#or he could banish you there just briefly and pull you back before you exploded. dangling you just above death like a pot of boiling oil
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deathbind · 8 months ago
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Serot's own arsenal of spells and generally how he applies necrotic magic differs from modern day Anactaci. You can clearly see the foundation he laid, but it has been over a thousand years. The order has evolved considerably in that time. There's also the fact that he was reborn at level one and has structured his skills to suit his present needs, but [hand waves]
There are different sects and roles within the Anactaci who call on the Plane of Death in different ways, but certain generalities can be relied upon. Their magic is largely geared toward what would be considered divination. They are the bridge between this life and the next, the messengers of eternity. They commune both with the souls of the dead and with spirits — chiefly spirits / entities on the Plane of Death but spirits of all types, including those like Refhremmit. Indeed, every City of Eternity has one Anactaci dedicated to communing with their patron. It is a sacred office.
Beyond that, their magic is deeply focused on the soul and the threshold between life and death. They are adept at identifying and countering curses or maladies of the soul. They are adept at identifying and addressing possessions or spiritual attachments. The skilled can manipulate the ravages of time on a body or object (a skill shared with the Manthu). The most skilled of all can leave their bodies behind to inhabit ritually prepared objects; these become the teachers of the Anactaci and keepers of the deepest mysteries.
Yes of course, they animate and preserve corpses, either directly or by calling a spirit to inhabit it. This is part of Meketi funerary rites. But, simply making dead things move is only part of their skillset. Indeed, it's the most basic part.
Anactaci are bound by sacred oaths to turn their magic to holy purpose and with a thought for balance always. However, a truly irate or unscrupulous Anactaci could do serious damage. Particularly if they are skilled. Insidious curses and nigh-undetectable possessions (i.e. slowly driving a person to madness with ill luck or nightmares; far worse curses are possible). Yanking a person's soul directly from their body, either holding it captive or causing it to become lost. Learning secrets from spirits or from souls that can utterly destroy a person. Causing them to rapidly age, turning to sun-bleached bone before their eyes, one limb at a time. Or causing them to wither, then return to their correct age, then wither, then return to their correct age — over and over until they don't know whether they're alive or dead. If capable of severing their soul from their body, they can possess others directly, influencing or totally overriding their will. They might not touch a person at all; they might sap all life from their home instead.
Fortunately, such corrupt Anactaci are rare — and swiftly dealt with.
#META / HC: WORLDBUILDING.#RE: ANACTACI#this isn't a polished meta#but I'm reading about Chosen so obvs magical abilities are on my mind#Serot's rain of blood and animate blood he learned as a ghul lord have the fucking pizzazz#but modern Anactaci are frightening in ways you don't think to fear til it's too late#or rather they have the potential to be if they forsake their oaths#which has consequences. Anactaci and Manthu both are literally bound by their oaths. those tattoos aren't merely aesthetic#but that's a discussion for another time#Serot getting angry enough to yank someone's soul directly out of their body tho . . .#he would have to be beyond incensed for that#and would feel absolutely disgusted with himself afterward. like might vomit type of disgusted#still. if Serot wasn't a moral man. he could be horrifying#he could make your blood boil you alive from the inside#he could make your own body turn against you while you're trapped inside helpless#he could keep your soul in a jar while he puppets your body#and allows you to learn whether the incorporeal can feel torment#he could call the Plane of Death into your very soul and watch it consume all life within you#and leave your body to infect anyone else nearby with the same fate#he could banish part of you to the Plane of Death so that the part of you on the Material Plane experiences that torment without reprieve#and must live from then on missing something with a searing ache that was swallowed by death itself#or he could banish you there just briefly and pull you back before you exploded. dangling you just above death like a pot of boiling oil#he could call down plagues. he could raise droves of undead their ranks replenished by their victims#he could drain life from the very earth itself#he WON'T but he COULD#well also it's gonna take time to get back to the power level he was at before dying in his first life#and frankly he doesn't want to be back at the level if he doesn't have to be#but y'know. first life. if he'd been a cruel man.
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actress4him · 4 years ago
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Whumptober 2020 - Day 6
Today’s fic is definitely a dark one, though it does have a happy ending. Allura gets a moment to shine, and Hunk gets several. Make sure to check the warnings and let me know if I missed any!
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Day 6 - “Get it out”/“Stop, please”
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Warnings: restraints, non-consensual body modification, fantastic racism, blood, vomit, gore, graphic descriptions of brain surgery
“You can’t do this!”
Keith yanked at the restraints that held his wrists against the table. It was fruitless, he knew, he had been trying ever since they strapped him down several minutes ago, but that didn’t stop him from trying again. If he could just get his hands free, he could get up and knock these psychotic racists off their feet. 
“They’ll stop you. Voltron will stop you!”
He couldn’t see any of the people looming over him, not with his face forced down into a hole in the table so that the back of his head was excruciatingly exposed. That didn’t mean he couldn’t feel their presence. They didn’t even speak, didn’t acknowledge his protests and threats. To them, he was already just an object lying there, nothing to concern themselves with other than to prep him for their procedure. He kept pulling on the straps, almost as if determined to prove them wrong. 
A buzzing sound that he would recognize anywhere started up and made his stomach turn a somersault. Suddenly what was about to happen to him was very, very real, and Keith was very afraid. Arching his neck back as best he could, he shouted at the top of his lungs. “No! No, stop! Don’t...don’t do this!”
“Hold him.”
Briefly a lab coat appeared in front of him, then a pair of hands braced themselves on either side of his head and shoved down hard. There was no fighting against Altean strength, especially not from that position. The buzzing drew closer. Keith flinched violently at the first contact of the blade, though it only swept gently down the back of his scalp, taking large clumps of hair with it. He gritted his teeth to hold back a sob.
A minute later and that part of the job was done. A wet cloth swept over the newly shaven area, cleaning off small bits of hair left behind. Every touch made a shudder run through Keith’s body.
“He’s prepped.”
“Thank you, Noraja.”
More hands on his head, this time poking and prodding. “Alright, making the first incision now.”
Keith’s whole body tensed. This was it, his last chance to fight. “Stop, please! You don’t understand, I’m not like them! I’m a Paladin of Voltron, I help people! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Make sure you keep him still.”
“Don’t worry, sir, I’ve got him.”
Then there was something slicing into the bared skin, and it hurt just as much as he knew it was going to, but even worse than the pain was the knowledge that it was not in the least the worst part of all of this. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked rapidly to banish them. He wouldn’t beg anymore. He wouldn’t. It did no good, anyway. His team was clearly not going to be able to save him, regardless of his boasts. The best that he could do was live his last free moments with as much dignity as possible.
The pain in his head intensified. The Altean surgeon had made at least two cuts by then, though Keith lost track of what was happening after that through the pain and the feeling of blood pouring out and being methodically blotted away. 
There was another whirring sound, and if the razor had scared him, this froze him with absolute terror. 
“Ready to drill.”
It didn’t really hurt. Somehow, there was no new pain, but Keith screamed, anyway. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t actually feel the drill going in, the vibration of his entire skull and the knowledge of what was happening was enough to send him over the edge. 
He was gonna pass out. He couldn’t pass out. If he passed out, he would wake up and they would be done and he would have missed his last chance to actually live, however horrendous this life now was. 
So instead, his stomach heaved and emptied itself onto the floor beneath him. The person holding his head didn’t even seem to flinch. His vision faded in and out as the horrible drilling continued, but he held on until it finally, mercifully stopped. 
“Alright, the hard part is done.”
“Looks good, Doctor.”
“We’re ready now for the hoktril.”
The hoktril. The thing that all of this madness was about. The metal device that these alternate-universe Alteans were so proud of, that they were about to implant in his brain through the holes they had just drilled through his skull, that would sap all of his free will and leave him as a mindless slave. All because Commander Hira found out that he was half Galra, and Allura and the others hadn’t been able to stop them from overpowering him and dragging him away.
“Please,” he choked. His earlier determination not to beg was forgotten in the midst of the panic that seized his chest. “Please!” 
For most of his life, Keith had been prepared to die. Particularly now, when he faced death every other day. Dying didn’t scare him. But this...this was much worse than death. This fate terrified him.
The metal went in with a sickening squelch, cold against his cut open skin. 
“It’s a perfect fit.”
Tears overflowed despite his best efforts, rolling just onto his cheekbones before succumbing to gravity and dropping to the floor. Any second. Any second now they would complete the process, turn it on or whatever it was they had to do, and Keith would be no more. How aware would he actually be? Did the hoktril actually delete free will as they claimed, leaving him neutral and complacent, or would he be trapped inside his own body for the rest of eternity, screaming where no one could hear? He’d find out any second now. And then it would be too late.
“Alright, now pass me the -”
“Stop right there! No one move!”
Keith gasped in a shaky breath. He knew that voice!
"E-Empress So?"
He let out a sob of relief. Allura was here. Allura was here, and she sounded mad.
“Everyone take your hands off the black paladin and back away slowly.” That was Lance. He had on his business voice, and they must have had their bayards out, too, because miraculously, every hand lifted until it was only the straps holding him there. 
“Empress, I apologize, but there must be some kind of misunderstanding. You see, our orders come from Commander Hira, and -”
“And I outrank Commander Hira, do I not? Everyone out, now.”
“But the procedure is not finished, he’s still a danger-”
“Now!”
Allura’s tone brooked no argument. There was a shuffling of chairs and feet, and Keith felt the presences that had hovered over him all this time retreat. A door clicked shut, and the team exploded.
“Oh my stars, Keith!”
“Holy quiznak.”
“Dude, I’m so sorry -”
“Guys, I can’t, I can’t I can’t, I’m gonna…”
This was followed by the unmistakable sound of Hunk losing his lunch somewhere across the room, but Keith’s attention was on the others who had approached him. A gentle hand rested on his back, and he couldn’t help but tense. 
“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Allura began from above him. “We tried to get here as fast as we could, but Hira had us detained for ‘obstruction of justice’, and -” Her breath hitched. “I’m so, so sorry. Thank the stars we didn’t arrive any later.”
Keith couldn’t reply. He was so incredibly, undeniably relieved to have them there, but he still couldn’t stop shaking and crying. As Allura and Pidge began murmuring together about scientific things, a pair of armored knees appeared in his vision, followed by a round, slightly pale but still smiling face. 
“Hey buddy,” Hunk greeted him softly. “Give me a sec, I’m just gonna…” Fetching a towel from somewhere nearby, he threw it over the puddle of sick so that he could scoot in closer, hunching over so that he could be almost directly below Keith. It had to have been uncomfortable, but seeing a familiar face eased just a bit of the lingering fear.
“Hey, you’re okay now. Those bad guys are gone, and nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore, I promise.”
“Get it out.” It started as a whisper, but quickly grew to a frantic near-shout. “Get it out, get it out, please…”
“Yeah, yeah, we will! Okay? Shh, just...just try to take some deep breaths…”
The tears wouldn’t stop coming. “Please. I just want it out.”
Pidge suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision, squatting down to see him. “We’re gonna work on that, okay? The good news is, they only made it through putting in the metal base piece. None of the actual important pieces were inserted. So it’s just a matter of removing the base and getting you back to the Castle to heal.”
As she vanished again, Hunk smiled at him. “Hear that? It’ll be gone before you know it. Just hang in there, bud.”
Lance’s voice came through the table. “Hey Keith, I’m just gonna put my hand on your head, okay?” He did so without waiting for a response, and Keith immediately panicked.
“No! No!” Kicking out against the restraints, he fought against the hand holding his head down with all his remaining energy.
“Whoa, whoa! It’s okay!” 
He barely registered the hand disappearing, but he did hear Lance speak again, closer to his ear this time. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, man, I shouldn’t have...I won’t touch it again, okay? Promise. I just wanted to help you stay still while they were getting it out.”
Keith stopped struggling, though his body trembled anew. “I’ll keep it still,” he managed. “I swear.”
“I know you will,” Hunk replied, still keeping up his perky demeanor. “Hey Lance, unhook that hand for me, will ya?” 
The red paladin obliged, releasing Keith’s right hand from the strap and helping him maneuver it up toward his head. Hunk grasped it in both of his own.
“I’m right here for ya, okay? Feel free to squeeze as much as you need to.”
Keith gave a shaky nod. “‘Kay.”
The sound of the metal coming out was almost worse than going in, but it was more than worth it to feel that foreign pressure disappear. Keith shut his eyes with a long sigh, letting the last of his tears slip out. Hunk, to his credit, only turned slightly green, and kept on holding his hand and uttering reassurances the whole time. The other three worked quickly to tape on plenty of gauze, then helped him sit up very slowly with lots of support.
“Your beautiful mullet,” Lance groaned dramatically. “I can’t believe it’s ruined.”
Somehow Keith was able to huff a quiet laugh. “It’s only hair, Lance. It’ll grow back.”
Allura came around in front of him and clutched both his hands. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. We need to get you back as soon as possible.” She looked around at the rest of the team. “Getting out of here may not be easy, but let’s make it quick, alright? For Keith.”
“I volunteer for Keith-carrying duty!” Hunk announced.
Keith ducked his head. “Nobody needs to -”
“Nuh-uh, I don’t want to hear it.” Before he could say another word, Hunk had scooped him up off the table. “I promised you no one else would hurt you, and I’m gonna personally make sure that promise is kept.”
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gustafsnightangel · 4 years ago
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Shattered Lives Ch 27 Pt 1
She woke tangled in his limbs, pinned down by the weight of her lanky man, solid lean muscle pressing against her every curve. And damn he felt good, she thought. He hadn’t moved an inch, mental and emotional exhaustion taking him under hard. He’d needed it, the resolution of his notebook had taken every ounce of inner strength he had, now it was time for him to start to heal. She brushed her fingers over his scalp and kissed him, his arms tightening around her much like a constrictor as she shifted.
“I have to pee love.” She murmured as she tried to slip from his grasp, his arm tightening further as he grumbled. “I’ll be right back or it’s going to get very messy in here and not in a fun way.” She kissed him again. “I’ll come right back, I promise.” He let her go, reluctantly, and huffed his displeasure as she slipped from the bed.
He cracked open his eyes to see the snow gently falling, the serene sound of silence throughout the cabin, and breathed. It was done. He felt calmer, his head clearer than it had been in over a year, and he found that when he thought of Ana she was nothing more than a name. There was no rage at what she’d put him through, no anxiety, no emotion surrounding her at all, she was just a name from his past that was now buried there, where it belonged.
He grinned, the sigh of contentment loud and he didn’t give one fuck. He’d done it, he’d dug her out and banished her from his mind, from his soul. Closing his eyes again he let himself drift, and chuckled wickedly to himself as the bathroom door closed. Feeling the mattress sag he pounced causing Sildie to squeak and then laugh as his arm snaked around her and pulled her to him. He tucked her in close and snuggled under the covers content to watch the snow fall while sneaking kisses to the back of her neck as he spooned her.
“It’s so pretty.” She said wistfully, staring out the window as his arms tightened hugging her close.
“It is.”
“Can we stay here like this for today?” She asked hesitantly. “Just snuggle and sleep?” She had no desire to get out of bed unless it was for the bathroom or food, or to put more wood on the fire, and she wanted him to rest.
“I like that plan.” He murmured as he nuzzled her neck and felt her relax into him. “As long as I can add one more thing to that list of activities.” He said softly and gently cupped her breast as his lips grazed the shell of her ear.
“And what would that be?” She asked innocently with a grin knowing full well what.
“Sex.” He growled. “Lots and lots of sex.” He nipped her shoulder as fingers gently caressed her nipple causing her to sigh. The shot of pleasure went straight from nipple to pussy as those fingers started their destruction. “My Sildie.” He purred and slipped a finger over her clit and into her heat, the slow, calculated circles that made her moan in the most delicious way.
“Gustaf.” Her breathy sigh of his name as she arched made his cock twitch.
The arm pinned under her reached around to hold her close to him, his large hand resting between her breasts, fingers fanning out over her sternum. She could feel his erection pressing into her thighs so she gently pushed back to grind on him as his fingers continued their slow torturous assault on her clit. His gentle bite down on her neck made her resolve crumble, the tiny whimper making him gently thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding along her soaked folds.
He shifted slightly and with a slow thrust he slipped into her heat. The shallow penetration causing her to cry out in pleasure as he stretched her. He felt her tense, her breathing become rapid as she peaked. The slow lazy thrusts had her teetering on the edge, hands suddenly frantic in the sheets, on his body, as she grasped for anything that would help tip her over.
He kept the same maddening pace, the slow thrusts of barely his tip, the finger drawing destructive circles over her clit, his mouth devouring her neck and throat.
“Gustaf. Please.” She whimpered, he could hear the desperation.
“Go over love.” He purred and kissed the spot below her ear. “Come for me.” He breathed as he felt her body tense. Her strangled cry was music to his ears as her climax thundered through her, the tight grip of her pussy around his cock making his own groan escape.
He slowed to a stop and just held her as her breathing returned to normal. There was no rush, and he wanted her to last all day, a day of snuggling, food, and sex. He let his hands roam, just the feel of her enough to satisfy him for the moment.
“Good morning love.” He murmured in that deep tone she loved and could feel his smirk against her neck.
“It certainly is.” She chuckled and sighed out as his hand trailed over her hip, fingers drawing lazy patterns over her skin. “You know, you blow my mind when you slowly fuck me like that.” She said quietly.
“I know.” He said playfully. “I’ll be blowing that wicked mind of yours over and over again today too.” He growled with a smile.
“Mmm lucky me.” Her hand came up to caress his head, fingers toying with his scruff before she kissed him, that sweet seduction clouding his mind.
They lay there, his fingers lazily drawing patterns over her skin, her curves snuggled into his massive frame, soft and erotic.
“So soft.” He said kissing her shoulder, his hands roaming gently. “I have a need for you.”
“Do you?” She grinned, knowing exactly what he needed.
“Mmm hmmm. A need to taste you.” He nipped her throat letting his teeth graze her slightly. “A need to touch you.” He moved to straddle her bottom leg, the other wrapped around his hip as he rested on his arms caging her in. “A need to fuck you.” He whispered and nipped her throat until she moaned. “Nice and slow.”
His movements were relaxed, unhurried as he savored her, lips blazing a trail of destruction as he sat back on his knees. He gently placed her ankle on his shoulder and caressed her inner thigh before placing a kiss on her calf. Those long digits crept toward her soaked pussy, the soft pleas tumbling from her lips for him to touch her where she craved it most.
She loved this position, whether he took her hard or slow like he was about to do, he felt so good. Reaching down she gripped at his thigh, the strong muscle flexing as he shifted. Her other hand was already fisted in the sheets, an attempt to hold onto some control while those magic fingers destroyed every nerve ending he touched.
He leaned forward gently, her leg coming with him opening her hips. Watching her he took a hold of his rigid member and stroked the tip over her wet heat. Her hand tightened on his thigh as she whimpered for that length to be inside her. Resting at her entrance he leaned over her fully, her head turning to meet his kiss. Her hand stroked his cheek, the sparkle in those Viking blue eyes forever kind, but mischievous. He kissed her tenderly, that slow burn of passion that simmered.
He inched his way into her, the slow stretch causing her to arch and cry out softly. Stilling his hips briefly he tormented the column of her throat, the tender skin all laid out for him to feast on. Her hand gripped his thigh as he started to thrust, the long smooth motion that made her feel every inch of him.
“Sildie.” He breathed as those same slow thrusts caressed his cock, the maddening sensations of her pussy gripping him frying his brain, she felt so deliciously tight. He could feel her release build, her breath quicken, desperate for friction, for speed.
“Gustaf.” She moaned as his teeth grazed her throat.
“Let me feel you love.” He murmured, his thrusts staying deep and slow. Balanced on one arm he trailed a finger down her throat, over her breast and squeezed gently before lightly pinching her nipple.
He felt her body stiffen, the tight coil of energy inside ready to explode outward. His finger continued its descent until it caressed her inner thighs, her breath hitching as it moved closer to her mound. Her whimper was a mixture of frustration and anguish at the maddening pace he set.
He slipped his finger over her engorged bundle of nerves and circled it. Her cry was one of victory as her orgasm ripped through her, his teeth claiming a spot on her throat as he bit down gently before sucking it. That gorgeous body bucked against him as he continued his sweet assault on her senses.
“So beautiful when you come.” He whispered.
Keeping the same brutally erotic pace he rode out her release only to build another. He watched as she gave herself to feeling him, the pleasure he inflicted on her. He teased out one orgasm after another, the slow erotic torture battering every cell in her body.
He felt her pussy clamp down, the blissful tightness that stroked him. Circling her clit he coaxed out her final climax. With his lips pressed to the spot under her ear she came hard with a soft scream, her pussy squeezing him as he rode her through it. As he quickened his pace slightly another peaked and they crashed into oblivion together, her climax clutching his manhood tight, milking him of everything he had.
Still panting he cupped her cheek and turned her head to kiss her, those ice blue eyes twinkling as he devoured her mouth. He sat back on his knees and massaged her hip, watching her carefully as he lowered it to the mattress, no hiss of pain this time around.
She rolled over to face him as he curled into her, kissing that clever mouth. To make sure her hip was ok his giant paw massaged it further. Throwing her leg over his hip she drew him closer. “That feels good.” She purred and kissed him sweetly. Cuddling her in close he deepened the kiss until she was breathless again.
“You doing ok?” She asked gently as her finger traced the line of his jaw.
“I’m just fine love.” He rested his forehead against hers and relaxed into the mattress.
“You seem, I don’t know, settled?” She kissed him quickly, her frustration at even attempting to find the right word not lost on him, her fingers twitching nervously against his chest. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” She mumbled. “Last night was a lot for you.” Her fingers trailed over his chin, his chest.
“I feel lighter, like a weight’s been lifted, resolved.” He kissed her tenderly, her focus completely on him and what he was saying. “Ana’s just a name. I don’t feel any emotion about her or for her anymore. I’m hoping I can finally put it past us.”
“And here I am asking you about it. I’m sorry love.” She kissed him gently. “I didn’t mean to drag it up.” She’d opened her mouth and firmly put her foot in it, way to go, she thought.
“No, it’s ok.” He smiled at her. “We can talk about her, or not.” He shrugged. “I’m ok with whatever, she’s just a name now love.” He kissed her with all that love he’d locked away from the world, locked away from Ana to protect himself. “One that will eventually fade into a distant memory with time.” He felt good about it, cleansed, empowered. He’d vanquished a demon and Sildie had been right beside him.
He kissed her tenderly, with all the love he had for her. “Thank you.” He said gently. “For being here, for being the incredible person you are.” He kissed her again and she could hear the emotion in his voice. “I don’t think I could have made it through without you.” His fingers stroked her temple and teased her hair, wrapping the loose wave around his finger. “At least not without completely losing my mind, my sobriety.”
“You’re stronger than your demons love and I’m always here for you.” She kissed him, that soul deep love flooding into him.
“I know, but it’s nice to have you beside me, supporting me. It’s appreciated beyond words love.” He smiled and pulled her in for a deep kiss before leaning back on the pillows. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” He said grinning, the chuckle and change in topic clearly saying he didn’t want to dwell on it.
“Well we slept through breakfast and it’s almost lunch.” She chuckled looking at the clock as she started to climb out of bed. His arm snaked around her and with a palm on her belly he kissed up her spine.
“Brunch then?” He mumbled as he pulled her back into him.
“Food. But I feel like bacon and eggs and potato and tea.”
“That sounds really good.” He kissed her neck. “Stay here I’ll get it.” He said excitedly as he started climb out of bed.
“Gustaf.” She said exasperated. She had every intention of cooking him breakfast, helping him to relax.
“I’d like to bring you breakfast in bed, let me take care of you.” He said gently, and seeing the plea in his eyes, she backed down. “Please.”
“You don’t have to.” She said quietly. Sometimes it made her feel as if she was taking advantage of that giving soul he had.
“I know, but I want to.” He kissed her. “Big difference. Snuggle down and watch the snow, I’ll be back with a feast fit for the goddess you are.” He grinned, kissing her sweetly. It made him happy to tend her and it was something she’d have to get accustom to eventually, because he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
She smiled as he left the bedroom, staring out the window watching the snow fall. He seemed happier and more at ease now the notebook was dealt with. Her soft amused chuckle bubbling up at hearing him potter around in the kitchen, the gentle humming at some unheard tune in his head, so incredibly normal.
She worried about him, whether there would be other spirals associated with Ana and she needed to keep that in mind. Other triggers she’d have to field when they forced themselves into his head vying for attention, the non existent pregnancy being the worst, at least she hoped that was the worst. She’d leave it be for now unless he wanted to talk about it, somewhat relieved they could move past it.
She pulled back the covers and stepped out of bed to be greeted by the chill. Shivering slightly she hastily wrapped herself in her robe and stoked the fire, throwing another log on. Grabbing the chunky throw she curled up on the window seat and smiled at the large fat flakes tumbling from the sky.
What she wouldn’t give for it to be just the two of them all the time. She loved the kids but this wasn’t what she’d wanted for her life. It was supposed to be her career and maybe some room for a boyfriend, but kids were never supposed to be in the mix. That had changed, and even though time went by and they’d found a routine, it was still a crazy, disconnected mess. It wasn’t until Gustaf had come into their lives that they came together as a family unit, he’d been their missing piece. The kids were settled, they loved him, had accepted him, they were a family unit. He’d made them a family and she didn’t quite know how to process that. The tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed as her thoughts drifted to what life should have been for them, both her and the kids respectively, and never would be.
He brought the tray in loaded with crispy bacon and potatoes, and scrambled eggs, and the ever important teapot. He smiled at her and set the tray on the window seat at her feet, she was so lost in thought. He noticed the tear however, her mind had gone somewhere where he couldn’t, and she hadn’t done that in a while.
He sat, squeezing himself in between her spine and the wall and kissed her neck, the flinch snapping her back to reality.
“You were far away there love.” She could hear the concern in his voice.
“Yes I was, sorry.” Her laugh was of embarrassment more than anything. She’d been off daydreaming. Swiping away the tear she was shocked to find had fallen she wrenched her mind back to the present. “This smells really good.”
“Eat.” He said and kissed her shoulder where the robe had slipped slightly giving him a patch of tender skin to torment. He’d leave the tears for the moment, give her space.
“You need to eat too.” She said as she noticed he hadn’t taken anything.
“I will.” And to prove his point he snuggled her in and nipped her neck chuckling wickedly.
“Real food.” She scoffed and laughed as he held onto her tighter.
“You are real food.” He murmured, kissing her below the ear, a personal favorite, before snagging a strip of bacon. “You’re real and I can eat you.” He whispered nipping her shoulder. “And you’re tasty.” He smiled as her hand came up to cup his head and press him closer to her briefly.
“You make the best bacon.” She said, practically inhaling it. She was famished.
“You make the best dessert.” He growled, her laugh made his heart stutter. He loved that carefree laugh of hers.
“Touché. Dessert later, you need to eat something.” She said gently and lifted the plate of eggs closer to them so they could share.
He could be the most adorable thing sometimes, she thought as his chin rested on her shoulder while she spoon fed him eggs and potato, his hand snagging another piece of bacon. There was a carefree vibe about him today, the purge from last night had set something free within him. She felt the love he had for her, it’s presence stronger today. It was as if he’d finally found the inner strength and courage to unlock that well inside him. The trust he had in her to nurture it, not destroy it.
They sat and ate, the food eventually consumed amongst stolen kisses, smiles, and laughter. She was so relaxed she felt as if she could just curl up and nap now she was fed. With her tea finished she leaned back into Gustaf fully, his arms automatically wrapping around her to curl her in.
“You ok love?” He asked gently.
“I’m fine. Just stuff.” She said hoping he’d leave it alone, she didn’t want to pull it into their weekend.
“Will you tell me when you’re ready?” He couldn’t push, after everything that happened this week he had to wait for her to come to him. He had to ask and then let her be, he couldn’t step over that line again.
She nodded. “Just, not now.” She said softly.
“Fair enough.” And he left it alone. He could read between the lines, knew her well enough to know the types of things running around that wicked smart brain.
“Can we do this again next year?” She asked softly. “Just you and me and the snow?”
“We can do whatever you want love.” He said kissing her temple. “You like it here?”
“It’s nice that for a few days there’s only you and me.” Her voice was wistful and almost sleepy which made him grin. “Do you ever feel like the world is just too loud sometimes?” She asked, still staring out the window, the snow falling heavier than before they sat for brunch.
“Yes, and ironically not as much when you and the kids are around.” He said quietly and kissed her temple. “And you’re almost asleep.” He chuckled and shifted to get up, he wanted to lay with her and relax. “Hop into bed and I’ll come nap with you.” He said as he stood.
“I should do the dishes.” She mumbled.
“Let me get them, go snuggle.” He said taking her chin in his fingers and kissing her tenderly, slowly. “Back to bed, get cozy.”
That look, she thought, as his eyes found hers, so much love in him. Maybe tomorrow she’d say those three little words. Now that Ana was behind them he may not shut down. That was her biggest fear, the rejection first and that it would cause him more pain, make him withdraw again.
”Stop it.” He grinned and kissed her nose. “Stop thinking, switch it off.” He chuckled.
“Sorry.” She said sheepishly.
“Get into bed, I’ll be there soon.” He kissed her again, picked up the tray and headed to the kitchen. She watched him leave and absently bit her bottom lip without thinking it through first, that ass she thought, and those two dimples just above it.
“One day love.” He growled without looking and she giggled as he’d caught her blatantly staring and nibbling on his favorite body part of hers.
After visiting the bathroom to freshen up she stoked the fire again and settled into the lake of a bed. She let her thoughts drift as she watched the snow. Thoughts of a family, of a life together, of children together, that same question circling her head. She could hear Gustaf in the kitchen and the soft jazz he’d put on and smiled, the realization hitting her hard, he was it for her. She didn’t know quite how to process the thought, it felt strange to be so deeply in love with someone, scary actually.
“I told you.” He said gently as he shucked the sweats and climbed into bed beside her. “To stop thinking.” His arms wrapped around her as he snuggled her in and chuckled. “I could hear it all the way out there.” He murmured which earned him a huff.
His fingers toyed with her hair as she relaxed into him, his warmth slowly pulling her into sleep. Her home was the last thought she had as she crashed out, his scent soothing her further, he was her home. He rested his head against hers and breathed her in and smiled. Tonight he thought, tonight he would say those words. He had no excuses now, no reason not to, except just being a chicken shit. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep beside her, that warm soft body pressed against his.
She woke hours later to a room that was growing dark with the exception of the soft glow of the fire in the hearth, they’d slept most of the afternoon away. Gustaf was still curled around her and woke as she stretched and tired to face him. She kissed him, a kiss full of sinful promises.
“Someone had a good nap.” Gustaf said huskily.
“Mmm I did.” She kissed him again, a slow burn that hummed on his lips. “But I need food and a shower before I rock your world anymore today.” Her grin was devilish.
“Well you better get in the shower while I get food ready because...” He kissed her seductively. “I have a need you.” He growled, his hardness pressing against her.
“Maybe you should come have a shower then.” She purred at him from under her lashes. “We can multi task.”
“Maybe I will.” His kiss floored her, that love with an undercurrent of passion that made her moan. “Get in the shower love.” He growled. “I’ll join you in a minute. He watched as she hesitated when she went to nibble her bottom lip, his look and the sharp arch of his eyebrow enough to have her rethinking it. Fuck me she thought, she loved it when he looked at her like that, a look that told her he was going to do such erotic things to her.
He kissed her long and slow and she was breathless when he let her go.
“I need a minute after that.” She half joked and his chuckle held a mischievous tone. “You make my head spin love.” She giggled as she pulled the covers back.
“I’ll make it spin a little more in a moment.” He said honestly as his kiss met the back of her neck. He felt the shiver of anticipation ripple across her body as she crawled out, his fingers lingering on her skin arousing her.
He waited until he heard the water start before getting out of bed with a devilish grin. Stepping in behind her his hands cupped her breasts and pulled her against him roughly. He heard the moan as her body touched his, that spark sizzling through them both. His hands were demanding, an urgency from him to take and take hard. She leaned back into him resting her head on his shoulder giving him access to her throat, to every piece of her. His hand gripped it firmly as he nipped her neck, her whimper as he squeezed gently made his cock twitch.
“Give yourself to me.” He growled softly as he kissed her temple, his hand dipping between her legs to graze over her clit.
“Always.” She gasped as he sent a jolt through her system, finger slowly circling her clit. Her hand reached back to grab at his hip, the need to feel his hard length inside her. “Please.” She whimpered, the need for him overwhelming.
His hands raked down her arms and took hold of her wrists, pinning them to her side. “I won’t be gentle.” He purred, his teeth brushing the shell of her ear, the soft whimper, the quiver of her body in anticipation all the consent he needed. He wanted her hard and now. “Bend over.” He breathed. As she bent at the waist his erection slipped to rest at her entrance making her whimper.
With a hard snap of his hips he buried himself in her wet heat, the soft cry bouncing around the small bathroom. It was hard and brutal, the primal need to mate, the desperate need to fuck. With the warm water cascading over them, the sound of skin slapping harshly together filled the room, he fucked her, filling her with every thrust.
“Sildie.” He growled. “So good.” He groaned as her pussy gripped him. “So tight.” He breathed, his cock bottoming out filling her.
She couldn’t think and her eyes almost rolled into her head as he pounded into her, a primal need to feel him take her, and hard. Her orgasm crested and tore through her without warning, his cock stretching her gloriously. As her pussy gripped him he grunted and pistoned his hips riding her through her euphoria and coming hard. He rode them down from the high, his head blissfully spinning and helped her stand up. It was short but mind altering. Bundling her to him he kissed each wrist where he’d held her, fingers marring her skin with scarlet.
“I’m ok.” She said softly panting, knowing he’d ask eventually. “My head is delightfully fuzzy.” She chuckled.
“Mission accomplished.” He murmured as he soaped his hands and let them glide over her body. His tenderness always amazed her. This giant of a man had the most sinfully tender touch. He watched her intently as she washed him. The soft groan as she sank to her knees and looked up at him as she pressed her fingers into his thighs massaging them as he’d done to her.
That look he thought, all wet and wanting on her knees for him, pure undiluted sex. He knew that look, her inner sex kitten had come out to play tonight. She stood and rinsed her hands before cupping his face and kissing him, tender, loving. Her eyes never left his.
They rinsed off and toweled each other dry, the gentleness soothing, it’s own seduction. He helped her into her robe and gripped the tie drawing her closer. Those words he thought, they were so ready to leap from his soul as he kissed her sweetly.
“Food.” He said softly. “I seemed to have worked up an appetite.” He smiled and her laugh turned that smile to a grin, fuck she made him so happy.
“I’ll get it.” She said softly, hoping he would let her do something for him. “Please.” Her kiss spoke of the need to tend him as he’d done for her this morning. “I like taking care of you too.”
“Sure.” He gave in, he had to even though he wanted to treat her like the goddess she was. “Can I help?”
“Maybe.” She chuckled and started to comb her wet hair.
He held out his hand for her comb. Her eyes met his in the mirror, soulful blue depths looked back. She handed him the comb hesitantly, not really sure what to say. She’d never had a guy comb her hair, apart from her stylist and he didn’t count. He was so gentle, not once did he tug at it when the comb snagged on a tangle. It felt soothing, his patience and tenderness reflected in every motion. When he was done he placed the comb on the vanity and wrapped and arm around her, turning her to face him.
“Thank you.”
“I like playing with your hair.” He murmured as his lips found hers. “It’s like liquid silk.”
“It feels nice when you do.” She added before deepening the kiss into a brain melting lips lock. “I need food.” She chuckled. “No distractions.” She added as his hands started to wander.
“Not even if it’s to fuck you like you want me to.” He growled and kissed her, that devastating kiss which turned her to goo so she couldn’t think or speak.
“I... well... fuck...” She breathed when he let her up for air. “I can’t function when you kiss me like that.”
“I know.” He grinned. “Shall I take you right here? So you can watch?” He purred and turned her slowly, pinning her body to his firmly. He heard her breath hitch as their eyes met in the mirror. She watched as his hands wandered, those lips met the dip at her collarbone and that was it, she was lost to him. Her moan and quivering body told him exactly that. As he destroyed her neck he undid the tie of her robe.
“But food.” She said as his fingers ran the length of the silk dipping between her breasts she moaned and rested her head back against his shoulder.
“Can wait.” He breathed. “I want you to watch as I bring you undone.” He murmured softly that low timbre seducing her all over again. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she trembled, that gaze a seduction all on its own.
She watched as his fingers parted her robe exposing one breast at a time, the nipples already hard nubs from the whisper of silk and skilled fingers. He kissed her neck, teeth grazing sensitive flesh as he slipped the robe from her shoulders and let it pool at his feet. She wanted to let her eyes flutter shut as fingers caressed, aroused, seduced, but she couldn’t tear them away from the vision of him touching her.
He held her tightly to him and lifted her leg by the knee to rest a foot on the vanity. That same hand smoothing along her inner thigh to open her wide. Her gasp was strangled as his fingers slipped over her wet heat. Just seeing him touch her there was enough to almost make her come.
He slowly destroyed her, teasing every exquisite moan and gasp from her as she trembled in his arms. He kissed his way up her neck and nuzzled her behind her ear. When he looked at her in the mirror she was looking straight at him. His cock throbbed, his resolve nearly snapping at that lust filled look.
“Shall I make you come love?” He asked softly and kissed the shell of her ear. “Shall I make you come first and then fuck you slowly until you come again and again?” His fingers dipped into her entrance and circled once before circling her clit again.
“Please.” She whimpered, the desperation coating her voice.
“I want you to watch.” He purred as his hand gently held her to him by her throat, his forearm nestled between her breasts, long fingers cradling her head to rest against his.
Between the deft fingers between her thighs, his lips destroying every nerve ending, and his hand at her throat gently squeezing she had no hope, none, of controlling what he did to her. She stood there watching his fingers slip over her clit and down to stroke her entrance, a repeated pattern that soon had her moans turn to whimpers of need. The fingers at her throat tightened slightly as she crested, the erotic buzz it gave her from a man that knew how.
“Can you see my fingers.” He purred against her skin as his tongue and teeth destroyed her neck.
“Yes.” She breathed and watched as three digits slowly parted her folds and slipped inside her. He felt her tense, heard the gasp turn to a groan as he filled her with them. He flicked his eyes to her reflection, his goddess in full view of herself, a vision that made his cock twitch.
“Come for me now love.” He breathed as he drew his fingers out slowly only to slide them back in, tormenting her further. She didn’t hold back, couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. He watched as her body tightened and trembled as it gave into his ministrations.
“Gustaf.” She cried, her orgasm shattering through her. He prolonged it, his rhythm relentles, the gentle squeeze and release of her throat adding to her euphoria.
She relaxed back into that massive chest, her own heaving. Gently removing his fingers he licked them clean and kissed her neck as she rested her head against his shoulder.
“You’re still my favorite dessert.” He growled as he slipped into that wet heat. Her cry sighed around the room. He was painfully hard for her and the feast for his eyes the mirror gave him, aroused him further. He turned his head slightly to kiss her as his hips slowly thrust. “Look at how beautiful you are.” He whispered and gently squeezed her throat, she lifted her head up and found his gaze. That gaze made him groan as he plunged deeper, the grip on her throat tightening.
He ravaged her neck, teeth nipping, lips sucking, tongue tasting, as his hand slipped lower and lower toward her clit. She followed that hand, those fingers, with her gaze and the devastating trail it was weaving over her skin. She felt her body tremble, her arousal spike pleasure through her as her eyes landed on the thickness of him entering her.
He could feel her peak, the sudden need for him to fill her, to take her. His stare met hers in the mirror and her breath hitched, the man could eye fuck her like no other. It was even more intense when he was actually inside her.
“Watch.” He breathed and gently squeezed her throat as his fingers slipped over her clit. “Go over.” He whispered before devouring the pulse at her neck, those digits caressing her sensitive nub with purpose.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the reflection in the mirror, the things he did to her, the way he made her feel, the emotions he pulled from her depths. She screamed as she watched his length plunge into her over and over again, unrelenting pleasure as her release crashed through her. He didn’t slow, he didn’t stop, he kept the same torturous rhythm building her next climax. Bringing her to the edge and tipping her over again as she watched him pleasure her into oblivion.
“Gustaf.” She whimpered as he built her up for the fourth time.
“Watch and take me with you.” He murmured as he quickened his pace slightly. He saw her eyes flick to his in the mirror, then drop to where he took her. His eyes followed hers and the groan he let escape was guttural, open to him and wet as his cock stroked her. “My Sildie.” He breathed and plunged deeper.
She shattered with a scream, his cock brushing her in all the right places. His grip on her throat tightened and the buzz heightened her release, fingers dancing across her clit. He roared her name as his body tensed and bucked, riding her through his release, her slick pussy milking him.
As his hips slowed to a stop he released her throat and gently rubbed where he’d gripped, lips kissing the red thumb print. She rested her head back on his shoulder as she forced air into her lungs.
“You liked that.” He growled playfully, a smile curling the corners of his mouth knowing that she’d enjoyed the sight of him fucking her.
“Not gonna lie, that was pretty hot.” She said softly, her slight blush making him smirk into her hair, not that he’d let her see it.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about love.” He said gently as he lowered her leg for her to stand properly, massaging the stiffness out of her hips. “Especially if we both like it.” His quietly spoken words only made her blush more and he turned her in his arms to face him. “In fact I think I might install mirrors on the bedroom ceiling.” He chuckled kissing her temple, her laughter melted him, he loved hearing that laugh. He kissed her deeply, soothing any lingering embarrassment.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “I’ll have to return the favor.” She bit down on her bottom lip and felt his control slip as he gripped her ass painfully and pulled her hard against him.
“Careful love.” He growled, those ocean blue eyes twinkling with lust and wickedness. He gripped her chin firmly when she didn’t release her lip and used his thumb to tenderly pull it free before kissing her slowly. “One day love.” He purred. “One day you’re going to find yourself in so much trouble for tormenting that lip.” His tone made her wet. Just the thought of what sort of trouble he meant made her pussy quiver, the erotic things he could and would do to her.
“Mmmm.” He hummed as he ghosted her lips with his. “You like the sound of that don’t you?” His kiss was nothing short of sinful and he felt her wilt, give herself completely to him.
“Yes.” She breathed when he’d let her up for air.
“Not today.” He murmured and his cock twitched at her whimper. “You’re not ready for what I want to do to you.” He devoured her mouth, the taste of her making him groan.
“Tease.” She moaned as he pulled away releasing her, the sly grin making her smirk.
“I like playing this game with you.” He said softly, his finger caressing her jaw.
“Me too.” She breathed nipping his bottom lip gently, her inner temptress toying with him. “I need food and so do you.” Her smirk mischievous at the sudden change in direction of topic. “You’re going to need all your energy when I fuck you.” She purred and pushed off him gently, hips sashaying as she walked to the kitchen naked. She heard his groan and chuckled wickedly, she could play too.
He picked up her robe and brought it to her after he’d pulled his sweats on. Helping her into it he turned her to face him and tied the tie, his fingers itching to wander again.
“I’m liking these prepared meals.” She said turning back and looking in the fridge.
“And they’re pretty tasty.” He said filling the kettle for tea.
He watched her busy with dinner wondering if she’d freak out when he eventually said those words to her tonight. Would she reject him? Deep down he knew she wouldn’t but the fear was always there buried deep. With everything that had happened this week was it too much? He didn’t want to add anything else to that overwhelmed mind. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the whistling kettle and her throaty chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” He asked pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves.
“You.” She said simply. “You were far away love.” She grinned and brushed her knuckles down his scruffy jaw before hooking him behind the neck and kissing him seductively.
“Kissing me like that will get you into all sorts of trouble.” He smirked and deepened it when her lips lingered against his.
“Mmmm I know.” She purred. “I like getting into trouble with you.”
His finger brushed the swell of her cleavage as she kissed him again. “Mmm yes you do.” He smirked. “But food first.”
“Yes, then lots and lots of dessert.” She grinned.
“As much as you can handle.” He grinned as she plated their dinner.
“Or as much as you can handle.” She shot back.
“I can take anything you dish out, love.” His cockiness lit the fire in her eyes.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” She smirked as her lips ghosted his, the groan one of lust and seduction.
He moved the teapot and cups to the table as she brought over their plates. They sat, Sildie in his lap, and ate, his free hand resting on her bare inner thigh, the warmth of his palm already making her wet. How did he do that she wondered? How could he look or touch her like that and have her all but melting?
He poured the tea and they sipped it watching the snow eddy around the bay window. They sat content, curled together watching the snow, the tranquility of the moment relaxing them further. She slipped from his lap and left him there for a bathroom break only to come back and find him in the exact same spot staring out the window. This was a good break for him too, time to heal, to unwind.
She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him softly, standing at his side, the soft jazz drifting around the room. “Hi handsome.”
“Hi beautiful.” His hands stroked up the back of her thighs to squeeze her ass gently. He nuzzled his face against her neck, his hands pulling her to him, her scent bewitching him, goddamn he wanted to fuck her, ravage her. His mouth found hers again.
“Wait.” She breathed as he went to deepen it, those seductive eyes meeting his from under her lashes. His groan was a mix of heated desire and total frustration. He wanted her. Taking hold of both his hands she removed them from her ass and placed them down by his sides. Wrapping his fingers around the legs, her wink sending his mind swimming in arousal. The look she gave him as she pulled back was pure sex kitten.
“Wait.” She breathed as he moved forward to kiss her. “It’s your turn to watch.” She purred. “Your turn to unravel.”
His groan was met with lustful eyes that sparkled, yes she liked playing this game too, he thought. “So beautiful. My goddess.” He murmured as she took a step back. She turned him on like nothing else. Just a look could get him hard, a touch make him come.
She backed away from him slowly untying her robe, those fingers peeling the silk from one breast, then the other until it fell from her body. She watched his hands move to grip the chair tighter and her pussy clenched, that steel control of his slipping ever so slightly.
She stepped forward until only a breath separated their bodies, she could feel the tension between them, the urge to touch. “I want to watch you lose control.” She murmured as she hooked a finger under his chin and leaned in to ghost her lips across his, a whisper of a kiss that she’d make him wait for. “As I fuck you how I want to.” He groaned softly as that finger cut a trail down his throat, over his collarbone, to torment every inch of his chest.
It was a wonder his hands hadn’t splintered the chair he was griping it that tightly. That stunning body standing so close to him he could feel the heat radiate off her yet he couldn’t touch her. He’d play her game, let her seduce him, claim him. She had no idea how incredibly erotic it was for a woman to fuck her man, it made his cock throb just thinking about it.
Her lips grazed where her finger left the blazing trail of destruction over his body. Just enough pressure to maintain contact but light enough to make him quiver for her. She took her time, feasting, tasting the tender flesh of his throat, that delightful dip at his collarbone, the soft moans urging her to take more of him.
The one finger hooked itself into the waistband of his sweats as she pulled it out and then down over his cock, his hips raising off the chair slightly making it easier to remove them. Nothing but air caressed his erection, the fabric pooling at his feet. She wanted him begging. Her gaze found his and she smirked.
“My turn to bring you undone love.” She murmured, her lips brushing his. He leaned forward hoping for contact but got nothing but air and a wicked chuckle. “Wait.” She breathed and nipped his jaw before slowly sinking to her knees. The fire she ignited across his skin on the way down had his breath hitching, the stifled groan escaped his throat before he could stop it. He’d be whimpering soon and begging not long after that, he thought.
She helped him untangle his feet from his sweats and trailed that finger up his leg from ankle to knee to thigh, spreading them wide. With each seductive pass she dipped that finger closer and closer to his straining erection. Her mouth watered at the thought of sucking the length of him.
That one finger brushed his package the whimper echoing softly around the quiet cabin as her lips and tongue teased the tender skin of his inner thigh. She teased him mercilessly, those tiny shivers, the hiss as she inched ever closer to touching his cock, the groans of arousal as her fingers destroyed him, mind, body, and soul in the most delicious way.
“Sildie.” He gasped as her tongue grazed the sensitive skin at the base of his member. “Please.” His breathing unsteady as he looked down at her.
Naked, on her knees before him, that talented mouth a breath away from sucking him into oblivion, she was a sight to behold he thought. A shot of arousal spiked through him as her eyes met his. Without thinking he cupped her face in his hand and groaned as she nuzzled it, her eyes never left his. Oh kitten, he thought, as he stared into those eyes of glacial blue, one day you and I are going to play such wonderful games.
“Wait.” She murmured as she nipped his knuckle enough for him to feel the bite and placed his hand back on the chair. The digit that had destroyed all thought from his mind became two and gently stroked his package, her nails scraping lightly enough to spike his brain with pleasurable pain. He could feel her breath on his shaft, his erection so hard now it was becoming too much to bear. He needed her to touch it, to do anything to give him some release.
She looked up at him, those ice blue eyes screamed her intent as he watched her from under those lashes. With a wicked smirk and a quick nibble on her bottom lip that earned her a low snarl, she opened her mouth and took him in.
“Fuck!” He groaned and had to concentrate on breathing so he wouldn’t come and spoil the glorious feeling of her sucking him before she’d even started, the swirl of her tongue maddening. She gave him one suck before releasing him with a pop, it left him gasping. She was going to unravel him before fucking him hard.
He whimpered as she went back to only touching his package, the need and frustration clear in his tone. She would make him wait, but the seduction was mind altering. She worked him into a frenzy of need, that control slipping the longer it went on. Her mouth warm and wet, sucked the length of him until he was delirious. When his orgasm peaked she stopped. It was so sudden he reached for her and his cock on pure reflex.
Her hands found his and pinned them to to the chair as she stood, that wicked smirk on her lips.
“Wait.” She breathed and ghosted his lips with hers. “I want you inside me when you come.” She murmured and kissed him, that sinful taste of her clouding his mind. “I going to ride you hard.” With another sinful lip lock she stepped away enough for him see her and made him wait.
“I can’t begin to tell you how incredibly erotic you are.” He breathed as his eyes feasted on her. It was his turn to look up at her and he almost came at the sight of his goddess towering over him, her mane of copper cascading down her body, those glorious long legs slightly open. Keeping his hands where she’d put them they fidgeted as she sat to straddle him. He was fighting the overwhelming urge to grab her hips and plunge into her to his hilt.
He watched her, his cock painfully erect, throbbing, as she sat lower down on his thighs, a breath from touching it. Those fingers raked along his arms and over his shoulders to rest on the seat back behind him. She leaned in and stopped a breath from his lips and grinned.
“Got me where you want me?” He smirked, equally aroused and entertained. She played with him like no other ever had.
“Mmm hmmm.” She kissed him passionately. “I going to watch you lose control.” She whispered and found that intense stare of his incredibly erotic. She let him kiss her, the soft moan from her only making him harder if that was possible.
That one finger trailed his body in similar fashion as before, eliciting much the same reaction. He whimpered into her mouth as she cupped his package and raked her nails over it gently, the deep groan as she stroked him in her hand once before letting him go.
“I need you.” He breathed heavily and he was desperate, his eyes never left hers.
“Wait.” She murmured as she stood, stroking his cock long and hard before releasing him. “Look down.” She said gently. “See how wet I am for you.” He dropped his head and groaned, her spread thighs glistened. She leaned forward slightly and rotated her hips letting his tip slip through her folds.
“Sildie.” He groaned as her wet heat coated the tip of his manhood.
She felt the shudder, his grip tighten on the chair, his control slipping further. Her mouth teased the shell of his ear. “Watch.” She purred and sat, slowly sinking down to impale herself on his thick cock. He swore loudly and tensed as her pussy enveloped him, her own cry of ecstasy as he stretched her.
She didn’t wait for him to regain his control, she gripped his shoulders, hooked her feet behind her over his thighs, and rode him mercilessly. She felt so powerful when she took him, fucked him, he had been the only one to ever make her feel like that. The guttural groan as she rode him made her hum mischievously.
“Fuck you’re so thick.” She moaned as she nipped his ear. “So big.” The growl he gave her made her pussy clench. He felt it, her release was close but he was in no position to give it to her. He couldn’t thrust and he couldn’t touch her. “Do you want to watch me to come?” She purred, nipping the shell of his ear, that sex kitten voice making him lose his mind. “Feel me fuck you?” She breathed.
“Please.” He whimpered, fuck he wanted to feel her grip his cock. He saw her eyes flutter shut as her head tipped back, that gorgeous cry falling from her lips as her climax crashed into her. She came hard, her tight pussy gripping his cock as she rode through it. She had him where she wanted and bounced slightly so it forced his thickness deeper inside her. Her rhythm was brutal and he was struggling to hold onto his control as she climaxed over and over again.
“Look at me.” She said breathlessly. “I want to watch you come.” His eyes found hers as she kissed him roughly. “I want to watch you lose control.” She savaged his mouth, that clever tongue of his dancing with hers as she bounced on him, riding him hard.
With his hands pinned to the chair, his hips pinned to the seat, he watched her ride him, those ice blue eyes fixated on his. Her hips slammed into him, the full length of him bottoming out and making those wonderful sounds spill from her mouth. He watched her go over the edge again and another peak almost instantly, the tightness around his cock delightfully strangling him.
She gripped him behind the neck as the other reached back to caress his package. As soon as her fingers made contact he swore and tensed, she could feel him throb inside her. His brain went into overload, the sensations all of a sudden too much.
“Come for me love.” She breathed. “Let me feel you.” She watched as those words tipped him over.
He tensed so tightly he thought he’d blacked out for a split second before euphoria crashed into him like a freight train. He roared her name bucking and writing beneath her as she rode him hard, her own release milking his engorged cock. Limitless pleasure flowed through him, his goddess fucking him into oblivion. She rode him until he was spent before slowing to a stop, her head leaning against his. His hands stroked their way up her calves, her thighs, to wrap around her.
Both spent, chests heaving they looked at each other and giggled. He kissed her, that slow burn that melted her brain.
“You fucking blow my mind.” He chuckled and kissed her so her toes curled. “You’ve got moves love.” He kissed her again. “Very wicked moves.”
She rested her forehead against his and smiled. “Only for you love.” She said softly.
“That position is favorite of mine.” He grinned.
“Mmm I like it.” She mumbled against his lips.
“Tea?”
“Please, I’ll be back, bathroom break.” She kissed him sweetly and headed to the bathroom to take care of business.
***********
@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector
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luma-aylin · 5 years ago
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Boss Battle: Luma Aylin
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Instance Name: The Garden of Liminality
Boss Title: Voidmage Luma
Boss Music: Once Upon A December
Questline: A Sweet Surprise, Curiouser and Curiouser, Mirror Mirror...
Questline Synopsis: A normal day took an unexpected turn when you bumped into a tiny miqo’te in the streets of Gridania, the frosting of her cupcake smeared across your shirt. She introduces herself as Luma, and to make up for her clumsiness she treats you at her favorite cafe, introduces you to her mentor, lets you borrow a book.. Eventually you’re escorted by Luma and her mentor through the Shroud to their home, the Adreus Manor. 
You’re whisked around the manor by the energetic girl, she’s far too happy to show you around and insists you stay the night, they haven’t had any visitors in such a long time. How could you say no to such big, glossy, pleading eyes? The looming presence of her intimidating mentor makes the decision easier. You join them in the lounge after a long evening of activities, but Luma’s final request is to show you her special mirror. She demonstrates how it works before eagerly handing it over to you, watching over your shoulder while her mentor observes with a smarmy smirk. Nothing seems to happen as you stare into the mirror, so you glance back to ask Luma but she’s already asleep. You call out to her but you’re hushed by her mentor. 
When you turn back to the mirror your reflection is accompanied by a demon behind you, the skull of a goat-like creature curling above you. There’s nothing there when you turn to look, but you can feel a cold, large claw grip your shoulder, then another around your arm. Any scream or shout for help is unheard, your voice is caught in your throat as your field of view is consumed by bright red eyes. 
The sound of familiar giggling wakes you. As you come to you recognize Luma’s voice somewhere nearby, then a strange deeper voice that resounds through your body in an unpleasant flood. You’re propped up against a tree in a lush forest, wildflowers crawl across your legs and hang unnaturally from the trees above. You’re ensnared within a verdant willow, and as your vision returns to normal you find the flowers tickling your cheeks are staring at you curiously. Their pistils are eyes of all colors, peering at this mysterious stranger within their woods. You shoot up in alarm and push your way through the thick hanging leaves, emerging from the flowery woods you rush through a trellis of a garden only to find Luma and her company: the same dark demon you saw in the mirror. 
(ooc: I put the fight under the cut, it just makes the post super long because I don’t know how to write short things.. genuinely it’s really long and I don’t know how to write a fight! Nobody tagged me I just did this for fun, saw it from @glorified-thieves​ who asked me to tag them if I ever finished this! If you want to do this tag me!)
The Fight
“Wha-? You’re not allowed in here! Get out!” 
Phase 1: Heartstorm
Voidmage Luma’s encounter is similar to fighting Edda Blackbosom, she possesses powerful black magic and melee ability. Luma begins with a barrier cast around her that the party will have to break periodically throughout the fight, much like Stoneskin. Luma will attack with melee swipes, party wide magic damage, target one member to combust and force them to move out of the party, and use a homing ice strike on one party member until approximately 60% of Luma’s health. 
Tank Buster Voice Line: “Why won’t you just leave me alone!?” 
Tank Buster Action: Luma will launch the tank into the air dealing physical damage, then charge a strike of magical damage as an icicle will pierce them back down. Her first attack applies a magic vulnerability debuff, forcing the a tank swap before the cast of her icicle finishes.
Ward: Luma will cast a barrier around herself that must be broken.
Glimmer: An ice storm will sweep through the arena dealing magic damage. (aoe magic damage)
Guillotine: Luma swipes the tank into the air dealing physical damage and applying a magical vulnerability. The tank will fall to the floor. (tank buster physical)
Sheer Force: An icicle will pierce the tank holding aggro with magical damage. (tank buster magic)
Despair: A crosshair buff will appear next to a player’s name in the partylist to signify they are marked for an AoE attack. This player must move out of the party or risk the AoE fire damage hitting the party as well. (single target with aoe damage)
Ice Wave: A single player will be marked with an icicle above their head to signify they will be followed by a homing attack. Icicles will shoot up from the ground, dealing damage to anyone in their path, the targeted player must run away until it stops. (homing wave)
Phase Transition: Sentenced
“Get away from me! My innocence will not be ruined any further!”
This phase transition is marked by the battleground changing. A stone platform will emerge from the garden and bring the party into the air as darkness envelops the entire screen. Luma will engulf herself in a barrier and rise into the air as her scythe disperses into the surrounding darkness that has eyes staring from every inch of the inky backdrop. From the shadows will appear Fhorniuhr, wielding his scythe, becoming the target for this phase. 
Fhorniuhr: “What sort of monster takes advantage of such kindness..? Your transgression cannot go unpunished.”
Fhorniuhr attacks much the same as Luma, using his scythe for melee with an accompaniment of  black magic. The large voidsent will attack with cleaving half the arena, deal a tank buster, restricting the arena by placing void pitches on the floor (will explode should you touch them), deal AoE magic damage, and restrain a healer at a time. Periodically, the eyes peering out from the dark will cast a room wide paralysis, so be sure to look away. At 50% of Luma’s gauge Fhorniuhr will cast void call, a new mob of 6 voidsent will appear. Fhorniuhr will stop physical and auto attacks, but begin to cast Nether Song repeatedly until all voidsent are dead or he consumes them. The voidsent will be slowed as they try to get to Fhorniuhr, ready to sacrifice themselves at his command and should they reach him Fhorniuhr will gain a buff that increases his magic damage. Once the additional voidsent are slain or eaten, Fhorniuhr will place a bleed on the arena, the floor will be covered in darkness that tries to restrain the party, a DoT buff will appear beside everyone’s name. Fhorniuhr’s onslaught will continue until Luma’s gauge reaches 100%.
Banished Soul & Void Touched: Depending on where Fhorniuhr is facing, the entire arena on his left or right side respectively will be struck with his scythe, should a player be hit it will place a vulnerability stack as well as dealing damage. There is no orange zone warning. (Banished Soul is left, Void Touched is right)
Spell Breaker: Fhorniuhr will strike the tank with his scythe, dealing physical damage. 
Void Pitch: A purple arrow will appear briefly above a player’s head, after 4 seconds Fhorniuhr will drop a void pitch on them that will stay on the floor for 30 seconds. If it is touched it will explode. (magic damage)
Nether Song: A wave of void energy will wash over the arena. (magic aoe damage)
Restrain: Fhorniuhr will grasp a healer in his claw and hold them up in the air, his wrist will become targetable and be given a health bar that must be taken down to release the healer. 
Phase 2: Innocence Lost
“How foolish I was to think we were friends.. I give everyone the benefit of the doubt despite their warnings, and what do I get for it? Betrayal.” 
The darkness will disperse and the arena will flood with stars, the party now trapped on a stone platform surrounded by the moonless night sky. Luma’s barrier will disappear and she will retake her place on the arena floor, scythe in hand. Luma will gain the abilities from Fhorniuhr’s phase and hit harder than her initial phase. The arena cleaves will become faster and she will cast party wide damage always after a tank buster. Eyes will appear frequently to cast paralysis, if a party member is stunned then Luma will gain a stack that increases her attack. 
Luma will cast Ice Wave right after Despair, forcing the party member targeted with Despair to circle the arena at a safe enough distance from whoever is targeted with Ice Wave. Both players must move around the arena while the party stays center. During this phase if the player with Despair is hit by Ice Wave it will deal AoE damage and give a vulnerability stack to the party. 
There will be no void pitches during this phase, but shadows of Fhorniuhr will flicker across the arena floor to 4 corners. Luma will cast Null, at the end of the cast 4 party members must be standing in the shadows as they will be grappled by the demon and pulled into another area. 
The 4 players stolen by Fhorniuhr will appear on a platform to fight Fhorniuhr again. He will use his left and right cleaves, Spell Breaker, and Nether Song until he is killed and the players are returned to the rest of the party, hopefully alive. If a player is killed by Fhorniuhr, Luma will gain a buff. 
Phase 3: Void Call 
“Can you feel it? The call of the void? Allow me to make the decision easier.”
Once Luma’s health reaches 0 she will erect a barrier around herself as she casts Suppression. The arena floor will become a void portal and the party will slowly begin to sink into the darkness. Luma’s barrier will be stronger than usual and need to be broken before she becomes targetable. The party must defeat her before the cast finishes or it will cause a wipe. 
“How could you..? Haven’t you taken enough from me? And to think I trusted you..” 
Duty Completion Drop: Fhoniuhr’s Bone Piece (Exchange for voidal weapons) 
Coffer Drop: Orchestrion Scroll or a Jar of Eyes furniture item
Once the battle is over you experience a terrible headache, you wince and stumble to a familiar looking mirror on the ground as you find yourself back in the garden. The sound of Luma sobbing quietly echoes throughout the area, a sense of guilt washes over you before you fall to the ground unconscious. When you wake you’re in the familiar woods of the Shroud and it seems dawn is crawling across the forest now. You are far from Adreus Manor and without some belongings, but nonetheless whole and unscathed.. However Luma’s soft cries ring throughout your ears for the rest of the day.
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wastetimeandtype · 5 years ago
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untitled fic about mako and bolin in the book 4 finale because thats what the world needed in 2020
Confusion was the first thing Bolin thought of when he opened his eyes.
His bed was cold, and his hands brushed against metal as he looked around at the unfamiliar location. He didn’t like metal. He couldn’t even bend it. Where was he?
Bolin blinked a few times, the metal, still unfamiliar, began to paint a picture inside Bolin’s mind as he took in the jagged and broken forms of metal above. He’s in Kuvira’s colossus, duh. The last thing he remembered was it exploding and losing hisi hold on the ladder. He’d been carrying Mako—
Mako. Where was he? He jolted uptight, and his head dully throbbed a little. He winced as he sat up, and he rubbed his back— it felt like he’d taken the brunt of the fall with his backside, so he’d probably get some bruising, but nothing more serious than that.
He twisted himself to the side to see the familiar figure lying beside him, still and unmoving.
“Mako!” He shouted as he scrambled towards him. He pulled his brother onto his back, but there he was, completely silent. 
His hands leapt to Mako’s chest. His pulse was found quickly beneath Bolin’s hands, and this chest was rising and falling as normal, and Bolin let out a shaky breath, and then he breathed in deeper as he pushed down the negative thoughts.
Mako was alive. He was fine. In constant replay within Bolin’s mind was the image before the explosion; Mako completely still at the top of the ladder. He had feared the worst, but he had no time to dwell on it, he had to get Mako out of there. 
Mako seemed… okay. He was obviously unconscious, but he was still in one piece, and there were no obvious wounds. Check. No blood. Always a good thing. Mako’s left arm’s sleeve had been blown off, and the skin below was pink and burnt. When Mako was learning from Zolt, sometimes he’d come home smelling of electricity, as odd as that was. He shuddered at the memory. He had always worried then, but Mako had always brushed off his concerns. 
This is how I’ll protect us, Bolin, Mako has said. 
He’d always been like that, distant as he was protective.
That same distinct smell was here today but stronger, and it was coupled with a smell of burning flesh.
“Mako?” Bolin asked again and gently shook him by the shoulders. Mako didn’t stir, and the panic that had been banished before returned inside Bolin as he  shook Mako again, slightly harder this time. What if Mako never woke up? What if the lightning had permanently fried him? That’s what happened sometimes, wasn’t it? Sometimes people are alive but they can’t wake, in the hospital forever asleep.
He squeezed his eyes as tears threatened to spill. He didn’t have the time for this, Mako was injured. 
He wondered if he should try and move his brother. Maybe he should carry him out all the way? Bolin knew he could do that, easily, but maybe Mako was better off being left still for now. But maybe he shouldn’t sit around waiting for his brother to stir. Should he leave him?
Bolin didn’t know. And he wished Mako would simply wake up. He’d always leant on his brother his entire life, he couldn’t imagine life without him there. 
He was angry at his brother at that moment, even if it was selfish. Why did he have to go and risk his life? Why couldn’t they have figured something out together? There’s no time to argue, Mako has said, but was it because Mako had made the decision for both of them already, for their friends, for the whole of Republic City? 
Typical Mako. He couldn’t stand his brother when he was like this. Sometimes he wished that Mako would just let him in a bit more, and not be an idiot.
Bolin couldn’t deny the results, however. The mecha was completely destroyed , and Republic City was safe. Or safer. He sure hoped this was worth it, he didn’t even know what had become of their friends. Were Korra and Asami okay? Was Opal okay?
Focus, Bolin, he thought to himself. One problem at a time. 
His inner voice often reminded him of Mako.
Bolin had to find out what was happening and get some help for his brother. He could see a hatch on the other side of the mecha that looked reachable with a little bit of calmbering on the strewn metal; he assumed that would be the quickest way out. 
His plan was set, but his feet didn’t move, frozen in place as he looked as his still brother. He exhaled, as he shuffled his feet, before he squeezed Mako’s right hand to try and let him know that he was still here. Surprisingly, Mako squeezed back. The action startled Bolin, as he hovered over at Mako’s face.
Mako’s eyes flickered open. “Bolin? He mumbled, as he squinted at his brother.
“It’s me,” Bolin said, composure struggling to be maintained as Mako smiled slightly. “You’re okay,” Bolin said, though Bolin knew he wasn’t saying it to reassure Mako.
Mako brought his hand to his chest, as if he was reassuring himself that he was definitely here. The small action made Bolin wonder if Mako really had thought he was going to die up there, all alone.
Mako then tried to sit up but he moaned and gasped, and Bolin realised he was trying to lever himself upright with both his arms, but his left had immediately buckled.
Bolin moved behind Mako and helped him sit up. “Easy, Mako. You kind of blew yourself up.”
“Nearly,” Mako muttered, and he seemed fairly sluggish in his movements and his head looked about slightly as Bolin sat him up against a wall. Mako breathed and swallowed, and then studied Bolin. “‘M Fine.”
“No, no you’re not!” He exclaimed. Mako looked at him briefly before outstretching his good arm towards Bolin, before wrapping it around his back. Bolin wanted to strangle his brother, he wasn’t the one who was injured here, Bolin was fine and didn’t need comforting, but he found himself leaning in despite it all.
Even though Mako smelt of electricity and burning, the familiar touch was all that Bolin needed.
Bolin clutched Mako tightly, the tears present as he buried his face into Mako’s shoulder. Mako rubbed his back, sluggish as they were, reminding Bolin of when he was a kid. “You saved me,” Mako said quietly, and Bolin breathed in, his breath shuddering. He supposed he did. Mako was alive. He was hurt, but he was going to be okay.
Despite the state of everything, they were both alive. And that was all that was needed at that moment.
Bolin’s thoughts were disturbed by a bright pink light filtering through the cracks of the shell of true mecha. The two brothers looked at each other in confusion, as the mecha shook and shuddered from whatever the hell was causing the light, the metal groaning and disturbing the relative silence the two brothers had been encased in before. There was a pause, and the light no longer seemed to be pink, it was now yellower in hue, as the mecha seemed to shake in the opposite direction, and Bolin felt the mecha slide a fair few feet, and he steadied himself and Mako against the wall, before the light disappeared. It was all over in a few moments, as everything fell silent again.
“So… I guess we better go see what that was all about?” Bolin said, as he brushed his hand against the wall. Now, vines were encroaching the whole structure and poking through the cracks. It didn’t make any sense, but he assumed the explanation was outside. Bolin moved himself to a standing position and Mako followed, using his right arm this time. Bolin thought it was successful before Mako began to slide down the metal surface, his legs shaking.
Bolin darted forward to support him, moving Mako’s arm around his neck to better carry his weight, his brother weakly grunting to him a non verbal thanks. “Let’s take it slow. I know a way out.” Bolin said, as he pointed towards the hatch.
Whatever was on the outside, Bolin was confident he could face it with his brother by the side.
--
I might clean this up and put on ao3 if i come up with a name.
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lordsister · 6 years ago
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Nose Boops (Todoroki Shouto x Reader) Part 2
A/N:  Ah, yes! It's what everyone's been demanding of me!XD Finally! I worked on it in bits until I got carsick on the way to Normandy.
Buy me a ko-fi and help me pay for university textbooks at ko-fi.com/lordsister!^^
I do not own My Hero Academia, any of its characters, or the picture.
Link to part 1: https://lordsister.tumblr.com/post/179484499449/nose-boops-todoroki-shouto-x-reader
Your legs gave out beneath you, forcing you to slump to the floor in a blushing mess. Pressing a hand to your chest, you took a few steadying breaths, trying to calm your racing heart. Looking after Todoroki, you laughed shakily. What just happened was the last thing you would've expected from him.
If your heart hadn't belonged to him already, it did now...
Ever since your close encounter with Todoroki a few days ago, you had been a blushing mess every time he was in the room, your thoughts filled with him and him alone. You tried to tell yourself that you were being ridiculous- he'd only touched his nose to yours for god's sake!- but that little gesture had been enough to make the small, hopeful part of yourself that you had tried to tuck away that much bigger.
You were beginning to think that maybe...just maybe...he liked you too?
No, there was no way. He couldn't possibly like you the way you liked him. He was Todoroki Shouto. Mr. Cool and Aloof. Way out of you league.
...But still.
You could at least hope, couldn't you? And you had heard a few rumors from the other girls so...
Groaning, you tossed in your bed, scrunching your eyes shut as you tried to banish thoughts of your crush from your mind and go to sleep. Your indecision was driving you mad. Should you confess? Not confess?
What would happen if you confessed? Either he rejected you- the more likely outcome- or he didn't and the world wasn't so cruel after all. Being with Todoroki...that was something you could only dream of. He always seemed so far away, but if recent events were any indicator, maybe he wasn't as far away as you had first thought.
But what would happen if you didn't confess? Would you end up waiting for him forever only to be disappointed when some bolder girl scooped up his heart? Would you end up regretting it, lost in thoughts of what might've been had you taken that leap of faith?
Gritting your teeth, you opened your eyes to the darkness of your room, your mind calming as resolve set in. For better or for worse, you would confess to Todoroki, if only to avoid future regret if nothing else.
Taking a deep breath in, a certain heterochromatic, dual-haired teen released it slowly, his ribs shifting beneath his hands laid atop his chest. Staring up at the shadowy ceiling of his room, Todoroki tried to organize his thoughts, but to no avail.
It was a wonder that he had gotten through the past few days without his heart exploding every time you were around. Somehow, he had managed to act normal, like he hadn't made a move on the girl he was heavily crushing on, but he couldn't keep it up for much longer. The high of acting on how he felt had worn off quickly, leaving him a doubtful mess as to how welcome his advance actually was and if he had overestimated your interest in him.
You didn't seem to hate him now, which was a good sign, but you hadn't come near him either, making a ball of anxiety form in his throat at the thought that he had made you uncomfortable or displeased you in any way.
Immediately after booping your nose with his, returning the gesture you had made so often in a much more intimate manner, he had decided to confess to you, and he still fully intended to do that, he just didn't quite know how. Todoroki certainly hadn't had the most loving childhood in the world and affection still scared him, but he truly wanted to be with you, to smile with you whenever you booped his nose in that way that made you so happy. It surprised him to find that he had missed the brief, jolting contact these past few days. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand why, but he had even begun to think that he was special to you, that the second-long contact between the pad of your finger and the tip of his nose hinted at some connection between you and he.
If he left things as they were he didn't know what would happen, but something inside him said that standing by wasn't an option. He had to reach out to you, just as you had reached out to him in a small but ever meaningful way.
"It's no use! What am I even going to say?" you practically wailed over the phone to Jirou as you struggled to pull up your sock, holding the piece of technology between your shoulder and cheek.
"Listen, you're going to be fine! Have you seen his face every time he's seen you? The boy's got it bad!" the other girl insisted.
Today was the day you had decided to confess, having told one of your closer friends, Jirou, your plans knowing she would do all she could to help. You had been feeling fine, ready and eager to get your feelings off your chest, until now. Suddenly it was as if all of the romantic anxiety you had been actively avoiding and denying had broken through your courageous front, making you reconsider everything you had planned to say and how successful you would actually be.
Managing to pull your sock the rest of the way up your leg, you released a defeated breath. "You know what? Maybe I just shouldn't do this. I mean, he probably doesn't even-"
"(Y/N)!!!" Jirou scolded, your name long and drawn out, and you could picture her rubbing her temple in exasperation. "It'll be fine! Just walk up to him, say, "Hey, Todoroki. Guess what? I love you," grab him be the collar and kiss him!"
"That's a terrible idea!"
"Do it! Or I'll tell him all of the embarrassing stories that you've told me!"
Your jaw dropped. "Y-You wouldn't!"
"I would if it means the two of you will just get together and be happy already!"
Groaning, you raked a hand through your hair, undoing the work you had put into brushing it that morning. "Okay, okay! I'll do it!"
"Good girl!"
You growled at her through the phone, ready to hang up before she stopped you with a gentler call of you name. "What?"
"Take a deep breath. You love him and he loves you. It's going to be okay."
Following her advice, you felt your annoyance and a good portion of your stress drain away. A small smile crossed your lips. It was going to be okay. "Thank you, Kyouka."
"No problem! When you and Todoroki get married, I'll be able to brag that I was the one who got you to confess to him."
You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Don't you think you're looking too far ahead?"
"Naw, girl, I know it's gonna happen."
You rolled your eyes humorously. "Let's get through the actual confession first."
"Whatever. I'll see you later. Good luck! We're all rooting for you!"
"Bye!" Hanging up, you took another deep breath before checking your appearance in the mirror one more time. Whatever happened today you weren't going to regret it. Grabbing your bag and slipping your shoes on, you bid a quick goodbye to your family and opened the front door, facing the ordeal that awaited you.
"Midoriya, what if she really doesn't like me the way I like her?"
"I really don't think that's the case, Todoroki. From what I've heard and seen, she seems to be more interested in you than anyone else."
Humming, the dual-haired boy sat down heavily on his bed, holding his phone to his ear. He'd awoken from a restless sleep to doubt after doubt after doubt about what he planned to do today- finally confess to you. Seeing as Midoriya had clearly recognized Todoroki's feelings for you even when he himself hadn't been able to place them, he had called the other boy in hopes of settling his nerves, not knowing what else to do. "What if I end up making a fool of myself?"
"Todoroki...that's not going to happen."
"How do you know?" he bit back, his tone made harsh by anxiety.
Midoriya didn't miss a beat. "Because she's going to accept you!"
"How do you know?" he wanted to ask again, but instead settled for running a hand down his face, a disgruntled noise rising in the back of his throat.
"I'm fairly sure that she loves you, Todoroki, but you're not going to know for sure until you actually confess to her."
"I know that."
"Then what are you doing right now? Why are you still at home thinking about it when that isn't going to do you any good anymore?"
Todoroki blinked, a little surprised by his timid friend's mini-outburst, but he knew he was right. He wasn't going to find the answer he so badly wanted here. His answer was out there, with you.
Filling his lungs with air, he let it out slowly,blowing red and white hair out of his face as he did. "You're right."
"I even heard from Jirou that-wait. I'm right?"
"You're right." "As usual," he said internally.
"So...you're going?"
"I'm going."
"You're actually going to follow through and confess?"
"I'm going to confess. I want her to know how I feel about her and ask her how she feels about me."
"Do you remember what we practiced? What you're going to say?"
"Yes."
"Then get going! She's waiting for you!"
"Okay. Thank you." He heard a quick "good luck" before hanging up and taking a short inhale, rising to his feet. Straightening his tie and pulling on his blazer, he said goodbye to his sister before making his way out the door, hoping the day turned out favorably with you by his side at the end of it.
"This is it," you thought, watching the clock tick down the remaining minutes of school. While everyone was on their way out, you planned on snagging Todoroki before he could leave and taking him aside to confess. You had briefly considered waiting for him outside the gates of U.A. as he came to school that morning, but if he did end up rejecting you, you didn't want to spend the day suffering and forcing smiles through your tears.
The bell rang, making you jump in your seat, and out of the corner of your eye you caught Jirou giving you a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. Your heart beat faster against your ribs, your nerves spiking, and you almost considered just going home and hiding from your feelings, but you forced your fear down with a deep breath and stood from your desk on shaking legs. "Everything's going to be fine."
You scanned the room anxiously, but didn't see the object of your affections. What if he'd already left? Though part of you was relieved at the thought of doing this another day, you knew you needed to get this over with, for better or worse, or never have the confidence to pull it off again. You already had a tub of ice cream saved away in the freezer if it didn't go well.
"(Y/n)." You jumped at the light touch to your shoulder, spinning around to face the very boy you'd just been looking for.
"T-Todoroki! I-um, I didn't see you there."
You cursed the stutter in your voice, gulping at the sudden dryness of your mouth. The boy in front of you took a half step back, his hand dropping to his side. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's fine..."
Your eyes dropped to the floor just as his moved to study the far wall. What felt like hours was really only a few seconds as both you and he tried to think of something to say.
"So, um-"
"Can I-" you spoke over each other, gazes abruptly snapping back to each other. All of a sudden those unique grey and blue eyes were staring right into yours and whatever you'd been about to say, everything you'd practiced, flew from your mind. There was a flustered, almost dazed look in his eyes not unlike that which appeared whenever you booped his nose. Lord, why was he so beautiful?
Your hand was moving before you consciously knew what you were doing. "Boop." Your index finger tapped his nose and his eyes widened. Heart racing, you froze, unable to move as mortification made your body numb. Your trembling hand remained in front of his adorably surprised face as tears began to well in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.
This wasn't it. This wasn't what you'd been trying to do at all. You loved the look on his face whenever you booped his nose, loved the feeling of somehow being closer to him through the gesture, but now was not the time for it. It was time to seriously face him with your feelings and you blew it, letting your nerves get the best of you and making you act so foolishly. You didn't even really know if he liked having his nose booped or if it was an invasion of his space. At least his cute surprised face would be the last thing you saw before you died of embarrassment.
"I-I', so sor-!" You gasped as his hand suddenly grasped that still near his face and pulled you close. His nose brushed yours, those gorgeous eyes staring straight into your own, before his lips pressed to yours and your heart exploded. The kiss only lasted for a second, not enough time for you to respond before Todoroki pulled away, still clutching your hand.
"I'm sorry, (y/n). I'm so sorry. That was too forward of me-" You barely heard his apologies over the sound of your heart beating in your ears, your mind trying to wrap itself around what just happened. Todoroki had kissed you. Your crush had kissed you. (E/c) eyes zoned in on his lips.
And you wanted to do it again.
You were fully aware of what you were doing this time as you grabbed his tie and yanked him down, smashing your mouth to his once more. The noise of surprise that echoed in the back of his throat was swallowed by your mouth as he recovered, pressing closer, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you against him. The butterflies that had been fluttering relentlessly in your stomach spread throughout your body, sparks dancing pleasantly beneath your skin as his lips moved over yours.
You could feel him wanting to deepen the kiss, his grip on you shifting as his face tilted for better access to your lips, but you pulled away before he could. There were still things that needed to be said between the two of you before you went any further. You giggled as his lips followed yours when you pulled. Cupping his face in yours hands to still him, you pressed your forehead to his, your nose brushing against his own as wide, adoring eyes blinked at you.
"Todoroki, I love you." You were surprised to find that all your anxiety over confessing those simple, meaningful words to him had disappeared with his kiss, making way for a deep joy that manifested itself as a loving smile meant only for the boy in front of you as you gazed up at him, your thumbs stroking the soft skin of his cheeks.
A few heartbeats passed without a move or sound from Todoroki with him staring at you before he nearly collapsed against you, heaving a sigh that made his shoulders drop. His head fell to your shoulder, breathless laughter making him tremble in your arms.
"Todoroki?"
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his hand cupping your cheek tenderly as he said, "I love you, too, (y/n)."
Leaning forward, he booped his nose to yours in a sign of affection you and he would share for the rest of your lives, and captured your lips once more.
At long last, your heart was fully and truly his, just as his heart would always be yours.
To think it all started with a tap on the nose...
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yamisnuffles · 5 years ago
Text
Get Closer To Me
Finally finished- the bus ride from Tadfield, followed by some angst, fluff, and prophecy back at Crowley’s flat.
Read on AO3
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Crowley had spent Earth’s final day holding off his exhaustion because he’d had to. There wasn’t time to be tired when the forces of hell were after him. No time when he had to mourn and even less when he found Aziraphale was back and so the world still needed saving. Such a deficit of time when it all came crashing down that he literally had to bring it all to a stop to buy them a final moment to prepare.
After all that, it had been a relief to fall onto a bench alongside Aziraphale. He didn’t have to keep running like it was the end of the world because, finally, it wasn’t. It was over. Despite all odds, they’d survived. Together. He could have sat there forever, just passing that bottle of wine back and forth between them. It had been more difficult than he cared to admit to get off of that bench and onto his feet once more so that he could get on the bus to Oxford that would take them to London. He all but collapsed into a seat near the front.
Before he could so much as think of sprawling out to sleep, Aziraphale made to sit beside him. Not only that, but Aziraphale put a hand on top of the one Crowley had used to lower himself into his seat. The angel kept hold of that hand as he sat down. Aziraphale didn’t even look over, just held Crowley’s hand like it was nothing at all and that he hadn’t been the one protesting sides moments ago. He held on like it was natural, like they’d been doing it for ages. Crowley tried to at least appear to feel the same way about it even as it made something in his gut do an odd flip. He was thankful to have glasses that obscured the way he stared disbelieving from the corner of his eye as he pretended to look forward.
Their own side. He’d said it himself and yet he could hardly believe the angel was going to ride the whole way back next to him instead of ahead or behind. Crowley blinked to be sure it was all real, only for his eyelids to suddenly feel heavy and impossible to open again. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep. Seeing as he didn’t strictly need to sleep, it generally took some work. He’d gotten very good at it over the millenia, the very best if you asked him, but he usually had to make some conscious effort. He must have been more exhausted than he’d guessed because the last thing he remembered, they’d been rolling out of Tadfield and now the bright lights of the city crowded in him. Too bright. He stared at the lights blearily, trying to make sense of them.
“Sorry to wake you, my dear, but we’re nearly there.”
“Mmhmm, wuh?”
Crowley felt like he’d swallowed cotton that had left his tongue thick and dry, and had somehow moved up to muzzy his brain. If he was too tired to remember falling asleep in the first place, he really wasn’t ready for the fact that there was a light pressure on his thigh, that it was what had awoken him, and certainly not that it came from Aziraphale’s hand. He’d thought he’d dreamed up the hand holding, to be quite honest. It wouldn’t be the first time. He blinked over at it once. Twice. By the third that information had finally made its way through his brain and it was all he could do not to bolt upright in surprise.
It wasn’t just that Aziraphale had a hand on his leg- although that alone was far too large a concept for a word like just- it was that Aziraphale had slid his hand under Crowley’s own and that the thigh on which it rested was pressed carelessly against the angel’s leg. Crowley felt as though the skin at those points of contact might catch fire at any moment. It blossomed like a newborn star, spread to his blood, his skin, his bones. He could feel the heat of it crawling up his neck and threatening to creep beyond his collar where it might be spotted.
Crowley might have officially cut ties with hell but that didn’t mean he was no longer a demon with appearances to keep up. He had some dignity, no matter how easy that was to forget whenever Aziraphale was near. He broke contact under the ruse of a long, languorous stretch. When it was done, his traitorous limbs had been pulled back out of enemy territory and solidly within the confines of his own seat.
“Where are my-?” He gestured vaguely at his face, having finally woken up enough to realize why the lights seemed so bright.
Aziraphale perked up. Pink dusted his round cheeks. “Oh.” He patted himself down, then pulled Crowley’s sunglasses from an inner coat pocket and handed them over. “I thought they might be uncomfortable, what with your face pressed to the window and all.”
Crowley’s traitorous mind instantly supplied him with the image of Aziraphale bending over his sleeping form to delicately remove the sunglasses. It was all the easier to imagine with the ghost of Aziraphale’s scent clinging to errant spectacles. He swallowed hard and took the glasses back, happy to have them hide his features again. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, angel.”
“Think nothing of it. I had a lot to consider,” Aziraphale replied, holding the scrap of prophecy aloft.
“Still, don’t usually just drop off like that.”
“You were very tired. And I might have, ah-”
Crowley’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. His wide lips quirked up in disbelief. “You knocked me out.”
“Nothing so crude. Not even a miracle, really.” Aziraphale wriggled guiltily in his seat. “Just a nudge to help you along. A small push in the direction you were already headed.”
Crowley flicked down to the bit of paper in the angel’s hand. “You just wanted to read in peace.”
“Well…”
Crowley laughed and gave the angel an affectionate smile. “Bastard.”
Aziraphale tried to feign offence but the soft curl of his lips gave him away. He was saved from having to defend himself more vigorously by the sudden lurching stop of the bus. He pocketed the prophecy and stood to gesture Crowley on.
“I suppose this is our stop.”
Well, that would do it. Crowley would have to hope the dark of night was enough to hide the blush because he absolutely couldn’t stop it jumping up his neck when Aziraphale called Crowley’s building their stop. Sure, he’d invited the angel over but if he was any good at planning ahead he wouldn’t have been left pulling a plan out of his ass when the end times finally rolled around. So there he was with Aziraphale waiting for him to lead them both up to his flat and all he could do was nod his head and mumble something unintelligible as they got off the bus.
Crowley immediately chose to go up the stairs. As tired as he still was, it offered him the most time to collect himself before they made it to his flat. It wasn’t enough. Before he knew it, they were both at the front door. Aziraphale loitered, waiting to be let in, a courtesy Crowley rarely granted when they went to the bookshop. From the rosy hues that dusted the angel’s cheeks and the way he fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat, it was clear he was apprehensive to cross this final barrier. Crowley was as well. He wished he’d locked up to buy himself a another moment or two. Unfortunately for him, there had been more pressing matters to consider when he’d left, like Armageddon and the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t answering his phone. To make matters worse, locking up wasn’t the only thing he’d forgotten in his rush out.
“Oh.”
That single soft sound from Aziraphale was all it took to make guilt churn in Crowley’s stomach. One, solitary syllable brought forth an argument from over a century and a half ago, it brought reconciliation and a bombed church, and summoned ‘You go too fast.’ Crowley did his best not to sway under the weight of it all. He wished he’d remembered the puddle of demon soup he’d left in the entryway. Not that there was much he could have done about it either way, but he’d have figured something out to spare himself the way Aziraphale was staring at it now.
“It’s nothing,” he assured, all swagger and shrugs.
He moved to step around the sodden rags that had once been Ligur to show just how much of nothing it was but was stopped by a vice like grip on his arm. There was a cold fire in Aziraphale’s eyes as he strode decisively in front of Crowley. It was times like this that Crowley remembered Aziraphale had been one of the guardians of Eden. He stayed back now, not moving an inch from where the angel had firmly placed him, but he’d dared approach then. Had he hoped to be smited that day when he'd first crawled up the wall and all but bragged about what he'd just done? Might as well have for as hard and fast as he fell after the angel's mumbled admission of guilt about the flaming sword.
Aziraphale banished the holy water from the doorway with a sharp, decisive gesture. When he walked into the office, Crowley drifted in after him, drawn as helpless as ever into the angel’s wake. Aziraphale wandered ponderously about the room. He paused briefly to consider the exploded remnants of the plant mister and then cleared it away with another wave of his hand. Crowley couldn’t help but wince when Aziraphale stopped at the desk. He ran considering fingers over the rubber gloves, the metal tongs, and, finally, the opened thermos.
“You told me the forces of hell had figured you out. I didn’t even stop to think what that meant for you.” Aziraphale’s voice came out soft, wavering, and raw. He was so quiet that Crowley only heard because absolutely every bit of him was bent on it. Aziraphale picked up the thermos lid and turned it thoughtfully in his hands. He tried to screw the cap back on but his hands were shaking too much. He abandoned the attempt and turned to Crowley instead, eyes watery and wide with sorrow. “Oh, Crowley. You begged me to come with you and I didn’t even consider why you were so desperate.”
Begged. Desperate. Both perfectly true but the words still stung at Crowley’s pride. He tried to speak only to find his throat was too tight from seeing Aziraphale so overcome on his behalf. He grunted out a dismissive noise instead. He tried to take the thermos to put it out of sight so that it would stop tormenting the both of them but Aziraphale snatched it up.
“Angel, come on now. You’re being ridiculous. It’s empty and it’s not like I haven’t handled it even when it wasn’t.”
Aziraphale held the thermos to himself. He looked down at it with a slight tremble in his lip. “I told  you not to unscrew the cap,” he said, his voice light as he tried to force a bit of levity only to fall short.
“Insurance finally came due.”
No reason for the angel to know that wasn’t the only time the thermos had been opened. Nor was there cause for him to know just how often it had been handled, stared at, pondered, yelled at, and agonized over through the years. No, for all Aziraphale need be concerned, Crowley had taken it straight home that night, locked it up, and never thought of it again until he needed it.
“You could have been destroyed. If anything had gone wrong-”
Crowley took a slow step forward with his hands up, placating. Gentle, gentle, gentle. He could be gentle for Aziraphale. He could be anything. “But nothing did. I was careful. Told you, it wasn’t for me. Never was. And now it’s gone. It’s over, so you don’t have to worry any longer.”
He took another step toward Aziraphale that only caused the angel to pull the thermos closer. Crowley was nonetheless able to pull it gently from his grasp. He carefully screwed the cap back on and crossed the room to place it back in the safe, even though there really was no reason to keep it now that it had fulfilled its purpose. Still, there was no way he was just going to toss it after all this time. It had saved his life. More importantly, it had been a gift from Aziraphale, the most cherished and tortuous one he’d ever received. 
When he finished locking it away, he found that Aziraphale had left the office. A flash of soft tan and cream showed that he was now milling around the plants. Leaves trembled, unsure what to make of the stranger in their midst. They’d gone so many decades without visitors and suddenly there were multiple in a day. Tension of a different sort from earlier was thick in the air. Some of the plants cowered under it and some strained to be nearer Aziraphale. Crowley threw his sunglasses aside so that he could give the vegetation a warning glare to behave.
“I had no idea you gardened,” Aziraphale commented in distant tones that said his mind was elsewhere. “It would appear you have quite the green thumb. How lovely they all are.”
Crowley was quick to wave off the compliment. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll get ideas.”
Too late. One particularly cheeky palm dared extend a frond toward Aziraphale, who stroked it fondly. Crowley wasn’t sure whether he was envious of how bold the plant was or jealous of the affection it got as a result. Both, he decided. He curled his lips in a threatening, silent hiss that caused the offending palm to shrink back into place.
Crowley expected a reprimand of some sort for terrorizing his plants. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to pass up a good opportunity to chide Crowley when he thought the demon was being particularly mean spirited or petty. Instead, the angel didn’t seem to have even noticed. When he turned around, he looked a million miles away. Aziraphale’s watery eyes danced over things that weren’t really there, examined an alternate world of what-ifs, full of pain and the irreparable loss of a friend. Crowley knew the look because he’d worn it himself, had seen it reflected back at him in the Bentley’s mirrors before he’d hidden away under a fresh pair of sunglasses.
“I should have come with you,” Aziraphale said, snapping back to this world. His blue eyes lifted to meet gold.
“Nah,” Crowley replied, surprised he could even manage so small a reply with as tight as his throat currently was. “Alpha Centauri would have been- I mean, probably you’d have been miserable. No food. No books. And where would the humans have been without us in the end?”
“Things might, oh I don’t know, they might have been better somehow.” Aziraphale looked at the toe of his shoes and then back up again. “I lied to you. I knew where to go. I’d known and I told you I didn’t because I was certain someone on my side would see reason.”
It hurt Crowley to have confirmation that Aziraphale had lied. He’d suspected- there were too many notes stuffed into Agnes Nutter’s book for that to have all come last minute- but it was one thing to suspect and another to hear straight from the source. He wondered just how long Aziraphale had known and kept it from him. But no, he couldn’t let himself go down that road. That way lay madness and questioning and far too many years of feeling low and unworthy. Usually it was his own self doubt that told him Aziraphale would always choose heaven over him. It was a wound that had long since become a scar. Somehow he’d forgotten how much more it hurt to have Aziraphale holding the knife that opened it back up.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said and that was the truth. It absolutely did not matter in the face of everything else.
“Of course it matters. I treated you abominably. I was stupid. You were right, I was so stupid,” Aziraphale argued, determined to be in the wrong. To find absolution or condemnation, anything that would make up for what he’d done. His face crumpled. A few of the tears he’d been holding back escaped to round the flushed curve of his cheeks. “I could have lost you forever and for what?”
And that, right there, was why something as little as lies didn’t matter to Crowley. Not after the bookstore. Not after he’d reached out and felt nothing, when the only thing he’d been certain of was that the world was over for him. Without Aziraphale in it, it was all ash.
“You are stupid,” he said flatly and Aziraphale flinched. One of Crowley’s hands raised to touch him, to comfort him, but the motion was aborted nearly as soon as it had begun. Aziraphale was so close. If Crowley closed that gap further still, he’d never manage to say what he needed to. “You’re stupid because you think anything would keep me from you. That was what the holy water was all about. No one was gonna take me from you, not even if hell came knocking.  Which it did and…” Crowley was losing his train of thought. All he could think of was too much fire in a too empty bookshop. Even with Aziraphale right in front of him, he could feel the loss like a tangible thing. “You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. Not after-”
Crowley choked on a sob, refusing to let it escape his throat. He’d lost heaven long ago. Hell had followed after a lifetime of straining at their bonds. And then, in that moment in the bookshop, he’d lost Aziraphale as well. He’d been all out of sides, lost and alone. He'd pulled himself together to save the world- to go to Aziraphale- but it had been a rush job, not properly done, and now it gave way under all the pressure. Something had broken in him in the bookshop and it snapped apart once more. Suddenly. Painfully. 
“Aziraphale,” he croaked despite himself in the same broken tones of hours prior. “You were gone.”
But he wasn’t. Aziraphale hadn’t been destroyed. The angel was there in Crowley’s flat, so close already and moving closer. He was near enough that Crowley could see his throat bob nervously.
“Crowley…”
Aziraphale had the look of someone on a precipice, ready to jump but unsure if he wanted to. It was a look Crowley had seen on the angel’s face often enough, more in the last eleven years when he’d been given world changing decision after world changing decision. A fair number of times, if not every time, Crowley had been the one to nudge him into place- suggesting the Arrangement, teaming up to avert the apocalypse, and offering to run away together. Crowley had the distinct feeling he’d also caused this latest crisis of faith, but he didn’t have any idea what he’d done nor what Aziraphale was preparing to leap for.
The little line of consternation that had formed between the angel’s brows vanished the moment a decision was reached. “I think, well, there is something I would very much like to do. Something I’ve wanted to do for a rather long time now.” He reached up and caught Crowley by his collar, gently smoothing the lapels. “I’ll be damned if I waste another moment fretting about what I ought to do.”
Crowley felt that wasn’t the sort of thing he should leave without a clever retort. However, being clever required the use of your brain, something he didn’t entirely have at the moment. He was captivated by the set of immaculate hands on his chest. There wasn’t a single wrinkle to smooth. In a day of overextending himself, he’d wasted a miracle to clean himself up as they left the airfield, eager to be free of all the grime and the memories attached to it. He was spotless and Aziraphale had to see that, had to know there was no real excuse for being so close other than because he wanted to be.
Aziraphale remained, regardless, his fingers fussing with fabric and his body close enough that Crowley swore he could feel the heat of him. Something deep in his bones ached to move closer to it. He swallowed hard. His heart fluttered wildly. Fluttering really wasn’t a properly demonic thing for any part of him to do. He could just stop it, do away with all these unnecessary human reactions- like the sudden sweat on his palms or weakness in his legs- but there was something heady and intoxicating about it.
Aziraphale used his grip on the demon’s jacket to pull himself slowly closer. Crowley’s eyes flew wide as Aziraphale’s were hooded by heavy lids. Aziraphale’s lips parted slightly. The same part of Crowley’s mind that told him what was coming also screamed at him to do something about it- move forward, relax, do anything other than stare wide eyed and open mouthed like a dying fish. He only just managed to recollect himself when Aziraphale drew upward to close the last few inches that kept them apart.
It was the barest brush of lips. Thousands upon thousands of years had been spent building a wall, only for it to be shattered by that simple, featherlight connection. Crowley was too busy marvelling at it to reciprocate so it was over before it had really begun. Aziraphale rocked back onto his heels, his hands still on Crowley’s collar, and offered a fluttering, unsure smile.
There was ash on Crowley’s tongue. Whether there truly was or not, it was suddenly all he could taste. He surged forward and banished the gap between them once more. 
Crowley prided himself in his imagination. It wasn’t the sort of thing a demon was supposed to have but you didn’t create stars and then forget that bright, bold spark inside. He’d made good use of it over the ages with no subject a more frequent visitor to his dreams than a certain angel. But no matter how good his imagination was, it didn’t compare to the reality of kissing Aziraphale.
When Aziraphale didn’t immediately pull away, Crowley put his hands on the soft edges of the angel’s jawline and pressed in further. Aziraphale’s lips were plush and pliant. When Crowley had gotten his fill of them, he let his tongue flick out, testing. He was too happy to be embarrassed by the breathy whine that escaped his mouth when he dared taste celestial lips. How could there be time for something like embarrassment when, in the next moment, Aziraphale let out a whimper of his own and opened his mouth to allow Crowley entry.
The part of Crowley that remained forever cold and coiled and ready to strike unspooled. This was… divine. Literally. It should have burnt him and reduced him to nothing. Instead, it was everything, made him everything. Pressed as close as they were, he could feel hearts crash against mortal frames not big enough to hold immortal love. It filled the void that had been deep inside him since his Fall, a void that came rushing back when Aziraphale released him.
Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, that...”
“Yeah, that,” Crowley replied inelegantly. 
He felt weak in the knees and he couldn’t decide if it was Aziraphale, his exhaustion, or some combination of the above. It hardly mattered when he felt like he could float.
Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not that. Well, yes. That was-” He gave the bare, bright smile he reserved just for Crowley when the demon had done something for him. He dipped his chin as though he could do anything to hide the brilliance of it. “But what I mean is, that gave me an idea. I think I’ve figured out the prophecy.”
Crowley’s brows raised. He couldn’t help the teasing twist of his mouth despite the continued fluttering of his heart. “One hell of a kiss,” he said dryly.
“Quite.” Aziraphale glanced in either direction. His eyes narrowed and then widened when they settled on a familiar avian lectern. “Is that-?”
“What’re you looking for, angel?” Crowley asked, cutting off that line of questioning before it could begin.
“I don’t suppose you have a kitchen or anything of the sort in this cavern of yours?”
“Sure.” Crowley cast a curious glance over at Aziraphale as he lead the way. “What kind of solution have you come up with that requires a kitchen?” 
“It won’t. I was just hoping for a nibble. It’s been a long day,” the angel answered and Crowley couldn’t help but snort in fond amusement. “And, no offense dear boy, but you look dead on your feet. I thought some tea might help you perk up.”
Crowley quickly miracled everything and anything into his cupboards that he thought Aziraphale might desire. A kettle was already warming when they entered the kitchen. Crowley leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into his pockets as best he could.
“So, what’s this plan of yours?”
“I’ll explain in a moment,” Aziraphale replied, drawing near. He wrapped one hand around the back of Crowley’s neck. “First, I think some more inspiration is in order.”
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okaytimeswithscar · 5 years ago
Text
sick and tired of trying
want a fic where i project on ex so hard he cries? no? too bad im posting it anyway
also available on ao3
trigger warnings: panic attacks, implied self harm, implied suicidal thoughts, past violence
Ex heaved for breath as he ran through the shopping district, weaving between the colorful shops and glancing behind him at the absolute horde of hostile mobs that were chasing him. Honestly, would it kill these hermits to light up their builds for once? Screeching to a halt outside of iTrade, he all but threw himself into the nether portal, holding his breath as he was transported between dimensions.
Stumbling out on the other side, he fumbled for the switch on his helmet that would let him breathe nether air as he tripped over his own feet and fell onto the dark glass floor. Finally managing to hit the switch, he had a minor coughing fit before figuring out how to breathe again.
Ex pulled himself up off the ground, leaning on the portal frame for support. As he did, pain shot through his ribs, and he winced. Oh, yeah, not supposed to exercise in a binder. Forgot about that. Well, it wasn't as if he really had a choice anyway - it was either "run like hell" or "get brutally murdered by monsters", and Ex didn't fancy losing his gear and ending up wherever he'd slept last again.
Sighing, Ex glanced around the empty nether hub, trying to decide where he wanted to go. Xisuma's base was a definite no - his relationship with his brother was still very strained, with X only having unbanned him fairly recently. Ex didn't particularly want to interact with any hermits at the moment, for that matter. He'd been feeling awfully self-conscious all day, like every person who so much as looked in his general direction was judging him.
Deciding the best course of action was to find a place nobody but him (and X, but he was likely busy with other things) enjoyed being in, Ex headed for the portal that would put him closest to the nearest stronghold. This time, he switched the settings on his helmet before going through, resulting in a much smoother exit as he came out in the overworld.
Ex's mind wandered as he slowly made his way towards the stronghold, going over everthing that had happened since X had been convinced to unban him around two months prior. Most of the hermits hadn't seemed bothered by his return (if they were, they sure weren't saying so) and some seemed... far less than bothered.
At first, Ex had been kind of annoyed by their attempts to befriend him. However, he'd ended up developing a soft spot for several of them; Stress, Zedaph, and Grian being a few of the lucky ones. Keralis and Bdubs had even managed to convince him to build a house in the aptly named "New Guy Village", and even if his building skills were subpar and he was barely around - preferring to explore and sleep wherever he found himself - they seemed content with him just trying.
Of course, you can't mention hermits trying to befriend Ex without talking about Joe, who was the reason he was even here in the first place, having smooth-talked X into unbanning him entirely on his own with several hours worth of vaugely threatening, philosophical poetry. Ex asked him why on several occasions, but Joe only answered with cryptic prose that Ex didn't get anything out of except that Joe though he "deserved a second chance, a chance to change, a chance to try again."
Entering the stronghold didn't startle Ex from his musings, though he did briefly remark to himself that the hermits seemed to have remembered that torches existed while fixing up the stronghold. He stepped through the portal and came out on a cobblestone platform, hitting the buttons that detached his helmet and pulling it off. He breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp coldness of the End, a stark contrast to the slightly stale air his helmet filtered for him. He began to walk across the precarious cobblestone path to the main island, slipping back into his thoughts as he sat down with his back against one of the obsidian pillars.
Ex pondered for what seemed like the millionth time about his name. Ex, short for Evil Xisuma, was... not his favorite way to be addressed. He disliked being written off as just an "evil" version of his brother. He'd had his own name, a while back, but thinking about that one felt even worse than being Ex. He'd tried to think of new names for himself, but none ever seemed to fit, and he doubted he could get anyone to stop calling him Ex anyway. He hated being labeled as evil no matter what, even if nobody truly meant it that way anymore.
He'd never really wanted to hurt anyone. He felt abandoned, bitter at being left out of everything, so he lashed out at anyone who he could. Everything hurt, and he bottled it up, but it all had to explode eventually. Ex knew he had been out of control, destroying everything indiscriminately as he raged on. He knew X had to stop him somehow. It didn't stop it from hurting when his own brother, his younger twin who he'd looked out for and loved all his life, faced him down and banished him to the void right at the beginning of this new season.
Everyone knew this reasoning. Everyone knew it hurt X to do that too, to be suddenly alone and without his older twin for the first time in a very long time. And now, everyone knew Ex was trying. Trying not to lose control again. Trying to make up for the things he'd done. Trying to let others in. Trying to change, trying to fix it trying trying trying. Ex was so sick and tired of trying. It was all he could do, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to atone, it wasn't enough to participate, it wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough, and his stupid ribs hurt, and his eyes stung but he wasn't going to cry, he wasn't, but that wasn't enough either and Ex curled up into a ball next to the obsidian pillar and he couldn't breathe, his chest was tight and it hurt, but he wasn't going to look at himself right now, he couldn't handle it, the emptiness of the void was right there, calling him, he couldn't do this, he couldn't do this, he dug his nails into his arms, the wounds there still far too fresh, it hurt but he didn't care anymore, it was too much, not enough, too much-
-and suddenly Ex was sobbing into someone's shoulder, and someone was holding him tightly, and someone was whispering to him but he couldn't understand them, and he tried to scratch at his arms but someone held him so he couldn't, and he couldn't stop crying but they just held on, and they whispered again and Ex could hear them, just barely, but who was it, who was here-
"Ex, ex, hey, hey. Hold on. You're okay. It's okay, you're okay." -Joe, that was Joe. Joe was here and Ex let some tension go and wrapped his arms around him and cried, but Joe just whispered that he was okay, that it was gonna be okay. Ex relaxed into him, Joe leaning up against the pillar as they hugged, reassuring Ex as he slowly calmed. Ex pulled his head off Joe's shoulder, his eyes red and with tear stains running down his face. He pulled back from the hug, moving over slightly to sit next to Joe, still holding on to his arm. Joe simply let him, taking deep breaths as Ex unconsciously followed his example.
"...Joe?" Ex said quietly, his voice hoarse from sobbing.
"Yes, Ex?" Joe replied just as quietly, sounding concerned.
"...thank you. For everything, I mean. Letting me come back, and being my friend, and this..." Ex turned away from Joe, but still didn't let go of his arm.
"It isn't a problem. I believe that everyone deserves another chance, including you, and by gosh I'm gonna get you one. That's the JoeHills Difference!" Ex giggled quietly, smiling slightly as he finally let go of Joe and stood up, Joe doing the same.
"Hey, what were you doing in the End anyway?"
"Oh, just collecting some obsidian in return for gracious compensation at the hands of one X-I-Zumavoid."
"He's... paying you to mine obsidian?"
"Precisely! He seemingly needs a sizable amount, and has decided the wisest way to procure a large quantity would be to enlist as many individuals with a diamond deficiency as possible to obtain it for him."
"...I didn't really understand that, but okay."
"Would you be willing to assist me in this obsidian-aquiring venture?"
"I... sure."
Ex, still slightly confused, and still trying to wipe his eyes discreetly, followed as Joe, rambling on about something or other, strode towards a half-mined obsidian pillar. Ex grinned as he played along, pretending to understand the other man, and deciding that maybe, just maybe, this was enough for now.
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bluesey-182 · 5 years ago
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i was given permission by the lovely @dark-and-beautiful-art a while ago to write a fic inspired by this beautiful art. I was also inspired by a QoN excerpt from the NOVL’s instagram. this fic was a bit rocky for me because it’s been so long since i’ve written in first person but i hope you guys still like it. also, there are some very minor spoilers from the first few chapters of QoN in here so read at your own risk. anyway.... here it is:
I shouldn’t have come here. 
The plan had been to sneak into Cardan’s rooms while he was at the nights’ revel and ambush him in the early hours of the morning when he returned--the former I had executed perfectly, but I had failed to consider what it would be like to be in his rooms alone for an extended period of time. The same rooms he had asked me to marry him in. The same rooms he made me Queen in. The same rooms I snuck into after my time in the undersea, where he pulled me onto his lap…
My mind keeps wandering. I need something to do. No, I need something to break. Like the glass beside his bed, or the extravagant sculpture by his mantle, or his jaw. My body itches will violence that also covers up the nervous energy of seeing him again. I don’t know what I’ll do if he brings a lover to bed with him tonight. I don’t know what I’ll do if he brings Nicasia to bed tonight. Probably kill them both--hopefully before I start sobbing like a broken-hearted fool. Which I definitely am, but I don’t want him to know that.
Definitely shouldn’t have come here. I wonder if it’s too late to change the plan. I could ambush him in the hallway instead so I don’t have to stew in the memories these rooms hold. Or I could really embrace my anger and the dramatics and stab him on his own throne. Surely I would be killed soon after but at least I’d be taking him out with me.
Before I can think too much more about it I locate the sealed entrance to the hidden passageway Nicasia had used to shoot Cardan from. With some effort I ply off the wood sealing the door and slip inside. I need a break from the Cardan-ness of his room before I explode. The exit to the hidden hallway requires more force but after a few solid kicks the wood snaps and the door swings open onto the rooms he burned down. No one will be guarding this part of the palace. Still, I peak through the (still broken) doors out into the hallway to make sure no one’s there. Satisfied at the emptiness in the hallway, I creep through the gap in the doors and start making my way to my old rooms. I just need a place to go that isn’t so wholly tainted by Cardan so I can recollect myself before I kill the bastard. 
Halfway to my rooms, though, I see him.
He’s alone.
That idiot.
Cardan has always been so careful with his words yet so careless in his actions. He’d chosen the wording to my banishment with a clever tongue and even before that he always knew where to bite so his venom would hurt the most. Yet for all his cleverness he still wandered the castle alone without any protection. How none of the guards seemed to notice this baffles me. Still...it makes my job easier. Keeping some distance between us I start to trail him through the halls. 
After a few more turns I realize with a start that we were heading to the same place. But surely that can’t be right. What purpose would he have for going to my rooms?
Yet sure enough he stops outside my rooms, looks briefly over his shoulders, unlocks the door, and steps inside like this is normal for him. I know if he closes the door I’ll be locked out of my own rooms so, stealing myself, I prepare to attack. It’s now or never.
I wedge my foot in the door frame before it can close all the way, shove the door hard to throw him off balance, and in one fluid motion I have him pinned against the wall with my hand on his mouth and my dagger at his throat. Quietly, I shut the door with my foot. His eyes widen in surprise for a moment before he relaxes under my grasp. He shouldn’t be this calm. 
“A riddle, Cardan? Really?” I bite out. Of course I had figured out the riddle to his banishment. And now I’m going to make him pay for it. I feel his smile spread against my palm before he lifts his hand to carefully remove my own from his mouth.
“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he purred. God I want to stab him.
“You’re an ass. I should just kill you.”
He hums a noncommittal sound and relaxes further against the wall as if I’m not holding a blade to his throat. An ass indeed, and an arrogant one at that.
I grit my teeth. “You’re an idiot too, wandering around the palace alone. The courts are trying to dethrone you and you're walking around without protection.”
“I am aware,” he says in a low voice that makes my stomach flutter. Bastard. “But even if they do manage to overthrow me they still have my Queen to contend with.”
“A Queen that nobody knows about, a Queen that hasn’t been here to protect you because you banished me, a Queen that--” I’m cut off short before I can even process what’s happening.
In a single smooth motion Cardan spins us so that I’m now the one pinned to the wall. He uses my surprise to his advantage and he slips the dagger from my hand, holding it at just enough distance that I can’t reach it. Still, I try to lunge for it when I feel his hand under my chin, tilting my face up to look at him, and then his lips are on mine.
Like an idiot, I stand there frozen--arm still hanging in the air, body relaxing without my permission--and then I’m kissing him back. In that moment I decide I really am going to kill him. 
“A Queen,” he murmurs as he pulls back just enough for his lips to hover teasingly out of reach from mine, “that has returned. Just as I planned.”
“I hate you.” I meant for it to sound menacing but it comes out a lot breathier than I would like. 
“I know, dearest.” He brushes his lips against mine ever so slightly and speaks against my mouth, “Yet you still came back.”
My head’s beginning to spin. I need to take back control of the situation. Shoving against his chest I try to put enough distance between us for me to pin him again and take my blade back but as if he was expecting this his arms are around me so that my arms are stuck to my sides and my back is against his chest. He leans down so his mouth is level with my ear and I feel him slide my dagger back into the sheath strapped to my thigh.
“Enough, Jude,” he speaks before releasing me. I stumble away and turn back to face him. I don’t reach for my dagger, although I glare at him with every ounce of heat I feel inside me.
“I came back because if you get murdered it’ll really mess up my plans.”
“Admit it, you’d miss me as well,” he smiled.
I would. But he doesn’t need to know that. “No. I just need you to stay alive long enough for my brother to get to the throne.” Nevermind the fact that my brother didn’t want it. I try to push the thought from my mind.
Cardan rolls his eyes. “Drop the act, Jude. It’s over. We both know by now that I’m the King, the permanent King, and you are now Queen. This.” he waves his arms around to encompass what exactly “this” is, “Is what there is. It’s just us, Jude. The courts are rebelling, Madoc is planning my assassination, and the Undersea is on the verge of attacking. There is no time to wait for your brother to take the throne. This is happening now, and whether you like it or not, we are the ones that have to rule the kingdom and get it back under control.”
He’s right, as much as I loathe to admit it. Still…
“Why did you banish me in the first place then?” Even though I know the answer I need to hear it from his own mouth.
“Because Orlagh wanted you dead.”
I stare back at him with empty eyes. After a long pause he looses a long breath and runs his hands through his hair. “There is a lot I need to discuss with you, Jude. Just give me the chance to explain. I need you to try to forgive me.”
I wasn’t about to tell him that I already have. As soon as I figured out that he made it possible for me to pardon myself I had forgiven him for banishing me. Though forgiveness for breaking my heart was still yet to be granted.
“What are we going to do then?” I ask softly as I let my shoulders drop to release the tension in my body.
He smiles triumphantly and I consider stabbing him again. “Well, my sweet villain,” he steps closer to me, places his hands on my hips, bends down so our mouths are almost touching. “What does a mortal queen have that a faerie does not?”
Despite myself, I feel my heart racing at the proximity of him. I give in. “Is this another riddle?” I ask. “And if I answer it, will you go back to kissing me?” 
That wicked grin I love and hate so much splits his face. “That depends entirely on you.”
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petrichoravellichor · 6 years ago
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Lemme have Sabriel and #32
#32 - a kiss to wake up
(Blah blah blah, this got longer than I meant for it to, blah blah blah…)
What Your Heart Meant (~1.7k words)
(Read on AO3)
Sam snapped awake just in time to keep from falling out of the chair. He swore under his breath as he steadied himself, gaze flickering instinctively to the figure that lay motionless on the bed.
“Sorry,” murmured Sam, “didn’t mean to nod off on you.” He didn’t know if Gabriel could hear him, but it felt wrong to just ignore him...particularly when there was so much Sam wanted to say. For the moment, however, he had to content himself with scooting the chair just a little bit closer to the edge of the mattress and resuming his vigil as the events of ten hours prior replayed in his head...
***
Michael had made quick work of Lucifer. He'd stabbed him in the abdomen and smiled as Lucifer’s eyes blazed white and his lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Then he knelt briefly to wipe his blade on his dead brother’s shirt, attention shifting to Sam and Dean and…
“Can it be?” Michael stood, and his smug expression faltered slightly. “Gabriel?”
Oh crap, thought Sam. He turned to tell Dean and Gabriel that they had to go, now, only to find the Gabriel regarding him with a look of pained determination.
“Go,” Gabriel said, voice low and urgent. He tilted his head in the direction of the rift. “I can buy some time.”
Sam felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. What?! No. No no no…“Gabriel,” he managed, and something was wrong with his throat, because his voice sounded raw and rough. Without meaning to, he took a step forward. “Don’t—”
“All I did on Earth was run.” Gabriel’s hazel eyes shimmered in the dying light. “I’m not running anymore.” He turned to Dean, lips quirking upward in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Dean sucked in a breath, clearly recognizing the words he’d snarled at Gabriel all those years ago when they'd left the archangel in a ring of holy fire. Before Dean could respond, though, Gabriel returned his attention to Sam, and his smile faltered.
“Sorry, Sam,” he said quietly. He turned and started to walk away, and something inside Sam snapped.
“No!” Before Sam knew what he was doing, he’d closed the distance between them, fist tangling in Gabriel’s jacket. Gabriel looked at him, stunned, and Sam threw caution to the wind. He willed every bit of everything he’d ever felt for Gabriel to the surface, thoughts blaring like a horn before battle. “Gabe, no, you can’t, I—”
Gabriel yanked Sam down by his collar and kissed him. Their lips crashed together with such intensity that Sam suddenly understood how stars felt when they supernovaed, collapsing inward and then exploding in a burst of brilliant color. He kissed Gabriel back as though it were the only thing that mattered, as if they were the only two beings left in the—
WHAM!
Michael's shockwave barreled into them with the force of a charging bull. Sam landed hard on the ground several feet away, gasping at the shadows that swam across his vision. He only dimly registered his brother's frantic yells as Dean heaved him to his feet, slinging one of Sam’s arms over his shoulder and pulling him in the direction of the rift.Behind them, blades clashed like thunder...and then didn’t…
“No,” grunted Sam. He dug in his heels. “No, not without—”
“Dammit, Sammy, we gotta go!”
“No!” And before Dean could stop him, Sam had freed himself and was running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Michael had disarmed Gabriel and had him by the throat. A silvery stream of grace flowed from a gash in Gabriel’s neck straight into Michael’s mouth; within seconds, the stream was gone. Michael flung Gabriel to the ground, sneering as the latter groaned in pain. “You were always the weakest of us, always willing to abandon Heaven to run around with these hairless apes.” He knelt down, snatching Gabriel by the hair and jerking his head upward. “Well, brother, if you love them so much, then you can die as one of them.” He raised his blade…
Sam crashed into Michael, catching him by surprise and sending them both toppling to the ground. He drew back his fist and punched Michael as hard as he could, crying out as his fist connected with what felt like a brick wall. A split second later Michael's fist smashed into his nose, sending him flying backward in a shower of blood. Then Michael’s hands were around his neck, squeezing and choking and—
Dean appeared out of nowhere, throwing himself on top of Michael with a deafening roar and driving Gabriel’s discarded blade into the back of Michael's neck. Michael howled with fury, releasing Sam and falling backward to wrestle with Dean, whom he quickly pinned to the ground.
“You...fucking...maggots,” spat Michael. “You think something like you can kill someone like me?” He let out a feral laugh, reaching back and yanking out the archangel blade Dean had stabbed him with. “Don’t you know we can only be killed by one of our own, and not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m the last one standing." He raised the blade. "I’m not the one who’s dying today.”
“Maybe not,” yelled Sam, and Michael's eyes snapped over to glare, then widened in shock, “but neither are we!” And before Michael could fully get out his scream of fury, Sam slammed his hand down onto the blood-drawn banishing sigil, blasting Michael away in a burst of brilliant white light.
***
Back at the bunker, Sam watched as Gabriel’s chest continued its slow rise and fall. He and Dean had managed to carry the unconscious archangel-turned-human back through the rift, and Cas had immediately set to work healing them all, but though the angel had been able to mend Sam’s hand and nose, his attempts at rousing Gabriel had proven futile.
“This isn’t something I can fix,” he’d informed them sadly after his third try. “I’m afraid the only thing we can do is wait and see if he wakes up.”
And so they’d laid Gabriel down in the spare bedroom he’d been using, and Sam had brought in a chair to wait. Either Dean or Cas had checked in every hour or so, but with all of the new hunters they’d rescued from the apocalypse universe now filling the bunker and itching to explore their brave new world, both were needed elsewhere, especially since there was nothing else they could do for Gabriel at the moment.
Not that there’s anything I can do, thought Sam bitterly, and God, what an absolutely novel feeling that was, watching helplessly as someone he cared about suffered. It was times like this that Sam couldn’t help but think the universe hated him, that he was nothing more than the punchline of some cosmic joke, the idiot who let himself fall in love only to have his heart crushed over and over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Was it so much to ask that he be allowed to keep something, someone, for himself, just once, and be happy?
“Death can’t have you,” he whispered. “Not yet, not like this.” He reached out and took Gabriel’s hand. “You don’t get to die today, you hear me? You’re gonna wake up, and we’re gonna talk, and somehow, I’m gonna convince you to stay. But, Gabe, you’ve gotta wake up.” He hesitated, then raised Gabriel’s hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss into the palm. “Please, just...just wake up.”
No sooner had Sam spoken than Gabriel shifted, letting out a low groan. A moment later, his eyes were fluttering open, head tilting slightly on the pillow as he blinked up at the figure next to him. “Sam?”
Sam nearly choked on his breath, barely managing a soft “Hey” in return.
Gabriel’s gaze shifted to the hand that Sam was still holding, and he smiled in dazed contentment before snapping suddenly to attention, snatching his hand back and attempting to heave himself up on the bed. “Shit, Michael, I’ve gotta—”
“He’s gone,” said Sam quickly. He placed a steady hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and easing him back down. “We got away, and he’s trapped in the apocalypse universe with no way of getting through. It’s over.”
Gabriel looked up at him with a rare expression of genuine shock. “No shit, really?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, really.”
“Well I’ll be Dad-damned,” said Gabriel. He fell back against the pillow with a scoff. “And here I thought I was gonna go out a hero, holding off the big bad while you and your less-attractive older brother beat a hasty retreat. So much for my redemption arc.”
“Gabe, about what happened,” said Sam, and oh God, he was terrified of where this conversation was going to go, “I just...I want you to know that I...that if this,” he gestured between the two of them, “is something you want, that I want it too. And if you don’t…” Sam’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he forced himself to continue, “and if you don’t, then...then I hope we can be friends.”
Gabriel looked at him as though he’d grown an additional head. He sat up again, slowly this time, scooting over on the mattress until he and Sam were only inches apart. “And here I always thought you were the smart one,” he said, shaking his head, lips twitching in an amused smile. “Don’t you get it, you big doof? I’ve wanted you for years, and now that we’ve finally sorted out all of my interdimensional family drama, I’m gonna be on you like gum on a shoe. Not even wild hellhounds could drag me away.” He cocked an eyebrow, smile widening. “Also, if I’m gonna be slumming it human-style on a permanent basis, I’m gonna need someone to bring me cakes and cookies and the like, so tag, sugar, you’re it.”
Sam chuckled. "Deal," he said, and pulled Gabriel in for a kiss.
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sian265 · 6 years ago
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Legio autem Arcarius Legion of Archer Chapter Two:
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Alec followed Magnus deeper into the party. Magnus took two glasses off a passing server’s tray and handed one of the cocktails to Alec. Clicking their glasses together, Magnus toasted. “To us, Commander.”
 “Alec,” he mumbled back. Taking a sip of the drink, he could not control the grimace at the strong alcohol flavor.
 “Pardon?” Magnus asked not taking his eyes off Alec’s face.
 “My name, its Alec. You don’t have to keep calling me Commander.” He took one more sip of his drink, hoping the taste might improve. It did not.
 Magnus smiled before taking a sip of his own drink. “Hum,” he muttered. “Alec short for Alexander correct?” At Alec’s nod, Magnus’s grin turned a bit mischievous. “Though, I do so like calling you Commander. It’s so commanding…”
 Alec frowned. How did he make even Alec’s title sound suggestive? He sat his drink back onto a passing serving tray. Turning back towards Magnus, Alec was stuck. He had no clue what to talk about with the High Warlock, and Alec didn’t see the Consul anywhere.
Magnus must have read some Alec’s face because his smile became somewhat gentler. “Come Alexander; join me as I greet some of my guests.” Magnus swept his empty hand out, indicating for Alec to move with him towards one small-gathered groups of his guests.
 Alec couldn’t control the small jerk his body gave as Magnus’s hand rested on his lower back. He exchanged polite small talk for a minute before falling silent, to people watch, as was his habit. He found that his gaze would not stray too far from the Warlock at his side. He watched as Magnus greeted people, and could immediately tell which smiles were real and which were merely polite. Alec knew the High Warlock was popular. His parties kind of famous in Alicante and being invited was consider a coup. However, he also knew that Magnus had sacrificed a lot in his centuries of life. Sacrifices that protected the Shadowworld. He was the creator of the portal, which changed the Shadowworld forever. Magnus was personally responsible for the wards that protected Institutes across the world, and he had been present at all the Accord signings.
 It was no surprise to anyone when Shadowhunters began leaving the dark ages and appointed the first ever-High Warlock to Alicante, that the warlock chosen was Magnus Bane. Alec knew his history. At first, Magnus had been met with resentment from other warlocks, jealous over him being picked for such a prestigious position. As time passed though, he became more universally loved. Magnus fought for fairness between Downworlders and Shadowhunters and with each generation made great strides in equality. Alec felt his generation showed the greatest growth in dispelling old prejudices and championing acceptance.
 Alec was pulled from his thoughts as Magnus leaned into him to whisper that the Consul had arrived. He looked towards the door and saw Jia entering carrying a file folder. She nodded her head at them, and Magnus steered Alec away from his guest and the party. They entered a room off the main one and once Jia joined them Magnus shut the door. Alec watched, as the High Warlock waved his magic around the whole space, ensuring whatever was said would stay between the three of them. “Drink Jia?” Magnus asked as the Consul took a seat on a small loveseat. “Please Magnus,” she replied and the ease between them let Alec know that the High Warlock of Alicante and the Consul of Shadowhunters were very comfortable in each other’s company. He didn’t know why, but that comforted Alec.
 Magnus handed their drinks out, this time Alec’s was a pale pink in color. He looked up at Magnus with a raised brow. “I think you will like this better, Alexander.” Magnus replied.
 Jia looked back and forth between them briefly before taking a sip of her own cocktail. Alec followed suit, liking this milder drink much better. “Thank you,” he mumbled to Magnus. The Consul handed a file to Alec and Magnus and Alec opened his. He felt dread hit him at seeing The New York Institute across the top of the report.
 The Consul began to speak. “As you can see Commander this mission involves New York. Now while Magnus is aware of what has occurred there is new information to share with you both.
 “Has there been another murder?” Magnus interrupted to ask.
 Jia nodded. “Yes, but let me fill Alec in and we will get to the latest developments.” Magnus nodded, but Alec could see whatever was going on really had Magnus upset. Magnus’s normally honey-colored skin was pale and his lips were pressed tightly together. Jia continued. “Alec, what Magnus knows so far is that there have been a string of murders in New York. The victims have been Seelie as well as mundane. The Seelie Queen is demanding satisfaction and warning that if we Shadowhunters don’t solve these murders soon she will step in. I think you can completely understand why no one in the Shadowworld wants the Seelie Queen on the rampage?”
 Alec’s grimace was answer enough. He had a few encounters with the Queen, and every single one, unpleasant. He nodded for Jia to continue.
 “The New York Institute’s forensic expert says all the murders showed signs of being sacrifices.” Jia paused and her gaze turned very somber and directed towards Magnus. “What we have recently come to learn is that the sacrifices are aimed at drawing forth a demon, but not just any demon, but a Prince of Hell.”
 Magnus’s gasp had Alec’s head snapping around towards the Warlock. If he had thought Magnus upset and pale before, it was nothing compared to the utter whiteness of his face now. Magnus shot out of his seat and turned away from them. He moved over to the windows of his study and looked out into the Alicante night. Jia held a hand up as Alec started to speak. She shook her head silently at him and turned a concerned gaze to Magnus’s ridged back. They both watched the High Warlock silently for several moments before Magnus’s voice broke the quiet. “By a Prince of Hell, I assume you mean Asmodeus?” He turned back around and met the Consul’s gaze almost challengingly.
 “I’m sorry Magnus, but yes, all the signs point to him being the one they are attempting to summon.” Jia reached for her drink and took a healthy sip before looking at Magnus again. “You defeated him before, you can do so again.”
 Magnus gave a bitter chuckle. “Defeated! No Consul I merely managed to banish him. Asmodeus cannot be defeated only sent back to the hell of Edom where he belongs. That banishing almost destroyed me.”
 Alec was lost. He could sense the rising emotions of Magnus. “I’m sorry, but you both are going to have to explain this to me. What does the Prince of Edom have to do with some murders in New York and why does this involve Magnus?” He demanded. They had asked him here. His Legion had a mission; he assumed these murders were the mission. Now they needed to include him in on whatever this was evidently all about.
 He knew he didn’t fully know or understand the High Warlock, but what Alec was sure of was that he did not like the look on the face Magnus turned to him. The look of shame and almost fear, did not belong on such a lovely face, Alec did not care for it at all. Even worse was the almost expectation in Magnus’s voice as he began to speak.
 “I hope, Commander that you do not think less of me when I tell you this.” Magnus held up a hand to halt the words that Alec was about to get out. “Asmodeus is my sire, and the last time he was summoned to this earthly realm, I was the one who summoned him.”
 Alec shook his head not understanding, but there was one thing he wanted to make abundantly clear to Magnus. “I don’t care who your father is.”
 “Thank you for that Alexander.” Magnus gave a small smile, but it did not wipe away the dread in his eyes.
 Jia interrupted before any more disclosures could be shared. “Magnus, I’m afraid there is more news.”
 “Bad news I assume, Consul?” Magnus asked.
 Jia nodded. “The last crime scene there was a message left. The message was directed at you, Magnus.”
 Alec’s hackles rose and before Magnus could say a word he demanded. “What message?” He couldn’t have offered an explanation, but the thought of killers targeting Magnus made Alec furious.
 Jia glanced at Alec in surprise. Perhaps due to his tone, or even that it was he not Magnus who sounded the most outraged and demanded an answer. She turned her attention back to Magnus and with sympathy in her voice, shook Magnus’s world. “The message said, ‘Give us Magnus Bane,’ and –“ here she paused before continuing. “It was signed with a crimson hand print.”
 Alec’s head swung back and forth, as he looked from Jia to Magnus. The later sat as still as if carved in marble, not a muscle moving. The silence so complete that the distance clinking of glassware could be heard even through the silencing spell placed on the room. Slowly, the paleness of Magnus’s face gave way to a ruby hue, as rage was clear to read on the High Warlock’s face. Alec jumped as Magnus’s hands shot out and all the glassware on the drink cart exploded.
 “Impossible!” The High Warlock spat.
“I don’t understand,” Alec said, still carefully eyeing the furious Warlock. “What’s the significance of a crimson hand print?”
 Magnus began to pace around the room like a wild cat pinned against its will. “There is no significance!” He almost yelled. “Because the Crimson Hand was disbanded by me, a century ago!”
 Jia attempted to calm Magnus. “Magnus, we don’t know for sure if it’s a one-a-be or if someone has attempted to reestablish Crimson Hand. All we do know is that someone is attempting to summon Asmodeus and that they know enough of your history to try to involve you. Magnus it’s clear, you are a target and in grave danger.”
 Magnus stared at Jia, though it was clear his mind was a million miles away. Alec could see no fear on his face, surprising him after Magnus hearing he was in danger. Alec was sure now that the mission of his Legion was to protect Magnus. To keep him safe. And Alec was thankful that Alicante was so well hidden and guarded. That would make the Legion’s job much easier. Magnus’s next words had Alec’s stomach sinking.
 “I’m going to New York.”
 TBC…
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justanartsysideblog · 6 years ago
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Catching Up
a little drabble for the Vampire AU aka what Melarue was doing before turning home in their carriage to find Kass and Ash in the rain.
---
It was their first time visiting Anaris in his new abode. They would admit they had not sought out their old friends in a long while, and had kept away from Nevarra City far longer than was necessary. The changes to the city itself were jarring, so much new blended into the old; an ancient city gilded in modernity.
The last time they’d been here had been the last night their coven had been whole. They didn’t have many fond memories of the place, but it was home, more home than any other place had ever been.
It was early in the evening when the butler let them inside; a mortal dwarf, with the glazed eyes of a thrall that had them shaking their head. They knew Anaris would never abuse his favored feeding partners, but his use of his charms for free labor was not something they agreed with.
Still, it was not their place to tell him how to behave in his own domain. Anaris enjoyed himself, but he didn’t enjoy violence. His capriciousness and narcissism were mild problems in comparison to those that reveled in their power to control and harm others.
His taste left a bit to be desired, though.
Gaudy as always, they thought as they were led into the foyer. The dwarven butler offered to take their coat as they surveyed the immense crystal chandelier above them and turned just as a figure walked through the entryway of the second floor. Melarue couldn’t help a fond smile. “No castle? How frugal of you.”
“Castles are expensive,” Anaris answered from the top of the stairs, “and townhouses are all the rage these days.” He spread his arms wide and grinned. “Welcome to my humble abode, old friend.”
“Humble may be overstepping,” They drawled, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek as he reached the landing.
The light from the candelabras along the wall glittered along the golden clasps in his braids and the lapels on his embroidered velvet housecoat. He had always been fond of overdressing, and they were glad to see that despite it not being the current trend, Anaris still wore far too many rings on his fingers.
Some things never changed.
“Come,” Anaris tucked their hand into the bend of his elbow and led them down a hallway toward a pair of massive, mahogany doors, which the dwarven butler opened before making himself scarce.
The library was ornate, though smaller than Melarue’s own. They supposed that made sense, given the cramped space of a city townhouse compared to their own country manor. What it lacked in size it made up for in style, with exquisite marble statues lining the walls (Melarue was amused to recognize one of them as belonging to their son Aelynthi) and an array of breathtaking oil paintings.
They paused to appreciate the painting above the fireplace, which stretched across the entire wall and depicted a nude Anaris as a satyr frolicking with several equally nude women and men of varying race. “Mmmm, I remember it being a bit smaller.”
“You know artists, always free with their embellishments,” Anaris accepted the joke readily and grabbed a glass decanter from atop a nearby desk, pouring them a glass of wine. Wine was one of the only things they still tasted these days. The only thing that seemed to give warmth aside from blood itself, the shadow of a memory of taste, but more than anything else they had left.
“Have you heard from any of the others?” Melarue asked, leaning back on the couch with the offered glass.
“A few.” Anaris sighed. “Not everyone keeps in touch. Thremael took the morning walk.”
Melarue paused. “Thremael?”
“The last person you would have suspected, hm?” Anaris shrugged. “He never seemed like the type.  Of all of us, I thought either you or Daern’thal would have gone first, too sentimental for your own good. I always expected Thremael to be hunted down by the Chantry.”
Melarue nodded absently. They’d contemplated it once or twice, but never with much sincerity. Not after Selene and Aelynthi.
“Daern’thal has a paramour,” Anaris continued. If he’d noticed Melarue’s expression he chose to ignore it. “Henne’thel. Pretty little thing from down south. A musician I think. I met her briefly when they came to visit twenty years ago.”
“Mmm.” Melarue glanced down at their wine, expression solemn. “Thremael is the third, then.” The last time they’d seen Thremael had been just before they’d left for Antiva. They could still remember how he’d looked that night, eyes the color of spring grass and hair like rain-soaked earth, smelling of life from his last feeding...tasting it on his lips. He’d asked them to stay.
They wondered what he’d looked like before he’d walked out into the early light of dawn. They wondered what his last thought had been.
They hoped it was a happy one.
“Only five of us left.” Anaris held up his glass, “long live Fate’s children,” then tossed its contents into the flames. The vapors caught alight, exploding in a gout of flames as the fire hissed and crackled.
“How many more of us would she have made, do you think?” Melarue asked absently, not expecting much of an answer. Thremael had always enjoyed his vampirism. He’d enjoyed the powers it bestowed him, the freedoms that came with it. Had he finally realized that those freedoms came at too high a price?
“As many as she deemed necessary for whatever twisted destiny she thought awaited her.” Anaris scoffed, before turning to them with a smile more forced than usual. “Talking of Fate bores me. Shall we play a game of chess?”
They spent the evening and next day talking of old friends and old memories in the windowless library; Anaris had an uncanny skill for remembering the good and keeping the mood light. He even made them laugh when recounting a harrowing Chantry encounter in Orlais where he’d been sleeping with a rather lenient Revered Mother and had only managed to escape unscathed by seducing a Templar guard when he’d been caught leaving through her window.
“I’m surprised you didn’t burst into flame merely by walking into her chambers,” Melarue chuckled.
“That’s the thing about Orlesians. They want opulent quarters but must maintain an image of piety, so their homes lie outside the church grounds proper. They make it so easy. Though the first time she nearly burned me with her amulet.”
“Ah, a true believer then,”
Anaris looked far too smug as he leaned back in his chair, “Only for a bit. I gave her something else to worship.”
Melarue shook their head and sipped their wine before placing the glass down on the nearby table. “I’m afraid I must excuse myself. It was wonderful catching up with you.” The ticking clock above the mantle told them the sun had set anew, and they would need to get out of the city while night still reigned. 
Anaris stood with them and clasped their hands in his. “I would ask you to stay a while longer, but you seem to have other plans. I hope you’ll come visit more often. Bring Aelynthi and Selene and let me show them the city.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Melarue agreed as they walked out of the library, “It would be good for them to get out more often.” They knew their protectiveness had kept the two confined, and felt guilty over it. Aelynthi was inclined to be reclusive with his art, but it would do him and Selene good to see more than the surrounding towns.
As they reached the front door Anaris paused, still holding their arm. His expression grew grim, the smile fading. “I must warn you, there have been rumors of one of our own feasting upon vampiric essence.”
His searching glance told them all they needed to know. “You think it is Sariandi?”
“Have you spoken with him recently?”
“I have not seen him since I banished him two hundred years ago.” Melarue answered. “What he has done since then, I do not know.” There had been no news, which had been a relief. No bloody massacres close enough for word to reach their estate, at least.
“But Aelynthi would know, if he were near?” Anaris pressed.
“He would.” Melarue nodded, “If he comes, I will tell you. Though you need not fear for yourself. He could not harm you if he tried.” Sariandi had never liked Melarue and Anaris’ closeness, had never liked it when Melarue’s attention had turned toward someone other than himself, but Anaris was old, far too old for Sariandi to think of harming.
“If he has truly devoured others?” Anaris shrugged. “There is always the chance. And it isn’t just myself I’m worried about,” Anaris gave them a knowing look. “Be careful.”
Melarue shook their head. “He wouldn’t kill me, Anaris. That would end his fun.”
As their carriage pulled away from Anaris’ townhouse, his parting words echoed in their mind.
“You don’t need to die to suffer.”
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devsash · 7 years ago
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Draecember Day 15 - Battle for the Exodar Part 3
Part 1
Part 2
Toranos hacked down yet another demon, panting heavily. He felt as though he had been fighting for hours, though he knew only minutes had passed since leaving Bran'uun and Neshein.
O'ros still sang, inspiring confidence in the draenei around him as they fought back the Legion. His song, however, weighed heavily on the death knight.
Toranos could hardly call upon any of his abilities now. Instead, he was forced to rely entirely upon his brute strength. Even that was beginning to fade as well, judging from how heavy his swords were slowly becoming. He needed to find Seselle. Fast.
Reaching the door of the house, he tried the handle, but found it locked. He stepped back, bracing himself, and slammed into it with his shoulder. The door splintered at once and he almost tumbled in, catching himself on the frame just in time. He forced himself to straighten and catch his breath, trying to ignore the incessant throbbing in his head from the Naaru's song.
"Seselle!" he called. "Where are you?"
"H-here," came a small, hiccuped answer.
Toranos squinted in the direction of the voice. Sure enough, he spotted a tiny figure curled under the table. Seselle peered up at him, her eyes puffy from crying.
Toranos stepped inside and knelt before her. "It's okay, little one. I'm here now," he said as soothingly as he could in his rasping voice.
"Where's mama and p-papa?"
"They're safe. We should get going." He patted his back. "Climb on."
Seselle did not move. "I want mama," she said in a small, tearful voice.
Toranos nodded. "I'll take you to her. But first, we need to get out of here." He gave her a mock frown. "You're not scared, are you?"
"N-no," she said, though he heard her sniffle softly. "You'll scare away the b-bad guys?" she asked, wrapping her tiny arms and legs around him.
"Yes." He turned his head slightly to give her a reassuring smile. "I need you to hold onto me as tightly as you can. Can you do that?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good." He straightened, grimacing as he hefted his swords. He did not know how long his strength would last, nor did he intend to find out. Ducking slightly, he made his way as swiftly as he could back to safety.
He ran from cover to cover around the demons, managing by some miracle to avoid detection. Seselle's weight on his back was quickly becoming excruciating, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on, ignoring the tremor in his wrists ,the way his knees threatened to give out with each step, how he gasped for breath as though drowning.
Still O'ros sang.
Toranos blinked sweat-stained strands of hair out of his eyes, peering in the direction of the vindicators on a dais across the corridor. A group of terrified draenei huddled close behind them. He could just glimpse Bran'uun's form lying on the ground, which meant Neshein was probably there as well.
Toranos's heart sank, realising they were still some distance away. "Not that far to go," he whispered more to himself than Seselle. Just to the end of the corridor, then he could rest. So focused was he on this singular goal that he failed to realise he was being followed.
Seselle's alarmed shriek alerted him moments before the Felstalker lunged at him.
Toranos jerked aside at once. He managed to dodge the brunt of its attack, but the creature's huge tusk struck a glancing blow across his right arm. He groaned at the pain, his sword dropping at once from numb fingers.
"Get down, Seselle," he whispered, crouching and helping her off as the demon slowed its headlong charge and began to round back on them.
She climbed off at once, her eyes wide with fright.
"Keep to the wall, little one." He nudged her gently to the side and she followed, crouching down behind some rubble.
The Felstalker pawed the ground before launching itself into another reckless gallop, its maw gaping open to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth.
Toranos raised his left sword, steeling himself. The creature pulled within range. He twisted aside once more and lashed out with his sword, managing to hack off one of the twin tentacles on its back.
The Legion hound let out a rumbling snarl, digging its paws into the floor to slow itself. It pivoted unexpectedly and sprang at him.
Toranos tried to dodge but he was too slow, too weak from the continued assault of the Light.
The hound clamped down hard on his injured right arm. Pain exploded in the limb, almost causing him to black out from the intensity. He raised his sword towards the creature but the Felstalker's remaining tentacle swivelled towards him, the petals peeling back like a grotesque flower as it began to drain what was left of his strength.
The corners of his vision began to go black. It seemed to him like he was watching it all happen to someone else from the end of a tunnel. Even the pain seemed distant. Unreal. He wasn't aware of when exactly he dropped the sword... or was it still in his hand? Was he even holding a sword at all? It did not matter anyway. He was tired, so tired. He needed to rest. Just close his eyes for a moment.
The song of the Light seemed to swell over everything. Its gentle harmony lulled him, calmed him.
Why fight anymore? He was supposed to be resting, not trampling around. He sighed deeply, peace settling upon him like a warm, fluffy blanket. Yes, just go to sleep for awhile.
Something shifted on his chest, pulling him back from his well-earned slumber.
He frowned. What was that? Why wasn't it letting him rest?
It shifted again.
He opened his eyes, his brow creased in annoyance.
The Felstalker was still on him, but it had released his hand, its attention turned away. Toranos peered at whatever the creature was looking at with a vague sense of detached curiosity.
There was a little draenei girl pressed against the wall. She was holding up a piece of rock which she chucked at the demon.
The Felstalker rumbled menacingly as the rubble bounced off its thick scaly hide.
She did not take her eyes off the demon. "I-I'm not afraid of you," she proclaimed in a small, wavering voice.
Seselle. Her name is Seselle. Wasn't he supposed to be protecting her?
Toranos blinked in horror as it all came crashing back. He was here to rescue her, to bring her back to her parents. He tried to stand but could hardly even twitch a finger. The song tried to pull him back down again, but he fought it this time with every fibre of his being. He had to save her!
The Felstalker climbed off his chest, advancing on the child. It approached her unhurriedly, as though aware she had nowhere to run.
Seselle stood up, her eyes brimming with tears. "I-I'm not scared of anything!" she shouted defiantly, her fingers curling into tiny fists.
A loud crash shook the Exodar, making the demon whirl around with a confused growl.
The song of Light permeating the air tinkled mournfully before fading.
The heaviness bearing down upon Toranos lifted. He gasped as power flooded his being, suffusing him, banishing his weariness.
Tendrils of shadow coalesced around his fingers. They lashed out abruptly, coiling around the Felstalker's neck and lifting it into the air. The demon made a horrible choking noise as it struggled in vain to free itself.
Toranos flung it against the wall like a ragdoll. He rolled into a crouch, snatching up his fallen sword in his good hand. With a single fluid motion, he drove the weapon as hard as he could into the Felstalker's chest.
The demon writhed as the runes on the blade ignited with an icy blue flame. Toranos felt his own eyes burning with the Lichflame as he inhaled deeply, drawing the creature's life essence into himself. His mangled hand mended itself, bones realigning and pallid flesh knitting closed. The demon fell limp. Yanking out his sword, Toranos turned to check on Seselle.
"Are you okay, little one?"
Seselle nodded wordlessly. She ran to him and flung her arms around his chest.
Toranos grinned, tipping her chin up and gently brushing away her tears with cold fingers. "You really aren't afraid of anything, are you?"
She shook her head, looking up at him with a trembling smile.
"Good girl."
Picking up his second runeblade from where it lay on the floor, Toranos resheathed it on his hip before scooping Seselle up into his right arm. He lifted his sword in his left hand and pointed it at the dead Felstalker. The runes on the blade flared briefly before the creature's flesh began to distort. Bones ripped themselves out of the skin, converging into a whirling barrier around himself and Seselle.
Toranos set off at a brisk pace down the corridor as Seselle peered at the orbiting bones in awe. They were almost at the vindicators when a bellow from the side drew the death knight's attention.
A Felguard barreled towards him, eyes blazing with fury and greataxe lifted to strike. Seselle whimpered, burying her face against his chest.
Toranos simply pointed his sword at the Felguard. The demon's roar of anger turned into a howl of pain as blisters erupted on its skin, bursting into gaping, bleeding sores. The Fel creature slowed to a stop, its axe clattering to the floor as it clawed frantically at its own flesh.
Toranos was before it within two long strides. Baring his fangs, he raised his sword and brought it down upon the Felguard's head in a single, swift blow. The demon crumpled in a heap at his feet. Toranos shook the blood from his blade before continuing on his way.
He stepped onto the dais, finally allowing the barrier to fall. The nearest vindicator took a horrified step back from him as bones clattered loudly to the floor.
"By the Light!" he exclaimed. "Must you bring your foul necromancy here, death knight?"
Toranos met the paladin's gaze balefully. "My 'foul necromancy' is the only reason we're still alive, Vindicator."
"Seselle!" Neshein rose and pushed her way through the flock of frightened civillians.
The little girl's eyes widened. "Mama!"
Toranos knelt and set her down gently on her feet. Seselle immediately raced into her mother's outstretched arms.
"Seselle, Light be praised," Neshein sobbed, pulling the child into a tight embrace. "I was so scared."
"I wasn't scared, mama." Seselle glanced over her shoulder at him. "Toranos saved me. He chased all the bad guys away."
Neshein looked up at that, her eyes finding Toranos's own. She nodded at him almost imperceptibly before leading Seselle away. "Come, mama'll get you cleaned up..."
Toranos turned away, peering out at the rest of the city.
"The Legion retreated after the death of their commander," a familiar voice nearby said.
Toranos turned to see Bran'uun on the ground. His leg was bandaged and he still looked a little pale. His face was clouded with despair as he peered in the direction of the Seat. "O'ros... He's gone."
Toranos glanced away. "I'm sorry," he said neutrally.
"His death is a great loss to our people, but we'll make it through this." Bran'uun sighed before looking back at the death knight. "Thank you for bringing Seselle back to us, Toranos."
Toranos blinked.
Bran'uun raised a hand at once, evidently seeing the question on the death knight's face before he could voice it. "Neshein told me all about you. I'll always be grateful for what you did here for us all." He offered Toranos a tired smile. "Seselle behaved while she was with you?"
Toranos nodded. "She was very brave."
"That's not surprising." Bran'uun chuckled. "She's always been like that. For all that she looks so much like Neshein, in this respect at least, it seems she takes after her father."
Toranos nodded politely, only half-listening as Bran'uun continued. "After all, it must take a great deal of bravery to become a Vindicator-"
"You're a Vindicator?" Toranos interrupted, regarding the other draenei with renewed interest.
Bran'uun blinked at that before laughing uproariously. "Ah Light, no. I'm just an artificer. I've been working on repairs in the Exodar--"
"Wait, I'm sorry." Toranos held up a hand, confused. "You said her father's a Vindicator."
Now it was Bran'uun's turn to look confused. "Well, weren't you? Before you died?"
Toranos froze. "What are you talking about?" he whispered.
"Neshein never told you?" Bran'uun asked, his eyes widening in realisation.
"Told me what?" A vague sense of fear and panic gripped Toranos's heart as he stared at Bran'uun.
"Toranos." The engineer sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not Seselle's father. You are."
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juniperallura · 7 years ago
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Woman King: Chapter Fourteen
ao3 / header art / playlist
Shiro couldn’t help a weary smile as he urged his dappled mare into the palace courtyard. The last few weeks hadn’t been kind— he was either driving his poor horse to cover more distance in the night, curled on the hard ground, or fraying his nerves in a Galra camp. Every minute he was awake his muscles ached; every minute he was asleep he was pulled deeper into his twisting subconscious. It was hellish, to say the least.
But now, with a warm bath and a soft bed and the sweet sight of Allura within reach, the tension that seized in his hand, his shoulders, his gut, finally began to ease. Even better- when he dismounted, a shabbily cloaked figure with dirty blond hair slid down beside him.
 “It is all the same,” Matt whispered, his gaze sweeping over the familiar arcades of the cloister. His face was pale and gaunt, but his eyes shone with a happiness that had been absent for years.
Shiro clapped him on the shoulder, surveying the castle with a smile. “It’s good to be home, yes?” He realized, with a satisfied thrill, that he was not only speaking to Matt. This was home, and he had come to miss it sorely. 
A shuddering breath escaped Matt. Shiro glanced over to see a tear leave a glistening track down his sooty cheek; but for all the pain in his eyes, a smile pulled at his lips. “I never thought I would see it again,” he said in a broken whisper, “Shiro- I can never thank you properly-”
Shiro only offered his hand, pulling Matt into as tight an embrace as he could manage when he clasped it. “You need not thank me,” Shiro said, shaking his head as they pulled away, “I should have come sooner-”
“You cannot hold yourself accountable-” Matt clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping- “It is only the Galra who are at fault.”  
Shiro nodded. “Would you like me to be there- when you tell them?” Their gazes met, and between them flashed the same somber vision. A small, flat stone, one of many embedded in a field outside the camp, bearing a simple inscription: Samuel Holt. The memory weighed heavily on them both.
Still, Matt gave him a bracing smile. “It’s alright, Shiro.” He reached out to clasp his shoulder, “You’ve done enough. Go, get cleaned up. You wouldn’t want to encounter the queen in this state, hm?”
A dry chuckle dispelled some of the tightness in Shiro’s chest, the thought of his reunion with Allura bringing with it a fluttering warmth. “Well, you do not need to tell me twice.” He turned, just in time to see a shock of orange hair and a fluttering cloak striding through the cloister. “Coran!” Shiro hailed, raising a hand to greet the minister as he practically skidded to a stop. “Do you know the whereabouts of Lady Holt? I return with a gift.”
“Shirogane-” As he approached, Shiro could see that the older man’s face was drawn and wan, unusually deep lines creasing his face. “I see you have returned successfully.” Coran surveyed them with a heavy expression. “You were not intercepted by a messenger on your journey back?”
Shiro’s smile fell slowly into a frown at Coran’s haggard tone. “No.” He tucked his hand under his arm, beginning to feel his pulse quicken as a knot grew in his gut. “What is going on?”
Coran’s face grew grim. “You had best come with me- Lady Holt can wait.”
Ice began to creep into his chest. “Sir. What happened?” he asked, voice low with gathering dread as his mind immediately jumped to the darkest possibility— Allura.
Coran confirmed his fears. “It is Queen Allura. The meeting with Prince Lotor was a trap, a hidden archer-”
A sickening, sinking feeling overtook him. Shiro lurched forward, grabbing Coran’s shoulder with wild eyes. “Where is she? Is she alive?” His words shook with desperation, but he could hardly hear himself over the blood that pounded in his ears.
All he could make out of Coran’s reply was, “Yes, she is-” 
After that, his senses left him. 
He didn’t hear the shriek that came from the other end of the courtyard. “Matthew!” 
He didn’t hear the clattering of footsteps, the rustling of skirts, the choked sobs of disbelief and relief and overwhelming joy. He didn’t see Matt falling backwards as his sister launched herself through the air to tackle him.
All he saw was rippling fabric of Coran’s cloak, leading him away from the courtyard and toward another nightmare. He couldn’t even think; any logical thought had been overtaken by the maelstrom that had exploded in his chest. Shiro had known fear of many types in his life, but none like this. It was black and cold, wrenching at every fiber in his body, like a collapsing star sucking everything into his gut; and yet, simultaneously, fury coursed hot through his veins, burning against the darkness and setting him on fire. 
Fierce anger, directionless yet directed at everyone, radiated from the pit in his chest. He was furious with the royal guard for failing in their duties. He was murderously angry with the Galra and their Prince, whose neck Shiro would have gladly snapped. But almost more so, he was disgusted with himself. He had almost thought himself worthy of her, daring to love her and kiss her and wear her emblem as he abandoned her to pursue selfish redemption—
Suddenly they were in the hospital wing, and the storm melted away at the sight of her.
Allura almost looked as if she could merely be in a blissful sleep, her hands folded over her stomach and chest rising and falling with even breaths; but her face, pale and covered in a sheen of sweat, betrayed her pain.
Shiro fell to his knees at her bedside. His hand hovered before him, shaking in the air above hers— he did not dare to touch. “Allura,” he choked, the word catching on the rawness of his throat. “I- I am sorry-” 
He felt himself collapse and, if only for a brief moment, let himself drown in a cascade of darkness and ragged breathing and hot stinging tears. Then, just as the feeling had swallowed him whole, he drew himself together again, steadying his breaths and drying his eyes. Allura had not stirred. 
Murmuring began to float toward him from the infirmary aisle, and soon Shiro felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, surprised to see Prince Lance looking down at him sympathetically. 
“Lord Prince-” Shiro stood quickly, offering him a short bow. He hesitated, unsure of what to say. The stunted awkwardness of their first meetings was long in the past, but Shiro realized he had never gotten to know Lance beyond his first impression— that of a frivolous young man who engaged in play-outings like a child does make-believe. He admired the prince’s dedication to Keith in the face of the arranged marriage, and was gratified to see his friend happy, but had not given the matter much thought besides. Now they stood facing one another with no bridge between them, and sorely felt its absence. 
Then Lance held out his hand. “I am glad to see you returned safely, Shiro,” he said with a nod. 
“Thank you, Prince Lance.” Shiro grasped his forearm, just then noticing that Lance was wearing his arm guard and breast plate, bow and quiver strapped over his back. He met Lance’s eyes, and suddenly found himself questioning that long held impression. Something had changed in the prince, in the way he carried himself; there was a sense of focus, of solemnity, of drive, that Shiro had never noticed before. Even his gaze had a renewed clarity to it. 
Shiro dragged his hand over his face. “So, Her Majesty, is she-” He couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the question.
Lance sighed, folding his arms as he looked down at his cousin. “I was intercepted by a messenger and arrived about a day after the royal party. Allura was in bad condition, lost a lot of blood.” A deep frown pulled at his features. “She has been fighting an infection this past week,” he said, leaning down to brush a stray lock of hair from her brow, “Her fever finally broke last night. The doctors say the worst is behind us, but...” He trailed off, his gaze lingering on Allura’s face. 
“But what?” Shiro asked. His adamant tone forced the prince to meet his eyes, but when their gazes met Shiro looked away. The piercing blue was too familiar. 
“She will recover.” Lance scratched his head, sighing again. “But to what extent, we cannot be sure. Her leg may never fully heal, and if the infection returns, well-” He paused, glancing at Shiro’s residual limb. 
Shiro let out a slow breath, the knot in his stomach beginning to tighten once more. “Let us pray it does not come to that.”
For a moment the two men stood watching over the queen’s bed in silence. A sharp exhale deflated Lance’s chest and he turned to go. 
Before he parted the privacy curtain, the prince turned back to Shiro. “You know- earlier, before her fever broke,” he said in a soft tone, “She would call for you, in her sleep.” A smile broke over his face. “I was a little jealous, actually. My name came up once or twice. But every other word was Shiro.”
With that, Shiro was left alone. As Lance’s footsteps receded, the only sound in the infirmary became the steady ebb and flow of Allura’s breaths. With a tentative hand, Shiro reached out and smoothed back her silver locks.
The next week passed in a blur. Shiro scarcely knew when he ate or slept; his days, and some of his nights, were mostly spent pacing the infirmary. The hours passed in distress, until Allura would rouse briefly from her slumber and banish his worries with her light. If he was alone in the hospital wing he would sit beside her bed, gently cradling her hand or caressing her hair, and murmur soft reassurances to her until she drifted back into slumber. As the days progressed she gained strength little by little, asking him about his quest for Matt and laughing thinly at his quips. In those moments, when she squeezed his hand and smiled with light in her eyes, Shiro felt as if they were wrapped in their own bubble of warmth, floating frozen in time. 
But, in others, it was like he was slowly falling down a spiral staircase, watching the light of a far away oculus disappear into darkness. Some days Allura could not hide her pain, her smile thinning and gaze becoming unfocused. Some days Coran, joined increasingly by Lance, could hardly hold back the ministers waiting to bombard her with questions about the next phase of the war. At erratic intervals Shiro would feel all his emotion leave him, like water rushing down a drain. Even his fear and worry seemed numb. Then, without warning, something would erupt within him and he would drop everything to rush to the training pitch. Only after watching the chippings of the wooden modules fly from beneath his hacking blade would Shiro begin to feel balanced again.
It was one such afternoon that began his second week back at the castle. 
He had entered the hospital wing to find Keith, Lance, and Matt standing at the edge of the circle of ministers around Allura’s bed, all three murmuring in urgent tones. When they noticed his approach, they all fell silent. A familiar acidity rose in the back of Shiro’s throat. He turned around and left.
Then, as he paced back down the corridor, a snippet of conversation overheard between two generals- one lamenting the sluggish pace of bureaucracy with the Queen’s condition, the other suggesting rather facetiously that they just crown a new King and get on with it- sent heat coursing quick through Shiro’s veins. He pushed past them in the corridor, the infirmary soon behind him as he broke out onto the grounds. As he strode toward the pitch he heard someone calling out from behind him, but he ignored the voice. It sounded again once or twice, but Shiro continued on until he reached the courtyard that marked the entrance to the training grounds.
There was a quick sound of crunching gravel before a hand came down on his shoulder. “Shiro.” The voice was Keith’s. “Might we speak for a moment?”
Shiro clenched his fists, staring straight ahead. “Now is not a good time, Keith. Perhaps later.”
“This is important. We- I worry for you. We have barely spoken, since you returned.” Keith’s hand left his shoulder, but his voice was rough with concern.
Shiro sighed, some of his anger softening. He turned, tucking his hand under his arm. “Alright,” he said, “What is this about? I appreciate your concern, but you needn’t worry about me.”
Keith’s brows knit. “Shiro, it has been nearly a fortnight. You sleep worse than ever, I hardly see you in the mess hall, you haunt the corridors at night like a ghost-” He sighed, shifting as his eyes flitted around the courtyard before returning to Shiro’s. “I know you worry for her, we all do. But you must think of yourself too- and your duties. You’ve neglected nearly all of your training sessions this week, and all the time you spend in the hospital wing— well, people are becoming...” He winced, “Suspicious. Lance and Matt have both heard rumors, of how close you seem to be to Queen Allura-”
Shiro’s eyes flashed, his nostrils flaring. “What exactly are you suggesting, Keith? That my concern for her is inappropriate? That I should just abandon her again to focus on what? These inane training exercises?”
“Shiro,” Keith held up his hands, his voice taking a defensive edge, “You know that is not my meaning-”
Shiro hardly heard his words. The knot of energy that had been twisting in his stomach released in a wave of harsh anger. “Spare me,” he growled, “I know you have no reason to care for her— you are just like the rest, only eager for her to either give another order or die so that you can move on! Do you think Lance will be given the crown, then? Is that what you wait for?” His blood began to pound as his voice rose, rash words bubbling up from a dark crevice in his heart. “I know you were there, in her guard- you just stood and watched while she was shot. You never cared, you let it happen!” Suddenly his hand flew out and slammed against Keith’s chest with a dull thud. 
Keith stumbled backward, his eyes wide, but quickly recovered his balance. With a hard frown he reached out and grabbed Shiro by the wrist. “You know that is unfair,” he said in a voice low and steady, “I say these things because I care, not because I wish to hurt you.”
He released his grip, and with a pained look turned back the way he had come. 
Shiro stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Then his eyes fell on the fountain that stood in the center of the courtyard, its basin reflecting the budding trees in its gentle ripples. Shiro, too, was mirrored in the water. He was gripping the hilt of his blade with white knuckles. His hair was matted, too long around the ears. His beard had grown unkempt and scraggly, and his eyes flashed with a wild glint. 
A sudden wave of shame came crashing over him. He looked toward the grounds, but Keith had already gone. Shiro’s shoulders sagged with a ragged sigh. He leaned heavily against the fountain wall, staring into its depths. He dipped his hand into the cool water, marring his reflection, and splashed it against his face. A warm wind blew through the courtyard.
A week later, Shiro arrived at the infirmary to find Allura sitting propped against her pillows, several leaves of parchment strewn over her lap. The room was deserted, so she beckoned him close. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, noting with a smile how she glowed in the evening light.
“So smooth,” she sighed, running a hand along his clean shaven cheek. 
Shiro chuckled. “Must you really sigh so mournfully while I am still present?”
“I’m sorry, my love,” Allura murmured, the corner of her lip curling upward, “You know I loved your beard.”
“Like all things, it eventually ran its course. But perhaps next winter it will make another appearance.” Shiro gave her hand a squeeze, mirroring her infectious smile. 
Allura bit her lip with a mischievous look. “Well, I suppose you are still handsome, even without it-” 
Shiro shook his head and clicked his tongue. “My, it seems you are recovering. You’ll be belittling me on the training pitch once more in no time at all.” 
“Actually, on the subject— I was given the all-clear by the doctor this morning.” She ran her hand gently over the side of his face, her eyes glinting with hope. “The worst is behind us, Shiro. Officially.”
“Allura-” Shiro cupped her face and brought her into a tender kiss. “That is wonderful,” he murmured against her lips, “I- I worried.” 
Allura leaned into him once more, slowly savoring his touch. “I know.” She sucked in a breath and tapped his chest, her face brightening again. “Now, if you don’t mind terribly, I would like to finally get out of this blasted bed and this blasted infirmary and walk, even if it is with this blasted leg brace-”
Shiro slid his arm under hers with a smile. “Perhaps to the blasted rose garden, milady?”
“Ah, yes, a perfect idea-” Allura leaned against him as she rose unsteadily onto her feet, wincing at the adjustment- “There we will surely avoid my ministers. I swear on my life, Shiro, if I had not shooed them from my bedside earlier I would have committed a terrible act of treason...”
Strolling along the winding pathway into the gardens, the high walls of the castle fell away to reveal a brilliant patch of evening sky, streaked with glowing golden hues. The blooming foliage seemed to reach for the sky, savoring the last of the day’s sun and sheltering the inhabitants of the garden from the bustle of the main grounds. 
Allura clung to Shiro’s arm, slowly growing accustomed to the clunky wooden brace that supported her injured leg. Wandering among the roses and juniberry blossoms, Shiro’s weight steady and warm beside her, she felt safer than she had for a long time. In quiet tones, they talked of everything that had happened in the last weeks.
 “—And I hope you can forgive me, Shiro, for what I put you through. It was a selfish act, I know-”
“Please, there is nothing to forgive.” Shiro met her gaze solemnly, taking her hand to gently guide her to a bench along the path. “You were right in what you did. Keith told me all that happened, and were it about anyone but you I would have hardly believed it. But I could picture it all so clearly.” A grin, proud and hopeful, broke over his face. “You did it, Allura— you ended the war. Just as you vowed you would.” 
“Yes, I- I suppose I did.” A soft smile curved over her features, but she turned her head, letting her gaze graze the top of a distant wall. When at length she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I used to wonder, when I conjured the scenario in my head, if I would hesitate. But I didn’t. I saw my knife, embedded in his chest, and his face, and the blood-” Her eyes, clear and blue, flashed to his. “The vision does not haunt me. I wondered if- if it would-” She paused. “Or if it should.”
Shiro clasped her hand and met her gaze unwaveringly. “You have nothing to regret,” he said, voice low and steady, “You honored your father, and your kingdom.”
Allura squeezed his hand with reciprocal pressure. “Thank you,” she sighed, leaning to lay her hand against his shoulder, “You also acted honorably, you know. You saved Matthew. You reunited a family.”
“I only wish I could have been at your bedside during the darkest hours,” he murmured close to her ear, kissing the crown of her head. 
“That would only have tortured you further. I was so delirious, I could hardly tell Lance from Coran.” She looked up at him with a dry chuckle. “I was just glad to see you had safely returned to the castle, once the fever broke. Seeing you at my bedside, it always gives me strength.”
Shiro turned, his hand leaving her waist to caress the silver locks that framed her face. New lines traced creases around her eyes, but her skin still glowed richly in the sunset. “And all this time,” he said,” I thought you were lending me strength.”
Moisture threatened to sting Allura’s eyes, but they fluttered closed as she leaned to nuzzle her forehead against Shiro’s. She reached up to cradle either side of his face, holding him close to her, savoring his warmth and solidity. Their noses brushed, their lips only an inch apart. “It’s hard to believe that it is finally over,” she breathed.
Shiro drew his hand through her hair. “I know,” he said, mumbling against her skin. He kissed her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally met her lips, full and sweet. A warm breeze stirred the fragrant air. Allura hummed in the back of her throat as she fell passionately into his kiss. Shiro hitched his arm under her legs, pulling her onto his lap as she anchored one hand around the nape of his neck while the other buried itself in his hair, then cupped his face, then clutched his residual limb. Desperately they clung to the warm tactility of one another, hearts bursting with relief and joy as every touch confirmed that yes, they were indeed alive, and safe, and real. 
Both sighed the other’s name, falling deeper into their kiss until neither could remember even to breathe. The intoxicating shroud of dusk, its darkness heavy with spring perfume, fell over the garden as the sun slipped below the castle wall. 
Then, just as the thought crossed Shiro’s mind that he would be content should time stop forever at that moment, a rustling along the path cracked their cocoon. Allura’s eyes flew open, first piercing Shiro with daggers, as he slid her back a respectful distance on the bench, before flying to the path. He had only a second to smooth back his hair and slow his rapid breaths before a figure appeared at the mouth of the clearing. 
Ryner, the gardener, stood bathed in the yellow light of the lantern she held aloft. Her face, wrinkled and sun-tanned, betrayed no surprise at the sight of them. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto one knee, “My apologies if I startled you.”
“Not to worry, Ryner. The garden is your domain, after all.” Allura’s face was smooth with a gracious smile, but Shiro noticed how she clung white-knuckled to the bench. “Please, do not let us disturb your lamp-lighting duties.” She turned to Shiro, her chest still heaving with shallow breaths, and offered him her arm. “We should return to the castle,” she said, “I suppose the ministers cannot be kept at bay forever. And, if you do not mind the burden terribly, I would like to avoid straining myself before I have even healed properly.”
Shiro met the gardener’s eye for a brief moment. “Of course, Queen Allura.” He gave her a nod, gingerly taking her arm and guiding her back the way they had come as Ryner shuffled off.
When they were out of earshot, Allura heaved a frustrated sigh. “It seems it is never truly over,” she muttered.
“I know,” Shiro frowned, kissing her hand as they passed through the shadow between two lamps, “I know.”
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everything-you-mist · 7 years ago
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Recessional
Even from the dark sea she had banished herself to, Israva could feel it. Fel was soaked into every inch of Argus, an aching reminder behind her empty eye sockets that though she had relinquished control of herself months ago to her inner demon, the world outside still had some sway over her. It beat on her back, unseen but always felt even in the depths of this prison. And despite her wishes to be left alone, Darthalesh had kept her informed, his image reflecting on the dark, mirror surface of her mindscape ocean from time to time, just as he was now, shimmering into view in the water below her levitating form.
“We’re assaulting Antorus itself soon. It all ends in a few days at the most.”
She didn't respond. Darthalesh had tried everything to pull her out of her self-imposed exile. He had attacked and threatened Kaleala. He'd taken every foolhardy mission the Illidari was willing to give them, pushing their body to the absolute limit. He'd tried every threat and screamed at her until he was hoarse.. But nothing worked. Some distant part of her cried out silently at every slight, but the cold grip of her despair refused to allow her even to move.
The demon had been true to his word, the dreadlord had indeed wanted the Legion destroyed for what it had done to his world, his story just one of similar thousands that marched on the Burning Throne. So, despite his hundreds of threats, he hadn't betrayed the Illidari and returned to the Legion. Instead, they marched with the Illidari and the Army of the Light into hell itself.
Even as they did, Israva was unmoved. She stayed in her ocean of calm, her mind’s image of her suspended a few feet above the serene surface of black water. Only the stench of fel and the beating heat reminded her there was a real world at all.
“We’re beginning our assault, Israva.” Darthalesh said softly. “This is likely to be our end. Will you not at least fight this last battle willingly?”
“I hadn't planned to.” She croaked in response. She briefly wondered why her vocal cords would show signs of misuse here, seeing as this place and this version of herself were illusions, but the thought passed quickly, sliding off her mind like water added to her sea.
Darthalesh didn't respond right away. He studied her through his milky dreadlord eyes, pity and confusion mixing behind them. “I see. That's too bad, really. I had hoped you would make this easier.”
He waved a hand dismissively  and with a jolt, Israva found herself forced down, her sea hardening into black glass as she hit. She could hear Darthalesh walking nearby, the unmistakable sharp sounds of his hooves coming toward her, now solid in her mind’s eye. Israva stayed on the ground, but from where she curled, she could look up at him, meeting his disapproving stare.
“I think, dear girl, you've forgotten what exactly you're dealing with. I've tolerated your self-pity, self-loathing and despair for quite long enough. You are going to be conscious for this, and I will force you if necessary.” In a burst, the dreadlord exploded into dozens of bats, descending on her. Tiny claws gripped almost every inch of her body, dragging her down, deep into the black glass, toward the green core at its center, fire burning in an infinite ball. Consciousness. Facing the monster she had made herself into. She screamed as she got close and struggled with all the strength she'd forgotten she had, pushing to swim up, to return to blissful agony! But it was no use.
The horrible world around her fuzzed into spectral focus. Darthalesh was still in control but now Israva had a front seat to her own destruction. She could see the Lightforged all around her, and soldiers from every walk of life marched alongside them. Demon hunters and druids pressed on, side by side, the priests and warlocks keeping eyes forward toward their common enemy. Antorus looked impossibly large and threatening on the horizon, the blue of Azeroth’s seas filling much of the sky behind the imposing fortress.
This was it. The end of the Legion that had stolen her future, her family. She could feel her spark of defiance rekindling as she stared at the sheer green walls, and her hatred began to grow again. It was the Legion’s fault, from satyr to dreadlord.
“Ahh… now you begin to stir. Good… good.” She could feel Darthalesh releasing control as she strengthened, her glaives becoming real in her hands, the acrid smells of fel and unwashed soldier filling her nose as it became hers once more. She marched with the army through the gap the Vindicaar had made and into the depths.
Then all was chaos. Under the vigil of the Vindicaar, the army charged, war cries ringing out in unison. Large demon captains, their soldiers and a fel reaver awaited them, just a prelude to the real fights that would be ahead.
Demon after demon fell to her blades. She was a whirlwind of motion, a furious storm that screamed defiance against Sargeras himself. She could do this! She could stand with the army, destroy the Legion, return home triumphantly and--She stopped in her tracks, mid-swing. She could feel the burning tension in her gut, a white hot pain that rolled over her senses, and made time lose all meaning. Her world became silent, the sounds around her muffling to a dull roar, barely audible above the single pump of her heart. Her eyes were pulled down out of habit, the empty sockets useless for actually seeing what her spectral sight told her to be true. The violet hand of the wrathguard in front of her held the hilt of a black sword, the blade of the weapon extending toward her, through her. She could feel the too-slow momentum of the blade still being pushed through her, the strength of the blow pulling her along with the swing. Her heart pumped again, the agonizing thump reminding her that with each beat, she was dying. In this false calm, she had time to wonder how she had missed that attack.
Time betrayed her, returning to its normal tempo. The slow swing became like the swing of a goblin’s golf club, throwing her up and off the blade. She hit the ground on her shoulder, the force of the blow releasing her grip on the glaives as she gasped from the shock and pain. Her stomach and back were warm, she couldn't think straight. Darthalesh was screaming. Her vision began to swim, she lost all sense of where she was. She could see Shadehaven, her baby daughter, her mother Lyllysea in her stunning blue and green leathers, her brother Therion as he had been in their childhoods, before the demons had stolen him, heart and soul. She could see Althallas. Althallas.. the love of her life, the light in the darkness of her young adult life. She could see him, channeling Elune’s divine storm against the demons of Antorus. She didn't remember that memory, how very..
She looked again. It had to be her dying mind playing tricks on her. But then he turned and she could see his eyes. They were angry, steeled in the fires of combat.. but she knew. She would know his face anywhere. He was here.
And then he saw her. Through the scars, the missing eyes and demonic horns, through the broken, scaly skin, he saw her. And she saw the flicker of recognition, the confusion all over his still so handsome face. Althallas.
The edges of her spectral sight began to fade, her mana bleeding out as quickly as her blood. There was so much to say, and no time to say it. No time for apologies, or renewed vows of love, or even a hello. Just this one silent moment, their eyes locked in silent acknowledgment that they had both survived that night so long ago, lost and apart. Israva slipped away, millions of miles from home, so much left undone. But this final glance at the most important person to her in all the Great Dark would have to be enough.
(( “When someone leaves your life, those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying; others are abrupt and unfair; but most are unremarkable, unintentional and clumsy.” -Griffin McElroy
Israva went places I never intended her to go. I can blame rng, or lack of ic support for the path she took (and please know that isn't accusatory. If I wanted the world to revolve around my characters, I'd write a book), but honestly? I'm okay with this. I've toyed with sadness, but not true tragedy. Not like this, not this abrupt, unfair ending to a character I sunk hours into.
I'm sad of course, but Israva had no place she belonged to. Not really. She sacrificed everything, and in the end, she was left with nothing. Left with not even the knowledge that anyone will realize she's truly gone. It's fitting, in a strange way. She came in like a whirlwind and died as quickly as she arrived. Suddenly, painfully, bitterly.
To those who had a hand in Israva’s story: Thank you.))
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taelight · 8 years ago
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Sinful Knight (m)
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Summary: Even though you’re due to be married to Prince Jimin, you can’t help letting your Knight, Jungkook, into your bed.
Pairing: Jungkook/Reader
Warning: princess!reader, knight!jungkook, dirty talk, virginity, infidelity
Word count: 1.416
A/N: I like au’s. I’ll probably write more in the future. Thank you if you read!
“For a Princess, you sure are dirty.” Jungkook growled, his teeth scraping against your neck.
“Jungkook, you must be quiet, we can’t be caught.”
Your knight chuckled lowly, his voice vibrating your skin.
“Says the one who’s a fucking mess all over her bed.” Jungkook hissed. “You’re practically soaking through your little panties.”
You whimpered at his dirty words. He was right. The fabric of your white panties stuck to your core, made almost completely transparent by your juices. The heat from his hands on your almost-bare body was too much. Having a man touch you like this was a sin, something that could never be forgiven if anyone found out. Your people would shame you, banish you. Your father would have a severe punishment; most likely behead Jungkook for defiling you.
But in this moment, the consequences were the last thing on your mind.
His hands suddenly cupped your breasts through your bra, a soft fabric akin to silk. He had half a mind to rip the thing off you but, if anyone found the ripped article there would be trouble. Your body ached for his direct touch, muscles tensing as he unclipped the bra from your body to drop it next to the bed.
“You have such a beautiful body, Princess, too bad I can’t destroy it.” He sighed dramatically, a pained look on his face. His expression quickly changed to one of sadistic intent. “But I can use it up so no man will ever be able to satisfy you ever again…not even your future husband.”
His words sparked shame within you.
Jimin. Your husband-to-be.
You didn’t have time to dwell on it because Jungkook’s lips attached to your pert nipple. His tongue lashed and sucked, making the bud harden in his mouth. You cried out and gripped onto Jungkook tightly, your fingers unable to find purchase on his sweat-slicked back. You could feel his muscles flex underneath your touch as he held himself up above you to abuse your bud.
“That feels so good, Jungkook.” You cried out, clutching your silk bedsheets in your hands.
You could feel Jungkook chuckle at your confession. His hand travelled down your body to your panties. He slipped his hand underneath the fabric, touching your slick folds for the first time. You could hear how wet you were from the slick sounds his fingers made as he touched you. He used his fingers to circle your clit, already swollen with your arousal.
“Can you hear that, Princess? Hear how hungry your body is for me?” He whispered, biting lightly at your breast. You whimpered in response, giving a small nod.
The sound of your juices was only serving to make you more aroused. More of your juices leaked out while Jungkook’s fingers continued to play. He pressed at your entrance, pausing for a moment before sliding a single finger inside you.
Your reaction was explosive, your body grew taut and he could see the veins in your neck pop from the effort it took you not to scream. He smirked at your reaction. Virgins were always so sensitive and you were no exception, having never had a man touch you this way.
“Please, please, please.” You whispered as you rocked your hips into Jungkook’s hand. You had no clue what you were begging for but Jungkook seemed to know as he yanked your panties down with one hand.
You were left completely exposed to his hungry gaze. He wrenched your thighs open, your heat opening up to him. He hissed as he slid another finger inside of you. Your walls stretched around his fingers and you whimpered. He curled his fingers to hit a spot that made your hips jerk off the bed in shock. The pleasure was immense, you’ve never felt this way before. The new experience of such pleasure brought tears to your eyes.
A cry was ripped from you when Jungkook removed his fingers from your core. He shed his pants, letting them lay on the side of the bed, not bothering to push them off. He pinned your thighs open, lining his cock up with your dripping entrance.
“You want this, Princess?” He asked, pressing his lips against your cheek to press a surprisingly chaste kiss to it.
“Yes, please Jungkook.”
You cried out as your knight slid his cock into you. Your arousal made his entrance easy but there was a slight sting. Jungkook didn’t hesitate to set a rough pace, barely waiting for you to adjust. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room as the smell of sex filled the air. Your moans and cries of pleasure were rising so much so that Jungkook was forced to cover your mouth with his hand.
“Wouldn’t want one of the maids coming in here and catching you, would we?” He chuckled at the terrified expression that filled your eyes.
His cock was pounding into that spot, this time the pleasure was amplified by a ton. Your body was trembling and twitching at every thrust he made. The hand not covering your mouth cupped your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You rolled your hips into his thrusts, meeting him every time. Your walls were incredibly tight around his cock, hugging him and coating him in your juices.
His hand abandoned your breast and nipple to travel down your body to your clit. His fingers circled the bud, amplifying your pleasure. Your cries raised, still muffled by his hand. You clawed and clung desperately to the man above you, your nails sinking into his flesh. He dropped his head close to your ear to whisper to you.
“Does it feel good, Princess? Having a man inside you like this?” He chuckled at the shaky nod you gave him. His scent was overwhelming you, he smelled so good. Like lavender, you briefly wondered why. But, your thoughts were rerouted when he began to kiss your neck.
You could feel his nip and suck lightly at the skin he zeroed in on, being sure not to leave a mark. As much as he wanted to show to world that you were his now, he knew he couldn’t. The consequences were simply not worth it. But he briefly toyed with the idea.
His fingers still worked your clit, driving you closer and closer to an explosive orgasm. You struggled slightly to escape the stimulation, it all was becoming too much for your virgin body. But he held you down, forcing you to ride the euphoric stimulation.
“Cum, Princess. Let me see you cum for me.”
His dirty words set you off. Your back bowed and you felt eat explode through your body. Your body was sent into overdrive, you clawed at Jungkook’s body, needing him to ground you. He pressed his hand tighter on your mouth as you all but screamed through your orgasm.
When you came down, Jungkook continued to pound into you. You whined and whimpered, pushing at his hips to try and stop him, the overstimulation far too much for you to handle. He was panting and letting out soft moans of his own. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, the feeling foreign but knowing you caused him pleasure boosted your ego.
Just as his orgasm started, he pulled out of you. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking his length as he let out soft moans. You could feel your body heating up again as he came. His cum painted your stomach as he let out a long, drawn out groan. His pumps on his cock slowed before stopping altogether.
He stared down at you, the both of you panting and worn out. But that didn’t stop him from getting up from the bed and grabbing a cloth to wipe his cum off your skin. He busied himself with sliding his pants back on and collecting his clothing.
“You should get dressed, Your Highness. Your maids will wake you in the morning.”
He collected your panties and bra and handed them to you. You sat up in bed and shakily slid the garments on before standing. Jungkook approached you and helped you put your nightdress back on. The fabric fell below the knees and smelled vaguely of him from when he was holding you earlier in the evening.
You smiled softly at him. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead.
“See you later, Princess. Have fun with Prince Jimin tomorrow…”
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