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pestilight · 1 year ago

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The hero will not make it.

Rauru pours every scintilla of light he has left into those grievous wounds. He presses it all into the wrist he's yet to let go of since that fateful clasp, a wellspring funnelled through the anchoring point of their contact. So tremendous an effort is it that another piece of his arm crumbles, quicker to decay without the blessing of Zonai blood nor heart nor stone, peeling off and fading into nothing within strands of dispelled radiance.

Still, it is not enough.

The right arm is beyond salvaging. The Gloom: a loathsome force merely kept at bay with his light's slower abrasion. With what it has devoured, devours, and seeks to continue devouring as its master recovers his strength, the hero — Link, a faint voice chimes, sweet with conviction and love for her swordsman — will not make it.

What an enormously cataclysmic thing to reckon with.

Somewhere in the far distance, what sounds startlingly like the time bell knells a solemn rhythm. His spirit cannot cast shadows, but it paints a seafoam glow over Link as Rauru looms over his body — hand clutching ever tighter, as though his hold alone could pierce past the trappings of mortal flesh and erase every sliver of rot in one fell swoop. He reaches for the Gloom again, tendrils of incanted light enveloping the source in a shimmering embrace, and once more, his magic does not purge as cleanly as he wants it to. Once more, another fragment of his remains falls away.

This is foolish, a part of him thinks; the part mired in memories of wanton bloodshed, of surviving at whatever the cost, of a time before a tempering kindness. Foolish, and needlessly cruel. He has seen damage of this severity wrought before — has treated it before.

At his core, he knows what must be done. His hesitation, in the face of that, is not a mercy: it is another moment suspended between life and death, another opportunity for the Gloom to spread, another tally against the odds of what would now be a miracle.

Another failing.

Rauru does not need to breathe, yet he nevertheless finds himself going through its invisible motions. It calms him, marginally, and his mind clears enough for the thought to turn constructive. Yes, he knows what must be done. The question now is: what is he to do with the repercussions?

—What repercussions? Another part of him thinks; the one locked in shame, drowning in regret, fraying with the need to pen this story to its very end.

The flow of his light stills.

It resumes a split second later, surging forth to continue hindering the creep of darkness, but his grip loosens. His fingers, slowly, unwind.

What repercussions, the thought continues, when it is only the right arm that has to be dealt with? A right arm that has to be accounted for?

A right arm that he, blessedly, still possesses?

Link's chances of survival do not seem so slight, now.

( Rauru's chances of atoning do not seem so elusive, now. )

It is a simple thing, grasping that ruined hand. Honing his light to burn through everything — skin, sinew, blood, marrow — is, too, effortless with how densely the corrosion is seeped into the flesh. The Gloom lingers, harder to contain for a moment with no corporeal bearer, but that will soon be remedied.

Link's fingers are the last ashes to be swept away. From there, it is just a matter of connecting.

Rauru does not say the words as he threads their vitalities together. Vows like these have always been a show of devotion more than anything, anyway. When this arm is all he can hope to offer to Link — to Zelda, to Mineru, to Sonia, to Hyrule, to everyone and everything he's loved and lost — what could possibly indicate his devotion more?

#* light of blessing / study.#( oh i started off so strong but flagged...i spent too much time on this to not hit send post though so SEND POST #vow of ra.uru scene but it's like zel.da's in that there are no words....just the act of giving....#also i probably don't make it clear enough but like. ra.uru cannot begin purging the gloom in li.nk's arm without #simultaneously searing the actual arm away with how thickly the gloom has infested it! hence why the amputation here is less cutting and #and more like. burning through remains sflkjdf idk. i hope that makes sense!#i have more things to say on how being sealed for millennia weakened both parties...and with no #sage's stone there is only so much he can feasibly do. pulling off the feat of magically installing a living prosthetic is the extent of it #but those are thoughts for another day lsdkjfl )#* ic / para.#* lightroot / ic.#* v / daybreak come again.#amputation cw #death mention #ask to tag /

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 10 days ago

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Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most | S.B.

feat. Sirius Black x Rowle!reader

SUMMARY: You and Sirius have known each other since childhood due to your families running in the same circles. But after a lifelong loathing of one another, the scale tips another way during the New Years Eve feast after-party.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hate fucking, enemies to enemies that kiss, abusive siblings, toxic friends, reader is Thorfinn Rowle’s twin sister, side Rabastan Lestrange x reader (it's complicated)

divider by @sxmmerberries

“Well, don’t you look supremely vicious this evening,” a low voice hummed in your ear, one you would recognize anywhere.

“Would you like a taste, Black?” You replied, turning your head just slightly so you could see him in your periphery. He looked exceptionally handsome, as he always did, with his regal bone structure and sage eyes, his hair glossy as raven’s feathers.

It made you sick.

“I’d rather chew nightshade. Far less dangerous.” Sirius stepped around to your front, openly surveying the outfit you’d selected for the evening: a black mini dress with long bell sleeves, a silver chain around your waist, and a platform pair of gogo boots that barely brought you up to his chin. “You’re lethal, darling.”

You and Sirius had known each other for years, having been in attendance for countless parties thrown by your families, and you always seemed to end up here, flirting like you were wielding knives instead of compliments. A competition to see who could deal them most flattering, and most lethal blow. And when he’d left his family for the Potter’s, that rivalry only deepened.

It was much easier to hate one another, to twist the most alluring parts of each other into flaws rather than admit the truth of what they were, or how they made you feel.

You were both at the New Years Eve feast afterparty in the Astronomy Tower, a rare multi-house event. Magic kept the blustering cold at bay, and the party safely enclosed in a bubble of warmth. Students from every house mingled, sipping straight from bottles of giggle water and dancing amid a haze of glittering confetti. The music thrummed through you, aiding the alcohol in loosening your tense muscles.

You loathed parties, but your brother, Thorfinn, had insisted. And what the oaf wanted, the oaf got.

Speak of the devil, you caught Thor’s eyes across the party, where he stood with Sirius�� cousin, Rabastan Lestrange, and the Carrow’s, scanning the crowd for their first unwitting plaything of the year. Thor’s gaze flicked to Sirius, and his expression darkened.

You turned your attention back to Sirius, rolling your eyes at him. “Better hurry back to Potter, baby. His hand must be getting cold outside of your ass.”

Your jab didn’t phase him, and he flashed you that dauntless grin. “What? Big brother says you’re not allowed to talk to me?”

Thor started to move through the crowd towards you, a battering ram through water, and panic curled behind your ribs. “I have no interest in speaking with you, reject. Leave me,” you hissed, as vicious as he accused you of being.

His smile tightened, your cruel words finally chinking his armor. Then, the bastard caught your eye flitting past his shoulder and turned, spotting Thor as he prowled ever closer. “Oh, he looks thrilled,” Sirius said, turning back to you. “Better turn that little brain off and play dumb like you’re so good at.”

Anger simmered under your skin, twining with the panic to make you feel a frantic, fevered.

With a huff, you stepped around Sirius and met Thor halfway, allowing him to take your elbow and steer you back across the party, his grip bruising.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, talking to that rat?” Thor seethed, his alcohol-singed breath wafting over your face.

“He came up to me,” you bit back, swallowing the urge to pull away despite the pain.

“So you walk away. Not play your stupid little word games.”

“I know, Thor. I’m sorry,” you said, feigning remorse, but tonight, he wouldn’t be so easily disarmed.

“Your lack of control is a disgrace,” he snarled, before shoving you away and almost directly into Rabastan, who caught you with a steadying hand before quickly releasing you.

“Just stay here,” Rab whispered in your ear, his heat at your back. “Pecking at my cousin isn’t worth the consequences.”

Rabastan Lestrange was far from a good man, but he wasn’t an unfeeling ogre like your brother, so you often took shelter in his calm demeanor and powerful name. If he wanted Thor shipped off to Azkaban, all he had to do was say the word.

Your parents hoped you would snag an engagement proposal from him by graduation, but the months were rapidly winding down. And you couldn't bring yourself to try all that hard, despite finding Rab both intriguing and exceedingly handsome. He was a Lestrange, after all, with angular features and the eyes of hunter, the kind of magnetic allure that only good genetics could buy.

You didn’t respond, snagging another flute of giggle water as it passed by and taking a delicate sip, Thor’s glare still trained on you. As your family demanded, you were to remain the picture of elegance, of restraint.

Appeased, Thor finally turned back to his hunt, and you exhaled.

You watched as students danced and flirted on the dance floor, gyrating and spinning with abandon. How badly you wished you could join them, could let loose for just a moment. And your opportunity arrived when the band started a slow waltz, and Rab’s hand caressed your lower back.

“Dance with me,” he said, not a request, but you didn’t mind.

He led you out onto the floor and you slid one hand up his broad chest, the other placed in his palm. He pulled you closer, his touch light and careful along your back as he started to lead you.

Dancing with Rab was effortless, fluid as water due to his extensive etiquette training, and you quickly got lost in the buoyant feeling of it.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, and you looked up at him, finding his brown eyes trained on your face, thick lashes heavy, a new intensity blooming.

“Thank you.” You rested your cheek on his muscular chest, overwhelmed by that look in his eye. Your parents would be thrilled. So thrilled, they may not even care that you broke form by resting your head on him.

Rab certainly didn't seem to mind, his hand growing heavier against the curve of your spine and pressing you closer together.

From this new angle, you scanned the crowd, watching countless other couples get lost in their own love story. There was Pandora and Xeno, and Evan and Barty. Not far from them was Marlene and Dorcas, and James Potter and Lily. And to the right of James—your heart stalled, acrid, green poison spilling through your blood.

Sirius was dancing with a girl you didn't recognize, her hair tangled in his long fingers while she kissed up his neck, their bodies flush and swaying.

But his eyes—his eyes were trained on you.

You shifted closer to Rab, an unconscious movement, and he purred in pleasure, his fingers trailing up your spine and making you shiver against him. He smelled expensive, amber and peppercorn, Burberry wool. Warmth began to spread through your lower belly, cloying and dark.

You lifted your head, glancing around to check Thor's location. He was tucked into an alcove with Lucinda, and paying you no mind. With Rab, you were safe from Thor's constant shadow, the burden of the Rowle name. With Rab, you were shielded by his even loftier name, a Lestrange by association. A large enough legacy to disappear into.

It could have been Sirius, your mind whispered, unprompted, and you flinched in Rab’s arms. Where had that come from?

“Alright, darling?” Rab asked, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “Did something frighten you?”

You shook your head, fingers curling into his chest. “Just a little overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping it comes off as coquettish and sweet instead of pathetic, like you feel.

You saw his gaze flit towards Thor, then back down to you. “Would you like me to throw him off the tower?”

You nearly choked on your surprise, then are stunned further to see a soft smile crinkling his eyes. A nervous flutter tickles your lungs, and you giggle. “No, no. That would be too obvious.”

Rab chuckled, his smile widening. “Fair enough, I suppose. Just say the word, love, and you will be free of him.” He pressed your head gently back onto his chest and you obliged, feeling his steady heart drum under your ear.

But, you couldn't seem to stop yourself from finding Sirius in the crowd once more.

He was dancing with Lily now, laughing and spinning her in wide circles, and that poison spread further, rooting into your bones.

It could have been you.

You flinched again, this time away from Rab. “I'm sorry, I—uh. I need some air.”

Rab looked around, you were literally outside, but nodded sympathetically. “Go on, little doe. I'll handle Thorfinn,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles before turning you loose.

You pushed your way through the crowd and down the stairs, bursting into the empty corridor below, the cold seeping in through the stone.

You leaned against the wall, drawing deep breaths, running your fingers through your hair. It was all too much, you were feeling too much, and you couldn't make sense of any of it.

Rabastan was finally flirting with you, and you ran away from him. From safety, from security, from your inevitable future. And for what? To avoid—

“Good ‘ole Rab scare you off?” Sirius drawled, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “That was a very swift exit.”

You rolled your eyes, straightening. “Can't allow me a moment of peace, can you?”

He sidled up closer, looking sinful in his all black outfit, his shirt half unbuttoned, neck heavy with silver chains. “Not in my nature.” He smirked.

“No, you're nature is far too effusive. Permeates the fucking room.”

“Wow, I've really got you wound up tonight, doll. Profanities on that pretty, posh tongue? Be still, my heart.”

“Not everything is about you, imbecile.”

He prowled closer, his hand resting on the stone beside your head. “So who is it about? I highly doubt that Rabastan Lestrange has you so hot and bothered.”

“And if he does?” You challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. Your bodies were so close, the heat of him pushing back the winter chill, and that bitter poison in your blood sweetened to something honeyed, sticky and slick and burning.

Sirius huffed a laugh, the warmth of his breath caressing your lips. “Then he’s an idiot for letting you out of his sight.”

“And why's that?” You prodded, bumping the tip of your nose against his, wanting to rip that smug smile off his face with your teeth.

“Because.” Sirius pressed his body to yours, solid and lean, so warm, too warm—”Someone else might burn in the fire he started.”

“You think we care if you burn?” You hiss, hating him so much you could scream, but wanting him so desperately you might cry.

“We?” He sneered, all mirth vanishing from his voice. “If there’s ‘we’, then why am I the one you're arching into? Why am I the one making your reptilian heart flutter?”

“Because you're insufferable and I hate you.” The last word skims the surface of his lips, the faintest brush of contact, a match striking the tinderbox.

“And you're a liar,” he growled, slamming his mouth onto yours in a vicious, wrathful kiss, the electricity between you combusting with a boom that rocked you to your core.

You gasped against his mouth, his tongue driving between your teeth to taste you, claim you. You bit down on his tongue, just hard enough to make him grunt in agitation, and his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air and forcing your to release your hold.

His rings were icy against your fevered skin, his lips against your ear. “Oh, darling. How long have you waited to be bad?”

Unable to move, you flicked your tongue out, dragging it along the hard angle of his jaw, and he shuddered, loosing a wrecked groan.

He crashed your lips together again, open-mouthed and sloppy. He kissed you like every second was stolen, every lick was a victory, and it made your head spin. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen.

He released your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, making your lungs burn. His lips moved down to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as his hands bunched up your dress, fingertips grazing the bare flesh of your thighs.

“Sirius, not here,” you gasped, moaning as he sucked a mark just under your ear, where it could be easily hidden by your hair.

You felt him smirk, and you realized that you'd verbally accepted what was happening, the charade of fighting having fallen without you realizing.

“Why? Afraid you'll get caught with the reject?” He threw your words back at you, and you cringed internally. But there was no malice in his voice, just that infuriating humor.

You grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into a nearby classroom, locking the door behind you. He promptly tossed you up onto a desk, resuming his colonization of your neck, his narrow hips nestled between your thighs.

His hungry exploration of your skin had your blood boiling, your cunt slick and thrumming with need. It was so bizarrely discordant with the loathing in your mind, but it only made your desire burn that much brighter. It didn't help that he was so unbelievably sexy like this, his hair messy, lips rosy and bitten, his shirt wrinkled from your hands.

The image of that leech attached to his neck flitted through your mind, your anger flaming anew. You tangled your fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. You laved your tongue up his esophagus and his hips bucked against you, the hardness of his cock tangible against your thigh.

You covered his throat in wet kisses and licks, marking every spare inch as yours.

“Fuck, doll. You're a feral little thing aren't you?” He rasped, his hand sliding around your thigh to stroke the outside of your panties. “And fucking soaked for me.”

You bit down on his neck, earning a hiss of pain and another stutter of his hips.

He pressed his fingers harder against your cunt, making big, messy circles over your slit and you cried out, the pleasure far more intense that you anticipated.

“Sensitive, baby? So warm and wet—you've ruined these expensive panties, y’know? Such a shame, I bet they look so fucking pretty—”

“Shut up, Sirius,” you hissed, throwing your head back as his middle finger massaged your clit, stars dancing behind your eyes.

“I don't think I will. I think you like hearing me whisper filthy things in your ear. Don't you, my naughty girl? Ah—shit, yes—feel that? Your cunt is practically purring in my hand, drooling all over my fingers—”

“Sirius,” you whined, the attitude draining from your voice as your orgasm prowled near, your entire body humming with desperation, with need.

“Poor thing, getting close, hm?” He pulled the gusset of your panties aside, the pads of his fingers making direct contact with your puffy clit. With his other hand he undid his trousers and you reached for him, pulling his cock out.

Fuck, it was pretty. Of course it was, it belonged to Sirius Black. Long and veiny, flushed and shining with slick. You licked your lips, longing for a taste, but you needed to come more.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he groaned as you pumped him, smearing precum over the rigid head with your thumb. “Ready, doll?”

You angled your hips forward, lining him up with your gooey entrance. He batted your hand away, grabbing his base and easing himself a few inches inside of you, hissing through his teeth.

“Of course you have the perfect fucking pussy,” he grated, almost angry. “Why wouldn't you fit me like a glove? You fucking brat—”

You were barely listening, lost in the delicious feeling of him spearing you on his cock, ripping you apart at the seams and stitching you back together in the shape of him.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you mewled, falling back onto the desk when he bottomed out, so full it felt like he was in your lungs, your heart, your throat.

He drew his hips back, pausing just before his tip left your entrance. “Say my name again,” he growled, leaning over you.

You bit your lip, eyes flashing with defiance despite the need tearing apart your insides.

“Oh, darling,” he chuckled. He shifted forward, slamming his hips into yours with a brutal punch to your cervix. “I'll get it out of you one way or another.”

He fucked you mercilessly, driving in and out of you like he'd somehow exorcise the attitude from your body. And you fucking loved it, keening and crying out as you thrashed underneath him, unable to get purchase on the smooth wood beneath you. But you held your tongue, refusing to say his name.

“You really are a brat, you know? So fucking spoiled,” he growled against your neck, breathless, his grip painful on your hips. “Giving me nothing but attitude, and here I am, giving you exactly what you fucking want.” He slapped your clit, making you jump and cry out as your orgasm pulled taught, a hairs width from shattering.

“Sirius, please,” you begged, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes as the last of your resolve crumbled.

“That’s better,” he cooed, so condescending you'd punch him if you weren't about to explode. “See? You can be a good girl.” His middle finger found you clit again, moving into tight, fast circles, and you detonated.

An inferno burned from your core through every muscle fiber and tendon, every cell and every atom, eviscerating your mind until you were nothing but ash and starlight, weightless and scattered.

But Sirius didn't let up for a second, and you were quickly wrenched back into your body, oversensitive and wrung out, crying real tears as he fucked you through it.

“Fuck, that was beautiful. You even come pretty. Got another one for me? Shit, baby—feels like you do. Squeezin’ me so tight—fuck!” He roared as his own release crashed over him, his cock kicking hard against your tender walls and painting you with rope after rope of his seed.

The feeling drove you into another, smaller orgasm, your body lifting to wrap around his as you both shook and whined, clinging to one another through the onslaught.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, breathing labored and trembling so hard the desk shook beneath you. You collapsed onto your back, thighs clenching and unclenching around his hips, mirroring the frantic flutter of your used cunt.

He kissed you a final time, loose and featherlight, and your heart gave a weak trill. Your breath mingled another moment before he stepped away from you, tucking himself back into trousers.

You sat up, feeling his release squelch between your thighs, and shame crashed down over you, hard enough to steal you breath.

Thorfinn was going to fucking kill you, if he didn't kill Sirius first.

He noticed your expression shift. “Nobody needs to know,” Sirius said, his low, steady voice cutting through the cacophony of panic in your mind. “I won't say anything. To anyone.”

“Not even Potter?” You asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

“No, not even James. This stays between us,” his tone was soft, more sincere than you'd ever heard him, and it assuaged some of your fear.

You nodded, exhaling, though the relief was quickly overshadowed with sour guilt, and something else you refused to look at closely enough to name.

Sirius approached you again, catching your chin and tilting your head up towards him. “But when you go back up there, dance with my cousin, kiss him at midnight, I want you to remember who's dripping between your thighs. Who you were screaming for.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, jerking your chin out of his hold.

“Already did,” he smirked, disappearing into the corridor before you could say anything else.

Heat scorching your cheeks, you cleaned yourself up as best you could in the privvy before returning to party.

Rabastan and Thorfinn descended on you immediately. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

“Where have you been?” Thor growled, tugging you closer by the wrist, his giant hands making the thin bones grind together.

“I told you,” Rab cut in, his voice a glacial calm. “She stepped out to the ladies and to get some fresh air. These parties can be overwhelming for those with a gentler constitution.” Rab gave you a knowing look, a ‘keep your mouth shut and go with it' look, and you nodded in agreement.

His hand fell to your lower back, tugging you closer to him and away from Thor, and like the spineless coward you were, you went gratefully into his embrace.

As if his cousins come wasn't crusting along your inner thighs. Like your lips weren't still tingling from Sirius’ kiss.

“Now, take your hand off of her before I remove it,” Rab ordered, sharp as a razor’s edge.

Thor looked back and forth between the two of you, the singular gear in his brain turning.

Thor released you, suddenly seeming entirely too pleased, and dread coiled in your gut. Some kind of exchange had occurred, a currency trading hands, and it made you vaguely nauseous.

“Come, darling,” Rab murmured to you, leading you back towards the dance floor. “It's only a few moments ‘til midnight.”

When the clock finally wound down, the bell tower tolling loudly enough to shake the floors, instead of pulling you in for a kiss like you expected, Rabastan bowed low. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your ring finger, the same place a diamond would find it's home, and you flushed from head to toe.

Tingles erupted all over your body, your muscles tensing with excitement, but it was quickly followed by a twinge of exhaustion in your core, a sobering reminder of what you'd done.

God, what had you done?

Thank you for reading! 🤍

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