eyes narrowed in exhaustion, the previous injuries inflicted by the fight against Chris nowhere to be seen.

“Y-Your Highness?” Yelina’s Isles accent was back in full force, and it was all he could do to school his face into a mask of bland relief. His tongue instantly cooked up a suitable lie for their location while his mind raced- where was Y/N? Why did she disappear ? Did he do something wrong again?

Until he heard it.

A husky, haunting melody that seemed to echo from within the walls of the castle, the sad melody sounding unmistakably joyous to his ears. Y/N hadn’t left, he realized. She was right here, as she always was. Her curse was weakened, she’d said- not broken. She was still a prisoner of The Rose Palace.

Jeongin smiled a secret smile to himself as he led Yelina back into the castle, a quiet promise made between him and the moon- one day soon, he’d break the curse on Y/N. And that day would come very, very soon.

Wise men say, only fools rush in

Thank you for reading! :)

But I can’t help falling in love with you..

///

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Do let me know what you think! - Elliana.

#skznta2020 #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagines #skz jeongin #jeongin x reader #skz fantasy au #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #jeongin #yang jeongin #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #ellaskz

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whirlybirdwhat · 3 years

Text

crown the king (with bloody flowers) - chapter 36

Hanahaki au drabble series, in which Luffy is in love with the sea.

Ao3

chapter 36 - leaves - rayleigh

On Ruskaina, there are good days and bad days.

(Rayleigh tries to not think about how they seem to be so much like the last few months aboard the Oro Jackson.)

The good days are the days that Luffy gets up before Rayleigh with a smile on his face, the days that Luffy coughs a few times but not so much that he’s hurting, the days where he’s attentive and looks more at Rayleigh than the ocean. The good days are the days when Luffy looks so much like Shanks, when he was fourteen and sailing with the King of the Pirates.

(Rayleigh wonders what the world has come to, when fourteen year olds lead crews and take down governments, all on their own power without any guidance. He’s not the sort to truly fight that sort of thing but -

With Shanks and Buggy, they were protected by their crew, guided, trusted. The Straw Hats do the same for Luffy - but they weren’t strong enough to be at Marineford.

Fourteen, and already the strongest supernova.

Rayleigh keeps this close to his chest, and works to make him stronger.)

The bad days are the days that Luffy looks more like Roger, more like the fourteen year old Rayleigh knows him to be, just fighting for one more day of life.

The bad days are the days that Rayleigh has to shake Luffy awake, or the days that Luffy doesn’t need to be wakened at all - already is from a nightmare, one that he didn’t alert Rayleigh too. The bad days are the days Luffy shakes, and coughs blood (so much blood) with dead leaves, then shakes even more as he sees the red on his hands. They are the days that Luffy is quiet, that Luff simply stares off at the horizon, that Luffy wanders by the shore when Rayleigh gives him a break and dips his feet in the ocean, the days that they avoid the bonfire and Rayleigh lets Luffy tuck under his arm for warmth in night.

The bad days are the days when Luffy wakes with Ace’s name on his lips and doesn’t cry where Rayleigh can see him.

Some weeks, there are more bad days than good days.

This is one of those weeks.

Rayleigh wakes to the sounds of soft gasping and looks to his right. In the dim fire light, Luffy is sitting up, still bandaged, clutching his chest. There’s a moment before Luffy starts coughing and when he does, he doesn’t stop. Plume tree blossoms and roses, heleniums and pink verbenas, marigolds littering the ground.

(Ruskaina has never blossomed like this.)

Rayleigh debates letting Luffy just go back to sleep. Sometimes he appreciates Rayleigh’s guidance. Other times, no.

(Rayleigh is here to train Luffy, to push him, to make him great. But trauma - war - it’s a tricky thing, especially when you are fourteen and not quite sure you’ll live to the end of the year. Training Luffy isn’t like training Shanks. It’s another beast entirely, something Rayleigh is still learning only two months in to their training.)

But then those soft gasps turn into panicked half gasps as Luffy can’t get his breathing under control, and Rayleigh can’t stand back any longer.

He gets up, and strides to where Luffy is sitting, settling down to rub his back.

‘Luffy,” Rayleigh says, low and quiet when Luffy doesn’t even notice him. “Breathe.”

Luffy doesn’t. He just keeps gasping, red on his hands and eyes small and panicked. Rayleigh puts his own hand over Luffy’s, blocking the sight of red blood.

‘Breathe. In, for four, out for four - Breathe Luffy.”

The last time this happened, Rayleigh knocked him on the head, the way he used to do for Roger when Roger got like this, and Luffy had curled in on himself and coughed even more. Times like this, Luffy needs something gentler.

As far as Rayleigh can tell, its not something he’s gotten quite often in his life.

(Shanks liked to talk about the little boy that stole his heart when he came back to Sabaody. On and on, and in the night into his drink, about how Luffy looked when he left, like he was being abandoned, like he was being left all alone. How Luffy was so used to being chucked down mountains by his grandfather, that he was so awed by the way Shanks would so gently swing him up on his shoulders.)

Luffy takes a shuddering gasp, panic lessening as he slowly, slowly follows Rayleigh’s orders. “That’s it,” Rayleigh tells him, carefully wiping the blood on his hands away so he’s not set off again. “Breathe.”

Luffy does, one after another, coming back to himself inch by inch. There are tear tracks along his cheeks, dried by the fire, but he barely notices.

“Rayleigh?” Luffy asks, quiet, voice hoarse.

“It’s me,” Rayleigh answers, settling in. Luffy shakes under his hand and slumps into his side.

“Oh.” Luffy’s quiet for a moment. “I thought… I thought you were A- Ace. I thought you were him for a moment.”

Rayleigh hums, but doesn’t give more than that, letting Luffy mark his own way through this. He’s still shaking.

“I wanna go see her.” Luffy says after a pause. He doesn’t get up.

Her…

(Rayleigh has always loved the sea - he loved the world, not as much as Roger but still despite the fact that it took Roger away from him. The sea… he’s not quite sure how to feel about the sea, the love Luffy has for her something different than the love Roger had for the world.

Roger hadn’t found the hatred of the world until he started adventuring - a choice he made to pursue his dream.

Luffy found the hatred of the ocean on accident, young and foolish, and clung to it for seven years. Clung to life. He’s dying each day.

It hurts.)

“Okay.” Rayleigh says, and helps Luffy up when he can barely get his legs to work.

They walk to the ocean then, side by side, the first stray pinks of dawn rising in the sky. Rayleigh keeps a careful control on his Conqueror’s Haki, yet Luffy doesn’t seem to notice. He’s in a daze, hand clinging to the arm that Rayleigh had written 3D2Y on ever so carefully.

Flowers fall behind them. Theres a path in front of them, from the last time they did this.

Flowers, still pristine as ever.

They arrive at the beach as the sun cracks over the horizon, Luffy stumbling to his knees and burying his hands in the waves. Rayleigh takes a careful step back.

(He’s dying, Trafalgar Law had muttered, faster now, and even faster after each dip in the ocean.

Rayleigh had nodded his head, and made no promise to keep Luffy from the sea.

What were pirates, unless they loved her waters?

He regrets that claim now, ever so slightly.)

Luffy’s quiet as the red on his hands washes away. He’s quiet as the sun rises, even as he keeps his eyes steadily on the horizon.

“Rayleigh?” He asks.

Rayleigh hums.

“I miss my crew.”

The last time Luffy had seen them, they were being swiped away by someone known as the Tyrant.

Kuma had said he was sending them all somewhere safe, but Amazon Lily was safe for no man.

It’s no wonder Luffy worries.

“I know,” Rayleigh says, quiet. “But two years.”

“Two years,” Luffy agrees, and trembles.

I don’t have two years.

The day before this, Luffy barely had any energy, and spent the majority of the day coughing.

He really doesn’t have two years - but Luff is a man of miracles.

He’ll see his crew again, even if it kills him.

This, Rayleigh knows for fact, even as he sweeps Luffy up in cloak, drying him off. Even as he makes sure to keep Luffy’s attention on him that day, even as he sends Luffy off to train while he makes dinner and extinguishes the fire before Luffy can come back.

It’s a bad day. A day where Luffy is tired and coughing and worried about his crew.

Rayleigh just hopes tomorrow will be a good one.

leaves - present on nearly every plant, when alive these mean bravery, hope, and renewal. When dead, they mean sadness, melancholy, grief, and death. they typically die in autumn, and spend winter, a month of rest, dead before blooming again.

#op #one piece #luffy #monkey d. luffy #rayleigh #crown the king #hanahaki #whirlywhat #opau #opfic #fanfiction #ao3 #whirlywrites #panic attacks #i think???#ask to tag

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fatefulfaerie · 3 years

Text

Restored

A very merry January birthday to @lawchan89 !! I hope your present meets your expectations!

“Do you really remember me?” Zelda asked

It was such a simple question, such manageable words to understand and yet Link found himself thinking over every facet of it as he stood and stared, thinking that his answer right here right now would indicate what the rest of their lives would look like. Link went back and forth in his mind, whether she was asking if he remembered simple things, like her name, her title, or if her question was more complex, inquiring after whether or not he remembered every moment they spent together, what those moments meant to them at the time, and what they meant to them now.

In all honesty, his memory so fractured and with so many holes to fill, he questioned whether or not he could answer her truthfully. The terms of “yes” and “no” seemed too absolute. He cursed the fact that he could find no other words. He knew they existed, he must have known other words, but her green eyes and golden hair had emitted a certain fog into his brain and thus he just stood there like a fool.

She looked angelic, so him being flustered couldn’t truly be helped. Her beauty transcended anything he had ever seen in this gorgeous, magical kingdom and yet, she looked almost too pure, her skin almost too white.

Link’s heart twinged with concern, especially as she staggered a bit, her pristine posture faltering.

“Zelda?” He asked with a couple hesitant steps forward.

Zelda suddenly collapsed to the ground out of none other than the greatest fatigue. Her one-hundred-year-long fight against the calamity was over and won. And, after all that time of persevering for just a bit more, it had all finally caught up with her.

“Zelda!” Link exclaimed rushing to her side as if she were on the verge of death. “Zelda,” he repeated desperately, placing a hand on the cheek of her heavy, bobbing head. “Zelda, open your eyes.”

Link eyes stung but he tried to ignore it, hastening changing his hold in order to bring two fingers to the side of her neck. He felt his heart beating more than hers as he waited to feel anything against his fingertips and finally, at the peak of his fear, he felt her pulse.

He breathed a great sigh of relief, tears escaping his eyes as he took her into his arms, scooping her up and carrying her. Her head lolled over to lean on his chest and in his decreasing panic, he noticed the signs she was merely sleeping, the rising and falling of her chest, the way her breath cooed. Link smiled down at her as he walked towards his horse, and then past her as he whistled, prompting the horse to follow his stride.

“We’ll go to Riverside Stable,” Link said, as if to his horse. “Let her rest there. I don’t want to risk waking her up by trying to get her on you.”

The horse neighed in understanding, whinnying as he shook his mane.

By the time Link reached the stable, dusk was introducing day to night. The crickets had begun their chirping song and fireflies lit the sky like the stars to come.

The stable hands almost immediately began to guide the horse into their boarding station, recognizing easily the animal and its owner by now.

Link walked straight into the stable without even stopping at the center stall, laying Zelda gently on one of the beds. His eyes melted as he relinquished his hold on her, and yet he gave a soft and warm smile as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“That’s a total of 40 rupees,” he heard a quiet voice say near him. “For the bed and the boarding fee for the horse.”

Link dug around in his pocket and he approached the man, giving him a shiny silver rupee. The man was in complete shock, his mouth popped open.

“I’ll be here tomorrow too,” Link said before returning to Zelda’s side.

Link was prepared to spend any amount of rupees for her comfort.

——————————————————————————————————

It became apparent that Zelda had contracted a fever about an hour afterwards, Link noticing how warm her forehead had gotten. Fending off the calamity for 100 years didn’t seem the most healthy thing for the Hylian body, and yet Link was glad that everything she had been through had only amounted to a fever.

Well, at least physically.

Hour after hour, Link draped wet cloths over her forehead. He didn’t dare attempt to undress her and redress her into different clothes, but he tried to make her as comfortable as possible as she slept through the night. It was almost obsessive how he made sure the position of the pillows were just right, how he made sure the blankets were off of her so she could cool down. And, when he wasn’t adjusting the bed she slept on, he was staring down at her with an adoring warmth in his eyes.

It was the middle of night when the lad Link paid to catch a fairy came back with one in a bottle. Although Link had plenty of potions in his arsenal that would have relieved the fever, he was worried that making her drink one while unconscious may wake her, and may cause her to choke and to cough. The pink fairy in the bottle, said to be imbued with restorative magic by the goddesses themselves, was the safer option.

Link uncorked the bottle where he sat at Zelda’s side, the fairy gliding along Zelda’s frame and thus returning Zelda’s coloring to her as it did. Its magic ebbed and sparkled as it spun upwards and disappeared, yet Link’s gaze was only on Zelda, holding his breath for whether or not she would wake up on her own.

Link placed a hand on her cheek, a soft hand that made sure not to be too jarring, to not shock her awake. All she had been through, Link wanted nothing more than for her to wake up somewhere knowing immediately that she was safe.

Zelda moved her head into his hand with a slight “mm” sound, Link’s heart warming with love and his smile curving into a happy chuckle. He rubbed his thumb across her soft cheek and, pretty soon, her green eyes flitted open.

It was a few seconds before she came to, her eyes mere slits. Her brow furrowed at what she thought she was seeing.

“Link?” She asked weakly.

Link nodded excitedly, smiling, if at all possible, bigger than before.

And yet it was a natural smile, one that didn’t seem the least bit forced.

“You’re safe,” Link said gently. “Everything is okay.”

Her green eyes which were now open completely, started to sink and melt.

“Oh Link,” Zelda said, shaking her head. “What a magnificent dream you are.”

“Zelda, this…” Link laughed, “this isn’t a dream. I saved you. I saved Hyrule. I’m really here.”

“What?” Zelda asked her expression dropping. She sat up quickly, meeting Link’s eye line.

She let out a shaky inhale as her gauzy, tired vision cleared, as things became more real, as she felt the breeze of the night air coming in from the entrance of the stable, as she heard the crackling of the fire outside, as she remembered Link’s final fight against the Calamity, as she saw in Link’s blue eyes not pain, not death, but life and renewal.

Her exhale was shaky as well, and brought with it coming tears as she stroked Link’s face, felt for herself how real it was. Her hand glided down to his heart and, when she felt his strong heartbeat consistent and powerful, her coming tears turned into a sob.

She dove into Link’s embrace, which they both nurtured and clutched at, gripping and petting and holding, for the love of the goddesses holding.

Zelda wept into his shoulders, her shoulders bobbing at the coming of happy tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Link said.

Zelda shook her head as she withdrew, cracking a smile.

“All that matters is that you’re okay, that we…”

She stopped herself, biting her lip and retreating that hands that were on his shoulders to fold on her lap. She sat up straight like the princess she was and took a deep breath that aligned her gaze with the floor.

“That we what?” Link asked, studying her. “If this is about what you asked me I--”

“You don’t have to answer,” Zelda interrupted.

“But I’m going to,” Link said just as suddenly, reaching out and grabbing Zelda’s hand. The gesture made her pop her head back to his, her parted lips showing her surprise.

“Your question,” Link started. “It…it’s just not that simple. I mean you were one of the first people I remembered but…if you’re asking if I remember everything about you, well…” Link didn’t quite now how to find the words, taking advantage of his next breath to put something together. “The thing is, I don’t remember everything. I want to someday and I hope you can help me with that but…I think for now, I…”

Link hesitated his next words.

“I…I’m not quite sure how to say this,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“It’s okay,” Zelda said, folding her hands around his. “You don’t have to.”

Link tipped his head.

“I don’t?” He asked.

“Of course not,” Zelda said with kindness and understanding in her green eyes. “You don’t want to be my knight attendant anymore, you want to keep exploring Hyrule on your own. I get it.” Zelda leaned forward and placed his hands back onto his own lap. “It’s okay,” she said, standing up and starting to walk out of the stable.

“Zelda, I didn’t mean…” Link said, trying to process what just happened. “Wait what? Zelda!”

He chased her, forcibly turning her around.

“Zelda, that’s not what I meant at all, I…” He hesitated again.

He just had the get the words out, that’s all.

“I remember enough to be in love with you!” He yelled.

Zelda’s green eyes were wide and she seemed absolutely frozen. But for the blush on her cheeks there was barely any sign that she was alive.

“Shh,” Link heard from a bed near them. “Keep it down.”

Link turned his head to see a parent trying to console their child to sleep.

“Sorry,” Link said before turning his head back to Zelda.

“Are you being serious?” She whispered.

Link nodded with a smile, sliding his arm around her back and closing every bit of distance between them.

They kissed for the first time that night and, when they awoke the next morning, they felt more safe than ever in each other’s arms.

#zelink #but messy #zelda #link #botw #breath of the wild

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anxiously-introverted · 3 years

Note

If you still write I really enjoyed your other fanfic on the Byers family, can I please request Joyce comforting Jane from a nightmare?

Of course! (Sorry for any spelling mistakes or grammar errors, I only looked over this once) Hope this is okay!

She was in the tank again.

The headgear rested heavily on her shoulders, the bowl-like glass around in front of her face making her surroundings blur with sickening dizziness. The water was cold. It was always so, so cold. She wanted to get out, wanted to cry and scream, wanted bang on the glass until they let her out. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because Papa was watching and if Papa saw her get out before she was supposed to, before she was allowed to, then he was going to be angry.

She hated Papa when he was angry.

So, she closed her eyes and focused. She didn’t remember what Papa told her to look for, but she’d find it. She’d find it, and tell him what she saw, and then they’ll let her out. She could feel her senses disappearing, leaving her in the black void she’d involuntarily become familiar with. Nothingness stretched out in front of her. It was lonely here, and dark, and like something was waiting to grab her and make her part of the nothingness as well.

“Kid.”

Hopper?

“Hey, kid. Over here.”

Her neck cracked as she whipped her head around, looking frantically through the darkness. Hopper was here? He couldn’t be… But she could hear him. She heard him and maybe if she found him, she could bring him back, just like Will came back. But it was dark, and Hopper wasn’t talking anymore. Why wasn’t he talking anymore?

“Eleven. You have a job to do right now.”

Papa’s voice came from just behind her ear and she let out a little scream. When she turned there was still nothing. No Papa, no Hopper. Just nothing, nothing, nothing.

“C’mon, kid. You have to help me out here.”

I don’t know how. Where are you? Please, tell me how to help!

“I’m sick and tired of you messing around. Maybe some time in the dark room will help.”

No! Don’t put me in there! Don’t touch me!

There was growling now. A rumbling timber interrupted by rough clicks. There were footsteps coming closer to her, but no matter how much she turned she couldn’t catch sight of anyone or anything. It was just nothing and she hated it, and why couldn’t she get out?

“Kid, El, help! I need help!”

“You will learn to behave yourself.”

Growling, snarling. Faster footsteps.

“El!”

“Eleven.”

Roaring.

Nothing, nothing, nothing—

“El, sweetheart, wake up!”

With a choked gasp, El burst back into consciousness. Sweat and tears were gliding down her flushed face. Her room was dark, boxes still stacked against the walls where they were left to be unpacked tomorrow. Her bed was soft and lumpy, a heavy comforter weighing her tensed body down. Slowly, El sat herself up as she gulped down large breaths.

Joyce was sitting beside her, kind brown eyes reflecting care and worry. The warmth in her gaze was almost too intense for El to handle. “It’s alright, honey,” the woman said, brushing El’s hair away from her face. “You’re safe.”

El shook her head because how could she be safe when everyone around her wasn’t? She was supposed to help everyone because she was special, she had powers. She was supposed to protect them. Things were supposed to be alright now, but they weren’t. They weren’t because her powers were gone and so was her home, and so was—

“Hopper,” the girl croaked, burying her face in her hands. She was crying with broken, hitched breaths as she curled into herself. She couldn’t protect him and now he was gone, and it all wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

Loving arms wrapped around her shaking frame, making her pause in her grieving. Joyce pulled her head into the crook of neck and gently rocked side to side, a soothing hum playing from her throat. It was warm and kind, and El wonders for a moment if her own mother ever held her like this before she was taken by Papa. The thought only renewed her tears, but she didn’t let out anymore sobs. She simply snuggled closer, fingers tangling loosely in Joyce’s shirt as she let herself be comforted.

“I know it’s hard, honey. I know,” Joyce whispered, rubbing her hand on El’s arm. “I know this is all really scary and overwhelming.” She pulled back slightly to look at the scared teenager properly, cradling El’s face in her hands as she wiped away the tears with her thumbs. “But you know that you’re never going to be alone in this. I’m going to be right here with you.”

El remembers words just like those being whispered to her two years ago.

“I’m going to be there with you the whole time. And if it ever gets too scary in… In that place, you just let me know, okay?”

Joyce smiled at her, still hugging her close and rubbing calming circles into her back. She said, “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

And El believed her.

#stranger things #el hopper #el byers #joyce byers #oneshot

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starshine583 · 4 years

Text

Crossing a Line

Part 17

(Ya’ll ready for the angst? Because I was not)

Part 1 / Part 16 / Part 18

Le Paon stumbled to a stop, his chest tight and his heart in his throat. He clutched the earrings in his palms, causing the ends to dig into his skin.

I.. I did it.

He took the earrings. After all the work Father’s put forward, Le Paon finally got a hold of Ladybug’s earrings.. Of Marinette’s earrings.

A sigh escaped him as he slumped against the Mansion walls. She sounded absolutely horrified when she realized what was going on. How was he going to apologize? Would she even listen to him after this?

Felix dropped his transformation and slipped inside the mansion, carefully searching for witnesses. He could return her earrings after the wish, right? Would that help? She wouldn’t be missing her kwami then..

Nathalie sat in her usual desk next to Father’s office, but she appeared engrossed in something on the computer, so he was able to slip by unnoticed. Felix quietly hopped up the stairs, a part of him wondering how Father would have handled this. How would Father proceed if he knew that his youngest son was fighting against him with a miraculous they needed? What would he have done to Marinette to get her miraculous afterwards? Would he have made the same choices?

Felix stopped in front of his bedroom door. Whether Father might have done something differently or not didn’t help him now. Felix had the earrings, and Adrien had the ring. It was down to this next conversation.

Tentatively, he knocked on the door.

No response.

Felix drew in a breath and opened the door anyway. The room was pitch black, and the faint sound of a fan fluttered around. Was he sleeping? Already? It was a little past midnight, but..

Felix closed the door, and ran a hand through his hair. What should he do now? He couldn’t just wake Adrien up to talk about this. “Hey, I know you just woke up, but let me tell you about our not-so-dead mother and the fact that your brother and Father are super villains. Also, can I have your ring that I know has been a miraculous this whole time even though you had no idea that I even knew what a miraculous was?”

Yeah.. he had a feeling that wouldn’t go well.

Felix turned on his heel to go back down the stairs. He would have to talk to Adrien about the wish in the morning. In the meantime, he could hide the earrings in the library. Even if Marinette didn’t know his identity, carrying her Miraculous around provided a flurry of plausible problems that Felix didn’t care to deal with.

Tomorrow. He promised himself, slipping the earrings into a pocket in one of the book shelves. He would talk to Adrien tomorrow, and they would finally have their mother back.

~~~~~~

Two hours. It’d been two hours since Le Paon came and took her miraculous.

Marinette sat at the bottom of the ladder that led to her balcony, eyes puffed from tears. She couldn’t understand what went wrong. They were supposed to talk and work things out. He was supposed to surrender so they could heal his mother together. How did she let this happen?

Marinette sniffed, trying to think of what Tikki would say in this moment. Maybe she would insist that it wasn’t her fault, or that she did everything she could, but neither of those would be true. This was her fault. She didn’t do everything. If Marinette were really a good Ladybug, she would have swiped Le Paon’s miraculous the first time he visited her balcony. Or even the second time. Or all the other times she let him swing by.

But she hadn’t. She let him inside, let herself trust him, and he betrayed her.

How long had he known that she was Ladybug? Did he know from the beginning? Were the times they spent together all a lie? A mere ploy to get close enough to grab her miraculous?

Was his confession a lie too?

Marinette choked out another sob. Stupid, stupid! She should have known not to trust him. After his first betrayal towards Ladybug, it should have been obvious that everything else was an act. It just felt so wonderful, having Felix by her side. The quiet smiles he would give to only her, the endless praises on her crafts. She didn’t want to imagine a world without him.

And yet, he was gone.

And so was Tikki.

And she was alone.

Marinette wiped away another tear that spilled down her cheek and looked up at the trapdoor. He’s had her earrings for two hours now. Hawkmoth could do a lot in a mere two hours.

Despite the crushing weight in her chest, Marinette forced herself to her feet. There was no more time for crying. There wasn’t time in the first place, actually. She needed to get her earrings back before Felix went too far. She needed to talk to Master Fu.

Sneaking out was the easy part. Maman and Papa had been asleep for four hours already. As long as she got back before four in the morning, they wouldn’t be a problem. It was finding Master Fu that was hard.

Marinette vaguely remembered a few turns, but she normally relied on Tikki for guidance. The address escaped her too, and her phone’s gps didn’t have a hit for “Fu’s Massage Parlor”. So, she ended up wandering around Paris for a while, avoiding dark alleyways and hoping she was going in the right direction. It must have been her last bits of Ladybug Luck that let her arrive at Master Fu’s around thirty minutes after leaving the bakery.

Marinette let out a relieved sigh when she saw the sign and quickly started knocking on the door. The first few knocks were met with silence, but she was desperate. She knocked a few more times, and after the eighth round of knocks, Master Fu finally opened the door.

“Master! I’m so sorry to come here this late, but It’s urgent!” She all but spat out. “My miraculous- I didn’t expect him to, but- It’s gone! Felix- he took it and just ran off!”

Master Fu, through his groggy state, managed to pick up the gist of her ramblings and promptly ushered her inside.

“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” He asked, glancing up and down the street.

“Positive.” Felix had no ‘use’ for her without her miraculous. She imagined he wouldn’t even bother to speak with her again after this.

Master Fu nodded and closed the door. “Good. I have something that can help you upstairs.”

Marinette was brought back up to Master Fu’s massaging room where they usually practiced her healing magic. Once inside, he crossed the room and picked up an old phonograph.

“Before we begin, I’d like to apologize.” Master Fu said as he sat the phonograph down in front of her. “It’s my fault Felix got close enough to take your miraculous.”

Marinette shook her head. “No, Master, you can’t blame yourself. I’m the one that let him inside my home without thinking of the consequences.”

“You don’t understand.” Fu responded. “I had his miraculous, but I gave it back.”

Marinette’s eyes bulged out of her head.

“You- you what? When did you have it?” She asked, dumbfounded.

Master Fu sighed. “A few weeks ago, I saw Felix running alone after the giant, movie akuma.”

Marinette pursed her lips. She remembered that night. If the akuma hadn’t appeared she might have kissed Felix for the first time while they ate ice cream. If only she knew then how dangerous he truly was.

“I pretended to be a victim of a mugging, and he offered to help me home. He even came inside and had a cup of tea, sitting where you sit right now.”

Marinette frowned. “If you had his miraculous.. why give it back?”

Regret painted his features. “When I talked with him, he did not seem evil, only desperate. I gave him the miraculous in hopes that he would change his mind and use it to fight against Hawkmoth instead, but..”

He trailed off, and Marinette cast her gaze to the floor.

But I guess we were both wrong about him.

“Tikki is waiting for you.” Master Fu continued. A renewed determination filled his eyes as he opened the phonograph to reveal multiple platforms of jewelry. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I am entrusting you another miraculous to reclaim your first one. Choose wisely.”

Marinette gasped, watching the miniature shelves pop out of the box. “You mean.. These are all miraculous?”

“Yes, and each holds a specific power.” He explained, pointing out a few. “For example, the fox miraculous can create illusions, and the bee miraculous can paralyze others for a short amount of time.”

“Create illusions?” Marinette pondered aloud. That could help her immensely if she was going to sneak into the Agreste Mansion. An illusion might be able to cloak her movements to the security cameras.

Master Fu nodded and held it up for her. “The illusions will look completely lifelike until someone touches it or you detransform. Then the image you’ve created will fade away.”

No one should be touching the illusion if it’s outside. Marinette thought as she took the miraculous. It was too late for anyone to be up.

“I’ll be back soon.” She promised, slipping on the necklace.

An orange orb appeared around the tail pendant, and its glow brightened until a small, orange, fox-like kwami appeared.

“Hi-ya!” The creature greeted. “My name’s Trixx, and I’ll be your kwami. If you wanna transform, you just need to say one thing: Trixx, let’s pounce!”

“Good luck, Ladybug.” Master Fu stated as Marinette transformed.

Marinette offered a smile. “You mean ‘Jiāng húlí’.”

This time, she’d be the one visiting Felix as an alter ego. Let’s see if he’ll be as hospitable as she was.

Running across the rooftops was extremely different compared to her usual mode of transportation via yo-yo. Nevertheless, it felt nice to have a miraculous again. A few skyscrapers even gave her a glimpse of her new costume. Her raven hair had been swept up into a long ponytail that trailed down to the back of her knees. The tips of her bangs and ponytail were stark white, and a pair of pointed, orange ears that were also white-tipped sprang from the top of her bangs. Contrary to her red and black spotted Ladybug costume, the fox miraculous bathed her in colors of orange and white. She had a jacket around her waist that was lined with black and had a popped collar, of which the inside was also black. The rest of the jacket was orange, save for the two blotches of white in the middle that continued in a line past her jacket and stopped on the inside of her upper thighs. The fox miraculous acted as a clip for the black zipper in the middle of her jacket. She had a pair white gloves and boots as well, with black lining around each. (Of course, the lining for the gloves was really the lining of the jacket sleeves) A thick, orange belt was also wrapped around her waist, cutting a line between the splashes of white on her midsection and holding her flute tightly to her side.All in all, it didn’t look half bad.

All in all, it didn’t look half bad.

The Agreste Mansion, being much larger in size than Fu’s massage parlor, was mere child’s play to find, and with her renewed, miraculous strength, Marinette managed to get there in a matter of minutes.

She crept up to the dark windows, hoping the lack of light meant no one was in the room to see her. If Felix found a new miraculous holder sneaking into his house, she doubted that he would think of it as a coincidence, and her only leverage at the moment was his ignorance towards her knowing his true identity.

Her claws clicked against the glass as she pushed on the windows for an opening. An evil super villain couldn’t sneak out of his house constantly without a way-

A window near the center fell open at her touch. Marinette smiled.

Easy now. She told herself, carefully stepping into the room. The sound of a fan insured that someone was sleeping. It was best not to wake them up.

By the time her feet were firmly on the floor, her eyes were adjusted to the light, and she was able to make out furniture. A couch.. A desk.. A rockwall?

Marinette sucked in a breath and immediately started scrambling for a hiding place. This was the boys’ room, meaning Felix was probably in here sleeping. Sleeping! She thought, at the very least, that he would lose a little sleep from betraying her. He really didn’t feel guilty at all, did he?

She shook her head. Focus. If he’s asleep, that means the miraculous is unguarded.

The pads on her feet kept her steps silent as she crossed the room. The earrings shouldn’t be far from Felix, in a pocket, or a drawer, or something. She checked his pockets first- or rather, his clothes. Pajamas didn’t tend to have pockets -by carefully patting him down. It wasn’t easy. He moved a few times, and she was certain he’d woken up when she checked under his pillow. It must have been a miracle that he remained asleep.

With pockets checked, she went to the drawers. The second and third were filled with nothing but clothes. The first drawer, however..

Marinette gasped, a swirl of bittersweet delight overtaking her at the sight of Felix’s miraculous. What a wonderful opportunity she’d been provided.

“Turnabout’s fair play, Paon.” She whispered to herself as she took the miraculous. His panicked face when he noticed his absent miraculous in the morning was going to be a horrible thing to miss.

Marinette tucked the peacock miraculous away in her belt and turned to keep looking for her miraculous, but a certain sound stopped her in her tracks. A door. Someone was coming into the boys’ room. A sliver of light entered the dark abyss, quickly growing as the door opened further. Marinette rushed to the side of the room to avoid it, scurrying up a winding staircase. She pressed herself against the shelves above and tried to control her rapid breathing. Was someone coming to check on them or did Gabriel see her on the security cameras? Would she be able to fight off Gorilla and possibly more if that were the case?

A creak emitted from the door as it opened fully, and a single woman walked into the bedroom, straight and tall. Aside from her clicking heels, she was quiet as a mouse as she crossed the room to the boys’ bed. Strangely, she opened the very drawer that Marinette had searched through a moment earlier. When she opened it, though, she paused, almost like she expected to see something else. Then- curiouser, still -the woman started digging through the drawer.

How interesting.

It took a few seconds, but the woman finally muttered some curses to herself and left the room, looking quite displeased. Marinette might have considered following her under different circumstances. Unfortunately, her time stamp didn’t allow it. In walking into the room, the woman caused the illusion to fade. The cameras might catch her any moment. Marinette didn’t mind. She now had more leverage than the knowledge of Felix’s identity. If he was dumb enough to go to school tomorrow, she would lure him into a private area there. He might not care to look at her anymore, but Marinette was going to drag him by the ear anyway.

Mark her words, Felix was going to wish he never betrayed the hero of Paris.

~~~~~~

Sunlight poured into the bedroom as Felix got ready. He fiddled with the buttons on his dark grey vest, too nervous to think properly. Adrien was currently in the bathroom freshening up. When he came out, Felix was going to have to find a way to tell him that their long-lost mother was actually in a coma under their house. (Seriously, couldn’t Father find a less unsettling place to hide her?)

Heaven only knows how his brother was going to react. Felix might have agreed to help, but Adrien has been playing hero during this whole fiasco. With all of those battles stored in his mind, the personal insults shot at each other and near-death experiences, he probably won’t be as easily.. persuaded. Not to mention, Felix was going to have to get Adrien down to the basement. Chances were, he wouldn’t be able to do that without Father seeing them. Ugh, so many obstacles!

The bathroom door opened, and Felix tensed.

“Hey, Fe, did you move the toothpaste?” Adrien asked as he walked out.

Felix almost smiled. Such an innocent question for such a serious topic he was about to bring up. “No, but-”

“Oh, nevermind.” Adrien cut him off, spinning on his heel. “I just remembered that I saw it in the mirror cabinet.”

Felix stared as his brother closed the bathroom door again. He could already see how this was going to go. Heaving a sigh, he walked over to his bedside drawer to grab his miraculous. Maybe Duusu would have some advice.

The drawer slid open, and a few of the contents inside rolled with it, but there was no miraculous. Felix furrowed his eyebrows and started digging through the drawer a bit. He could have sworn that he put it in there the night before. It’s where he always puts it when he takes it off.

Maybe I set it somewhere else? He thought with a frown, starting to check under the bed and in the other drawers. He’d been a bit out of last night, but it couldn’t be far, since he’d definitely used it last night.

“Felix? Did you lose something?”

Felix shot up at his brother’s voice, causing him to smack his head on the bottom of Adrien’s desk that he’d begun looking under. “Ah! Yes, I’m- everything’s fine. It’s nothing.”

It’s not like I need it anymore, anyway. Felix reminded himself as he rubbed the back of his head. I have the earrings, and soon I’ll have the ring too.

“Adrien,” Felix began, trying not to glance at his brother’s ring while he stood, “do you ever.. I don’t know.. Think about mom?”

Adrien hesitated, obviously not expecting the question. “Uh.. I mean.. Of course I do. All the time. Why?”

“Do you ever wonder what would happen if we could bring her back?”

Adrien furrowed his eyebrows. “Sometimes.. But that’s not possible, so I try not to think about it.”

Boy, are you in for a surprise. Felix refrained from saying. “What if you could? Would you do what it took to have her back?”

Adrien completely frowned now. “Felix-”

“Boys.”

The brothers turned to see Nathalie in the doorway. When did she come in?

“Gorilla is waiting for you downstairs.” She informed. “Please hurry.”

Felix and Adrien nodded, and Nathalie left the room as quickly as she’d come. He turned back to Adrien, hoping to continue the conversation, but his brother had already grabbed his bag and started for the door.

Before he fully rounded the corner, though, Adrien stopped.

“Felix, about Mom.. I miss her as much as anybody, but I don’t think she would want us to grieve over her like this. Having Mom back would be great, but would she really want us to go ‘above and beyond’ just to bring her back?”

Adrien left before Felix could reply, though he’s not sure he would have had a response, anyway. Mother wouldn’t want them to obsess over her. She would them to live their lives and be happy..

Too bad it’s too late to back out now.

School that day came with a whole new level of anxiety. He couldn’t help glancing left and right as he walked up the steps. Marinette could be anywhere, and she had to be worried for her miraculous, though she might not show it. She didn’t know his identity, so he should be fine, but the guilt that would smother him upon seeing her wasn’t an experience he was excited to go through.

He pondered not attending school himself, in all honesty. Alas, he didn’t have a good excuse to stay home. So here he was, carrying his bag to his locker and getting ready to burn through classes as fast as possible.

“Felix.”

Goosebumps crawled across his skin at the sound of Marinette’s voice. Why was everyone sneaking up on him today?

He reluctantly turned to greet her and had to force a neutral expression when he saw her smile. That didn’t look like someone who was grieving the loss of a miraculous.

“I want to talk to you.” She said, the usual, perky tone noticeably lacking in her voice.

The hair on the back of Felix’s neck stood up. “Uh.. that’s very kind of you-” Very kind of her? How did that response make sense? “-but class is going to be starting soon, so I need to get going.”

He moved to pass her, but she grabbed his wrist, her grip iron-tight. “I wasn’t asking.”

She yanked him backwards, slamming him against the lockers. Felix gasped for air, his eyes blowing wide with shock. Was this really happening? Marinette has never been violent in her life! He glanced around the locker room for witnesses, only to find that they were completely alone. Something told him that wasn’t a coincidence.

Marinette pressed her forearm to his chest, pinning him to the lockers. “Where did you put them!”

Felix struggled in vain to pull her arm away. Had she always been this strong in civilian form? “Put what?!”

“My miraculous!” She hissed, pushing harder. “Where are they!”

Felix’s eyes snapped to hers. The miraculous? She was asking his civilian form about her miraculous? But that meant..

He stopped struggling. “..You know.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “Yeah. And, apparently, so did you.”

Felix might have felt guilty towards the jab had his mind not been reeling. How long had she known that he was Le Paon? When did she find out? How did she find out?

“Tell me you didn’t use the wish.” She spoke again, bringing Felix from his thoughts.

“Not yet. I still need the ring.” He answered honestly.

Her entire body seemed to loosen at the news. “Good. Where are my earrings?”

“They're hidden in the mansion.”

“Then you’re taking me there to get them.”

Felix shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.” She remarked, her voice dripping with venom. He didn’t know she was capable of sounding so threatening.

Still, Felix held his ground. “Marinette, you don’t understand-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Marinette shot back. “That wish is dangerous! It has consequences! If you use it to heal your mother, someone else is going to take her place!”

Take her place? “What do you mean?”

Marinette sighed. “The universe needs to be balanced. If you heal Emilie from an incurable coma, someone else will fall into an incurable coma as a result. Did you honestly think that I was fighting tooth and nail to keep my miraculous for the fun of it all?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows. No, that.. That can’t be right. Father had never mentioned a consequence to using the wish.

“..I had hoped that was the case.” Was all he ended up saying.

Marinette huffed. “You’re so infuriating! Call Gorilla or whoever drives you. You’re taking me to get my miraculous back, unless you want me to keep this..”

She pulled something out of her pocket, and though Felix swore he’d seen everything that morning already, his jaw dropped when he saw his miraculous in her hands.

“How did-”

“That’s not important.” She cut him off sharply. “Call the car. Now.”

“W-Wait!” So many things were happening at once. “I can’t just take you to our house during school! Nathalie’s never going to let that fly.”

Marinette thought that over. “..I don’t trust you enough to wait till after school.”

The words sank into his heart like knives, but he couldn’t blame her. “That’s completely fair, but your plan will never work as is.”

“And what do you propose we do instead?” She inquired, raising a brow.

Felix swallowed. “We can go after school, and-” he emphasized the ‘and’ before she could interrupt “-to ease your mind, I will check in with you after every class period. Our class schedules are relatively the same. We can even have lunch together if that makes you feel better.”

Disgruntlement flickered across her features at the notion of eating together. Felix would be lying if he said that didn’t bother him.

“If I sense any sort of foul play-”

“You won’t.” He promised. “Heck, take my phone for good measure.”

Marinette’s expression leveled, and she held out her hand. “Deal.”

Despite still being pinned to the lockers, Felix managed to dig out his phone and hand it to her.

Marinette, being satisfied, dropped him as she pocketed the phone. “See you after classes, Agreste.”

Felix watched her sweep out of the room, noting the fact that she kept an eye on him the whole time. She must truly see him as a monster now if she’s waiting for him to pounce like that. He rubbed his chest where her forearm had been, knowing it would probably leave some type of bruise later, and headed for his first class.

Today was decidedly not going as planned.

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#Felinette #Felix Agreste #Marinette #Le Paon AU

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

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

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

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

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.