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gaitwae · 4 years ago

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"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement.

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly.

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —”

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face.

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!”

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment.

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate.

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud — they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki.

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown…

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this.

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while.

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki.

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

#gaitwae writes #loki #marvel #mcu #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x y/n #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki x you #loki angst #loki hurt/comfort

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klarolijahs · 3 years ago

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So I saw you were open for requests. How about something terribly angsty for Kanthony? Like maybe kate couldn't have kids, and Anthony takes a mistress or something?

You really like angst don't you?

Okay, so this is heavily borrowed by a fic I wrote for Klaroline ages ago - and the prompt kind of fits. This is extreeeeeeeeeeemely OOC for Anthony, but here goes. Don't kill me. I promise I make Anthony suffer!

TW - Character death, and cheating.

______________________________________________________

The first girl was stillborn. Nothing to worry about, the midwife had said, she was young, she would bear many children.

The second girl was born barely a year later, with a head full of auburn curls and brown eyes.

They called Anthony stern and severe; she knew him to be rough, at the very start of their forced courtship he hadn’t been a gentleman, and had laid out the duties and expectations of their marriage in crisp, clear words. But when he looked down at his daughter, a simple smile on his face, she knew he wasn't as cruel as they made him out to be. Her husband was a complicated man.

The third daughter was born three months early, and didn't survive the night.

The fourth daughter was born eleven months later, her hair curlier and as dark as Kate with early signs of her father's dimples. Anthony was content and smiled in resignation.

The fifth daughter was born a year later. Anthony didn't hold her until she was 4 months old.

Then, he stopped coming to her bedchambers, stopped touching her, and stopped seeing her altogether. Without any warning, she was shifted to a smaller bedchamber as far away from Anthony' as possible, and informed by his man of business that since she could not bear her son any male heirs, her services would no longer be needed. And that he would find someone else to bear him a son.

Their marriage had been an arranged one, with the intent to provide his title an heir and his name a Viscountess, but with time she had come to love Anthony, and come to believe that he reciprocated her feelings. Which fueled her determination to speak to him before he took drastic steps.

"You could say no," she asked him, refusing to cry or expose her vulnerability as she sat on his bed. It had taken her a full week to manage to get an audience with her own husband.

"I want a son, Kate," he replied sternly, "Is that so wrong of me?" he questioned, his eyes cold and hollow, and she longed to see any sign of the man who had kissed every inch of her, who wiped her tears when the lost their child, who rocked her back to sleep when it thundered, some sign, any indication that she meant more to him than a working womb.

"Is it wrong of me to want a faithful husband?" she retorted back, tears sneaking down her cheeks and she wiped at them furiously. No, he wouldn’t get the satisfaction to see her cry. He hesitated for a second, before turning away from her as he said, "It isn't uncommon." He said softly, the Viscount disappearing for just a minute, and the man - Anthony - warm, kind, complicated, brash re-appeared.

She knew he was right; it wasn't uncommon for titled men to take lovers, but that didn't mean it didn't sting her. She had nothing more to say, no meager words would change his mind. Gathering her skirts as gracefully as she could, she made her way out of his chambers.

He spoke her name softly, making her turn around as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Kate."

And Kate could see that he wanted to be more, more than Viscount Bridgerton who existed only for duty. But he chose to close off, to treat her as such. So she could choose her pride, her dignity.

“You’re a coward, Anthony Bridgerton.” She said venomously and left his chambers.

She watched from afar, burying the pain and betrayal she felt, focusing all her attention on her daughters. She didn't know her name, she didn't want to. She saw her at times; making herself believe that Anthony had chosen a Brunette, brown-eyed girl for a reason.

She watched and ignored and mourned, until his lover gave birth to a son. Anthony no longer smiled at her, never even looked at his daughters. She was no longer the woman of the house, she was the woman who wasn't good enough.

Then she spiraled down a deep abyss that had no bottom.

-------------

Anthony heard the servants screaming as he played with his son in the garden. Handing him off to his caretaker, he ran into the mansion, following the screams.

They came from Kate's bedchambers, where he found his wife hanging from the ceiling, her tears still wet on her cheeks.

-------------

The dreams began years after her death.

Preoccupied with his own thoughts, he ventured into the wing of the house he never visited, as if fearing it would break him by its mere presence. The sound of loud giggling and running feet stopped him in his tracks, as a small girl ran out of her chambers and into the passage. Her governess screeched as she followed behind her. Charlotte, eleven years old now, was the spitting image of her mother, even at such a young age. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at his daughter, a wave of emotions spiraling through him.

Taken aback by him, she stopped in her tracks, twirling around in her bright yellow dress as she gave him a shy, genuine smile, and in his head he saw Kate smiling at him the same way, on their wedding night all those years ago. She had her mother's smile. And his heart broke, when he realized the girl probably didn't even know he was her father. The governess grabbed her by the shoulders, gently reprimanding her for running away. Her hurried apologies fell on deaf ears, his attention focused on the small child who huffed and followed after her caretaker. He lingered by the door, watching as Charlotte asked her governess who the strange man was.

"He's your father, pumpkin," the old lady replied, fussing over the child's unruly curls.

From the small crack of the door, Anthony watched as the smile faded from his first-born face, her eyes growing dark and sad as she looked down at her feet. And in his head, he saw Kate's face when she learnt of his son.

-------------

That night, he dreamt of her for the first time.

He dreamt of the last conversation they had, he dreamt of giving in to her, he dreamt of forgetting about his need to have a son. He dreamt of not letting her walk away from him. He dreamt of never having done anything to have to apologize to her for.

He dreamt of being the Anthony that had been in love with Kate, not the coward who put his duty first.

When he woke up, he was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. And never knowing, or never wanting to know, if the wetness on his cheeks was from his cold sweats or the tears he shed in the memory of his dead wife.

-------------

He dreamt of her every night, therein.

He dreamt of the day his youngest daughter was born. He dreamt of going in to see her after he was informed it was a girl. He dreamt of holding her as Kate watched him. He dreamt of suggesting that they name her after Kate's mother. He dreamt of not leaving for four months to court another woman to share his bed and bear his son.

And when he woke up, the truth of his actions haunted him. His daughter was named Mary, but by no aid of his. And by the time he first held her, he had decided that it would be the last time he would hold her, or her mother.

He dreamt of the night he betrayed his vows to Kate. He dreamt of not going through with it. He dreamt of giving into the guilt that had flooded him. He dreamt of going back to Kate, telling her that he'd rather have her and a dozen daughters than some other woman and a male heir.

But when he woke up, his wife was now the woman who bore him his son. And his daughters had no idea who he was.

-------------

Weeks later, he requested to see his daughters, a request that positively baffled their governess. It was a cruel joke, he was certain of if, for each of his daughters looked just like their mother. Mary, the youngest and the most clueless, took to him the fastest, chasing the butterflies with her sister. Charlotte, stood feet away from him, holding onto her governess' hand tightly. She was afraid of him, he could tell, and deep down, he could not blame her for fearing him.

"Come sit next to me," he said, smiling at the girl who narrowed her eyes at him. His heart ached to hold his daughter's hand, trace the light freckles on her cheek, knowing that in doing so, he'd be touching a part of Kate. He needed it like he needed his next breath. But his daughter was just like her mother, stubborn and determined, as she resolutely shook her head and disappeared behind her governess.

"Why not?" he asked, burying the sudden pain and anger he felt at her rejection.

"Because," Charlotte said bravely, poking her head out from behind her caretaker's many skirts, "You killed mother."

His eyes widened as he felt his heart drop down to his gut, watching in horror as Charlotte gave him a look that screamed disappointment and bitterness, as her governess alternated between yelling at the child and apologizing to him. His daughter was ashamed of him, he could see it in her watery eyes, and he would never be her father, just the man who took her mother away.

Three truthful words and a look of pure disappointment from a child bought the weight of his decisions down on him. His hands may be clean, but his conscience never would. He might as well have tied the noose that took his Kate's life.

A coward, through and through.

And that sent him spiraling down a deep abyss with no bottom.

-------------

He dreamt of her asking for him. He dreamt of her pleading for his help, dreamt of her feeble, pained voice calling out for him. He dreamt of rushing to her aid, dreamt of finding her injured and helpless in her chambers. He dreamt of saving her life, dreamt of holding her till she stopped crying. He dreamt of never letting her go.

When he awoke, he created a ruckus in the mansion. Breaking through every door and waking up all the servants. Like a possessed man, he screamed and howled at everything and everyone, yelling that Kate was calling for him, insisting that he heard her, crying that she was hurt and begging them to find her for him. He searched for her for hours and hours, but to no avail.

When he finally slept that night, on the cold floor of his chambers, he did so truly believing that he had killed her yet again.

-------------

And from that day onwards, the ton had a new name for him. He was no longer the cool and stern Viscount. He was now The Mad Viscount. He saw Kate everywhere, in every brunette woman on the street, every brown-eyed servant in the mansion. He saw her everywhere, he heard her everywhere, and he felt her everywhere. And he knew with every fiber of his being, that she was in pain, that she needed his help, that he could save her.

And every night, he dreamt of her calling out to him.

And every night, like a mad-man he searched for her in every corner of the mansion, in every nook and cranny of the garden, every alley of every street, begging the world to give her back to him.

But she never did.

She haunted him in his every waking and sleeping moment.

Until the day he took his life in the same place she did.

#my writing #kanthony #kate x anthony #bridgerton #AGNST #anthony suffers trust me #TW #trigger warning #OOC Anthony because he would never cheat but okay #CHARACTER DEATH BEWARE

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

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Rhaego The Malformed

Okay, so we know Rhaego came out looking like this:

“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.” (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

While the blood magic may have killed him (since he was alive and kicking in Dany’s womb and visibly grew), it’s likely, he always looked like this, because GRRM tells us it happened before.

Maegor the Cruel did it twice.

ALYS OF HOUSE HARROWAY (…) She was the first woman to become pregnant by the king in the year 48 AC, but she lost the babe soon after. What was expelled from her womb was a monstrosity, eyeless and twisted, and in his fury Maegor blamed and executed her midwives, septas, and the Grand Maester Desmond. (…)

ELINOR OF HOUSE COSTAYNE (…) She, too, became pregnant, and like Alys before her, she gave birth to a stillborn abomination said to have been born eyeless and with small wings. She survived that monstrous labor, however, and was one of the two wives who survived the king.

(A World of Ice and Fire - The Targaryen Kings: Maegor I)

Considering these examples, Rhaego may even always have been destined to be stillborn, and it was only his unborn life that was traded.

What would Drogo have done if he had remained uninjured and that prophecy Stallion baby had come out this way? Blind and malformed? Would Rhaego have even survived the day of his birth? Would Dany have?

This was never going to end well for Dany. And it’s not Mirri that doomed her, nor even Viserys. It’s the fact that she is the product of generations of rampant, abusive incest practices meant to preserve the dark blood magic that had been cooked up in ancient Valyria. That blood magic was always about power and oppression: fire and blood. Slavery and conquest. Destruction and death. And occasionally it would bite back in this way: the refusal of new life.

The same source of Dany’s own power, her dragon blood, is the source of her doom. She literally never had a chance to create life out of her own body. With a different childhood, she could have found something else to fulfill her, but - again - her Targaryen family prevented that. Like the Lannisters they self-perpetuate their cruelty and abuse. On and on and on.

It is so bitter.

But at least now I’m even more certain that there won’t be another Targcest baby. Even if Jon has to debase himself with Dany, it would ultimately be fruitless.

Mirri’s “prophecy” is smoke and mirrors in every sense, because, actually, Dany already rejected Drogo’s return herself.

If she died here, Dany wondered, would the horse god of the Dothraki part the grass and claim her for his starry khalasar, so she might ride the nightlands beside her sun-and-stars? Or would the angry gods of Ghis send their harpies to seize her soul and drag her down to torment?

(ADWD, Daenerys IX)

Followed by...

She called until her voice was hoarse … and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him. Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. "To go forward I must go back," she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon's neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone. Drogon went willingly enough; perhaps he smelled the rider's fear.

In a dozen heartbeats they were past the Dothraki, as he galloped far below. To the right and left, Dany glimpsed places where the grass was burned and ashen. Drogon has come this way before, she realized. Like a chain of grey islands, the marks of his hunting dotted the green grass sea.

A vast herd of horses appeared below them. There were riders too, a score or more, but they turned and fled at the first sight of the dragon. The horses broke and ran when the shadow fell upon them, racing through the grass until their sides were white with foam, tearing the ground with their hooves … but as swift as they were, they could not fly. Soon one horse began to lag behind the others. The dragon descended on him, roaring, and all at once the poor beast was aflame, yet somehow he kept on running, screaming with every step, until Drogon landed on him and broke his back.

(ADWD, Daenerys X)

She herself makes the choice. No horse gods, no starry khalasar, no sun-and-stars. The grass burns, the horses burn, the riders flee.

It was never about hinting at a future successful pregnancy, or even dying in childbirth. It was about rejecting Drogo’s return entirely. Dany doesn’t need Drogo. She traded him for her dragons. She has become Drogo, she has surpassed him. He will never return.

No matter that Quentyn, the sun, rose in the west and set in the east. No matter than the Dothraki sea is going dry. Dany miscarries again. She can never have a living child. And she has already chosen the dragon. Again.

And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. "When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east," she said sadly. "When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before."

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream.

She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face. (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

Dany has embraced what her ancestors did to her: power, fire and blood. Bride of fire, daughter of death, mother of dragons. No life. No future. A kiss and a death.

#asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #maegor the cruel #infertility #blood magic #rhaego #prophecy #mirri maz duur

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silenteyes · 3 years ago

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30 Days of Luke Oneshots based off songs in his playlist I made

If you want day 1, here it is. And this is the link to the playlist

Day 2: Come Little Children

This is very much inspired by this oneshot by @asmo-ds , please do read it! Also heads up, I have no memory or clue what Barbatos calls Lucifer so I’m just gonna let Barbs call him by his name

Warnings: Angst (There is comfort though! I just couldn’t follow Hocus Pocus’ interpretation of the song)

---

Simeon’s cries felt distant as he fell from the realm he once called ‘home’. Why? Why did it have to turn out this way? What did he do wrong? Was he that... useless? Even Michael couldn’t believe his ears when he heard that Luke was going to be banished. He had done nothing, and could even rival what angels higher in the hierarchy are capable of. Useless was anything but what Luke is.

He was told by Simeon to go straight to the brothers, or at least Diavolo and Barbatos. Oh gosh, Simeon’s face... Luke had never seen it before. It was so void of the happiness he was used to seeing. Right then, it was so full of grief and despair, and Luke felt so sorry that he was the cause of it. The face that once gave Luke hope was now shattered, and the only thing he could hold onto was the comfort Simeon’s eyes revealed - telling him that everything was going to be alright. Luke disliked the demons, but even he had to admit he could tolerate them and in this situation, it would be best to trust them.

He was expecting to hit the ground when he was caught by arms that felt so strong and warm.

“Luke, what are you doing here? Why did you fall fro-” Lucifer asked the younger before cutting himself off, his realization hitting him. Luke’s wails gave away that he was in deep agony and although Lucifer didn’t really like him that much, those wails felt like stabs, so wrong coming from this child who used to be so pure.

Luke held onto Lucifer as if his life depended on him, which it probably did considering that if Lucifer wasn’t there he might’ve already been gone. Lucifer adjusted Luke’s position into a more comfortable one, comforting him the way he used to comfort his brothers when they fell from the Celestial Realm. He tucked Luke’s head into the crook of his neck and rushed to the Demon Lord’s castle.

He woke up with a cry as pain shot up his back and he was hurriedly laid back down by a pair of arms. He opened his eyes slightly to see the person before he let out another sob.

“Lu...ci..fer?” he croaked out.

“Yes, it’s me, Luke,” Lucifer sighed out in relief. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d been worried sick Luke might not wake up. “You’re in one of the bedrooms in Lord Diavolo’s castle right now. Barbatos will be coming in soon to check in on you.”

Luke let out a strangled noise as he tried to nod. Lucifer shushed him and checked over Luke once more and his breath caught in his throat. Where his back was once bare now grew tattered and dark feathers, indicating that his wings were going to grow sooner or later. His horns might grow then as well.

As he was looking over Luke, Barbatos came in as if he was in a rush, and it seems as if he was.

“Oh, Luke,” Barbatos whispered is horror. The butler had taken a liking to Luke, and when the exchange program ended, the younger didn’t hold back any tears as he hung onto Barbatos.

The butler then brought in his signature cake and Luke lightened up a bit, which made both the older demons smile sadly. Barbatos gave Luke a slice of the cake and offered one to Lucifer as well, which he accepted when he glanced at Luke.

“Ugh, I missed your cake, Barbatos! I kept trying to make it but it wouldn’t taste the same!” Luke groaned and made Barbatos chuckle slightly. He and Lucifer then exchanged eye contact.

“Lord Diavolo suggests that Luke stays at the House of Lamentation, if you don’t mind,” Barbatos told Lucifer to which he sighed in response.

“I’ve thought so, my brothers are already making a room ready for you,” he said as he looked at Luke and he widened his eyes.

“If it’s fine. I really don’t want to burden any of you! I’m already doing so by-”

“Luke, they’ve already made a room for you. You won’t be burdening us,” chastised Lucifer.

Luke stared at Lucifer before giggling softly. “I now see why MC used to call you an over-bearing mother.”

Lucifer pulled a face at the thought of that as he sighed in exasperation.

“Lucifer, can you give me and Luke some time alone, please?’

Lucifer looked between the two and nodded as he sat up and left. He could guess that Luke still wasn’t alright, and he wouldn’t be the best at that. Besides, Luke and Barbatos had a bond much stronger.

As Lucifer left, the tears he had been holding in started falling from his eyes. Barbatos then slowly took the plate of cake and placed it on the table and sat down on the bed, and ever so gently he lead the boy forward until Luke was pressed up against his side and wrapped up in his arms. The sobs Luke let out were heart-breaking and his small chest was heaving heavily, struggling to breathe. Barbatos then suddenly had an idea, and he the placed Luke’s head on his chest.

“ Come Little Children,

I'll take thee away,

Into a land of enchantment.”

The butler’s calm and low voice quieted Luke, but he was still hiccuping and tears were still running down his face. “Come Little Children,

Times come to play,

Here in my garden of shadows.” Barbatos has never despised the angels more than this moment (except maybe Simeon). Rest assured, this “garden of shadow” would be the safest place Luke can live without being banished just because some angel thought he was weak and useless. “Follow sweet children,

I'll show thee the way,

Through all the pain and the sorrows.” The butler is sure that in time, the brothers and the young Lord will be able to help Luke through all this. He’s too young after all, and this will impact him forever. “Weep not poor children,

For life is this way,

Murdering Beauty and Passions.” Alas, out of all the realities he’s seen this one may have been the most unpredictable of all. But - he guesses, life isn’t always about beauty and happiness. “Hush now my children,

It must be this way,

Too wary of life and deception.” Luke was never really deceived in a way so cruel, so harsh for beings who live in the Celestial Realm. So maybe it was because of that even though he distrusts easily, he places his confidence and kindness in many people, the young Lord can confirm that. “Rest now my children,

For soon we'll away,

Into the calm and the quiet.” Barbatos finally felt Luke slump against him and he brushed his lips against the younger one’s hair.

“Do not worry, Simeon. We will take care of Luke and one day you two will be reunited again. This is a reality I am going to make happen.”

The End

---

Oh my heavens the way it took me 3-4 fucking hours to make this MY BRAIN LITERALLY WENT BLANK AFTER THE FIRST FIVE PARAGRAPHS. Anyways hope you enjoyed this! Thank you, lads, for reading this!

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another-snape-story · 4 years ago

Text

Merry Christmas

Chapter XXI

The days that followed were tough. You happened to visit The Department of Magical Law Enforcement every once in a week – although you were beyond suspicion, they always had new questions.

“They call me again.” The words that made Snape’s heart sink each time they were spoken. Once annoyed, the other time despaired – “They call me again,” you announced over and over again. Of course, this couldn’t pass by unnoticed without affecting your emotional state which kept worsening after every new attendance.

Snape felt you were getting estranged – from him, from the world around. It was unbearable seeing vigorous glint of your eyes gradually die out. Knowing your passion for nature walks, he used to take you outside whenever possible. Snowy landscapes along with fresh air worked wonders, and you were back again – distressed, tired, but still alive.

Support Severus gave you was huge, substantial, able to bring you to tears, which in your current condition was easy as pie. Immensely grateful for his regard, you felt like giving him the whole world in return. The more time you spent together, the stronger grew your sentiment for the man, until you realized you could no longer imagine your days without him. Relieved in the solace his presence offered, you wished you could nestle under his protective wing, shielded from all the horrors of cruel reality, and doze off in a long deep peaceful slumber.

You hated the moment Snape left you at your door late in the evening, afraid to stay alone with your thoughts or just selfishly unwilling to let him go – sometimes you seemed to forget he wasn’t your possession and had other things to take care of apart from you. The man’s become an indispensable part of your life, a vital part of you, which, if taken, would cause a fatal outcome. Little did you know you’ve become the such for him as well.

Looking you in the eyes as he put you on train, Snape struggled with desire to cup your face and make that one last step towards the edge to let you know his heart was beating for you and you only, to assure you were not alone, that you could count on him whatever happened. However, being a man of a rational mind, he admitted he was no good match for you – with heavy burden of his past and a vague chance for future – what could he give you? Moreover, he wasn’t hoping you’d accept him. How pathetic thinking you would!

Snape felt uneasy letting you go to London alone. Having grown exceedingly protective of you he couldn’t find any peace until you returned, safe and unharmed. During hours of your absence, Snape questioned himself what if the court found you were involved by implication? What if you decided not to prolong your contract with Hogwarts and left the school once the term was over? What would his life be like without you?.. Intrusive thoughts that scratched in the back of his mind aggravated all of his unpleasant traits, and students got to suffer Snape’s ill temper more severely than usual every time you were away.

“It’s over,” wearied, emotionally drained, you informed Severus when he met you at the station in Hogsmeade as he’s done since the process started.

“You told everything like we’ve agreed?” anxiety bubbling inside his chest, Snape intently examined your face to detect the slightest change in your expression trying to foresee the probable answer before you could utter a word.

The question reminded you about the dispute you had before your departure. You nodded weakly. Although you’ve chosen to follow Snape’s advice, you still were uncertain if you did the right thing.

“Good,” he approved calmly as befitted his usual composure, while a sudden yet so much anticipated relief made him feel dizzy. No one would take you from him, now he knew it for sure.

“He’s been sentenced to ten years,” your voice bleak and lifeless. “I should’ve told the truth. Should’ve told them it was all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Snape stepped closer, his hands reaching out for you.

“It’s unfair. That’s not what I intended.”

“Listen. It’s just the consequence of negligence,” he softly rubbed your shoulders. “Nothing more.”

“I know,” you sighed bitterly. “I know… But… I didn’t mean to ruin his life. Didn’t mean to…” you fell silent fighting back tears.

“He’d end up in prison anyway,” Snape stated with contempt, wishing the man who brought you so much trouble be damned. Snape realized you’d need time to finally get over all this and move on – and he was there to help you. “Let’s go back.” He led you along the platform covered with a thick layer of trampled snow dotted by hundreds of footprints.

“Have the students left already?” you asked indifferently just to switch the trail of thought.

“Yes. This morning.”

A ghost of a smile swept across your lips. “How was the feast?” sad notes in the tone of your voice revealed utter disappointment over a missed opportunity to attend one of the main school events.

“No trolls, no three-headed dogs,” he spoke apathetically. “Boring, in other words.” Snape could’ve probably been other opinion if you kept him company.

“Huh, I thought all the celebrations here had an element of surprise,” you sniggered recalling the night of Halloween. The night of Halloween! Quirrell… You knew Severus wouldn’t appreciate what you were going to tell him, but keeping it in secret after the risk taken would make no sense either way. Preparing for being told off, you listened to the snow creaking serenely under your feet.

“I saw Quirrell again,” you confided at last as you turned around the corner heading towards the carriage harnessed by a pair of Thestrals.

“And again you followed him?” Snape frowned disapprovingly, just as you would expect.

“Yes, but this t…”

“How many times have I told you not to mess with him?” he resented.

“And how many times have I mentioned I were not a child?”

“Leave him to me! Being ‘not a child’ isn’t enough!”

“Aren’t you even curious what I’ve seen?!” you huffed in disbelief. He’s never taken it so bad before.

“No! I’m not curious at all!” Snape raised his voice. “Merlin! He might be dangerous! Is it too complicated for your stubborn head to grasp the simple fact?”

“You speak this way to your students, not me!” you spat back. That was way too much. Who did he think he was?!

“I will speak to you the way you deserve unless you listen to me!” he hissed angrily.

“Oh is that what I deserve? Really?! After a month of interrogations with testifying at the trial on top of this SHIT-CAKE? Is that what I deserve?!” you burst out. “I listened to you and didn’t tell them it was me who purposely changed the data! And now I’ll have to LIVE with it!” yet you were shouting.

“At least you’ll live!” Snape growled in frustration. He shouldn’t have spoken to you this way. Living in constant fear for your fate, holding back all the doubts that ate on him while he played confidence assuring you everything was going to be all right, but actually having no idea how the things might’ve turned out was a real torture – no wonder, he still resembled a bare nerve when it came to the matter of your safety. Always composed and collected, this time Snape failed to restrain his emotions.

Although he regretted it immediately, it was too late for remorse. Exasperated, pissed with his tone, you rushed past the carriage. “I’ll walk!”

Trying to stop you, Snape grabbed your elbow. You spun around, shooting him a vicious look which shattered Snape’s puny hope you would accept his apology. “Get in,” he said calmly. “I will walk.”

“FINE.” You abruptly freed yourself from his grip and climbed inside.

The carriage set off.

You laid your head on the backrest, tears streaming down your cheeks. This scene was easy to be avoided, but, as ill luck would have it, everything came together at the breaking point. Of course, he was worrying about you. No one ever had. Yet he did. He placed your interests over his own. How many days, how many nights he has spent comforting you! Fixated on your problems, you’ve never taken into consideration when he has managed to keep up with his work… after spending hours and hours and hours with you… Anger struggling with an expanding feeling of guilt and gratitude tore your soul apart.

But his tone! You crossed your arms on your chest, still doubting whether to forgive him. His tone hurt!

The window hole offered a wonderful performance of trees and bushes garmented into gentle niveous covering slowly dancing along the road. As much as you loved winter, the other day you’d hardly be able to take your eyes off this fairy picture, but now it seemed to just dishearten you. You turned away – the vacant seat beside you gaped with pervasive emptiness – same that you felt inside. Severus used to take it, right next to you. Once, you’ve even fallen asleep on his shoulder… A memory brought a dolorous smile to your face. You missed him. You missed him so bad. What just happened wasn’t right. It should’ve been different. Moreover, on a day like this.

You gave a sign for the carriage to stop and stormed out – you haven’t gone too far – he’d catch up with you soon. Wading through the snow, you hurried back to reunite with the man so dear to your heart as soon as possible. In his black coat he should be an easy target to spot, but Snape was nowhere to be seen. Frozen to the bone, you found yourself standing on the place where you left him. Despaired, you looked around – not a single soul.

“Severus!” you called him desperately, a lump in your throat growing thicker as you tried to hold it in. “Sev…” Everything’s gone so wrong.

Lost the last bit of hope – despondent and wretched – you sobbed into the void, scoffing grievously at yourself, “Merry Christmas…” Perhaps, you deserved it indeed.

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years ago

Text

pet

— “Go on, pet,” you nip at his throat, skin that was much softer than you would think with the scales that plagued his body. “Make your owner happy.” —

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pairing: spinner (shuchi iguchi) x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, cursing, bondage, desperation, dom!fem, praise, begging, orgasm denial, toys, over-stimulation, multiple-orgasm, xenophilia, marking/biting, cunnilingus, pegging, human-pet-play, collar and leash, and breeding

word count: 7,750

a/n: THIS IS SO LATE BUT LMAO COMMISSION FOR THE INCREDIBLE AND SWEET AND SUPER PATIENT @beauty-in-ferality THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT BECAUSE THIS SHOULDVE COME OUT LIKE A MONTH AGO ;-; I hope you like it!!! the breeding snuck in im sorry

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The life of a villain was one of… inconsistency.

To say the least, being a villain meant knowing that with every passing day, you were at risk. Unlike heroes who had a safety net in life, villains had nothing to catch them if they fell. Society was better with the help of influential individuals, but how you saw it, how you knew things to be, it was only better because the marginalized groups were easier to pick out.

It was always easier to push down those who scared you, those who were abnormal. With the emergence of quirks, the transformations once average humans made to become who they are now that marginalization increased.

Sure, All Might may have brought the crime rate to 6%, but with it, he took down millions of helpless people who also needed heroes but went ignored.

You were among one of those groups, a once happy family pushed to the brinks due to collateral damage brought by All Might. Saving people with a smile, but ignoring those he didn’t see. Your family had a long line of quirks dealing with death, and for so long, no one cared. After a massive villain attack occurred in your hometown, people feared your family, blaming you all on bringing death to over three hundred people. The heroes did nothing, All Might had solved the case in less than an hour but never returned.

You were bullied, ridiculed, put down.

It was no surprise to you or anyone of your neighbors when you finally disappeared and joined an albeit messy group called the League of Villains.

In this rat-tat group, you found a family.

Heeding the will of the Hero Killer: Stain, you for the first time since you were six found yourself among equals.

Just by the looks of them all, they were outsiders too, marginalized, hated.

The leader Shigaraki, well the dude had corpses all over his body and was quite the bratty man-child. Dabi looked like the love child of Frankenstein’s monster and some living girl. Toga had a cruel obsession with blood, knives, and death. Twice seemed mentally deranged, going from polar opposites in such a comical way that you were suppressing your snickers with every shouted sentence. Big Sis Magne and Compress, you couldn’t quite figure out why they had joined, but they evened out the team.

But the most marginalized, the one that had you stopping and staring while he walked into the meeting room, was Spinner.

Shuchi Iguchi.

A lizard man.

His pink eyes locked on you, and your lips pulled into a smirk. You did not miss the way his green scaly cheeks seemed to turn impossibly pink, embarrassment coursing through his veins.

This was good, you thought, letting Twice throw an arm around you while he screamed at Dabi about who knows what. Of course, the lizard wasn’t used to having anyone stare at him, especially without a look of disgust or hatred.

This was the first day you met your family, this misfit crew that left you wanting to tear your hair from your scalp at times, but without a doubt, you’d do anything for them.

As for Shuchi, well, to say the least, the two of you forged quite the relationship. You knew that he was someone you wanted, someone you craved, the ability to get with someone who wasn’t normal was too grand a chance for you to even pass by. One that ended with being caught with tongues down each other’s throats behind the building of an old hideout. Outed by none other than Twice — of course, it would be him.

But that was almost a year ago.

Today, in the present time, the two of you had been on the road for what seemed like ages. It was without saying that Shigaraki did not trust the MLA, and to be honest, even though your rag-tag group managed to beat them in the end, you agreed with his distrust. It was, however, a constant battle of wanting those he trusted near him and sending the ones he trusted most to do the scouting he needed.

So begrudgingly, Shigaraki deployed you and Spinner off to do his bidding outside of the confinements of the hideout. After a year of truly being against the law, it was weird being out in the open, attempting to blend in with the oblivious people of the world. But if there was one good thing about being a scout for your family, it was definitely the ‘pretending-to-be-normal’ part.

Six months of dating Spinner left you two with only one actual date.

To even call it a date would be a joke as well, the two of you had simply sat out eating lunch post-training one day. Both of your bodies screaming with exhaustion, muscles beat into you, and the chill of the winter sun looming gently on your skin while the two of you ate together.

So here, under the pretense of false disguises and the entire MLA wealth under your fingertips, you and Spinner felt like an actual couple.

However, it was those damn dates that kept putting the both of you down.

Every time the two of you tried to go out on a date, disaster struck.

The first date was plagued with the restaurant being destroyed when a villain threw a local hero straight through the wall.

The second date was ruined because a member of the MLA discovered the two of you, so you had to watch your food grow cold while you passed information.

The twentieth attempt at the date was ruined by a video chat from Shigaraki. Oh, how infuriating it was to see the phone too close to his face. Only for his scarred lips to scowl while you tried to explain why you both looked better than average.

But this was now your forty-third attempt, and you’d be damned if you didn’t actually get your loving boyfriend to do some cliche date things.

So it had started off with a simple date, the two of you decided to order in.

It took twenty minutes for someone to come knocking on your two’s motel door with a box of pizza, hot wings, and a box you didn’t know what it was. You paid off the man, not bothering to continue the light chatter he tried to attempt. You, after all, had more pressing matters at hand rather than attending to small talk.

Turning with the boxes in your hand, you smiled, seeing how Spinner had laid out a nicer blanket on top of the bed, trying to emulate a picnic that had failed for you two on multiple occasions. Being a villain to the world beauty was something hardly seen, tranquility and serenity was something saved for the heroes, but this? This was perfect.

Your head had been resting up against Spinner’s shoulder for some time now. A comfortable silence between the two of you. Your eyes trailed over to the green scales of his arm, the same arm that had once been skinny and lean had become muscular and broad. At the initial meeting, he could never beat you in an arm-wrestling competition. Something the league used as an ice breaker weirdly enough, but now? He could carry you above his head without breaking a single sweat.

That knowledge sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine, and Spinner was on full alert.

“Y/n?” he says slowly, sensing the gentle waves of lust that slowly rolled from you.

He could always sense it.

“We haven’t been able to do anything lately,” you pout, but there wasn’t even the slightest bit of sorrow in your voice.

Your eyes trailed up to his face, the scaly green face was flushed pink, and a lazy smirk filled your face. You thought it was amazing that despite the color and thickness of his skin, you could still see the colors of embarrassment riding through his cells. You rolled onto your knees, straddling him where he sat, and delighted in the way his pink eyes widened.

Spinner was not naive, but hell, was he so innocent.

“I want you to go into the bathroom and put on your collar,” you murmur against his cracked lips, his skin cold under your touch while you graze his shoulders. “I want you, Spinner…”

His breathing was harsh, and his eyes were slitted when he stared into your lustful eyes. He was falling under the control of your pheromones, and you took that to your advantage. You ground against his growing bulge fingers digging into his skin. He moaned in his throat, his eyes fluttering, his head mindlessly nodding.

“Go on, pet,” you nip at his throat, skin that was much softer than you would think with the scales that plagued his body. “Make your owner happy.”

There was no hesitation when you rolled off him and him standing up and walking into the shitty bathroom. Smirking at the sound of the bathroom door clicking closed, you stood up from the bed. You stripped your clothes, moving your hair from your face. Staring into the mirror, you could see the lacy black teddy you wore.

You were glad you had managed to pack a pair of heels with you, and while he remained in the restroom, you slipped them on. With grace and ease, you walked to the dresser provided by the motel and opened the first drawer. While you shuffled around in the drawer, the bathroom door unlocked.

It made no effect on your slow movements; in fact, you definitely moved slower while you pulled something long and leather out of the pile of clothes.

Tall, scaly, naked, and so very green. Your eyes drank in your boyfriend's nude state, naked as the day he was born with nothing but a pink leather collar sitting around his neck.

“Come here,” you hithered him with your finger, your legs parting, hip jutting out.

Spinner gulped audibly, and with a proud smile on your face, you watched him sink to the ground, his fingers pressing against the dirty floor, his ass in the air while he crawled to you. You continued to watch his every movement, amused with the way that he shamefully crawled to you despite the boner pressing against his stomach.

“Good job, Spinner,” you praise, your hand stretching out, cold metal burning against your warm skin. His eyes drop down to see you attaching the long leash to the collar before straightening out again. “Follow.”

You don’t give him time to heed your words, already tugging at the leash to the point where you heard a muffled choke. Grinning, you watched him scamper to keep up, his voice trying not to speak any louder than a whisper. Seconds before he could reach the bed to crawl up on it, you quickly turned around, ball of your foot slamming on the leash, choking him once again, sending his snout to the floor.

“Oh, sorry,” you smile at the way a ragged pant expels from his lips. So sweet, so rewarding. “I thought you were trying to move without your owner's permission!”

Spinner was trying to move without permission, but he couldn’t respond; after all, he was your pet. With a proud grin at how well he was behaving, you pressed the flat of your heel on his snout and shoved him up, your eyes looking at him with amusement. “On the bed, before I change my mind, pet.”

You’d never seen him scramble that fast to get on the bed.

His pink eyes stare at you, wide-eyed, and slits incredibly thin. He was on edge, he was ready for his first orgasm. You weren’t a cruel dom, that was the truth, but you weren’t prepared to give in yet. Not after hearing him choke twice, no, he needed to hold out some more.

You moved on top of him, your thighs straddling his smooth chest, the leash in your hand binding to the metal bar of the bed frame. It wasn’t too tight where he had to adjust his position on the bed, but just close enough where his Adam apple bobbed under the collar in worry that he would make noises.

Pet lizards didn’t make noises after all.

Once the leash was secured on the bed, your head turned around to look at his hard cock. It was large, monstrously large. Sheathed around green skin, this was one of your favorite parts of having a mutant as a boyfriend. Once he was really ready, the green skin would retract and show up to pink cocks that you would drool over any day. The thought of the two pulsating cocks immediately set a flare of fire to your core, the soft thumping of your body pleasantly reacting to your thoughts was enough ammo for you to continue.

You wanted to see the writhing cocks now.

“I want your eyes on me at all times,” you state, sliding back on his torso, making sure to circle your hips teasingly against his softly throbbing cock. “You look away, and I’ll leave for the rest of the night.”

You arrived at his cock, the salty scent of his slick pre-cum already invading your senses. Your mouth watered at the thought of his massive loads exploding down your throat. You had never been a fan of swallowing the near acid that was cum, but it was different with Spinner.

You wanted to milk his cum from his overstimulated cock for the rest of eternity.

Inhaling sharply, that was it, you needed to move.

Your lips wrapped around the head of his dark green cock. The angry green head seemed to sizzle against your cold saliva, and the taste of his salty pre-cum dripping down his length invaded your senses. Fingers continued to stroke and massaged his throbbing cock, and your tongue pressed flat against the slit in his head. His strained gasp of shock sent shivers down your body, your ass wiggled in the air, he was so fucking turned on. Your boyfriend was so, so innocent.

Hollowing out your cheeks, you let your teeth scrape against the underside of his cock, and you pressed down against his buckling legs. That must have hurt him a bit, but you went to trace over your movements with your tongue, nulling the pain.

His eyes were in and out of focus while you sucked him off, an internal battle to keep them on you while your mouth manipulated him. Your jaw relaxed more, the overall girth of his cock becoming too much when you went down further, but you needed to persevere. You wanted him to crack.

Further, you went down against his length, the more your tongue wrapped around his thick cock. Teeth dragging against the bulging veins on his member. You wanted to hear him scream your name, you wanted him to break character, to beg you to do what he loved most. Scream your name until his throat was hoarse and fucked him until his cock was a limp slab of flesh.

He did this to you.

You wanted to do this to him.

Your eyes dared his fluttering ones to close, he was finding it hard to keep them open, and that was all you needed. Shifting your hand to the base of his cock, you willed yourself lower against his slightly thrusting hips. The feeling of his cock pressing further down your throat thrilling you with this sense of competition.

You couldn’t let your pet win.

But shit, he was thick. His cock was mercilessly stretching out your throat, the throbbing and heated skin imprinting itself against your throat.

More, you willed yourself when your hand sharply twisted the base of his cock before continuing to pull the skin up and down. A restrained screech of pleasure resonated from Spinner's mouth, not enough for you to call him out on it, but enough to make you bob your head faster; his hips subconsciously thrust further into your mouth.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and Spinner’s body quivered under his restraint to not slam his hips into your mouth. The knowing of a reward is too perfect for him to risk losing control right now. Your free hand shifted to his balls, grabbing onto the heated flesh and kneading it until hisses escaped his disorientated mouth.

With one low groan from your throat, it was over for Spinner.

His body stiffened underneath you, and fiery sticky hot cum squirted into your mouth, shooting straight down your relaxed throat while he spasmed. Moaning, you rose from his cock, strings of saliva and cum attaching his cock to your lips.

He had managed to beat you at this, you thought with the smallest bit of pride. He was improving.

Making an effort to show that you had swallowed his cum. His chest rose and fell with his ragged breathing, a testament to his suppressed orgasms this entire time.

“Amazing,” you sigh, your eyelids heavy when you stare at him. “I do wonder how much you’ll like this next one. But for your owner to play fair, you’ll be able to speak.”

You don’t waste any time, pushing your boyfriend over onto his stomach, a small grunt of understanding escaping him when he landed on his face. How typical, his first orgasm was always a critical point for him. If you weren’t fast enough, he’d fall asleep.

Sliding off the bed, you grabbed the harness and strap on that had been in the dresser by the bedside.

Your eyes remained on his own, a smirk on your face as you slip your legs through the restraints. Fastening them tight around your thighs, you made a show to make him see just how good you look as you jut out your hip in a sultry fashion when it’s done. It’s tight against your legs, but you enjoyed that feeling. Spinner groans, his body sprawled out onto the bed as you saunter towards the bed.

Why did he look sensuous with his ass in the air and red staining his cheeks?

“Hands and knees,” you command, stepping back on the bed.

Spinner babbled for air, his chest ragging, tiredness evident in his every movement, but nonetheless, he shifted over to the position you ordered. Ass in the air, spluttering noises still heavy on his mouth.

“You look ready to pass out, yet you’re so ready for my cock,” you laugh, your index finger peaking through his pert hole. “I haven’t even fucking started fucking your asshole with my strap, and you look ready to cum again.” You ease your finger in as Spinner lets out a string of whines, his body trembling as he falls onto his forearms. Your tongue pokes out, savoring the way that his asshole contracts around your finger.

How he was going to survive this thicker dildo was beyond you.

“Does this feel good?” you grin, your finger inching in him, touching the soft walls of his rectum.

“Y-Yes, it does, oh my god,” Spinner stifles a wail while he thrusts his hips out towards you, trying to fuck himself against you.

Your finger makes it all the way in, and Spinner stammers out your name as you begin to pull it back out.

Your finger thrusts into him, and his hips tremble with resulting lust and need. Your hips are shifting in your own excitement, pressing the bottom of the dildo against his back. The discomfort from your own need is ignorable because god.. the way he trembles like a leaf sends your eyes rolling backward. His chest falls to the mattress as you continue thrusting into him. Spinner’s moans were stirring you on as you add another finger stretching him out.

“This feels — fuck, so good!” Spinner moans, fingers digging into the bedsheets while you work your fingers in a circle. You don’t bother to respond back, choosing to instead grip his balls again, watching his hips snap backward in retaliation.

He makes audible gawking noise, his spluttering fueling your massaging fingers. You chuckle as your free hands trail up and down his muscular thigh. Pinching and pulling at his scales until his ass clenches against your fingers. Your name was a broken prayer on his tongue. Your hand moves to his inner thigh, nails teasing the skin, and then grab onto his hard hot and leaking cock.

Spinner let out a silent scream into the mattress when you began to fist his length, the simultaneous activation of his cock and his anus making him drool. You watched his scarlet and green snout shoved into the pillow, his eyes not focused at all in his pleasure with a puddle of drool, holy fuck did that make your clit throb. “You’re taking my fingers so good, pet,” you groan against his rippling back muscles, your teeth biting into the sensitive skin. “I hope this feels as good as you’re making it look.”

Spinner spasms as your nails ripple against the puffy walls of his asshole. He’s nearly crying, and his desperate gasps turn you on further. Your hand that is moving down his length, fisting him as you go. A sadistic smile on your face as his cries continue. His body trembled. Your fingers were moving in a wave-like function as he gasps so desperately it was almost impossible to say that it was anything but art.

Your cunt is now throbbing at the sight of your boyfriend like this. Your heart hammered in your chest, the adrenaline rush of seeing Spinner being unable to do anything but babble incoherently made your thighs scorching hot. Your other hand releases his twitching cock, flicking his leaking tip when you pull away. Spinner’s pleading gasps are interrupted when you slap his ass, the way his body jerks at the stinging sensation, making you laugh.

“Don’t worry,” you say, grabbing the lube and placing a large amount onto the dildo. “I hope you’re ready for my cock, I want to see you squirm.”

“W-What?” Spinner pants, his eyes dazed, unable to focus on you while you stroke the plastic dildo in your hands.

“Think it’s too big to fit inside you, Spinner?” you wound with a pout; your hand shows off the cock that’s a bit thinner than his own dick. “I haven’t used it on you in a while.”

“It’ll… it’ll fit,” Spinner promises, sweat falling down his cheeks, eyes full of promise.

“Good.” you grin, “I just hope you don’t cum…”

Spinner shudders a shallow breath escaping his nose. The noise taunts you beautifully, a small spark of excitement going down your spine when your tongue slides against your lower lip.

“You’re doing so well,” you praise pressing the head of the black dildo onto his asshole, the head pressing into his clenching pert hole. Your grin widening when Spinner’s hips stuttered beneath your, a failed attempt of getting you further within him and trying not to give out entirely on you. “Now, you’re going to take my cock like a good little pet, and don’t cum.”

Spinner’s voice lets out a whiney splutter, and you shiver at the sound as you move your hips forward. The head of the dildo sinking into his awaiting and eager hole.

He splutters loudly, his fingers tearing holes into the bedsheets. You grunt at the sound of the tearing fabric, but you’re much more concentrated on the way that he is relaxing to the dildo up his ass.

One of your hands is moving up to rub soothing circles on his back as you push deeper inside him, you try to distract him from the initial and long-forgotten pain. Spinner replied with pitched noises, his back muscles flaring with every small movement of yourself. Rutting his hips back into you until you were undeniably inside him, bottoming out entirely so that your thighs push against his ass.

But you do not wait for him to adjust because he’s done this before, and he loves it when you’re rough. Your thighs twitch with your anticipation, and your hands find reins in Spinner’s hair, and with a small shift of your hips, you drive into him while slamming his head back. The pool of heat within you intensifies as Spinner’s back arches more intensely then you’ve ever seen him span before.

“P-Please go faster!” He begs, and you smirk, your thighs slamming heavily onto his ass, the spanking noises sending chills down your spine. “Faster!”

“Such a good little pet, taking my cock so well, maybe you do deserve to cum,” you praise, and Spinner dares to moan in horny pleasure, his head nodding in his emotional disarray.

“Owner is so good to me, so good, so good,” Spinner babbles as your hips drills against his ass.

A shriek of pleasure leaves his lips as you begin accelerating your hips against his ass. Your pace a lot faster than it has ever been. You began to plunge your hips against him, your fingers yanking at his roots so harshly you swore that you were ripping hair clean off his head.

But you were also lost in your sadistic glee in the way that Spinner moans loudly, obviously enjoying how you drilled into him. His hips slammed backward to meet yours, his ass bouncing with every thrust. You pant, one of your hands letting go of his hair to land another hard smack on his ass, expecting a raw noise in response. Your face lights up when your boyfriend lets out sinfully ragged moans at the action, his jaw-dropping as he mewls.

“I bet I don’t even need to move to fuck you like this,” you scold, your nails scratching against the curve of his spine, watching his scales flutter around your hard nails. “Maybe I should stop moving and watch you fuck yourself against me like the horny pet that you are.”

Your mouth perks into a prideful smirk, and Spinner is staggering again. Your fingers latch at the hair by the base of his neck, and you snap his head back, delighting in the way that he can no longer keep his eyes open, tears in his eyes.

“Please, owner, more!” Spinner gasps as you shift your hips harshly. His back arching as he clutches the fabric between his fingers. You laugh, your head leaning to press a few harsh bites against his spine.

Biting against scales was indeed a different experience; it was hard yet soft against your skin, it took a bit more strength, but finally, his skin broke, and Spinner howled like a wounded beast.

“Fuck, you look so damn pretty when you’re crying for me,” you moan, uncaring about how your thrusts are becoming more and more sloppy in turn for the power you’re giving. Spinner is so responsive to your actions that you could feel your essence beginning to coat your inner thighs. You’re positive that you’ll be coming as soon as you mount his cock later.

You grip his hips, angling your body so that you’re thrusting into him at a better angle. Trying to desperately find that angle that will make his eyes roll to the back of his head, to leave him lost of all and any words. To find the edge that will make him scream and drool and babble. The pitched, loud, and raw ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips lets you know you found his prostate. You continue in at that angle, the same power and depth as the rawness of his voice send sharpness down your spine.

Your body feels like it’s on fire as you feel so much power. Your boyfriend’s continuous whimpering is stirring you on because even though Spinner was a sub, whimpering was often something he would never do. Your right-hand leaves his hair, moving to grasp his still rock hard cock in your grasp. “Oh, poor baby,” you coo. “Does your cock need to come?” You pant, the action of your thrusting hips making you sweat.

“Yes, fuck, owner… yes, let me fucking cum!” Spinner blabbers, his eyes barely open, his face burying into the mattress as you fist his length up and down.

You stop your movements, panting against the shell of his ear while you watch his body desperately move against you still, eager, needy, wanting you to continue. Spinner lets out the most pained yelp you’ve ever heard from him, his body desperately and wantonly thrusting against you. “That's right, fuck yourself against me,” you giggle lightly almost too lightly for the activity the two of you were engaging in. “I love seeing your perky ass slamming against my cock, such a good pet, teach me how you like it.”

Spinner stammers, but his hips are relentless against your stilled body as he continues fucking himself against your dildo, the smacking of his ass against your thighs, an invigorating cry. Your laughs nearly inaudible at the sight of him still fucking himself against you.

“Owner!” Spinner cries, his cock is twitching spastically against your hands.

“Don’t cum yet!” you challenge, your fingers leaving his length, your hips pulling away.

“Please let me come, baby, please!” Spinner pants his hips on a one-track mind while he continues pushing against the strap-on, fucking himself against you despite your attempt to getaway.

Shoving him forward, you roll off the bend onto the ground, quickly getting yourself free from the dildo.

“Don’t make me take away your reward for not cumming,” you warn, watching Spinner's green cock skin move down, teasing you with the appearance of the two cocks you had been craving for a while.

You stripped yourself of the teddy, shivering slightly when the wet fabric from your slick brushed against your warm thigh. You returned to the same drawer you had once found the leash and pulled out three objects you had put on top of everything for this exact reason. Turning your head, you smiled lazily at the sight of Spinner on his back again, his eyes studying you while the painful-looking erection throbbed against his stomach.

“Legs straight out for me!” you cheer, watching him groan while he extended his legs.

He was behaving so well, with the amount of pre-cum dripping from his cock and spilling onto his stomach — hell you could smell it from all the way across the room — you knew it had to be painful for him right now. He had been so good, such a good little pet for you.

“You’re allowed to cum this time around,” you tell him calmly, your fingers securing knots around his ankles and fastening them to the bed frame. You held up a vibrator, and you saw all the color leave Spinners face when you pressed the probe into his ass. “I just pray you’ll be out of commission once I turn this on…”

Spinners heave when your fingers shove the device until only the top of it is keeping it from going all the way into his clenching asshole. “I guess I’ll have to make you start eating me out before I really let you have fun, ne?”

He doesn’t have the chance to respond because you’re already on top of his face. His pink eyes stare at you, almost red in his lust and passions. You slyly smirk pressing two fingers against your slick before rubbing it against his lips, “I hope you can tongue fuck me as good as my vibrator can fuck you,” you wink as you sink onto his face before he can interrupt you.

His parched lips separate as you move above him, you relish in the feeling of his smooth scales gliding against your skin. It was so much more beautiful than human skin, so much cooler than humans too. But then you felt his tongue tease the center of your lips; you were the master, not him. Your eyes narrowed, unwelcoming of his shy approach. So with the remote to the vibrator in your hand and the leash in the other, you used them.

The buzzing of the vibrator shakes the mattress, Spinner practically spitting into your cunt with his vicious and strangled yelp — courtesy of the collar. You moan loudly, yanking onto his hair as you shift your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, not wanting to let him adjust to this new position. Something hot and sticky splattered on your back, and you turned around to see that Spinner had cum, and by the looks of the milky white substance still unloading from his cocks, he wasn’t done yet.

“Look at your pretty cocks,” you coo, your chest fluttering in excitement, “I bet you can’t wait to cum in my hot pussy, huh, pet?”

You grin at the sight of the two twin pink cocks that stood erect. They were out the reason why you enjoyed fucking your pet so much. Excitement and heat flood your body, your hips are bouncing sloppily against his snout. But you were getting ahead of yourself. Spinner’s tongue pushed against your slit, lapping at the essence that had already gathered. And then a soft and pained groan escaped him as the tip of his tongue pushed against your cavern, and you whined at the way it vibrated through your core.

Your head tilted back as you ground your hips, big bucks shifting through your body as you attempted to get your own high off so you could mount him. His left hand gripped your soft thighs, trying to hold your moving body in place as his right hand curled towards your unappreciated sex, and he mewls at the way your body moved to help him press his claws into you.

“Fuck, pet,” you groan loud enough to be heard as the tip of his nose brushes against your clit, his teeth nipping at the skin of you fold as you grind downwards.

His tongue finally pushes through your softly throbbing core and twirls against your spasming walls. Then you’re also met with his fingers that run against the opposite wall of his tongue. Your cry of pleasure was loud as you yanked at his hair, your hand landing hard on the mattress as your hips slam against his face. You can feel him trembling underneath you, the wet sound of the vibrator well up to his ass, and his once leaking cock exciting you. But this situation doesn’t deter him, nor does it slow him down as he tries to desperately keep up with your demanding pace.

Pleasure taints your skin like alcohol, making you dizzy, letting incoherent thoughts babble from your tongue at the feeling of his long and cold tongue well within your spongy walls. You struggle to keep your eyes wide open as the pleasurable sensations continue to crash into you as he continues this assault on you. And as you try to reign in your mind, so that you could take control, he enters another finger into you.

Spluttering loudly, you nearly scream at the way his talons scissor within you, or how his tongue laps at your secreting juices as if he was a starving man with only one chance of salvation.

“You taste so good,” he moans against your dripping sex, and you almost scream his name at the way his words cement within your center. “Does this feel good, owner?”

The hand holding your right thigh moves to pinch and twist your clit, and you shriek as your hips buck wildly as sharp pleasure rips through you. Despite your lack of response, your action was enough to make Spinner pleased as he continues to whisper in tongues to you.

Your eyes lull to the back of your head as the tightened pressure, and blazing heat within you only grows with every push and flick of his tongue and fingers. But it's the chuckle that reaches you truly as you will yourself to take back control.

Gasping, you grab a handful of hair and yank his head backward, his tongue now reaching you at a new angle. Your eyes come down to meet his, and the lust and excitement in his eyes affect you as you bite down harshly onto your bruised pink lips. You then begin to bounce against his face in short yet hard jumps, your pussy grinding against him as his eyebrow arches in his pained pleasure.

“W-Who said you were in charge?” you gasp as you swivel your hips, and you can feel his lips smirk as his tongue twirls in rejection. Your hand presses another button on the remote, and you’ve never seen Spinners' eyes slam to the back of his as quickly as you had then. You turned your head around to the creaking of metal, his legs spasming erratically. The high pitch of the vibrator was loud in your ears, and his tongue went slack within you, his fingers falling from your cunt. Once more, milky white seed spurts from his cocks, getting everywhere

“Let’s see how you keep up, pet.”

Your hips were relentless as you rode his mouth, his tongue no longer able to keep up with his slurping and lapping into your moving cunt. Your fingers remained firm in his hair, and the free hand now plays with your nipples in your power drive. You twisted and tugged on the sensitive nubs as you rocked forward and backward. Your panting was growing with the increased pleasure in your body became electrifying, and Spinner was drowning in this new domination.

His tongue remained within your cunt, firing in and out of your spasming walls until he curled them the right way and hit your g-spot. Spinner could not doubt what he hit as your reaction was evident as you not only shrieked loud enough to wake the dead, but your thighs came slamming against his head.

He hit your g-spot again and again. The accuracy mindblowing as the slurping of your cunt hit your ears in the most ludicrous of ways. Your fingers dug into his skin as you drowned him between your thighs, and then it hit you.

Your release ripped through you the second he hit your g-spot again. The pleasure in your belly is too overwhelming, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure as you sob into your hand. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much, and your vision turns white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent.

When you come through, you slide off his face. Spinner's face was coated with your juices, shining so prettily against his scales, but his eyes remained at the back of his head, tongue falling out of his mouth, whines, and mewls pouring from his lips.

The vibrator!

Your hand shot out to grab the remote that had fallen from your hold while you were deliriously shot silly from your orgasm, and you looked at his trembling legs and pathetic hips thrusting into the air as if that would satisfy his raging boner.

A thought curled through your mind, and it sat so prettily within you, that you went with it.

Vibrator still on, you swung your leg over his thigh and loomed over him. The two cocks were vertically aligned, and although you had gone many times double penetrating yourself with his thick cocks, you wanted them both in your cunt.

The ties on his ankles are gone, as is the collar on his neck, and while he snaps up, desperate to get the vibrator off, maybe, you grasp the hot flesh of his cock and impale yourself on him.

“Holy shit.”

White-hot pain flared through your entire body at the feeling of his cocks burning into you. When you had lowered down onto him, his hips had spastically bucked up into you, sheathing you without giving you the time to accommodate to the pulsing flesh of his cocks. Unlike human cocks, his cocks also had the ability to move, and as if you were being fucked by tentacles, they withered inside you. Pushing against your hot velvet walls, scissoring against your spongey wetness, slamming against your cervix wall until your head dipped back in your ecstasy.

With you bottomed out on him, the both of you were unable to move because Spinner’s mind was revolving around the euphoric feeling of your wet and hot heat clamping around him, unable to completely accept his insertion. Your walls resisted his thickness, squeezing so tightly he thought his cocks might snap off within you, but it spit a lustful fire into him.

You swore you could feel the vibrator within your core, and you moaned voluptuously.

“Fuck me, pet.” He mewls as a painful throb in your pussy lulls, and you writhe your hips against him, “N-Now fuck me right. Don’t fucking make me regret letting you help out your owner,” you command as his eyes lock on yours.

There’s something that clicks between the two of your stares, it’s unsaid, and you smirk at the way that he nods his head, his cock twitching within you, sending a crashing pleasure through you once more.

Spinner chuckles breathlessly, small and knowing, and rightfully so as he adheres to your demand. His hips position to a better angle underneath you, a quiet attempt at testing your dominance, and you can only watch behind clenched eyes as he begins thrusting up into you. Your hips move down and in time with his. Both of you desperate under your nearing second orgasms. This heightened state of pleasure brought by the rawness of this all. Spinner’s hands grip your waist. His grip will, for sure, leave bruise marks as he slams your body faster against his. He’s stretching you out with every move, the feeling of his writhing cocks sending shockwaves through your body while you bounced on top of him. By god, does he know how to use his cock even on the brink of insanity. His hands shift as they drag out under your ass, clenching your supple flesh as this difference stretches you out in unimaginable ways.

His hips crashing into yours, the sounds of the vibrator, and your squelching sexes the loudest things in the room, and your cries fuel him.

Your body feels as if it is turning into jelly as he shifts you suddenly onto your back, your legs pressing over his shoulders. His cocks are bottoming out into you, slithering against your cervix, making your back arch off the mattress as you wail out his name. Spinners' heated claws press against your throbbing clit, the nail flicking at the puffy nerve.

You suppress a sob as he rubs harsh and delicate figure-eights onto your clit. Your pussy is clamping down on his hammering cocks, but not at all slowing him down, and he still grunts and increases his speed and strength.

Your noises of pleasure silence as his cocks hit the back of your walls, your teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck. Spinner howls, a predatorial glaze is coming over his eyes that screams his thoughts of mating and breeding and you, only you. Your legs are thrashing around as he drilled powerfully into you the same way.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Harder and harder.

His cocks smashing against your walls until he tilts the angle of one of his cock heads and crashes down hard against your g-spot.

“SPINNER!!!” You scream as he continues pounding into your g-spot, a soft thud, and a noisy buzz in the air, letting you know that the vibrator had fallen from his ass. But his pulsating cocks are too much for you to care, too much for you to even want to shove the vibrator all the way up his ass. It’s your turn to recite his name like a prayer as he continues fucking your brains out.

You shoot up off the mattress, your screams muffled through more bites on his neck, blood pouring into your mouth, the metallic taste making your eyes roll back in glory. He was yours. He was yours. He was yours.

Even though your legs were on his shoulder, you held on. The angle allows Spinner to drive his cocks against your g-spot over and over again. Your body is bouncing with every single slam. His body is giving you exploding sensations, your tightness making Spinner moan and curse.

“I needa – fuuuuck, pet do that again – I needa come!” you pant as your body slams against his own.

“Come for me, owner,” Spinner sighs into your mouth. “Come around my cocks.”

The built-up pleasure in your belly is profuse, it’s built up so fast, and your toes curl in electrifying pleasure. You can’t handle it anymore, the desire being too much.

Your orgasm slams through you, your vision nearly turning white as your jaw drops as your screams go silent. Spinner's mouth continues to move against yours, kissing sloppily against your teeth as he chases his own orgasm. His fangs are digging into your bottom lip as his jaw slacks.

His hips continue slamming into you. They’re brutal as they slam over and over again. He’s chanting your name as your stimulated cunt keeps clenching around his length. His pace is making you grow numb in his arms, although your hips still continue to desperately roll against his. His breathing is heavy and tense. Panting as he struggles to keep himself composed.

“Come inside me…” you whine into his ear, desperate to feel his hot seed within you.

His cocks now move apart, stretching you out in a new way as he presses your back onto the mattress again. The protruding veins on his cocks create insane friction against your walls, and it feels as if you’re being split into two. Spinner fucks you mercilessly, his fingers clenching your ass as you come apart for him. Hito curses loudly as he finally loses himself within you. His hips drilling forward one last time as a heavy load shoots into your throbbing cunt.

Load after load comes spilling from his cocks, your still clenching walls milking him dry. He cums so much, so much so that your belly swells and you moan absolutely satisfied.

“Shit,” Spinner murmured, relaxing entirely on top of you.

“Happy anniversary, pet…”

“I love you, mate.”

“Mmm… Get off me really quick,” you sigh, pushing him off of you.

Spinner grunts, falling onto the bed with tired eyes, “Where’re you going?”

“Gotta clean up my baby,” you smile, wincing when you land on both your feet. The soreness of your body is very apparent, and it has your head spinning slightly before you walk over to the sink. You warm up a cloth under running hot water, against your slightly aching fingers the warm water is a relief and you watch the dried blood slowly leave under your skin.

You wring the cloth of water and walk back to the bed, you easily climb it and see Spinners calm form on the bed. He breathes in deeply, his chest rising and falling contently.

“How are you feeling?” you ask rubbing the cloth against the dried cum on his stomach.

“That was intense,” he chuckles, his eyes cracking open to watch you clean him of the cum. “You?”

“Pretty damn good,” you smile, crawling to his neck, rubbing the dried blood gentle away. You press a gentle kiss against his mouth, living for the way he sighs against your hold. “Do you want to shower after waking up?”

Spinner can only grunt, no longer able to speak.

Giggling you pulled the blankets over the two of you, and despite the heavy smell of sweat and sex clinging to the both of you, you cuddle in close. Relaxing when his scaly arms tighten around you contently.

“Thank you,” he whispers when your nose presses against his chest.

“Sleep, baby,” you yawn. “Sleep.”

And so, the two of you drifted off, perfectly in love and content with how your night went.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader

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gladiators-intoxication · 4 years ago

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In Search of Justice, Part One: Concerning Betrayal

Part one of three: Kaeya awaits his execution in the company of old friends and ex-friends

Warnings: Spoilers for Kaeya’s companionship stories, imprisonment, manga spoilers (Diluc’s dad), attempted murder mention.

[1], [2], [3]

Khaenri’ah was cruel to her prisoners. Not even her crown prince was exempted from her cruelty. It just looked different for him. His cell, a heavily guarded room in the guest wing, recalled not his childhood here, but the one he’d shared with a brother that wasn’t truly his. One he hadn’t been allowed to keep. The guards that had hunted him down and dragged him away were two servants’ sons- brothers- that he’d played with when he wasn’t training.

For all the things Khaenri’ah had deprived him of during that time, friends hadn’t been one of them. She had mistakenly believed that they’d make him hesitate when he’d been forced to choose. The only person he’d ever had contact with was his old servant.

Dainsleif had always been tall. Two years older than Kaeya, even as a child he’d been cold, aloof from all the world but his prince.

When Dainsleif appeared with food, he found Kaeya sitting on his bed, knees tucked to his chest, staring at the wall where Diluc’s had been when they’d lived together. The dish Dainsleif brought had been Kaeya’s favorite. Even in Mondstadt, he’d missed it. It didn’t taste the same, though, he thought bitterly. Another attempt to make him love her again.

“Is there something wrong?” Dainsleif, ever attentive to the feelings Kaeya had been trained to seal up. The hard, inexpressive lines of his face warming into something like concern like they did for no one else.

“What will you do?” Kaeya asked, setting aside the plate. He leaned back and resumed staring at where he thought Diluc’s bed ought to be. Dainsleif picked up the food. If memory served, Kaeya would get a halfhearted scolding next meal over wasting food.

He remembered them well, Dainsleif standing over him with a plate and a smile tugging at his mouth while he sighed and reminded Kaeya not to waste food, and that he might not always be as well fed as he is here.

Dainsleif pondered the question, turning it over slowly, pulling it apart and inspecting its pieces. He alone among the servants had been taught how to speak with Kaeya. Kaeya, who they’d taught to speak in riddles and half-truths, knowing that it would tear away anything he could come to love in Mondstadt.

“I’ll do what I’ve always done,” Dainsleif decided finally. “I’ll wait for you.”

Kaeya felt his mouth pull into a sardonic grin. “How long?”

“Forever.” The reply was immediate. Instinctive, almost. Unlike the rest of Kaeya’s recent questions, he didn’t stop to think about it, to consider what Kaeya may be asking.

“Forever’s a long time.”

“Do you doubt me?” Dainsleif challenged.

“I was taught to doubt.”

Dainsleif frowned, thinking. “Did you ever not?”

Kaeya laughed, a bitter, forced sound. “Once. When Father died. Twice, when Diluc tried to kill me.”

Dainsleif tilted his head, intrigued. “So you call Crepus Ragnvindr father?”

This time, Kaeya slid his eyes to look at his old companion. “He was more father to me than my real father,” he replied. “My childhood was in Mondstadt.”

“He wasn’t happy about leaving you,” Dainsleif said, and Kaeya narrowed his eyes.

“That didn’t stop him. From any of it.” He scowled a little, as much as he could let himself. “Diluc was rotten, but he let me make my own decisions. He just didn’t stick around for them.”

Kaeya found himself wondering if anyone else ever noticed how Dainsleif’s face betrayed his feelings, as a pained expression flashed, almost fast enough for Kaeya to miss. Dainsleif’s expressions didn’t take up his whole face the way Diluc’s used to, but the set of his jaw or the crease of a brow was enough to express the whole feeling that shone in Dainsleif’s dark blue eyes.

Maybe they didn’t care.

“What are you thinking?” Dainsleif asked.

“Just thinking,” Kaeya told him, despite knowing he’d press.

“About what?”

“What kind of person I could’ve been,” he lied. “You should go now.”

Dainsleif only hesitated a moment before bowing and exiting, but Kaeya caught the question in his eyes. Are you sure?

But Kaeya had been taught to doubt.

#genshin impact #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich #dainsleif #guys it's just angst #genshin fic #In Search of Justice

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illyrian-lover-flower · 4 years ago

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You aren’t alone - we are alone together.

Hi, @autophobiaxx - guess what, I had been your secret snowflake🤗. Believe me when I say I had absolutely no idea what awaited me on this project, but i am really happy I got paired up with you and it turned out this way.

Your answers had always been so helpful and I might just want to pet myself on the shoulder with some lucky guesses I made. Hopefully this project had been for you as fun as for me, because I really enjoyed it. I actually found myself giddy through some days, not able to wait to ask you my next questions.

I do hope you like the first part of your present, the other two will follow soon - you get one on each Christmas holiday day. (That’s the reason why I had asked you to pick a number - you started with number 2. So, 3 will follow tomorrow and 1 after that.)

But now, I wish you a lot of fun - if a bit of my grammar isn’t as well as it should be, feel free to point it out - but please spare me a bit. English sadly isn’t my native language.

Greetings and definitely until tomorrow😘

Word count ( note not included) : 7. 380 words

________________________________________________________________

It was so long.

So long since she last saw the Shadowsinger - her heart longing to see him once again as she looked out into the endless sea of stars above of Velaris.

No glittering light left alone, always a close neighbour that shone with them close by. It was an endless chain so it seemed.

One that smiled down upon the fae of Velaris, her sister and her mate and even down to her - the lonely seer. That sat with a longing heart night for night, wrapped in a blanket, in front of her wide-open window. Hoping to hear even a silent beat of his mighty wings, hoping to see even a whisp of him seek comfort in the endless sea of dreams and light in the dead of night.

Perhaps he had always known she was watching, was too shy to show up in the sky which she could see so clearly. Not even the bright light of the always shining city able to taint the dark dome that was stretched above their heads.

It unsettled her. The seer's guts twisting and churning inside her as her heart made leap for leap, leaving a heavy rumble as it landed each time with the same wish: I want to see Azriel again.

Elain knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts, but he was her friend. One that had been by her side since she first stumbled into this new life, showing her how to embrace this new part of the world she hated for so long, explained to her that it was completely fine to not be immediately ok with the ways of this world, but that it was also good to try those new possibilities it gave her from time to time.

And that she did, the Shadowsinger always an arm's reach away when she did so. A kind reassuring smile a constant companion when she looked up at him, those shining hazel eyes of his seemingly having never strayed from her.

He was there - always.

There was no way he would suddenly be gone. Her aching heart not able to believe even a crumb of this thought as she shook her head in disapproval at the night. Standing up on numb legs - for the twentieths evening in a row - from the chunky armchair. Hurt flooding her entire body as this aching wave of hurt crashed down from her heart.

He would not be there, she felt it, would not be there for Solstice.

Perhaps she should have asked Feyre of his stay, maybe even Rhys, but then again - these two loved to cloak themselves in silence. Everything that needed to be spoken only between the two of them, far away from the worried ears of the seer.

Feyre’s older sister - that was treated like a child.

A child, perhaps that was who she was, a selfish stubborn, weak child that waited for its friend to arrive, only to be disappointed that he would not attain, would not be there the next morning to celebrate the Solstice with her - leaving her alone in the shadows of a giant estate, that would this year not brim with happiness during the festivities.

If she would have wanted to ask Feyre or Rhys it was too late anyway. They were all off already - celebrating Feyre’s birthday and the longest night of the year, under the stars of Winter.

A great feast that was hosted by Vivianne and Kallias in order to acclaim Viviannes rise to the High lady of the Winter Court, though it was more going to be of a friendly gathering - that Elain had seen, in a vision, and with that she did not want to interfere.

Her absence could be considered as rude, but her presence wasn’t of any meaning - Nesta was the emissary of the Night Court and she would be there. So, there was no need for the defender of Velaris, to go with them and abandon her duty. Though Feyre had given that title to her out of pity - to make Elain feel more useful.

Allowing her to go to bed early as the stars continued to shine down in protection on the city, leaving her window wide open this night. The hope, that he would perhaps see her open window and come home, was all she needed to endure the cruel ripping of the cold harsh wind on her curtains in her chamber as she piled blanket for blanket atop of her.

Trying to let sleep claim her with its soothing blanket.

Though its blanket was nothing but wild and untamed tonight. Pictures of death and shadows, of chaos and blood infiltrating her mind. In her worry the seer was not able to part these pictures of violence into a vision or simply a nightmare.

She hoped for the last one – begged for it to be the last one. As she awoke screaming, cold sweat coating her skin like an old friend. It happened so often already in the past, she had hoped these fears would have gone away with the years of peace.

Yet it left her soaring, her eyes tearing in the darkness as she buried her face into her shacking palms. Letting the impressions behind her inner eye suffocate her - battle screams, bones breaking, cries of hurt heard among the heavy rain that poured down on the battlefield in the woods. Mud coating the already fallen warriors as hundreds of wing pairs peeked up from the carpet of death – Azriel's body lay dead and cold as a yarn of death weaved, among the other fallen warriors, into this endless rug of blood and rotting bodies.

A silent scream escaping Elain's shivering body as his eyes flooded her mind. Those soft warm eyes, that reminded her so much of the forests she had wandered upon, that never seemed to stray from her and knew when she was upset or needed a shoulder to cry on - were looking lifeless and cold into the face of an enemy he had taken to death with.

No!

This could not be the truth!

Azriel had offered so much in the last few centuries, had shed too much blood and fought too many battles throughout the years. It couldn’t be that the only thing the mother deemed for him as right was bloodshed and war and death.

Azriel, too, had a loving family with which he deserved to spend time with.

So, Elain begged the mother, that it simply was a nightmare that ripped sleep away from her. Her uneasiness making it impossible to just fall back asleep again.

She needed a distraction, something that could bring her thoughts far away from blood and cold lonely nights, in which she feared Azriel would never return.

‘Stop thinking like that!’ she tried to convince herself ‘Azriel is strong. Very strong - there is no way that he is suddenly going to die in battle. Is there?’

It was a childish thought; she knew that as she threw a blanket over her shivering shoulders. Elain knew how sudden death could bite someone, no matter how strong the one it chose to claim - after all, even a High Lord can find death in a battle. Rhys had proven that and even though he came back - letting the vibrating song of the living envelop him a lot longer- there were still nights in which she heard Feyre scream.

Some nights it was the scream from the battlefield Elain had heard. Other nights it was the same screams that ripped from her lungs, whenever she awoke from a nightmare.

Death had sought out her family too many times already. Feyre, Rhysand, her father, Nesta and she herself. Though it had been a human life that would have ceased -for the fae- in the blink of an eye anyway, it was Nesta’s and her life that had been thrown into the cauldron and was ripped away from them.

Leaving them dead empty in a new world.

In a new world, in which hope had been a rare asset, once they were made. Though Feyre had it, just like Rhys and Cassian, Morrigan and Amren and Azriel. Along with thousands of others that believed in the good and hoped for it to win.

And so, Elain realized, she could hope too - would hope - that he is going to return. Safe and sound.

The snow on the streets and rooftops of Velaris twinkling under the many streetlights like a thousand fallen stars, leading the lost warrior home. The billowing curtains -hopefully- beckoning him to come closer as the two heavy sheets of fabric waved at the night.

Beckoning him to come closer to his family.

Any part of his family.

Elain didn’t care to whom he would find his way, she just hoped he could find this way. Perhaps he already flew towards winter, having long crossed Day and Dawn on his way as he was now to spend some time with his brothers, friends and the female he so loved. Maybe his wings had flown him home to his mother, that awaited him with open arms and a warm smile on her threshold.

Though there was a selfish wish inside Elain’s worried chest as she moved on silent feet down the winged staircase. Her long cosy gown swishing past her naked feet, like a fluffy cloud of dawn. The cosy cream white blanket atop of her long peachy gown, the last sunrays of the day that caressed the fluffy clouds a last time for the day.

Sunshine incarnate.

That was what Azriel had once called her - by accident. His cheeks having taken on the same peachy colour as her gown, as she remembered this day with a smile on her lips. How he had rambled apology for apology silently under his breath.

This selfish wish inside her growing with each minute, as she searched for a distraction from the bloodshed she had seen, only minutes ago.

Elain Archeron, seer of the Night Court and defender of Velaris, wished for the shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, her friend, to come home and see her sunshine glow in the darkness of night.

She wished for him to be here. Left her window wide open in the hopes of this selfish wish.

Wandering with a heavy heart, a soft hand placed atop of this traitorous thing as she walked circle for circle in the foyer. Her naked feet silently swashing step for step over the cold marble as a grandfather clock, in the far away corner of the sitting room, called her out of her endless wandering and wondering. Announcing to her the begin of the new day - Solstice - as it struck twelve.

Finally woken from her trance she saw nothing.

Nothing that came even close to a Solstice decorated house. Garlands - along with the other decorations- stored safely away in the far back of a closet.

With a huff did Elain start her hunt for the almost exploding cardboard box - the faerie lights all around the house turned on as she dug into closet for closet.

Only in a little chamber, where she needed to dive through thousands of papers and weapons she found it. Her nightgown and the blanket covered in a veil of dust as she wanted to lift the box triumphally up but let it fall instead, her petite arms not able to hold up all of the heavy weight. Fir branches, garlands, mistletoes, little wooden figures as well as a heavy little wooden box - raining down on her.

All far older than the things that were normally used, so it seemed, as cobwebs danced down on her. Covering her honey golden hair under a hat of grey nets. A cough escaping her lungs, just before a sneezing fit took over – the whirling dust having played a bit too much with her nose trills.

With a, for her unlikely, groan did she bent down to pick everything up. Her form slightly shivering in the coldness of the small chamber, even with the heavy blanket around her.

how could she always be that clumsy? It was a wonder that she hadn’t suddenly tripped in her garden yet. Accidently ripping out all the plants she had planted with such careful hands - that were now dust covered. As she loaded garland for garland, figure for figure into the cardboard box.

Until she saw a little wooden case - engraved with twines and flowers, so it seemed. A heavy layer of dust hiding the once shiny wood underneath it.

Who had forgotten it here?

It looked really old and somehow bits of the wood seemed to be worn out - along with the clank on the backside of the musical box. The once shiny metal having taken on the colour of a deep grey.

Somehow this little box was fascinating her the little rusty lock, that kept the music box tightly shut, seemingly calling for her to open it. A lullaby on its own as she listened into the silence. Her eyes straying ever so often from the little box in her petite hands, searching for the little key that would fit the lock.

But no matter how hard she searched for it - it was nowhere to be found.

No paper hid it underneath, no layer of dust cloaked it, the cardboard box also never having swallowed a key. A sigh escaped her lips as she stood up on wobbly feet, tugging the little wooden box carefully away beneath all the fir branches in the carton.

The way towards the door a fight on its own again as swords, arrows, bows, daggers and papers cluttered her way. Cold steel meeting Elain’s naked feet more than once as her eyes could not see what was underneath the large box in her hands.

But somehow she managed to move across the room and finally leave it again - no blade having cut her. A dusty hell which she would probably clean later throughout the week. She needed to get the time over anyway.

And with this thought in mind, bloodshed and war long forgotten, she started her magic. Transforming this cold lonely house - within only one hour- into a glittering sea of Solstice decorations.

She might have been alone and would be for the rest of the week, but that did not mean she couldn’t decorate the house. No one would take the decorations and the cosy feeling of Solstice from her, as she lightened the fireplace. the happy crackling of the fire suddenly reminding her of snaping bones.

Bones of the Spymaster that ... . No!

She would not go there, would not let her mind wander into these dark parts of her mind again as she tried her hardest to overcome these blood-filled thoughts within the last hour.

The seer simply needed to distract herself further. There would still be a later time in which she could enjoy watching the flames lick happily at the wood it feasted on -letting warmth embrace her instead of fear.

And just in case fear wanted to overwhelm her again - she needed some nerve food. The plenty of cookies she wanted to bake this year, somewhere abandoned in the back of her mind. But the thought of searching in her endless messy cook books for a cookie recipe unmotivated her, so Elain decided to go for something easy.

A recipe she already baked with her mother in the innocent days of her childhood. The smell of freshly baked butter cookies always connected to the cosiest time of the year. Stitched into her mind - just like the recipe itself.

Already on giddy feet hurrying into the large kitchen, she made a mental list of supplies she needed: butter, sugar, vanilla sugar, flour, an egg, a bowl, a rolling pin ... of course, a baking trey with baking paper and some cookie cutters.

Perhaps she could find some old chocolate too.

Even though they tasted - for her at least- almost better without gloss and sprinkles than with them, but Feyre liked those with chocolate gloss - so doing a bit of glazing won't hurt.

With a giggle on her lips and a grandfather clock in the corner that struck two, she hurriedly turned off all the lights in the house. Baking those divine smelling cookies only under the cosy light of some candles. The scent of cinnamon, oranges, fir trees and freshly baked butter cookies soon enveloping the lonely quiet house. A cold wind from upstairs occasionally getting lost in the kitchen, letting the fire of the candles dance in the dark - deep shadows running along the walls whenever wind and fire danced.

It made Elain only smile more as she baked trey for trey - tiredness not even a whisper in her body as her thoughts were preoccupied.

‘I wonder what Az and the others are doing right now.’

A humourless chuckle escaped her as she rolled the rolling pin further through the next dough. It was past two, either way they were drinking or sleeping.

And what did she do? Baking butter cookies in the middle of the night, because a wave of nostalgia crashed down on her, a nightmare kept her awake and she felt lonely!

Just how she always wanted to spent the Solstice, a family festivity without the family she thought she had.

It hurt to know that. Hurt to know that they were all laughing and celebrating, exchanging presents - while she was stuck here. Perhaps she should have asked if she could come along, but then again - she would have probably ruined it for them.

Her family seemed to think that they could never speak on normal terms with her. They never knew that she, too, could speak like a normal fae being - not like one that was always stuck in the meeting of some lords or ladies, a stick shoved up her ass.

“Holly mother!” she groaned as Elain rubbed tiredly at her eyes, maybe she just wanted to get rid of the tears that started to whelm up there. Her heart having finally taken enough hurt and damage as she crumbled - just like the butter cookie she shoved into her mouth.

Alone - that was what she was. Always meant to be left behind - protected- like they liked to call it, but the seer couldn’t take the isolation anymore. Each tear that ran down her cheeks, a butter cookie she ate.

Some were still too hot, but she didn’t feel it as she stood at the floured kitchen counter and stole cookie for cookie from the treys. Those sweet little stars, hearts and smiley cookies the only things that comforted her, as she braced her arms next to a half-eaten trey. Her streaming tears luckily only hitting the empty part of the counter top - she didn’t want the cookies to become mushy, but then again - next to her - who would eat them?

‘Snap out of it!’ was all Elain could repeat over and over again in her mind. Deep shivering breaths shattering her lungs while she did so. This wave of hurt from perhaps, two, three hours ago, burying her deep in the tides once again.

She had overcome this already once she could do it again, tried Elain to convince herself, but there was this dark feeling inside her - that mocked her, laughed at her, pulled her always back down into the raging tides of her mind - each time a bit deeper.

It was this dark mocking voice inside her that spoke as she opened her tightly shut eyes again, those emotionless eyes having once again returned to her as she eyed one of the butter cookies “What am I doing here?”

And just as she thought the bells of the grandfather clock had drowned her out, there was this deep voice that rumbled along the dark gongs.

“That I’d like to know too.” it was a mere whisper of silence, but never would her pointed ears overhear his raven voice. Her head snapping immediately up to meet his confused hazel eyes. They looked paler, but at the same time more awake than ever as they found her widened ones.

A breathless choke escaping her as she saw him standing there in the doorway - wings tightly closed behind him, a black tunic stretching over his broad chest and shadows dancing behind him.

Completely unharmed -just a bit dishevelled- his hair more tousled and a light stubble spread over his sculpted cheeks, but he was fine.

Completely unharmed.

The seer couldn’t contain her happiness as Azriel voice had pulled her out of her trance - a wave of relief flooding her as she stormed around the kitchen counters and jumped right into his arms.

One of her cookie crumble smeared cheeks was pressed against his warm chest, spreading crumbs on the clean black fabric while her ears listened to the calm thrumming of his heartbeat - a sniffle escaping her as she looked, through a tear cloaked vision, up at him.

A genuine wide smile stretching across her cheeks, as he looked down on her.

Azriel looked baffled at first, but a shy little smile spread on his lips too, once he heard Elain’s hoarse voice. “You are finally home again.” “I am finally home again, yes and thank you very much for the open window.” The seer couldn’t contain herself, couldn’t think about any consequences as she hugged him even tighter.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel.

Her mind chanted his name over and over again. A warm feeling sprouting once again in her heart as he softly whipped away cookie crumb for cookie crumb on her cheeks - those scarred hands of his as gentle as any feather - as she silently laughed at him through streaming tears; “Please, Az, never do that again. Promise me, please.”

“What shall I never do again?” a puzzled look crossed his features as his thumb stopped abruptly its whipping, before realization dawned on him - though it was the wrong one as he tried to pull his hands away - already searching for an apology.

But Elain wouldn’t have this tonight. And so, she lifted her own hands and laid them carefully atop of his - pressing these warm palms of him back onto her salty cheeks, a fierce look in her teared eyes as his searched hers for answers.

“Please, Az, never again - you hear me - never again stay away from me for almost a whole month without at least a little note. Please, I was worried sick.”

He nodded, even though there was confusion written across his face as his brows furrowed, before he spoke. The ravenous sound of his voice finally caressing her ears again “I had left you a message though.”

“Really?” The Spymaster nodded curtly as his face turned firm.

Those sinful lips of his pressed into a thin line while he held onto her petite body. His shadows turning slightly wilder as they seemed to roll off of him in waves - a sign that he was trying to hide his rage. Elain had noticed that a long time ago, that he seemed to hide in his shadows once he was close to showing too many emotions - it was a way to keep him safe.

But worry still piled in the seers' stomach as she looked up at him - had a mission gone wrong that he needed to report?

“Where are the others?” he suddenly asked, his voice pressed, as this cold voice hissed in laughter at her again.

Wasn’t it obvious that he came for them? Not for a crippled thing like you! It hissed at her, eating up all her hope and what was left of her to make her happy - the smile she put on now not the genuine one she shared with him.

It was the same emotionless grimace she put on when she first tried to be fae. Her voice sounding even to her empty.

“They are in Winter. I’d thought you already knew that they were going to celebrate Solstice and Feyre’s birthday this year there. Vivianne and Kallias are also going to celebrate Viviannes rise to the High Lady of the Winter Court with them.”

Hurt suddenly flashed through Azriel’s eyes - most likely at the sound of her voice. He needed to swallow hard. It looked like he had trouble to deal with the information's - while Elain had trouble to deal with all the questions swirling around in her mind.

“I am so sorry Elain.” “For what?”

Azriel breathed in deep through his nose, before he pulled her - in the flash of a second- into the soothing veil of shadows around him. Crashing her face once more into his chest as quiet whispers surrounded her - one of them was his voice; “I left a message to Rhys, Feyre, Mor and Cassian - I even left a letter, that said I would be gone for at least the next month -perhaps even longer- at both of their desks.”

Betrayal, hurt, it all clashed through her as she heard these words. He trusted them all - just not her! He -

“El, please hear me out before you judge.”

A firm nod was all she could give him.

“I had asked them to tell you, that you don’t need to worry. I just wanted to clear my head off a bit, ...” Long silence enveloped them before he - for once- broke the silence, the shadows almost drowning out his whispered words “... I wouldn’t have been able to go once I would have seen your worry, your sadness, but I couldn’t stay either. Couldn’t endure to be around her when I hadn’t figured out yet what she is to me. So, I had asked them to tell you -had hoped they would- but apparently ...”

The rumble she felt in his chest as he growled the last part could have competed with one of the heaviest thunderstorms in the mortal realms - he would surely leave just as much damage in his rage.

He trusted them and they -somehow- betrayed this trust of his. Hopefully they would have a good excuse for this, she thought as Elain hugged her Shadowsinger tighter. This wonderful, insane driving scent of his coating and enveloping her like a coat again -the cosiest cloak she ever wore.

“It’s fine now. You are home again. Safe and sound – that is what matters.”

This time he was the one that could only nod. His eyes hidden somewhere above of her as she was still pressed into his warmth. “Do you perhaps need help with those cookies of yours?”

Elain's giggle -that washed through his body like a wildfire- was all he needed to smile. Her shining eyes finding him once she had wrestled herself free. “With eating them, yes. But I can do the cleaning alone, maybe you could search for a blanket. Feyre always seems to hide the cosiest ones mother knows where.”

A dark chuckle rumbled through the house as they both began their tasks in silence. “Are you sure that it’s Feyre who hides them and not Amren?” “I could bet a cookie trey on that!”

Needless to say - she lost that cookie trey.

The kitchen starting to look normal again, while Azriel had found a cosy blanket - large enough for the two of them - hers from before abandoned somewhere on the couch.

A silky short black hair peeking out from the folds of the blanket. This victorious smirk on his lips so insufferable and yet beautiful, that she could not help herself as to groan silently – while he placed two glasses of wine on the small side table. Already tugged in under the blanket.

Azriel laughed as he saw how Elain balanced ten fully packed boxes of butter cookies into the room - handing one to him: “Your won trey of cookies.”, letting the others practically fall onto the wooden table as she grabbed her glass of wine and snuggled under the blanket too.

His warmth, the warmth of the fire and the blanket enveloping her as he carefully lay one wing over the sofa lean - pulling Elain in tighter ever so softly.

A feeling of peace washing through her while they watched the flames dance. The shadows to their feet occasionally twitching up to them, to inform their master of the safety they were in – never leaving before brushing the cheek of the seer, that stuffed herself with butter cookies again.

Nursing already the second glass of wine, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier – her spinning head slowly sliding from his shoulder – sleep finally seemed to claim her.

Those golden curls of hers soon spilling in his lap, as she fell onto it sleepily – the glass somehow still safely in her hand, before it was taken from her.

A soft feeling suddenly stroking her head in lazy movements - making her want to purr like a cat. She didn’t precisely start to purr, but she couldn’t resist to nuzzle closer into the soft touch of his hands.

Azriel’s soft hands that were always in reach for her, that always were so gentle with her. His touch -even if it just was a whisper of it- leaving her skin, her blood, her heart alight. This wildfire burning and yet somehow saving her.

Elain was never sure of what to think of this wildfire inside her whenever he was near, but never too close. Now she thought she knew what it was, this burning flame longing for him.

Longing for his attention, his words, his touch – his love.

And somehow, she thought, she had found it all tonight as she was nuzzled into him. This burning untamed and twisting fire suddenly turning into a cosy little ball of sunshine that warmed her skin and her heart, like the sun rays in the days of Spring and Summer did.

It was like coming home – or in her case having home come to her.

Her mind finally catching up to her heart, to finally understand those feelings. Those softly blooming feelings, that would stay in an eternal Spring.

“Az?” she suddenly asked. Her eyes closed softly as her smiling face was turned to him, his hands – thank the mother- still buried in her mass of hair. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

He hesitated for a moment, before he nodded. Though her heart ached and her throat was desert dry, she needed to ask him, needed to know. “Who did you mean when you said you couldn’t be around her?”

“Morrigan.”

“Why that? Has she done something bad, did she hurt you?”

“Not really El, it’s just – somehow she helped me realize something and I wasn’t able to deal with it as well as I thought.”

To say Elain was never more curious than now would have been a lie. She was always curious when it came to the shadowsinger, but as the tension flooded her – curiosity never felt heavier than now.

Her wondering eyes opening slowly to see his far away gaze fixed on a strand of fire that danced along a log.

Tension resting on his shoulders as he looked stiff like a stone. The silence pushing down on them as neither dared to speak, the heavy gong of the grandfather clock suddenly awakening them from their daydreams.

A yelp escaped Elain as she flinched at the sound, an uneasy feeling waking up her entire body again. Gravity pulling at her gown as soon as she was fully woken and struggled to get a hold on the warrior. The soft rug in front of the couch luckily cushioning the fall a bit, though it didn’t prevent the cookie boxes to fall down on her.

A silent,almost drowned out clicking landing next to her ear.

For a moment she sat there, lay there, with baffled eyes between the small space of couch and table. A loud laugh erupting from her as soon as she realized her situation, the heavy rumble of Azriel’s ravenous chuckle joining hers until he noticed the small high-pitched noise – that played to his feet.

A furrow settling between his thick eyebrows.

“El, are you alright?” With a huff she took the scarred hand of the shadowsinger-her love- and pulled herself up again.

The tasty baked goods laying forgotten and cracked in the boxes on the floor. Just not the little music box – which the shadowsinger picked up with great interest as something dawned in his eyes.

Recognition – Elain realized with wonderous eyes. Her petite curious form taking up the space next to him again

It was his music box!

“Azriel are you alright?”

He could only turn his -so incredibly- happy face to her. Those hazel eyes of his almost drowning in tears as he looked like a little kid on Solstice that had received the present of his dreams. Holding it in his shaking scarred hands like a sacred treasure.

Elain always knew Azriel was never a male of many words, but as he lay the delicate box in his lap and crashed her entire being with one hug – she was never more amazed than now. Warmth spreading through her. Elains bones and her very blood singing of the feelings that were weaved into her being.

Home.

She thought again. Azriel was her home – even though he might not have realized it yet, she would gladly wait for him to see -perhaps- home in her one-day too. But maybe he already did that.

The fire his body gave over to hers, more than just his body heat. There was so much in this hug, as his face was buried in her shoulder. Tears dripping down on the pale skin of her shoulder as she carefully hugged him too.

Those soft feelings of her’s hopefuly showing him everything her heart could offer.

A sniffle of him, pulling them apart. The question of why he hugged her, of why he cried – lost on the tip of her tongue as he beat her to it.

“This music box, it belonged to my mother.”he fumbled for something around his neck, pulling at a long black bond – to which a little rusted key was attached. Fitting perfectly inside the lock.

A beautiful little melody beginning to play as soon as he turned the crank a few times, soft petals of a delicate Violet opening as it took slow turns - amazement written across Elain’s face.

Azriel only smiled at it. The story behind the little music box wrestling itself free.

“It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me when I was dropped into Windhaven – it was next to the clothes I had on me the only thing I possessed. She gave it to me, telling me: ‘As long as this melody plays, there is hope that we will live one day in freedom.’ And I believed her – turning the crank each night before I went to bed and each morning before I went to training.”

A low chuckle rumbled through him “When Rhysand’s mother picked me up and gave most of her attention to me, instead of Rhys and Cass – they weren’t the fondest of me. And when they found out about the music box - they took it from me.

Rhys words echoed still for many months in my head: ‘Isn’t the attention of my mother good enough for you or why are you always listening to this baby toy?’. Back then, when they took it, I had not let a single word slip from my lips for the next two months as I plotted out how I could make them give it back to me, but soon after these months of silence did my mother come free.

She had earned her freedom again, while I still fought for mine. But I was so incredibly happy, that I had lost thought to the music box. Only when my mother had asked me four centuries ago if I still had it – I remembered it again. Guilt had filled my guts as I told her I had lost it, but she only smiled and told me, once I had it I should not keep it.”

Azriel’s eyes never strayed from the frayed wood as a deep chuckle erupted from him, a barely audible whisper following “I hadn’t known what she meant back then, but now I do.” Before he turned to Elain.

Telling her the last parts of this story with such sincerity, that the pure look of his eyes into hers, had her warm and cosy. Her insides carving to be with him, to just hug him, but she wanted to see him tell this story. Did not want to miss one of his loving gazes, so this had to do – her hands softly cupping his as they held and listened to the music together.

“Even though it confused me that I should give it away - I still asked Rhys where they hid it, but he didn’t remember. I remember that all three of us Cassian, Rhys and I, had turned the hut in the mountains, in Windhaven and the town house in Velaris upside down. No one of us even heard a tiny tone of the melody and eventually gave up on it – they did at least. Somehow, I was never able to lose hope –probably an echo of the melody that still played in my ears.”

Soft chuckles escaped him a final time before he closed the lid, put the tiny key with the black leather bond atop of it and carefully lay it into Elain’s hands, wonder lacing her gaze as she looked down at it.

Azriel’s next innocent words held so much meaning, yet he only whispered them. Shy hazel eyes boring into her tearing doe ones.

“Elain Archeron, I am so incredibly thankful you found it for me. Though it doesn't come close to the feeling of happiness and joy that erupts inside of my chest whenever I see you. Your voice alone a lullaby to me. One that calms me, sooths me and somehow always manages to be there for me when I need you. A friend.”

A sudden pang of hurt crossed her heart, but she smiled nonetheless. If she could make Azriel happy as a friend, she would be happy too – would take joy in seeing him happy for the rest of eternity. Even though her traitorous heart started just tonight to hope for his love. Hoped that those scarred palms of his would hold and nurse her heart for the next millennia's – until the mother decided it was time for the seer to go.

“So, I thought.” he suddenly said. Snapping her out of her cruel train of thoughts. Capturing her eyes- her attention- once again.

“I had always thought you were a friend, had always thought the safety, the lightness I felt around you was the same with my brothers. I had for more than five centuries believed love was supposed to be a burning thing – one that burned and feasted upon feelings until one day nothing but ashes were left, but you proved me wrong. Made me realize what love is.”

Elain was speechless, her eyes having long brimmed over with tears as she held the little box in shaking palms.

Her heart realizing what it meant to him, what he gave her.

His heart. He gifted her his heart.

Those scarred hands, having placed it shyly in her hands – while they now whipped her tears away again. Her heart beating so unbelievably fast as he placed his forehead softly atop of hers. “When Mor sought me out at the beginning of the month – I think I already started to realize that my heart had long fallen for you, that I had fallen for you. Mor came to tell me about her preferences of females and in all honesty it didn’t really hurt.”

Elain nodded. One week after Azriel was gone the golden female had it declared officially. The seer had always respected the Morrigan, though on that evening she had been slightly angry with her – thinking she chose to tell this then when the one that effected it the most wasn’t there. The fact that Elain now found out that she had sought him out a week earlier already – made her feel guilty.

She hadn’t known that. But she came to realize something. “You had left to get your thoughts sorted out.” Azriel only nodded.

“These twenty days I had spent away from you made me realize the longing I felt. The longing to be close to your heart.”

Elain only smiled at him.

Her tear-stained vision seeing him. Seeing how the reflections of orange and red danced in those soft black hairs of his, every vein in his wings seeable as the fire shone through it. Her eyes, so it seemed, able to see his wildly beating heart when she gave him back the box.

His form grew stiff as he held the old wood back in his hands, but Elain kept the key.

The key to his heart.

And he understood. A blinding smile erupting on his face as he took the box back. Elain’s sheepish voice a mere whisper when she asked him: “Is it selfish of me – to want to be the key to your heart?”

Azriel didn’t answer that, not with words at least as his lips crashed hers.

Joy and happiness claiming him, making him act before thinking of the consequences. Though, he thought with a smile, as Elain’s lips pillowed his: I will verry much enjoy these consequences.

But there were no consequences. All he got was Elain’s unbelievably big heart – that beat in the same thumping rhythm as his as their chests were pressed together.

Elain’s petite body laying atop of his as her love completely overwhelmed him. The realization of that had her giggling into the kiss, until they broke apart. Heavy breaths fanning over each other's lips as they gaped for air. Elain fully bursting out laughing once she realized what she did.

Her bell like laugh echoing throughout the house, like a warm breeze of wind in summer as she hugged the shadowsinger – her shadowsinger.

Those pointed ears – which she had cursed for so long- listening to the song of his heartbeat while his scarred hands – to which she gave so much admiration – drew calming circles on her back as they lay on the couch.

The fire crackling, the cookies and the wine abandoned and the music box and the key safely put aside on the table. Their souls finally having found the way together as their hearts were finally able to embrace the other fully.

Their heated lips finding purchase on those on the other one ever so often as they showered in silent kisses on the eyebrow, the forehead, the nose, the cheek, the hands – leaving the skin of each other alight with every wet kiss.

Trust, love, adoration and so many other emotions weaved into the air between them as they fell asleep at the struck of five – not even the loud gong of the grandfather clock able to pull them apart from their little world.

Perhaps, they thought, it was good that their family wasn’t home – like that there was no need to be silent.

And neither was.

The house having long brimmed over with love as each of their family members came back. Standing baffled in the foyer as they watched sunshine and shadows dance, or rather chase. A play of tag having erupted between the two, while giggles and chuckles flooded the house.

Only a coughing fit of Cassian was able to make them look at their family. Mor and Amren smirking at what they was displayed infront of them, while Rhys and Feyre were left speechless. Nesta looked like as if she either wanted to stab Az or puke on the floor at the sweet silliness with which they chased each other.

All of them having witnessed the shower of kisses in which Elain drowned Azriel as she got him. Though he did not seem to mind. Her lips still pressed against his cheek as they were caught.

But before even one of them could speak up – Azriel glared at them all and winnowed away together with his love.

_____________________________________________________________

I hope you all enjoyed that one. Though I do admit it had hurt a bit to portray Rhys as such an a-hole.

But I needed someone that was close to Az and could play a meaner rolle and since we all know that both, Cass and Rhys, had troubles to get along with Az at first I chose Rhys, because he could winnnow stuff away.

Anyway, here is a small hint for tomorrows fic:Something little comes around ;)

Taglist: @heirofthrnightcourt004

#acotar secret snowflake #elriel solstice #elain angst #elain archeron #azriel #sjm #elriel fluff #elriel first kiss #mentions of the IC #elriel alone at home #Merry Chrismas

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rabid-heart · 4 years ago

Text

Through the Threads of Space and Time (I’ll Always Love You)

Kicking off Sefikura Week!

For @sefikuraweek 2021. Day 1 - Prompt: Meeting In Another World

After living and dying countless times, Sephiroth and Cloud finally find paradise, with each other. But all good things must come to an end.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Some implied sexual content and a description of a serious injury.

Read on Ao3 here.

---

It took them far too long to come together. They had danced in a battle across the threads of time and space, the clash of their blades louder than any words or feelings they might have wished to share. At the start, there was nothing more than bitter rage and anger – how could Cloud feel anything else toward the man who seemed destined to destroy every world he awakened in?

But then something changed. It might have been the hundredth meeting – might have been the thousandth, for after years and lifetimes, it was hard for Cloud to keep track – but this time, when his sword cut through Sephiroth’s body, the man did not look at him with shocked arrogance or disdain. Instead, those green eyes were glazed with tears of longing, of hope, of relief, of thanks.

When Cloud awoke the next time, he was haunted by those eyes and the ghosts of unspoken words that swirled behind them. Over the following lifetimes, over the repeated sight of those green eyes, Cloud had tried to push the dangerous thoughts away – the traitorous what ifs that kept him up at nights, that made him hold his sword with just a little bit more uncertainty. He had stubbornly convinced himself that there was no other path to follow. And why wouldn’t he? In all the lives he ever lived, there was only one constant: Sephiroth would destroy and Cloud would be his executioner.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe there was a part of him that thought to simply try something new. Or maybe the thought of seeing those eyes grateful for the death that Cloud had given them had vexed Cloud’s last nerve. Because at one point, finally, the warrior had had enough.

When he let go, stepped back and let that long silver blade pierce straight through him, Sephiroth’s green eyes were not thankful. They were not triumphant either. They were afraid. They said, pleaded, begged, please don’t leave me alone.

In the next life, that was all Cloud could think about.

In hindsight, the fact that it took them this long, this many cycles, this many lives, to get to this point was ridiculous. Cloud and Sephiroth were tied together, irrevocably, inescapably. It was a fact of the universe as was the force of gravity. No matter how far they were at the start, they would always collide. But this was a different type of collision – not of swords, but of lips and limbs and bodies and hearts and souls. It only took one night together for the realization to sink in: this was what they were meant to be. For there was no one else in the world that understood the dark crevices of Cloud’s mind and cherished him for it. And in turn, there was no one else in the world that Sephiroth knew would never truly leave him. It was perfect.

But the Planet itself seemed to disagree. It clawed its way between them, tried to tear them asunder, tried to set them back on the fated paths they were always meant to walk. It was too late, though. Cloud now knew what paradise felt like and it was waking up to silver hair and dazzling green eyes and warm arms. And if Sephiroth kept one thing from his repeated reincarnations, it was obsession. They would never stop fighting for each other, even if it would tear the strands of the world apart.

In the end, they had decided to run – find a corner of creation that would be theirs and theirs alone. And it is here that Cloud finds himself now, in a meadow of wildflowers and late summer breezes and clear blue skies. He feels like he once did as a young child, without worries or care, warm inside like nights by the fire with a mug of hot cocoa. He is walking as he does on some mornings, listless and barefoot, letting the flowers and tall grass graze through his fingertips. In the bed inside the house up the hill, Sephiroth is still sleeping.

Cloud rarely wakes before the man, but when he does, he walks. Because it is in the hazy morning light that Sephiroth looks the most human, asleep with his hair falling out of the tie that had come undone during the night. When Cloud sees that profile, feels the soft breath on his forehead, hears the steady heartbeat under his ears, it is just shy of overwhelming. The sight never fails to awaken something in Cloud: the mounting of a thousand promises, of heartfelt devotion, of the desire to remain there pressed into that man’s chest forever. Because in those mornings, he is reminded that he loves Sephiroth so much, that he can hardly breathe for it.

So, Cloud gets up and walks, for fear of drowning. He knows now that Sephiroth does not mind. He even understands, watchful eyes always assessing, always knowing, always wanting. He will stay in bed until Cloud is ready to come home, offer the fond and sleepy smile that he has now learned to give so freely, and allow the blond to climb onto his lap and show him just how much he loves him. It is a ritual now that feels even more exhilarating than the battles they used to perform (though every once in a while, they dig up their blades from storage and enjoy a dance or two, for old times’ sake).

Cloud thinks about that routine now and looks back at the house, anticipation and excitement and joy curling in his heart. He begins to make his way up the hill, when he notices dark shadows rumbling over the grassy fields, green cracks of lightning shooting through the sky. The edges of the world around them begin to dissolve, like sand in water, and as the air begins to thicken with smoke, so too does the fear grow in Cloud’s heart.

They’ve found us.

He runs, bare feet pounding hard against the dirt, still wet from the morning dew. Though it has been many years since he called upon it, the old speed still has not left Cloud, and it only takes seconds before he crosses the threshold into the cottage. He tracks dirt in as he makes his way to the bedroom, and belatedly thinks about how Sephiroth would chide him for the messes he makes.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud breathes, standing in the doorway in his mud-covered feet. The man in question had still been asleep when the blond had wandered in, though Sephiroth was now groggily starting to stir under the sheets. Cloud moves to the side of the bed, shaking him more urgently. “Get up, we have to run.”

“Run?” Sephiroth counters cautiously, still blinking away the sleep from his eyes. As a by-product of no longer spending the days fighting, the former General had begun indulging slow rises, among other comforts he had not enjoyed before this life. It is almost endearing, seeing him this way, vulnerable and confused and still unbelievably handsome all the same.

But Cloud does not have time for this, not if he wants to keep this life he’s built alive another moment. He takes the other man’s face in his hands, brings it close, their eyes locking, and says, “The Planet, it’s come for us, Seph.”

It takes a moment for the understanding to dawn. When it does, Sephiroth shoots off the bed. He moves toward the closet, pulls on a shirt and some pants, and states, “Get your things. I’ll get your swords.”

Cloud does as he is told. He shoves a bag full of some of clothes, and rushes to the front closet to grab their boots. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Sephiroth has retrieved First Tsurugi and its accompanying harness from the storage closet in the basement. Cloud does not bother with the harness, simply grasps the combined blade. “Can you get us out of here?” he says, pleadingly.

Sephiroth closes his eyes for a moment, trying to dust away the cobwebs of the old magic he used to wield so effortlessly. After he had created this space for him and Cloud, he hardly practiced the art anymore. Most of his god-like abilities, he had abandoned, and if his wing ever made an appearance, it was only in bed and at Cloud’s request. The reduction was a sacrifice he had been willing to make for a lifetime with his love. But neither of them had counted on this.

The man tries to conjure a portal to another world, but the threads of the spell slip from his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’ll need time.”

“We don’t have it,” Cloud says, slinging the bag over his shoulder and moving closer to the silver-haired man. “But maybe we can buy ourselves some.”

Sephiroth nods and wraps his arm around Cloud, holding the smaller man as to him as tightly as possible. He conjures his wing and a moment later the two of them are in the sky, soaring far away from the cottage they had lived in for nearly countless years now. As they fly, Cloud watches as the dark shadows and green tendrils begin consuming the entirety of the peaceful meadow, swallowing their home whole.

Cloud tries not to let the feelings overwhelm him now, but they are there, building armies in his mind. Despair, for one, which is ironic and terrible and cruel in itself. But there are others, like fear and anxiety and desperation, too. He had thought that they successfully escaped from it, the cycle of repeated lives and lies and deaths, the dreadful fortune the wheel of fate continued to turn and turn for them. He had thought that they had defied destiny itself. But despite all their strength and power, they had failed. And now, they could lose everything. That alone was enough to break the dam of his tears, and Cloud finds himself crying soundlessly.

Destiny, it turned out, was a stubborn mistress.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth whispers, pausing for a moment mid-air. He notes the dampness of the shoulder of his shirt. “You’re crying.”

“I’m fine, keep moving,” Cloud whispers, curling into his lover tightly.

Sephiroth opens his mouth to say something, but lightning strikes suddenly through the sky, and the next thing Cloud knows, they are falling. He sees Sephiroth’s eyes, wide with a fear that the man rarely shows, and Cloud knows own his eyes mirror the same expression. The inevitability begins to sink in as gravity takes over. And still, Sephiroth grasps him tightly, shifting their positions to brace their fall, and before Cloud can protest, they land in the dirt, hard and with a sickening crack.

For a moment, there is silence, and Cloud wonders if he had briefly passed out, if this is all just a terrible nightmare, if he will just wake up and be in that bed that he had made with his own two hands, in the arms of the man that he loves more than the world itself. But unfortunately, when the blond opens his eyes, only the latter is true. Sephiroth is still holding him, but his breathing is ragged, as if he is trying to stifle the pain that keeps rising out of his throat. Quickly, Cloud rolls off of Sephiroth and surveys the damage. The man’s wing had torn into shreds from the lighting strike, the bones of it broken and jutting through the feathers from the stun of the fall. He looks at Cloud now with watery eyes that still hold such fondness, such resilience, such power, such grace.

Like a fallen angel.

“Are you alright?” Sephiroth breathes, reaching out to Cloud.

Cloud just sobs in response, moving to cradle Sephiroth’s head in his lap. “Oh, Seph, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped.”

But he did, because Cloud was crying and Sephiroth, for all his logic and strategy and intelligence, loves him far too much to not try and comfort him. It is so bittersweet that Cloud apologizes again anyway, pressing kisses to that perfect face. He can taste the hint of salt on his lips, but whether it is from his own tears, or Sephiroth’s, he does not know.

“Is it bad?” Sephiroth asks, half-jokingly.

Cloud hates it, hates that the man has tried to develop a sense of humor to entertain him over the years, hates that he is using it now. But he leans forward and presses his forehead against Sephiroth’s and says, “No, it’s fine.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes, because he knows Cloud and knows well enough when he is lying. “Then you have to go.”

“No.”

“You are running out of time.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“You have to.”

Cloud shakes his head furiously. “No. No. I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, ever. I’m yours and you are mine and we are never going to be apart, ever again.”

“If only that were true, my love,” Sephiroth murmurs back, and reaches a hand up to tangle in those blond spikes.

“I’ll make it true,” Cloud says. “With everything I have.”

But as the words leave his lips, they both can feel it, the dark shadows approaching. They had ages here, in this world they created, days and months and years folding into each other. And somehow now, with only minutes left until the end, Cloud feels that all that time is not enough. He wants more. He wants forever, an eternity. He wants Sephiroth, the only thing that had filled the empty chasm in his soul, the only thing that makes him feel real and whole.

Sephiroth looks at him, and Cloud swears he can see the man’s heart breaking. “You must go, Cloud.”

“No.”

“They’ll take you. They’ll take you and take me and in the next life, they won’t let us be together, not again.”

“Then I’ll make them,” Cloud fires back, and in his eyes are anguish and fear but also devotion and steel, all the things that make Cloud so utterly irresistible and utterly unbreakable. Sephiroth wants to believe him, wants to believe in that strength that had challenged and defeated him again and again, wants to believe that it may be enough. He looks at that sunflower hair, that freckled face, those dazzling eyes, and thinks that there cannot be anything more beautiful to believe in than this. For if there is something more stubborn than destiny, then it had to be Cloud Strife.

And Sephiroth himself never went down without a fight.

“Then I will find you. In the next life, I promise, I’ll find you,” he says.

Cloud responds, “And I promise, I’ll save you.”

Sephiroth seals the vow of meeting again in another world by pressing his lips against Cloud’s, fierce and full of all the longing in a heart that he had thought lost all capability to love long ago, in a heart that he knew belonged to this man, forever. Then, the darkness descends upon them, tumbling through their bodies and ripping their souls apart and away, leaving nothing behind at the edge of creation, except the ghosts of that kiss and the last words they whispered to each other.

I’ll always love you.

#sefikuraweek #sefikura week day 1 #prompt - meeting in another world #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #sefikura #sephiroth #cloud strife #sephiroth x cloud #sfw

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sondepoch · 4 years ago

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Chapter 8

Written in the Stars (Lucifer x Angel!Reader)

Four thousand years is a long time. In the absence of your most cherished friend, it feels even longer. But when a certain student exchange program in the Devildom reunites you and Lucifer, things aren't the same. Because four thousand years of separation is a long time. And the love you once felt for Lucifer has changed into something different—something forbidden. But that might not even be your biggest problem, because with each passing day, your holy wings are turning blacker and blacker.

MASTERLIST

Simeon cannot see the shackles that bind him.

He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. On the bright side, it allows him to forget that he is being held prisoner. On the downside, it forces the painstaking realization back down on his heaving shoulders every time he tries to lean forward.

He flinches against the wall, holding himself back as a cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. Give in, a part of him says. Give in, answer all the High Seraphs' questions about MC, and be free.

But the angel knows that, even in this torture, he'll never be able to bring himself to spill the secret that you've tried to hide so desperately. After all, if Simeon tells them the truth, he may go free; but then you'll be brought down to this very room to be put through the same torture he's enduring.

And he'll never do that to you.

Simeon groans, eyes opening to see the six glasses of holy water in front of him. They're crystal clear, shining oh-so-softly in the darkness of this room, but after well over twenty-four hours without drink, he seeks them like a moth to a flame. He doesn't just want water, he genuinely needs it, and he can't help but wonder what the seraphs will do to him when this torture of dehydration becomes life-threatening.

At the back of his mind, though, he suspects that it won't come to that.

Slumping against the wall, he recalls the dream Father had sent him. Or rather the vision that had been sent to all of you. It was far from the first time Simeon had been allowed to sit in on one of the conversations between the High Seraphs and Father, and he'd almost wondered whether the Celestial overlord was going to demand that he be freed from this cruel imprisonment. When the subject of discussion turned toward your fate, though, a smile bloomed on Simeon's face.

Gods be good, he had thought, realizing that he had the truth of it. Father is merciful.

Even now, as Simeon sits, he can hear the sound of you arguing with the High Seraphs, demanding your freedom. He hears your terms echo down the halls, reaching his ears long after you've said them: orders to allow you the right to return to the Devildom, to freely see Lucifer for not just the remainder of the year but for the rest of your life, to not be held captive in these towers ever again.

A soft smile finds its way onto the angel's face when he hears you demand that he be released, wherever they're keeping him.

You're too kind, little lamb.

Not that Simeon is complaining, though. He had been passed out when Father sent him that earlier vision, and the same fate threatens to arrive in the near future if he doesn't get some water and soon.

Simeon reaches another weak hand forward, testing to see how far he can go before the invisible shackles snap him back against the wall.

The sudden darkness causes him to stop.

His breath hitches in his throat, quietly trembling at the unexpected absence of light. It returns not a second later, and his muscles relax, smiling when he realizes that it's you causing these fluctuations.

Simeon's not sure if he should be proud or worried.

A broken laugh spills from his dry lips—interrupted by hoarse coughing—and he tries his hardest to recover, but he must pass out from the effort because when he next comes to, the sounds of your continued conversation echo down and fall upon his ears once more.

It's weak, but he can just barely make out what you're saying.

"You promise?" The sound is distorted, but it has the unmistakable inflection of your voice, filled with a hesitant hope. "Do you mean it?"

Simeon raises his eyebrows, wondering what you're referring to.

"Yes, child." Ah, that's a High Seraph speaking. "You've left us with no choice. You'll only continue throwing this tantrum for the rest of eternity if you don't get your way, so be on with it and do not return, you aggravating child."

Simeon's eyes raise. The High Seraphs are giving in? A part of him wants to laugh, that you've managed to disturb them so greatly with your "tantrum" that you've actually managed to achieve your demands, but another part of him is worried. Only Father has the explicit right to banish people from the Celestial Realm, but the way they told you to "not return" is awfully concerning.

"You—you mean it?" Your voice again, though the hopeful tint from earlier is more prominent. "You swear? Do you swear it, by the eyes of Father and all that is holy?"

"Yes, you obnoxious child of light. We swear, before the eyes of Father, the light within our hearts, the holiness of the Celestial Realm, that you may join your wretched union with Lucifer. Curses be upon you both, if Father ever understands how foolish this is."

Simeon's eyes widen. The words are riddled with jabs and mocks, entirely deriding as the High Seraphs speak to you, but they've said everything that needs to be said. The seraph who just spoke gave you explicit permission not just to see Lucifer but to be with him, having sworn a blessing (riddled with insults) before the eyes of Father, the light in their hearts, and the holiness of the realm.

They've given you the permission to do the very thing you desire.

Be with Lucifer.

A warmth blossoms in Simeon's heart, overwhelmed with relief and happiness for your sake. A liquid joy spills from his eyes, and he doesn't even wipe it away as he understands that the little girl he's spent the past four thousand years protecting is in love, and that you can finally act upon those feelings without it being a sin against your nature.

The High Seraphs have sworn it, after all.

He rests his head against the coolness of the stone wall, not even hearing the sound of wings approaching. He's about to give in to the temptation of slumber when the door on the far end of the room is kicked in, revealing your holy form as it crashes (rather ungraciously) inside the room.

"Simeon!" You call, first in joy. But when you see the disheveled state the angel is, your second cry of his name comes in concern.

"Simeon?! What have they done to you?!" You run forward to cup his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks. "You're crying!" You exclaim, lip trembling and eyes threatening to leak their own tears.

"Not for pain, little lamb," Simeon murmurs, running a hand through your hair. "I...I heard what the High Seraphs said. For you. And Lucifer." He summons all the strength he has left to flash you a smile. "It is the most wonderful news in the world."

"I'm so sorry for not telling you about Lucifer," You whisper, eyes searching deeply for anger or resentment on Simeon's features. "I never should have kept secrets from you."

"Shh, little lamb." Simeon shakes his head. "It's alright, you did what you thought was necessary."

"I know, but you're my guardian, and all this could have been avoided if I just told you the truth! If I had, you wouldn't be down here, being punished for my wrongs!"

The angel shakes his head, sighing softly.

"This is the best outcome either of us could have hoped for. If you had told me the truth, this might have all been avoided, but then the High Seraphs never would have allowed you to partake in any union with Lucifer." His eyes soften. "And you mean to…"

"I mean to marry him," Comes your response, slightly abashed at the words. Everything after is said with burning cheeks, rushed and choppy. "One day. Far in the future. When we're both ready. If you allow it. If. And only if we have your blessing. And if—"

"Little lamb," Simeon shushes you, a finger on your lips. "I told Lucifer, but never you. The two of you already have my blessing."

He smiles, resting his head against your forehead calmly while you sputter in shock, trying to understand when all this happened. Alas, as much as Simeon wishes to answer your questions, the burn in his throat is growing too strong for him to resist any longer.

"Little lamb?" He asks, finger pointing to the six glasses that have been kept just beyond his reach. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me some water?"

You comply instantly, making three trips to bring all the glasses back. Simeon hardly waits once they're within an arm's reach, and he downs the first glass in mere seconds. He raises the remaining glasses to his lips so suddenly that much of the water spills onto his chin and chest, but by the sixth glass, his thirst is quenched and he can bring himself to put it down before turning back to face you.

"Go, little lamb." He gestures toward the door. "The High Seraphs will be down here at any moment to free me, now that you've confessed to everything. And Lucifer will be waiting."

"Lucifer? You want me to return to the Devildom without you?"

"If I know him, he'll be long gone from the Devildom," Simeon chuckles. "Follow his light. Sense his aura. You'll find him, little lamb. No doubt, he's nearby."

You motion to get up, still hesitant to leave.

"Go," Simeon repeats. But this time, he's not saying the words as your doting friend. They're an order, his first and his last command to you as your guardian, to go to the arms of the man you love.

You heed him.

***

There's absolutely nothing Lucifer can do.

He floats helplessly, teetering on the border that marks the heavens, staying hidden in the clouds as he remains just outside the Celestial Realm. He's close enough to the tower of High Seraphs that he could see the flashes of light and occasional bouts of darkness as you fought with them earlier, so close that he could even hear your enraged shouts every now and then—but the tower has been still for nearly the past half hour.

He bites his lip, hating how there's absolutely nothing he can do for you.

What if they hurt you? He wonders, flapping his wings hesitantly as he tries to get closer to the tower, to no avail. What if they've locked you up again?

The endless questions plaguing his mind never seem to end, and he's certain that if he's left waiting any longer, he'd actually go crazy. But then, right when he needs it the most, his eyes detect movement.

You.

There's no denying it, the signature splash of (h/c) tresses battling the wind as you approach, (s/c) against the pale fabric of your clothes, wings turned white as you grow closer and closer to Lucifer, a beaming smile on your face.

He isn't a man to cry for joy, but Lucifer truly feels like he might in this moment, and he holds nothing back when you fly straight into his arms, the momentum of traveling at top speed hitting him hard as he flies backward with you in his arms. But that doesn't even matter anymore, because you're finally back by his side.

"Lucifer," You murmur, arms wrapped around him tightly as you bury your head in his shoulder. "I thought they'd never let me go."

"They let you go?" Lucifer asks, disbelief prominent in his voice. "The High Seraphs? Willingly?"

You giggle and hold him tighter, and he watches as you pull back just the slightest. "They couldn't say no after Father yelled at them for making me unhappy." You peck his lips. "They've given me permission to be with you, Lucifer. Forever."

The breath hitches in Lucifer's throat. He expected, if you returned, that you would be permitted to spend the remainder of the year with him at most.

But…

He holds you numbly, too overwhelmed by this news to do anything when you laugh sweetly and wrap him in another tight embrace, closing your eyes and resting your head atop his shoulder as you pull him as close as possible to let him know that this is real.

The demon returns your embrace, staring into the clouds in a strange mix of shock and wonder. He's no longer the Morningstar, no longer the pride of the Celestial Realm. What has he done to deserve such happiness, such a wonderful fate?

Tears form in his eyes, though he never allows them to fall, and it's in that moment when his vision is compromised that he makes out the familiar shape of Father in the clouds overhead. His eyes widen. The lord's gaze isn't forgiving as he stares at the son he banished, nor is it kind. But Father's eyes are soft as he watches the two lovers embrace, as if—though he may not love Lucifer the same way anymore—he does love MC, and he trusts Lucifer to make her happy.

He blinks, and then the vision is gone, the clarity of the clouds and his Father's face dissipating as a Celestial breeze pulls it all apart.

But Lucifer knows what he saw.

It's for you, he understands. The future he's been given, the right to spend eternity with the love of his life—it's entirely unsuitable for a demon, one who's been banished from the heavens and sent to the land of eternal damnation. But a life of love is wholly fitting for an angel. It is a life you deserve, and the life that Father has given you. This union is entirely for you, not for Lucifer in the least—but the fact that Father has trusted Lucifer, of all people, with your heart speaks volumes about your shared future together.

Trust, he thinks. After everything he has been through with Father, the god still trusts you with Lucifer. Is that a testament to the god's previous love for the demon, or a statement about his love for you?

Lucifer does not know. But the one thing he is certain about is that this eternity he has been given to spend with you will be perfect. He will ensure that much himself.

Lucifer quietly pulls your head off his shoulder, and a single look into each other's eyes is all it takes for your lips to connect, pressing firmly against each other in a passionate molding of love, lust, and warmth.

"I love you," He whispers, suddenly realizing that he's never said the words.

"I love you too, Lucifer," You murmur, recapturing his lips in another ardent kiss.

He can hardly say how much time passes like that, the two of you wrapped in each other's arms and kissing each other over and over again, as if neither of you can quite believe that you will no longer need to separate at the end of this year. It's still so impossible to wrap his head around: the notion that, just as he had you for eternity in the Celestial Realm, he now has you by his side for eternity once more.

Never has he felt so blessed.

"MC," He murmurs quietly, once he notices that the sun has begun to set. His eyes widen when he pulls apart, noticing your altered appearance. "Your wings. I've…" Ruined them, he wants to say, but he holds back because he knows how much you hate it when he insults the facets of demon appearance.

"I didn't even realize," You murmur softly, glancing your black wings. You raise a hand to Lucifer's cheek, and a strange sensation powers through his body. He watches as the feathers on your back turn from black, to gray, to white, and then realizes that this is the very power Father talked about in his vision. Your power to radiate light.

Lucifer's eyes widen as you return his own dark light back to him, the aura he usually emanates fluttering through his veins as he's forced, by your hand, to absorb his light for the first time.

By the time you're done, your wings are paler than snow, your holy halo shining brightly to match.

"I can control it," You say, giggling. "I wonder, can I make your wings change color the same way?"

Not even waiting for his answer, you turn to Lucifer with a cheeky smile and continue radiating light. This time, though, it's not Lucifer's aura pulsating through his veins but yours, holy and precious as it beats in tandem with his heart.

The demon isn't quite sure how he feels about the sensation, but he finally decides that he'll put up with it if it makes you happy. As predicted, he sees his wings begin to turn gray, but the sight of four wings no longer black prompts him to stop you.

"MC," He murmurs, a hand flitting onto your shoulder. You cease your ministrations instantly, and the moment you're not actively balancing his inner darkness, it comes rushing black, his wings bursting ebony once more. At the sight, he sees your own wings begin to darken, as if when you're not radiating light, you instinctively begin absorbing it. He chuckles. "It's not meant to be. Just like you," He strokes your cheek tenderly. "Are meant to have white wings."

You pout, resting your forehead against his. You make no move to halt the spread of blackness over your feathers, and Lucifer suspects that you're consciously willing to happen faster. "But I like it when we match, Luci."

"You'll make Luke scream again if he sees you with black wings."

"Luke can scream all he wants. He'll have to get used to it when I return to the Devildom."

"You're coming back?" Lucifer pulls back, eyes slightly wide. "You'll be returning for the remainder of the exchange program?"

"Of course, Luci," You chuckle, pecking his cheek. You beat your wings once, spinning the two of you as you continue to float gently in the air. "The High Seraphs basically told me to get lost and do what I want, as long as I stop disturbing them and don't run to Father to complain. So…" You trail a finger down to Lucifer's chest. "I can stay for the year. Even longer, if you'll have me."

"Of course I'll have you," Lucifer whispers, a smile spread out on his features once again. Truly, this day cannot get any better. He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging you with him as he spreads his wings out atop a cloud that hangs just outside the Celestial Realm. Fingers intertwined, you join him, curling up on his sides as you rest your head on his chest.

"I want to stay here forever with you," He hears you whisper. "Right here. Right in between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom. Under the stars, with no one other than us."

Lucifer smiles.

"I'll make it happen."

You raise your eyes at Lucifer's words, staring sweetly into his eyes.

"I'll build us a house, right here. A house in the clouds, where no one from the Celestial Realm or the Devildom will disturb us."

You laugh, and Lucifer feels almost insulted that you're finding amusement in his declaration. He's being honest.

"What?" He asks, ears a light pink. "You said you wanted to be here forever."

"How would that even work?" You retort with a giggle, pinching a lock of hair and tracing patterns with it along Lucifer's chest. He'd ask you to stop, but the adorable smile on your face prompts him to let you do as you please. Even if it tickles. "We'd have to fly an hour just to get to our home."

"Or we could enchant a door so that it takes us here, straight from the Devildom. I'm sure Simeon wouldn't mind erecting one in the Celestial Realm, as well."

"Hm," He hears you mutter, thinking. The demon can practically sense your complaint, that you're no good with object enchantments and something like that is far too complicated, but much to his surprise, all you say is: "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Let's build a house here. On this very cloud. And someday, when you're not as busy with Diavolo's work and Simeon is no longer my guardian, we can live here for the rest of our lives."

Lucifer smiles. It's a plan that can hardly be achieved within the next twenty thousand years, but the two of you are in no rush.

He silently watches as you mark the cloud with your light, radiating it smoothly until the cloud glows gently, setting it apart from others. "There," You say with a triumphant grin. "Now, we'll always be able to find this cloud."

You giggle softly, and Lucifer pulls you even closer, wondering how he managed to obtain such a wonderful lover.

It would be a stereotypical date, if not for the unique nature of the series of events that brought the two of you here. You're cuddling together, Lucifer's head resting just barely atop yours and your eyes are always locked on each other or on the mesmerizing scatter of the stars above you. The two of you have already spent so many nights at the House of Lamentation in the observatory doing the exact same thing, but nothing can compare to this moment.

"Do you think I can make a star?" Lucifer suddenly hears you ask. He blinks down at you, his hand brushing against the feathers of your wings in wonder of where this thought came from. "I mean, do you think I can radiate enough light to make a real star?"

"Of course," Lucifer answers. "But it might be a lot of physical exertion, so don't push yourself too far."

He glances down at you encouragingly, smiling as he senses you begin to channel your energy outward, and he can see a thin line of light stretch out of your figure. In your focus, you hardly notice when your wings fade to black, changing to match with Lucifer's own, and he doesn't comment on it either, opting to watch as a faint but unmistakable mark forms in the sky: a star. Tiny, and almost invisible if he's not explicitly searching for it, but it's a star.

"Lucifer," You gasp, fingers tightening around his hand. "I did it!"

"It's beautiful," He whispers into your ear, kissing the top of your head as you try to create another one. He doesn't complain about your changing the sky, knowing that the stars you send forth are so small and delicate that the humans probably won't even notice it.

But when you finally stop creating stars, he can't help but chuckle at your antics.

"Really, MC?" He raises an eyebrow, acting unimpressed. But in his heart, he finds it incredibly endearing. "A smiley face?"

"It's cute!" You exclaim, laughing into the demon's chest. Then, an idea seems to pop into your mind. "Close your eyes, Luci!" You exclaim, casting a glance up at him to confirm that he's following your instructions. "Don't open them until I say so!"

He hums quietly in agreement, taking this as an opportunity to continue tracing your body with the one hand that isn't intertwined with yours. He goes from mapping the outline of your wings to tracing the curve of your hip, quietly running his hand over the dip of your collarbone and then outlining the angles of your face. He keeps his eyes closed as his mind completes the visualization of your body.

Eternity, he thinks, a strange giddiness overtaking his heart at the word. It's still so hard to believe, but finally has you for all eternity.

And to think, I have Father to thank for that.

The demon suppresses a laugh, wondering how he'll tell his brothers.

"Lucifer?" The demon turns his head downward, eyes still closed. "Lucifer, you can open your eyes now."

He opens them, blinking down as you smile up at you. He almost wants to stare at you for longer, but your impatient gesturing up at the sky above prompts him to finally raise his eyes.

And when he does, he practically chokes on his own breath.

"You…" He mutters, eyes wide. How did you manage to do so much in so little time? "It's beautiful, MC. Truly beautiful."

He laughs in disbelief, his eyes smiling as he stares up at the stars above.

The sky is a work of art.

He has no idea how you managed to create so many stars in such little time, but you've created a constellation of your own, put together exclusively by stars of your own light. They're the faintest ones above, but they burn with the familiar light Lucifer adores. To his eyes, they stand out bolder than all the rest, proud and distinct against the blackness of the sky.

He smiles, his hand raising to trace the shape of what you've so meticulously laid out. "I love it," He whispers, staring even longer.

There, in the distance, hundreds of thousands of miles away but there nonetheless, is the constellation that outlines both of your figures in the night sky: your arms reaching out to Lucifer, wings outstretched behind you, and his own demonic form flying up to greet you.

Perfection, he thinks, wondering when in these past years you learned the mechanisms of art. Because what you've laid out for him in the stars is that: beautiful art, more stunning than any painting he has hanging in the House of Lamentation.

It's a scene that speaks not with the image it presents but the emotion it evokes, four thousand years of separation manifested in the yearning on both your faces; the joy of reuniting after so long hidden in the way your arms beckon to touch each other; the pain at being ripped away from each other once more locked in the desperation of your gazes; the sheer happiness at the prospect of the remaining eternity the two of you have together conveyed in the finality of your pose, as if you're about to embrace for the final time, never having to pull apart ever again.

It's your entire love story written in the stars.

Lucifer can't hold his pride over your skill as he marvels at your work. It's a perfect rendition of everything that has brought the two of you to this moment where you can finally be together, after thousands upon thousands of years of love and separation and more love.

It is, without a doubt, perfection.

Lucifer sighs softly when you raise your hand to his, slipping your fingers amid his and intertwining them so that his attention is focused not at the masterful constellation you've just created but on the sight of your hands locked together.

"I love you."

He's not sure who says it first, but neither of you bother repeating it. Why bother? The proof is in the stars, in the light you both radiate—dark and pure, holy and corrupt, love and lust.

It's a union unnatural, countering every instinct known to both angels and demons. It would even be a sin, if it weren't explicitly pardoned by Father.

This match is wholly aberrant, strange and twisted in the way this love has wedged its way into both your hearts, rooting itself so strongly that Lucifer wouldn't be able to get rid of it if he tried.

And yet, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.6k

Notes: I'm going to be straight with you guys, this is essentially the ending for this fic! the next chapter will be told from the POV of an outside character looking in on the evolution of MC and Lucifer's relationship. it will serve as an epilogue, if you will, and i currently plan for it to be significantly shorter than the usual chapters in this fic - so i want to take this opportunity to thank everyone for reading! this has been such a wild ride, and these past two weeks have been especially rough for me, just personally! being able to escape and write a soft, wholesome love story has done so much for my mental state, and i want to thank everyone who has shared this journey with me <3 the end is coming very soon, and i have enjoyed every step of this fic, from the annoying process of scrapping thousands of words to rewrite them (often multiple times in a row, god - my drafts for this series tell such a wild tale) to scrolling through every comment you guys have left, this has been an absolute pleasure and i thank you for joining me on this journey, whether you're reading this today as i continue to write or far in the future!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/16/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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themerriweathermage · 3 years ago

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Cardinal Silk Pt. 9

Weakened and near unconscious is the only way Zipporah can communicate with Michael and the whole truth finally comes out from the mouth of the lion itself.

Warnings: None

It still didn’t feel quite right for him to be sleeping on the bed while Zipporah slept on the floor. Her fingers were knotted in his silk scarf; she wouldn’t relinquish it to him. He’d gotten himself nipped by a pair of very sharp canines when he tried to take it from her. He supposed that Cordelia might have had something to do with why someone would need a defense even in their sleep. Still, his gaze lingered on her, curled into fetal position on the floor, clutching his scarf to her cheek. Maybe she really was an angel. Maybe there was some truth to what Cordelia said.

Michael didn’t know anymore, what his left was from his right. She had called the demon Absinthe of the same stock as angels. If in twisted and cruel way, Michael sort of understood that. But then again, Absinthe had asked what were the chances of two supernatural creatures being in the same place together, and she hadn’t been referring to herself. Her eyes had been on him; she had wanted to know more and been denied that information. But if demons had a hierarchy, then the reason she hadn’t been so upset about it was because the woman on his floor held a higher rank in the hierarchy. Angels couldn’t command demons, could they? Could an angel command him? He’d never met one, he didn’t think-- who either could or had revealed themselves to him.

Sleep, Michael. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, sinking back into his pillows.

You can hear my thoughts.

Wouldn’t hear them if you weren’t projecting them.

Can you do this because you’re in such close proximity to me?

Part of the reason. Her fingers knotted tighter in the scarf. I’ve got something of yours, and you’ve got something of mine. His eyes flicked to the honey brown feather on his nightstand and he picked it up, holding it close to his chest.

Does this make it easier?

Yes.

Can you tell me why you built a summoning circle into the floor of the library? Where did you learn to make a summons like that? What was the rune you painted with your blood? How did you...

Michael! He jolted suddenly, eyes wide in fear. Gods, sorry. Didn’t know you were gonna react like that. A warmth settled on his shoulders, almost as if... almost as if he were being hugged? No, this was different. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, like his head had been laid down in the lap of someone and hands were cupping his cheeks gently. I helped build this Outpost before it was the Outpost. Because you know, everything warlocks have done is build on the backs of the witches who supported them, but the witches actually built it on my back. I cackled for days when they saw the circle, and tried to cover it up by hosting the library on top of it. Permanent circles make things a little easier. You don’t need salt or any of the other trappings, just blood.

Where did you learn to make a summons like that?

Oh but where do you think, darling? From only the best of my kind.

Angels can summon demons?

Angels, demons, same stock. The pentagram belongs to demons; they laid the claim over it. But the original circle is writ with runes, to summon angels. And some part of the practice remains the same. The rune, as you so described it, is actually a sigil, a summon sign unique to every demon... and every angel. But you can actually summon an angel by burning oil. It’s just that the runic circle has to be engraved for that type of summoning.

How do you know all this?

Did Cordelia tell you I was a child when they took me under their wings? Angels grow slower than humans do. I had centuries under my belt when I first landed here on Earth. But I was naught but a child in the eyes of the coven.

Why did you come to Earth?

It wasn’t by choice. Someone messed up a sigil, badly. They were trying to summon a demon; they got me instead. Needless to say they weren’t very happy, and by the time they were done beating me, they had all vanished, dead, missing, I don’t know. I wandered for days in the wilderness and I couldn’t stop screaming. Who wouldn’t really? Having been ripped from the arms of their father by forces they couldn’t control?

Do you miss them? Your family?

Sometimes. Something wet hit Michael’s cheek. He opened his eyes and looked up to see that Zipporah was actually cradling him and that tears of liquid gold were running down her cheeks. But they never came for me, you know. Cordelia always saw me as the child she could never have, yet... somehow I’m still bound like an animal that she can’t control. I could never call her Mother. My mother was warm, wings of honey hazel, and gold eyes. Her skin was decorated with painted gold, and she attended to a garden, warm sunshine and green grass and the wind in your hair.

And your father?

Let’s not go there.

Did something happen?

Michael, please. Something in her tone deterred him away from asking more questions about it. It wasn’t that Zipporah was ashamed of her father either. In fact, he was the reason that she knew all the occult things that she did. But Belial was a demon regardless, and not just any small demon either. Belial was a Prince of Hell. And Belial likely raised hell, and would likely raise just as much hell when Absinthe returned.

Something in Zipporah’s expression shifted. Oh, you’re just like me. Your time on Earth is so limited but the spirit inside you is not. You’re just a boy, and this world has made you grow up so fast.

How do you know... how do you know that?

They don’t tell you about angels having gifts? It’s no wonder I close my eyes and see the boy, because that’s who you are, scared and hiding behind this mask. You exude power, prowess, confidence, but you’re scared to let yourself be known.

You mean like this? Michael let the demonic form show, pale hair, sunken skin, and blackened eyes.

Everybody your whole life has told you you’re a monster, that you’re meant to bring about the Apocalypse, and what have you done but fulfill their wishes, too frightened to do anything else. Not all demons are bad angels; not all angels are good celestial beings. And you, the Antichrist...

What? You don’t think I’m a bad person?

I think you’re a pawn, in the grand scheme of things, following an outdated plan and pleaing on a fallen angel that doesn’t exist in the same scheme of things anymore. Just as much as I was a pawn for people like Cordelia and the coven. Wish that I could have shown you the world before you decided to turn into ash and toxic fog. Maybe one day I’ll get to show you Eden, the real Eden.

How did you know...

There’s been people before you, who called themselves the Antichrist, and people will come after you who call themselves the Antichrist, and those same people will do to them what they did to you. But you? You could make your own path. Rebel...

And be punished for it?

There’s not many people who could stand against you. You could rebel, kill them, and take me instead. Though I don’t hold out hope for such a thing. Cordelia will try to make sure that you don’t, and this body is weak enough now after that stunt that I don’t think it would take much more to kill me. At least I would be free of this corporeal form.

Where would you go? Home? Heaven?

Eden. I would go to Eden. And I would wish that I could take you with me.

Why? I’m your sworn enemy.

And you have protected me nonetheless. For which I am most grateful. Zipporah sighed, looking down on Michael, strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes staring up at her in curiosity and wonder.

You’ve made yourself a very beautiful man, you know.

Is that why you’ve insisted on calling me Mr. Langdon? Afraid of getting too close? Her only reply was a soft chuckle, leaning down and claiming his lips with her own, kissing him sweetly, kissing him warmly, and at hearing his soft little moan that he tried to keep behind his teeth, kissing him ardently. My name is Michael.

“Zipporah.” She whispered it against his lips. “Maybe you’ll think fondly on me when you wreck your havoc and your ruin.”

“I will if you kiss me like that again.” Michael murmured. She only smiled down at him, kissing him again.

“Get some sleep, Michael.” Zipporah breathed. He had barely blinked and she was curled up on the floor again, like she’d never moved.

#Michael Langdon X OC #Michael Langdon X OFC #Cardinal Silk

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hayleyb100 · 4 years ago

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Light My Way, Part 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 the end

⚠️ WARNING! ⚠️ -It is a twisted story of Pokemon Sun and Moon, and a crossover of Pokemon SM and SWSH. -It features Hau and Kabu as the main characters. -Extremely angsty. -Everything is headcanon. -It isn’t spoiler-free.

The Professor woke up from a nightmare on his desk again. He probably fell asleep on his desk again, crying over the loss. The last several months have been a complete chaos. The grandson of his mentor, who he considered as a nephew, has gone missing. His mentor passed away, and Hau was discovered from the cold sleep. Kukui's nerve was on the edge as Hau recovered. He thought he might not even wake up, but miraculously, Hau fought back and opened his eyes. The Professor almost smashed the phone on the floor when Hau's dad ignored the calls and didn't give a shit about his son. He nearly went to break the backbones of the hideous foster families who abandoned Hau yet again, but Kahunas and his wife had to stop him.

Kukui was desperate to take care of the boy himself. But he just couldn't. He almost had heart failure when he saw Hau outside the door. His guilt for not protecting him nearly crushed him. He couldn't look at Hau. He despised himself. So much. He acts all strong by being Royal Mask and leading the construction of the League, but what exactly did he achieve? He didn't even know Hau was in such unbearable pain.

After all the chaos, Kukui let go of everything he was doing. The League, research, even taking care of himself. Despite his wife's effort, he wasted away day and night. He thought he did something unforgivable to his mentor and his grandson. The least he could redeem is to take care of Hau, but he couldn't even do that. He felt helpless and useless.

_________________________________

Then, after a while, he heard another person who was hoping to foster Hau appeared. And it was no ordinary person, but a Gym Leader of another region. Kukui went to Nanu instantly, who bridged the two.

"Hey!"

"Hey."

Nanu answered back calmly despite a sudden outrage since he knew Kukui was on his edge.

"What the heck are you thinking sending Hau overseas?!"

"What do you mean? He needs family. He can't stay in the hospital forever, right?"

"NO!"

Kukui shook his head with fury.

"He isn't fully recovered from that wound! All those dirty foster families! And going overseas? Are you kidding me?!"

"Calm down. I had to think hard for that."

"NO, YOU DIDN'T! If you had any senses, you wouldn't have made that decision! He is not going anywhere. Hau will stay with me!"

Nanu sighed and glared at Kukui.

"Then let me ask you one thing too. Is that for the kid? Or is that for you?"

Kukui stared at Nanu, dumbfounded.

"Listen, I get that you bear all that guilt for Hala. But be honest, you are not well yourself either, eh? I might sound cruel, but fostering and adoption isn't about you. It's about the kid. It's about finding the parents who can guide the child and the child can rely on. Especially since the kid is hurt severely. You can't take the fostering as the method to redeem yourself. It's not that simple. To add to that, Alola is a place full of horrid memories of that kid. He should leave and spend some time somewhere else until he can stand back on his feet."

Nanu sighed deeper and continued.

"You gotta drop that horrible habit of trying to do everything on your own. Don't you think you already have too much in your hand? Researching as a professor, being Royal Mask, developing Alola by building the League..."

Nanu's words hurt. It hurt so much because they were all true. He was so caught up with repaying what he did wrong to Hala that he forgot about how Hau was hurt again. Kukui remembers the man who is willing to foster Hau. A Gym Leader he met in Galar. He was a man of passion, kindness, generosity, justice, and wisdom. An iron fist in a velvet glove. A reliable someone. The perfect person for Hau. He knew that. Kukui knew it all too well but didn't want to let him go. He was worried sick.

But at the same time, Hau deserves someone better. It was as plain as day that Kukui wouldn't take good care of him with his worn-out heart. He was like a tree with rotting root, that would fall over when someone lean on.

"He's leaving in two days," Nanu added.

"If you wanna say goodbye, come to Melemele Island Airport by noon."

After Nanu left, Kukui came back home. He skipped the meal and thought about what Nanu said over and over again. In fact, he didn't know why he thought it over, when the answer was crystal clear.

______________________________________

"Didn't you forget anything?"

Two days later, Kabu asked Hau who was holding his small suitcase. Hau stood there and quietly shook his head, as Kabu buttoned up his jacket. Kabu was so sad that such an adorable child is so daunted. He couldn't wait until the boy was lively again, running from place to place with his partner pokemon.

"Take care, okay, Hau?"

Olivia and Nanu were waiting for Hau at the airport. Olivia was ready to cry, and Nanu just looked into the distance.

"Here, it's our contact detail. Call us when you need us."

Olivia handed a little note to Hau with Nanu and her call number. Hau nodded a little and put the note in his pocket.

"Now, the airport is crowded, so you might get lost easily. Don't let go of my hand, alright?" said Kabu.

The little olive haired boy didn't say a thing, but he grabbed onto Kabu's fingers tightly. Kabu held his hand back.

Just then, someone called Hau from a distance.

Nanu was shocked to see Kukui, as he thought he wouldn't come. But there he was.

Kukui took another deep breath and came to Hau. He stroked Hau's cheek, holding back his tears with all his might. He beamed brightly, trying to relieve Hau.

"Hau... Stay happy there. Galar is a wonderful region brimming with discovery, new experiences, and adventure. The man next to you is a great person. He will take good care of you. You had enough sadness in your life. All you need is happiness and delight, just like all the other boys of your age."

Hau stared at him quietly and answered with a short nod.

Kukui then turned to Kabu. He pleaded with a shaky voice.

"Please, take good care of him. He is a pure boy who deserves a happy life."

Kabu smiled with determination and nodded to Kukui. He knew what the boy meant to the professor, so he resolved to keep Hau under his wings safe.

"I will. That I promise."

Kukui grinned and waved goodbye, as Hau and Kabu went further away to the departure lounge. The Alolan Professor still felt his heart shattering thinking he wasn't strong enough to take care of Hau himself, but at least he now knows he is in the safe hand.

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magioftheseas · 4 years ago

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Jagged Along The Edges

For @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Broken Angel taken from here.

Rating: M

Warnings: Body horror, violence, gore, cannibalistic thoughts, but I swear to god this is supposed to be hurt/comfort/treating injuries

Notes: Idk why I wrote another Persona 5 fic despite not reblogging p5 content, but shuake’s too powerful or something. Also the power outages are making me lose my mind. Wheeeeeeeee.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Whoever would have thought that angels had fangs? Certainly not Akira, who had just been bitten to shit by the angel he just found and had thought to help.

He had a bad habit of trying to help as a human, and it turns out that habit carried over as a demon, albeit one of a low level. He can certainly imagine the same looks of disapproval as before when people realize that he held out a hand to a supposed enemy of his race, but would he have acted any differently?

Well.

He’s still acting the same now, enflamed bitemark on his arm be damned with the rest of him. His biter is still glaring, snarling, and hissing at him like a feral cat. Quite unbefitting of an angel—except this creature probably couldn’t be called an angel anymore.

Not with its wings ripped off like that.

What was left were mangled, jagged edges of bone and a few bloodied clumps of feathers sticking to the back. It was curled up so pitifully but was still managing quite the fierce little glare. Since being bitten still hurt, it wasn’t like this once angel was completely defenseless. But it was still in pretty horrible shape, and Akira didn’t even know if it retained any level of intelligence.

Angels are always so fucking pompous and up their asses. An angel wouldn’t be caught dead looking this unhinged and disheveled. More akin to an animal, running on nothing more than fear and aggression—but, even so.

Well. Akira half-wanted to pounce, never one to miss out on an easy meal. Especially one with such gorgeous fucking eyes, like hot damn—sorry state or no, the angel had eyes as deep and potent as the finest blood-red wine. Akira wasn’t so noble as to not be tempted. He’s still imagining it. This angel, who’s skittering into the corner it’s been backed up in, would have just the richest taste.

He wants a taste. Just a little.

And the angel hisses, but it’s also cowering. Poor thing. Poor, wretched creature. Its tortured state was so excessive. It must have really pissed off some higher-ups. What a tragedy. He should put it out of its misery.

He should. Especially since the little beast fucking bit him. His arm fucking itches, too. Angels are venomous to demons, but since this one’s so injured, it’s more of an especially annoying bug bite than anything remotely lethal. Most other demons would’ve acted immediately, and Akira’s stuck staring helplessly at this thing while he still tries to formulate a plan to approach it without an attempt made on his throat.

What a pain. Physically and metaphorically.

This stupid creature had yet to let its guard down, too. If Akira had been interested in eating it, he would’ve done so by now. Or he would’ve left. This just wasn’t worth the trouble of staring stupidly with a face scrunched up in concentration—that probably just looked like constipation.

“I...” He drawls. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

No answer. Same as last time.

“You’re in an awful state,” Akira explained like he was talking to a child. “And l don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

The angel spat at him, hissy and frazzled. It would be really fucking cute if it wasn’t really fucking annoying.

Ah.

If he just stands there, that angel will surely bleed to death or something.

...

Fuck it.

That angel sure had some lungs when Akira pounced.

One thing he had to admit was that even while mutilated, the angel knew how to fight. Like really knew with how its body moved and how it clearly aimed for weak spots with its nails and teeth. Just when Akira thought he had it pinned down, he had to jerk back before his face got clawed off. And the angel took off the flesh of his nose, leaving Akira to hiss between his cheek and shove them down with far more force than he would’ve preferred.

“I’m trying—to help you!” he got out through gritted teeth. “Let me help you! Who else could’ve injured you like that but a stronger angel?!”

The angel, back against the ground, screeched. No surprise there. Anything against those injuries surely felt like agony, and when Akira pressed harder, he almost immediately jolted back by the next heartrending, distorted scream.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not that the angel could hear when it was now sobbing. That face was twisted in tortured misery, and that expression was far too much to take.

“S-Sorry!” Akira yelped, pulling the angel close. Careful to avoid its back, he frantically cooed and stroked its hair. He minded any tangles and knots, murmuring soft reassurances with shaking shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s okay...”

The angel whimpered, digging its nails into his shoulders. Since it was more out of desperation than anything, Akira allowed it without missing a beat. For added measure, the angel was huddling closer, even to the point of pressing its face into Akira’s collarbone with a pained whine.

“Good...fucking god...” Akira utters. “What the fuck did they even do to you?”

He didn’t get an answer. The angel had gone limp against him, breathing harshly against his neck.

He didn’t have time to lose before booking it to his place.

“Aw jeez, aw fuck, aw jeez... What the hell...”

Akira considered himself fairly proficient in magic, even healing magic. But no matter how much energy he channeled into the angel’s body, there was just no smoothing out the crude edges of bone where wings had once been. He’d have to do so a more old-fashioned way with a really tough grater, which he doubted the angel would respond well to.

For now, he focused on the more treatable injuries. The scrapes from the earlier tussle, some miscellaneous lacerations, and a couple of bruises for good measure. There was some internal bleeding to deal with, but overall, the most damage was situated on the back. The angel wouldn’t even be able to lay down like this.

Akira wiped himself off, sighing and cursing whatever monsters of this angel’s kind had thought this humane much less justified. While he had heard of angels getting their wings torn off before, it was always at the roots. Leaving gaping holes in the back that, while pretty horrifying in their own right, would still be preferable to this shit.

Just thinking about it pissed him off to no end. And maybe the angel could sense him just buzzing with fury because it began to stir from where it was propped up against its side on the wall.

“Ah,” Akira clicked his tongue. “No, no, just...rest more.” His hand hovered by the angel’s shoulder. The angel’s face scrunched up, and despite everything, Akira’s breath caught at just a glimpse at a sliver of deep red from the angel’s eyes. “It’s...uh...”

The angel was staring at him now, and he was left speechless.

Oh, he thought as those red eyes bore into him. Beautiful.

“...f-feeling better?” he choked out as the angel blinked at him. “You, uh... You don’t...seem...to be afraid of me anymore. That’s good.”

The angel kept staring, and Akira let out a strangled laugh.

“Right, uh, you...might still be...”

“You.” The angel pointed at him, slurring its words. “You are an incomprehensible demon.”

“And you can talk,” Akira remarked, with dull surprise. “Great. That makes things easier—but why didn’t you speak earlier? Were you really that scared?”

The angel shook its—his head.

“It’s not that,” with a sigh, he stated, quite clearly. “I just hate demons. They irritate and infuriate me beyond my capacity for speech. And I really hadn’t been in a mood to converse in the first place.” He was speaking like they were just discussing the weather. “Since you helped me, I suppose I owe you now. What is it that you want?”

“I...” Akira blinked. “Your...name...? Maybe?”

The angel’s eyes narrowed sharply and, oh, those eyes were deadly. Akira could get lost in them for millennia.

“Akechi Goro.” The angel turned away the best he could without brushing his back against anything. “Surely that’s not all.”

“Kurusu Akira. Nice to meet you.”

“It’s not that nice.”

“...”

Akechi, huh.

“I... Uh, I did the best I could with your injuries. But for your back, I’d have to...smooth it down...” Now wasn’t the time to be getting nervous and now especially wasn’t the time to notice that the angel had quite a lovely profile. A strong, defined jaw and nose—angels were beautiful in general, but this one... No. Fuck. Akira had to focus. “I need tools for that. So, um, be patient with me.”

“It’s not like I have much else of a choice,” Akechi replied softly and sullenly.

Is this really the same angel I found? Did my feral beast of an angel get replaced when I wasn’t looking?

“Uh...” Rather intelligently, Akira scooted closer. “Do you mind if I...ask who did that to you? You—don’t have to answer.”

“I don’t know who it was specifically,” Akechi said, waving his hand dismissively. “But, as you can no doubt tell, this is punishment.”

“It’s torture.” Akira didn’t waste a second. “Tearing your wings off like this was unnecessarily cruel.”

Akechi seemed to smirk before his face fell.

“A demon with morals,” he said, snorting. “Now I’ve really seen it all.” He leaned his shoulder into the wall. Akira hovered by, uncertain. When Akechi’s eyes shut once more, the spell was broken and Akira was able to distance himself once more.

If Akechi was aware of the effect he had, he didn’t remark on it. But if he did know, Akira had a feeling that it’d be used to the angel’s advantage. Akira had to be careful. Since Akechi wasn’t a mindless beast, that meant...

It meant a lot of things. Akira imagined the other probably had a lot on his mind. Especially with how tense he was around the shoulders. Considering his situation, it was more than understandable. It was admirable, even, that Akechi was keeping his cool like this.

Akechi still had his guard up, which was fine. Akira didn’t expect any different.

“I don’t plan on hurting you,” he announced as if that would serve as a reassurance. Akechi was unmoved, even as Akira stressed, “I don’t plan on eating you, either. I want to help. What happened to you wasn’t right.”

Akechi gave a non-committal hum.

“I’ll do what I can about your injuries,” Akira went on. “Once you’ve recovered enough, you can decide for yourself what to do. I’d, uh, prefer you didn’t kill me afterward though. I’d hate to have to fight back.”

“Demons are wretched, malicious creatures,” Akechi said, rattling off the rhetoric Akira’s heard a thousand other times from countless other angels and humans. “It’s not uncommon for them to toy with their meals. To build them up, tear them down, and savor every last drop.”

The thing is.

Remaining humanity aside, Akira can’t deny how appetizing Akechi looks. And how the thought of Akechi cleaned up and pristine made his mouth water. Even now, Akira stares at the slope of Akechi’s neck, the curvature of his shoulders, his waist, and thick thighs—and his teeth itch to sink in.

It’s in his nature to eat, and Akechi’s a hell of a fucking meal. Angels always tasted best.

With the way Akechi does look at Akira’s mouth, the angel surely knows this.

So, why hadn’t he tried to escape yet?

Probably, Akira’s brain supplied. Because he not only has nowhere else to go but nothing to live for.

How pitiful.

Wouldn’t it be merciful to put this creature out of its misery?

Just because it’s in my nature doesn’t mean I can’t make choices.

“I’ll get something for your back,” he said, turning his back on the angel. Giving Akechi ample time to lash out if so desired. “Sorry. It’ll be a moment.”

He leaves, and he takes more than a moment. More than enough time for Akechi to escape if he so pleased.

When he came back, Akechi hadn’t moved at all, but he was staring up at him with two haunting eyes.

Everything was settled without the need for words.

(Even if Akira was seized by quite the unfortunate desire to pull Akechi close and not let go.)

(For a demon, hunger and sexual desire often got conflated. With Akechi, the latter was bound to become more and more of a fucking problem.)

#Magi fics #shuake #akeshu #bad things bingo #body horror #persona 5

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nonbinary-ghost · 4 years ago

Text

Nightmare Heart Reborn

Another Hollow Knight story thing. For some reason I’ve been supper preoccupied with the creation of the first Grimm and ended up writing way more than I intended to for it! In short, this one-shot follows a moth abandoned by the Radiance and his deal to become a vessel for the Nightmare Heart.

CW: Suicide contemplation, Drowning, Burning Alive, Abandonment

The lanky moth collapsed into a heap on the rough stone floor, too exhausted to move further. Wind howled lonely at the mouth of the small cave he’d found, but for now he was safe from the scouring sands and empty wastes. He lay on the floor of the cave amongst dry leaves and coarse sand, his breath shallow as it echoed in his ears to fill the silence.

The awful silence.

With a small noise of despair, the moth curled in on himself, wrapping his wings tight as he shook, as if their dusty gold and white drapings could hold him together as his world fell apart. He was alone now, truly alone, and the ringing silence in his mind felt like a gaping hole in the center of his being. Where once there had been the soft murmurings and singing of other moths, and the warm golden glow of his goddess, there was now nothing but deafening silence and cold darkness. Why? Why had they turned away from him? He’d tried to feel the Dream, to be content in the Radiance’s light. He had wanted so much to be one with the song that rose and fell with the golden light in his people’s thoughts. But his mind could never rest in those pleasant dreams and hopes. It always wandered to the suffering of the scared and the hurt. There were so many who hurt, who feared. The pain of loss, the fear of death, it all stained the very edges of the dream he’d once shared with his people, and his heart broke in sympathy for them, for those who suffered in silence just as he. But he’d tried to ignore those feelings. He tried to mask the rising fear inside of him that he must be flawed in some way to be so preoccupied with such unpleasant thoughts.

And yet…

Yet, despite his efforts, his voice had become a discordant note in the Radiance’s melody, a dark stain on their shared dream. And so they’d driven him away. They abandoned him to the darkness and fear.

Tears burned his eyes as he clutched at the sharp ache in his chest.

Maybe he was broken.

As the moth lay in the cold, damp sand and refuse of a wasteland, he considered never rising again. He could just lie there and let it all end. Let the bitter wind steal his breath. Let the gritty sand bury him. Let the wandering, mindless bugs of the wastes find him, bite him, bleed him. His disappearance a good riddance to all he had once called family.

A broken voice no one wanted to hear.

A lost moth forever banished from the Radiance’s light.

Exhaustion and misery blanketed him, eventually dragging him into a fitful sleep filled with the images of the scornful faces of those who had driven him from his home. In his dreams, they watched him indifferently as he struggled to keep his head above churning black waves, their faces a distant light far overhead. They all waited to see what this unworthy moth might do, to see if he had the strength to rise from the cold water, the courage to face what was ahead.

He didn’t.

A large black wave crashed over him and pulled him deeper under the turbulent waters. The light vanished immediately and he sank, flailing feebly at the cold pressure as he choked on the salty liquid. His motions slowed as he fell. Was this not what he wanted? A quiet oblivion? Death was easier, and in this endless nightmare, far less painful to consider than a life of exile.

He gave in to the black waters.

But as he sank deeper, a strange red light began to bleed into the darkness. The moth lifted his head warily as he drifted to the bottom of this dark sea of despair. He settled gently on the ground’s soft surface and he found he could again breathe. The pressure of the water remained heavy against his chest, but it did not choke him to take it in and he took a slow, almost disappointed breath.

Red light pooled around him, pushing away the darkness and warming his chilled limbs. That light felt so familiar, warm and comforting like the Radiance’s light, but softer. A faint, steady thrumming could just be heard under the moth’s breathing, and he blinked, glancing around in confusion. Was this another nightmare?

You poor child.

The words were a mere whisper in the moth’s thoughts, weak but gentle. He went still at the sorrow behind the sound.

How could We turn Our light from you? You needed Us so desperately, and We turned away…

The moth realized that the words came at the same slow beat of the strange thrumming in his ears. He laboriously pushed himself up to his hands and knees, cocking his head as he searched for the source of the sound.

“Who speaks?” He asked aloud, his voice smothered by the water still in his lungs.

The Heart of We who abandoned you.

Confusion made the moth’s antennae twitch. Was this one of their lost kin? Another moth here to offer sympathy? No. No, the feeling of this red light so warm against his fur, the soft presence in his mind…

“Radiance?” he breathed, a flicker of hope flaring in his chest.

Not as such, whispered the words, and the moth felt the flame of hope turn to ash on his tongue. The voice continued: A part of Her. One We scorn and abandon just as We do you. We are part of the same whole, but She who calls herself Radiance smothers Us here in solitude as She ignores the suffering of Our people.

The moth’s head spun but he did not have the heart to try to understand. That briefest flutter of hope that his goddess had not abandoned him had filled him with such pure light, had made his heart soar. But now that hope was extinguished with a cruel certainty, and the despair came crushing back. Was he truly lost then? Alone, abandoned, voiceless, forever scorned from his goddess’s light with no hope for redemption?

“Why am I here?” he whispered as he stared down at his hands pressed against the strange quilt-like ground.

We – I heard your pleas for oblivion. I cannot save you from your fate, Dear Child, but I can at least spare you from it.

The moth lifted his head at this, his heart fluttering in his chest.

I can offer you the oblivion you seek. Your memories, your thoughts, your mind – they can all become a part of me, and you will be free. Gone, without any lingering dreams or regrets to keep your mind tethered to this place.

What I offer you is not peace, child, but destruction. A true oblivion.

The moth considered this. He knew that death did not always mean peace. He had walked the dreams of those lingering regrets, and fears, and hopes left by the dead. He did not want to stay in this world in any form. His dreams were naught but nightmares, his regrets many. He did not deserve any form of afterlife, even as the faintest echo of his mind, nor did he want it. True oblivion…

“What is your price?” He asked, willing to give up everything for the fulfillment of this last hope.

Your shell, whispered the beating heart. Become a part of me. I will use your body and memories to fully separate from the Radiance. For too long We have abandoned our children to despair – no longer! It can end with you. Become my vessel, and I will take in every lost and broken soul, and cleanse the lands of the flames of fear and pain. You will have the oblivion you so crave, and your empty shell will serve to consume the misery of the living.

“I could help others like me?” the moth asked in wonder. By accepting this offer, he could create a home for those his people abandoned? The feeling of hope in his chest grew at the thought of no one suffering as he has ever again. “You would take them in?”

Every soul scorned by the Radiance’s Light will find a home in the Hearts’.

A quiver of emotion fluttered the moth’s gold-spotted wings and he pressed a hand over the pounding of his heart. It beat fast, from fear or excitement, out of sync with the slow, languid thrumming still in his thoughts. He considered this offer carefully. Was this really what he wanted? Did he truly want to cease to exist? If he refused, could he seek out a new life somewhere? Find others turned away from his goddess’s light, and build a new home? He knew not if he had the strength to do so. The emptiness in his chest choked him, threatened to drown him. There could be no home like the one he lost. There was nothing in the wastes but sand and mindless bugs – nothing like the light and song and love of his homeland. But there had to be others like him, others whose nightmares and fears had driven them from the Radiance’s light. He had seen their dark stains on the Dream. Were they lost out here too, as alone and empty as he?

Despair exhausted, rage flooded in to the small moth, making his heart pound harder.

How dare the Radiance treat her children so cruelly. She had no right to abandon them so, to drive them away. Were they not all the Radiance’s children? Were they not all deserving of the promise of love and protection? His hands clenched into fists against the quilted ground as that emotion thundered through him, one he’d fought so hard to suppress for the entirety of his life. The rage pounded in his chest, swirling with the lingering despair still pressing down on him. He could change that, could change the fates of those like him. He could give the lost children of the Old Light a home. And for what? A quiet oblivion – one he already sought and longed for as deeply as he missed the light.

“I accept your offer.”

A sharp flare of scarlet light burst to life before him and he flinched as a massive, beating heart filled his vision. He fell back as he craned his neck, trying to see the entirety of the red heart, but the edges of the shape were lost to shadow far overhead. The warmth of the red light intensified against his wings at the heart’s nearness. The moth rose unsteadily and cautiously approached the heart, his eyes locked on the bleeding gash seeping tongues of crimson flame that severed the center of that heart. The slow, beating thrum that had whispered at the edges of his mind filled his ears now, and he could see the heart beating in time to the sound.

There is no coming back, warned the soft voice of the Heart. Enter the flames only if you truly wish for the oblivion I offer.

He paused at the edge of the flickering scarlet flames, staring up at the massive red heart.

“Will it hurt?”

Yes. The words paused. Then- All of you will be burned away. Your hopes, your dreams, your essence. I will know your memories but they will not be mine. Everything you are will be consumed by the scarlet flame.

It will hurt.

I am sorry, Child, but I cannot change this.

Do you still accept?

Fear was the faintest flutter in the moth’s chest, but no thoughts of hesitation crossed his mind. Chin raised, he stepped straight into the open wound in the bleeding heart.

Scarlet flames roared in his vision, their scorching heat beyond anything he could have ever expected. Blinding pain seared through him and he opened his mouth in a scream, pulling the flames into his lungs and burning his throat, destroying his once beautiful voice. He took that pain deep into himself, offering no resistance as it tore into his mind. One by one, every memory was consumed by those scarlet flames – his mother’s pride when he first sang, the pain of his broken wing, the despair of his brother’s death at the hands of illness, the fear of abandonment, the rage at the Radiance for turning her back on him and his fellow lost kin – the memories, everything he was, rose to the surface of his mind to be scoured away by cleansing fire. And he welcomed it. Fed it every part of himself until there was nothing left.

The flames burned away the moth’s pale white and gold wings, turning them into thick leathery things of black and red. The mane of fur around his neck vanished in a burst of crimson, and the flames coursed down every limb, burning, changing, until the bug that had entered the heart was no more. The world became a sea of red and pain. Then…

Nothing.

The moth awakened in that lonesome cave slowly, his eyes opening to reveal pupils that burned with a scarlet fire. He sat up tentatively, leathery wings splayed awkwardly. Confusion lay heavy in his thoughts and he stared down at his hands…hands? He flexed the clawed finders experimentally, feeling the way the glossy black shell and shifting joints moved. The Nightmare Heart smiled then, the expression feeling unnatural but right, somehow, and he stood on shaking legs. He could hear the pounding of the Heart in his ears, strong and steady, and he turned towards the cave’s entrance. He wrapped his warm, leathery wings around himself as he marveled at this vessel, this new form that finally freed him from the Radiance’s shackles.

He was Him, now. Not an Us, not a We, not a part of the lying Dream that turned away from the suffering of the world. He was Himself at last, a being all his own. A laugh, filled with elation, rumbled from his ruined throat.

He was free.

#hollow knight #hk grimm #nightmare heart #my writing #this was almost cathartic to write #cw suicide #cw burning alive #cw drowning #cw abandonment #If there are any content warnings I missed please let me know #I know this scene is a little heavy #and I don't want to miss any tags for people's blacklists

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