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Storm, Swell, Sword - Chapter 2
Title: Storm, Swell, Sword (Chapter 2) Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Pairing: Zenos/female Warrior of Light Rating: M Warnings: Blood, character death, suicide Summary: The battle is won, but at what cost?
[Twelve years previous...]
I would almost swear the construct in front of me, the lifeless mass of wood and straw, is taunting me.
"You know what to do, girl," come words at my ear that I still can't grow used to, echoing from the strange device fitted there, but though I startle and shake my head harshly like I do every time, it remains fixed firmly in place and the voice continues on. "Our test results show that you should have no difficulty whatsoever drawing on the aspect of water - and the Praefectus is becoming most displeased that you still apparently refuse to do so. I would advise you not to continue with this recalcitrance; you know what will happen should you outlive any...use you may have to the Empire. You understand me, do you not? Then get to work. I expect to see some progress by the time this session is over...or I am afraid you will quite mislike what happens."
(I'm certain I would mislike it no matter what happens, but I remain silent.)
The device buzzes once, then falls blessedly silent, and after a few deep breaths I almost feel I can concentrate again, taking a shaky step forward and tilting my head back to look up at the towering dummy. More than twice my height, painted in imperial black and crimson to cut a foreboding figure, it is scarred with the marks of countless blades, its paint scorched and splintered from myriad magicks - some of it, I will admit, my own, though to recall the pitiful flames that were all my small body could call forth is most embarrassing. Would that I could draw on stronger energies, then perhaps...but no, it's no use thinking about it, not when it only sends me even further down the spiral of fear and self-loathing, and so I push the thoughts away to take a shaky stance and close my eyes.
Focus--
Deeper, ever reaching, grasping at threads of something cool and fluid and indistinct.
Something that, still, will not answer me.
What is it that I'm missing? What is wrong?
I know not how much time passes, how many attempts fail, before the voice sounds again, but by then I am all but consumed with miserable fury, my fists clenched tight and tears pouring mute down my face. "Truly, you make for a most pitiful sight," it says, followed by a sigh, but then somewhat unexpectedly, the words soften just enough to be noticeable. "Very well; you will get nowhere in such a state. You may have a small respite, as it would well serve no one were you to do harm to yourself. Get ahold of yourself and we shall continue." --and somehow that stings far worse than any scolding, striking against something painful I have not the words to name, something that spurs me to drag myself up to my full (yet inconsiderable) height and once more face that Twelve-damned dummy, salt trails burning hot on my cheeks from humiliated anger. I will not stand for this - I cannot, the insult that even those who would imprison me are trying to show pity proving too much to bear--
It is as I am reaching deep again that I sense a presence behind me, one that I am certain was not there before, and terror blooms within me as I whirl, a chill maelstrom seeming to erupt within my chest.
The water that I have somehow - finally, amazingly - pulled from the aether that surrounds me flies from my fingers, aimed straight and true into the face of the golden-haired young man who stands several yalms away.
A face I...have seen before.
We merely blink at each other for a long moment - him in drenched, placid bemusement, me in a mixture of jubilation and horror at what I've done - and then it is as if time itself comes alive from being unceremoniously frozen, a cacophony of panic arising, but just as numerous figures are converging on the training ground, the young man puts out a hand to stop them all without once breaking eye contact with me. "Wait," he says, sharp and detached, with all the air of someone who is used to giving orders and having them followed without question - and while I should probably be grateful for it, I am only beginning to feel a bit sick at the apparent gravity of my inadvertent actions. "Take not one more step. I would observe for a time longer."
The owner of the voice that has so tormented me - the pale-faced, white-coated official who is eyeing me with horrified fury - takes a step forward nonetheless, only to pale further and freeze in place when the young man's head turns towards him slightly. "But - Lord Zenos, this impudent brat must not--"
Wait. What did he just say...?
The young man, I realise with a start, is none other than Zenos yae Galvus - great-grandson of the Emperor, potential future heir to all Garlemald--
It seems I have apparently, in all my infinite wisdom, just done the aetheric equivalent of throwing a water balloon at Garlean royalty, and the fear that wells within me is nigh overwhelming in its intensity.
"I would observe," Zenos repeats, all sharp edges and crystalline chill, and if I were not terrified beyond belief right now, I would likely think it funny that they all take a nervous step back as one at his icy tone. "Alone. Or do you think me incapable of fending off a single frightened child, should she somehow find the courage to even twitch a finger?"
"That is - I merely - er..." The official visibly deflates, takes another step back, and though I had never imagined I might feel sympathy for his like, I do understand how he must feel as he bows his head in resignation. "M-my sincerest apologies, Lord Zenos. I, ah - I would only ask that you do not interfere with...with the remainder of the session. There is still far more data to be obtained - n-now that whatever apparent stumbling block was in the way has been overcome, I would - I would see just how much power the child might be able to bring to bear - b-but of course you are more than welcome to observe," he's almost stumbling over the words by the end, so quickly is he rushing to get them out, and when Zenos' posture shifts like he's about to turn, that's enough to send the man turning tail and fleeing back into the safety of wherever it is he's been unceremoniously taunting me from, only one last hurried burst of speech trailing behind him. "W-we will - resume in five minutes, no more--"
Zenos flicks his fingers, like he's scattering droplets from them, and sweeps wet hair back out of his face, still not breaking eye contact with me as he takes a slow, leisurely step forward. "...You. What is your name?"
It takes me a moment to remember I can speak, surprise and fear warring with each other to keep a tight grasp on my throat, and I can't keep my ears from flattening forward in nervous humiliation when the first attempt results in nothing but a nearly inaudible squeak; thankfully, he does not seem to take offence (or perhaps is just hiding it well), and the second try produces enough voice for me to form words. "...Y'senia. I...I think."
"You think," he echoes, one eyebrow raising slightly, looking most unimpressed. "You cannot even be sure of your own name?"
My shoulders hunch a little, instinctively, and I look down at the ground, ears flattening further and tail tucking between my legs - I should have expected that response, I know, but somehow it stings anyway, in a way it never has any of the previous times I've heard it from others. "..."
Zenos studies me for a long moment, then slowly nods and folds his arms, though his expression does not change. "Ah," he says, with the air (but not the tone) of someone who has just made a momentous discovery, "I know who you are--" and that surprises me, because I can think of no reason one of the royal family would know of my existence at all. "The so-called aetheric prodigy, the child who would become a weapon of the Empire. How...fortuitous, I suppose; I had wished to judge your skill for myself - and now the chance is before me. Very well, then." A toss of his head, sending tiny drops flying from the ends of his hair, and he nods towards the dummy, still expressionless. "What can you do?"
It takes me a moment to answer, because I'm still mentally reeling at what I've just been told - a prodigy? A weapon? - but finally, I find at least a few words perhaps suitable, keeping my eyes down. "I - I'm s-sorry. If they told you I'm any good - they lied," and I can't keep the bitterness from my tone, feeling that as long as Zenos stands between me and that damned official, I may be safe enough to get away with it. "I-if you're going to punish me for what I've done, then...then get it over with. I didn't mean to..." my shoulders hunch further, and despite everything, I can't keep my tail from lashing just a little, which betrays the anger I'm trying to hide behind my hopeless deference. "Please. At least...make it quick."
"No," Zenos responds slowly, almost drawing it out, and when I raise my eyes to look at him in surprise, he looks strangely...intrigued, somehow. "Punishing you is not my intent. I mean to observe, as I said." Another nod towards the dummy, one hand coming up to flick at his still-wet hair. "...You have done it once, you can do it again. I would see that technique of yours used on something other than <em>me</em>. Unless," he continues, and now the corner of his mouth curls into the briefest of smirks, "you truly think yourself unable to spend your impotent fury on something that cannot fight back?"
(I would almost think actual amusement coloured his words, if I were a bit more certain I could read him at all.)
"Is that the case, then? I see...I have no choice." Zenos doesn't even wait for me to say anything; he casts a disinterested glance about the training ground, then faces me squarely, and he's definitely smirking as he spreads his arms wide, seeming to relish my confusion. "If the only way I am to ascertain your skill is to bear it, then so be it. Spend yourself on me, little weapon - show me the fire within you. Show me why you have been kept. Why you have survived. Make it worth my while," his eyes narrow, and while the coldness in his expression brings fear, it also sets a strange determination alight in my chest. "Do not make me regret acknowledging you."
I can dimly hear a clamour of voices behind him, the damned white-coats clearly meaning to make another appearance at his reckless behaviour, but somehow, I don't care - somehow, I know that as long as he stands between me and them, as long as he looks at me with that challenging gaze, I need not be afraid.
If he wants to bear the brunt of my pain, I will let him - because his words have shown me exactly why I can't seem to overcome my own self.
Something that cannot fight back...is not worth my time.
"...I won't," I whisper, reeling with the realisation, and when I reach deep with my mind this time, the power that swells in me is a beautiful crescendo.
******
Silence falls across the Menagerie at long last, and I come back to myself with a start. Is...it over?
One quick glance around seems, at least, to confirm exactly that. Lyse and Alphinaud flank me on either side, where they'd taken up positions there when they'd burst onto the scene a short time before, and another glance sets my senses on the unmoving form sprawled in the flowers only a few yalms away, on dark armour and sun-bright hair and the scent of blood - and I'm starting forward before I can stop myself, but I am so exhausted that I get only half a step before I drop to one knee, my head spinning and my pulse pounding unsteadily in my ears. "Did," I manage to pant out, and though I want to shrug Alphinaud off when he's immediately near with healing magic at his fingertips, I can't quite manage it. "Did we...win?"
"It seems like it," Lyse agrees, breathless and still a little angry, and then she's kneeling next to me too, lifting my head with a knuckle under my chin so she can look me in the eye, the worry in her expression almost too much to bear. "But never mind that, for the moment - are you all right, Y'senia? I've never seen you fight like that," she pauses, her eyebrows drawing together into a frown, and I feel her fingertips on my neck, tracing skin just above the collar of my shirt. "I would almost think you were...possessed, or something of the like. You were so angry - what did he do to you, before we got here?"
"He didn't hurt me--" I can't quite keep the defensive tone from my voice, but thankfully, if she notices, she doesn't comment. "...I'm sorry. I think I...during the fight, I had a vision. It must have distracted me so much I couldn't hold back..." The last part isn't a lie, at least, and it wouldn't be the first time the Echo has sent me into a frenzy, though admittedly it doesn't happen often. "...Never mind that; listen to me. Please. The eikon...I didn't have to fight him, if not for that! He was going to let me slay it, but - but when he let it free..." my shoulders shake violently once, and I'm forced to take a deep breath and hold it for a moment to calm myself. "It took him over, Lyse - it made him attack me. I know this sounds unbelievable, but I swear it's the absolute truth! This didn't...it didn't have to end this way..."
Lyse purses her lips in a sour frown, tracing my neck again; she definitely doesn't believe me, I'm certain of it. "And what of this, then? This doesn't look one bit like 'not hurt', Y'senia. In fact, it looks rather like something tried to take a bite out of..." she trails off, and I'm not honestly sure whether I want to run away, kick myself, or pretend I don't know what she's talking about. "...No. Don't tell me he did it. Do not."
"I won't," I counter sulkily, and then I really do want to kick myself, because that isn't exactly disagreeing with the concept.
"He didn't. You didn't." Lyse gives me an appalled look, or at least, what I'd assume is one - I'm not looking at her face to confirm it, after all. "Are you honestly saying that you and he--"
"He didn't force me! Don't even think it." Since she's obviously figured it out anyway, I'm not even going to bother trying to deny it; I'm too worn out, anyway, finally just lifting my gaze to hers, ignoring the dull headache throbbing behind my left eye. "I don't expect you to believe me. A few hours ago I wouldn't have believed me either. But I...I understand him now, and I - he - I meant it, when I said I wouldn't have had to fight him. He just wanted...someone who knew how he felt, and who was strong enough to face him as an equal..." taking a slow breath, I close my eyes, because they're threatening to well up with tears. "...It's my fault the eikon took him, Lyse. He was too exhausted after we - after - you know - and he couldn't fight it off. It's all my fault we had to fight him at all..."
Lyse draws breath to say something, probably an infuriated protest, but Alphinaud beats her to the punch, shaking his head. "Lyse, please. Y'senia is not one to lie, nor to take lives indiscriminately, even should they belong to an enemy - it is rather unexpected, but honestly, I believe her. If she says there was no need to fight Zenos, had the eikon not interfered...then that must indeed be the case." Eyeing my neck for himself, he reaches up as if to heal that mark too, but then seems to decide against it, for which I can't help but be a little grateful in the back of my mind. "I would imagine she feels guilty enough as it is, and judgment is the last thing she needs right now. Pray hold your scoldings for the moment, won't you?"
(Honestly, I could almost kiss him for that.)
"...You're right," Lyse agrees reluctantly, lets the tension out of her shoulders with a heavy sigh, then puts her arms briefly round me in a gesture as much displeased squeeze as it is apologetic hug. "We have more important things to worry about for the moment, anyway. We may have won, but--"
No longer really listening, I draw away and struggle to my feet, steps unsteady as I move to where Zenos' body is laying and kneel beside him - he looks so peaceful, really, and for a moment it hurts almost too much to bear, but soon enough I'm able to push the grief away and extend a hand to his neck, my heart feeling like it's leapt into my throat when I feel a weak but steady pulse beneath my fingers. "Alphinaud, quickly! He lives still," I burst out, and perhaps reacting more to my urgency than the actual words, Alphinaud is instantly at my side. "Pray assist me - there is still time! We must help him!"
"You are mad," Lyse murmurs, but the vitriol has left her voice, and she isn't trying to stop us.
With the both of us hard at work, it's only a few (interminably long, if you ask me, though I know better) moments before Zenos groans and stirs, and it's almost embarrassing how thoroughly relief floods me when his eyes open, exhausted recognition coming into his face when he sees me. "Ah," he says, barely a breath, and then he's laboriously pushing himself upright, shoulders shaking violently with a sharp cough that sends blood spattering across his lips. "So you have prevailed...after all. Just as expected...from the Bringer of Light," and I would almost swear he's smiling, but the expression is so vague it's hard to tell - or perhaps it's just my own worried fear rendering me unable to parse it properly. "I am impressed. That even in such a hopeless situation, you would not hold back...truly, we are--" he interrupts himself for another fit of coughing, pressing his hand to his mouth, and he's out of breath by the time he can speak again, giving his head a slow and careful shake. "One and the same...indeed."
"Zenos," I murmur, soft and anguished, and though I want to reach for him, something stays my hand. "I..."
"Nay - save your words." Another headshake, this one slightly firmer, and Zenos reaches out to close trembling fingers round the hilt of his dropped sword, using it as support to climb to his feet in what I can only describe as a sad mockery of his usual proud posture. "I regret nothing, not one moment. In clashing with you, I feel I have found what it means to be happy - a feeling that for twenty-six long summers has remained far outside my grasp. Having tasted such perfection, after all this time...if I were to perish on the spot, 'twould be no tragedy, but only a fitting end, an everlasting peace." Tilting his head back to look up at the sky, at the wisps of cloud that scutter by overhead, he takes a laboured breath, and the silence that follows makes me feel he is carefully deliberating on his next words. "Yes...peace. Yet as long as I remain in this world, there will be no peace. Through you, I have realised that."
"Pretty words," Lyse hisses, her hands in tight fists, as if she's only just holding herself back from attacking - I suppose I can't blame her, but at the same time, I feel cold all over with the urge to defend him, and that's not so easy a thing to push aside. "But words are only that. Y'senia may believe you have seen the error of your ways - and I know not what you've done to her to convince her of that - but I don't believe it, not one bit. A monster like you, a rabid animal, does not so simply go from snapping at throats to trailing at heels! And you speak of feelings, of happiness, like you would know them? I could almost laugh. How ridiculous."
A subtle tension threads itself into Zenos' shoulders, but he doesn't react further; he simply lowers his gaze to look at her, expression unreadable, and then exhales a sigh of quiet resignation. "Say of me what you will - it matters not. One cannot force another to believe their words, and I would not be suffered to try at any rate. Not even if the time that remains to me could be measured in anything but mere moments." Another slow breath, then he is raising his sword, and for a few dizzying instants I'm genuinely confused as to what he's about to do - until he settles the edge of the blade at his own throat, resting it feather-light against his skin, sending icy horror lancing through me so strongly that I nearly go to my knees from the force of it. "This moment...ah, this moment. If only it could last forever...the transcendent joy, the feel of my heart beating out of time. It is...so clear, so vivid...so real, in a way that I have never known...not until you--" he turns his head to look at me, and when he sees the tears that have welled up in my eyes, he gives me a soft, sympathetic smile. "Do not grieve me, Warrior of Light. I regret nothing - I do not fear the end. Sooner would I let slip the threads of my own life while I still know happiness...rather than return to the solitary cage from which you have freed me."
I want to speak; I want to cry out, to tell him to stop, to stop him myself - but I cannot move, I cannot speak - I cannot even breathe.
"Farewell, Y'senia," Zenos murmurs, and his smile is so dazzling, so warm. "My first friend...my enemy. My kindred spirit."
Several things happen at once: Lyse is in motion, lunging to stop him; Alphinaud takes a step back in utter horror; and as a single swift movement sends blood spraying into the air, I scream.
As he falls, so too do I - the myriad emotions are too much, and I am glad for the stifling unconsciousness that takes me in their wake, sparing me for at least a little while.
#final fantasy xiv#nsfw#character: zenos yae galvus#character: warrior of light#character: lyse hext#character: alphinaud leveilleur#pairing: zenos x female wol#warning: blood#warning: death#warning: suicide
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Storm, Swell, Sword - Chapter 1
Title: Storm, Swell, Sword (Chapter 1) Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Pairing: Zenos/female Warrior of Light Rating: M Warnings: Blood, biting Summary: This battle isn't exactly going the way Y'senia had planned. Or even hoped.
Standing before Zenos, his maniacal laughter ringing in my ears, I can't even honestly put words to what it is I feel.
"Such ferocity...such tenacity," he breathes as the laughter calms enough to allow him to speak, taking a slow and measured step forward, and I want to back away even despite the several fulms of distance still between us, but it is as if my feet are simply rooted to the spot. "I am loath to recall how disappointed I was when first we fought...but finally, finally, after bathing in the blood and offal of your enemies, finally you prove yourself worthy prey for the hunt! I could not have orchestrated events in any finer way than they have come to pass...truly, fortune has smiled upon me by bringing you this far, at last a ripened fruit from the tree of war." Another step, he takes, and another, my instincts screaming at me to turn tail and flee but my traitorous legs moving not the slightest bit. "Now, pray tell me something, if you would?"
I will tell you nothing, I want to cry, but no matter how hard I try, my voice is as recalcitrant and unresponsive as the rest of me.
"It fills you even now, doesn't it? The hunger." His face is perfectly calm now, tranquil even, and yet somehow all the more terrifying for it, his eyes seeming to bore into mine with laser-sharp intensity. "To overpower me, to make me helpless before you - beneath you. To bite down on my jugular, to feel the warmth fill your mouth and run over as you drink deep. To have your fill of my body, using it to satiate your own bestial desires as though I am a mere toy created for your usage. Nay, do not speak - I can see it in your eyes," he is directly in front of me now, staring down at me with the very faintest hint of a sharp smile, and for a single heart-stopping moment I have the wrenching fear that he is about to end me right then and there as his blade lifts towards my throat, only to find myself relieved and baffled in equal measure when all he does is settle the flat of it against my neck, sliding it gently over my skin in a whisper-soft caress of shimmering steel that makes my knees feel strangely weak. "Those desires, Warrior of Light - they overwhelm you, do they not? They render you helpless, unable to do anything but simply...react. Why do you suppress them - why do you not drive them out, when all they do is hold you back?"
The blade leaves my neck, edge glinting in the light, and the terror rises within me again until he does something completely unexpected; he goes to one knee before me, surprisingly graceful even encumbered as he is with the bulky armour that shields him, and I find my gaze inadvertently drawn to the curve of his flawless neck as he tilts his head to bare it, instinctively swallowing hard as I cannot help but focus on the strong pulse that beats there. He must be mad, this must be some sort of trick - but I can do precisely nothing about the alarm bells shrilling in the back of my mind, my eyes widening and my breaths growing quicker as his hand comes up to grasp my chin delicately in armoured fingers. "Good, good...this is the beast I have longed to face. The being of bloodthirst and desire, of single-minded longing. And I intend," his voice drops now, nearly a whisper, and as he draws me in closer to him with the gentlest of tugs, I am completely unable to resist. "To enjoy every single moment of this new battle of ours. The stage is set...and we have only to begin."
The heat that radiates from him, the scent of him, is enfeebling, intoxicating - it makes me feel as if my body is no longer my own, and as he deliberately leans forward and presses his neck to my trembling lips, I entirely cease to realise this is any cause for alarm.
My teeth bite deep, the tang of copper filling my senses, and I am lost.
"Yes, just like that. Drink your fill of me," Zenos murmurs, low and rough, wrapping his hand round the back of my head to hold me there though I have no intent to pull away, my nerves alight with the overwhelming heat that is now rising within me. "Sate your thirst, your hunger - you need not fear, for I desire it just as much as you do. Or perhaps...more..." he trails off, into a sound that is some mixture of a laugh, a contented hum and a pleased moan, sending a fierce shiver down my spine. "Ahh...you are perfect, utterly exquisite. I was not wrong in allowing you to live, in supposing you would gain the strength to stand as an equal to me--" his fingers tighten into my hair, sharp metal scraping over my scalp, and the stinging burn is delicious enough I'm forced to release his neck, taking gasping breaths as my head falls back in an attempt to press into the sensation. "Yes...you truly are the perfect partner for this little dance of ours. But I suppose this is no place to bring our true power to bear, lest we bring the entire complex down on our heads before we have the chance to satisfy ourselves."
He releases me, the clawed tips of his gauntlet tracing across my scalp with just enough pressure that my entire body tingles with frustrated pleasure, and gets to his feet, movements still as smooth and graceful as if we hadn't just been sharing such a carnal closeness. "Come, Warrior of Light," he says, and as I look up at him, eyes glazed and blood dripping from my parted lips, he is smiling placidly. "There is a place far more suitable to be found just outside - one where the very heavens can bear witness to what we are to share. I will await you there; I expect you will make haste."
It is almost infuriating, really, how he turns his back to me and leaves with such an unhurried stride, as if the passionate man who held me only moments before no longer exists.
I cannot bear the insult; I stumble to my feet, wipe my mouth clumsily on the edge of a sleeve, and follow him as quickly as I can.
At any other time, I might admire the scenery outside - flowers in a dizzying array of colours, blocks of smooth stone arranged in perfect paths, and a nearly cloudless sky stretching endlessly above - but right now all I can focus on is one thing and that is Zenos himself, standing amidst the largest of the garden beds, his back turned to me and his hair seeming to shimmer beneath the brilliant sunlight. "Punctual as expected," he says as soon as I have drawn within earshot, and I know even before he turns to me that he has that infuriatingly unreadable smile on his face again, fury already beginning to simmer in my chest the very instant I lay eyes on it. "Allow me to welcome you, then, to the Royal Menagerie."
I say nothing, keeping my eyes fixed silently to his face as if to tell him to simply get on with it already, but he predictably does not, making a sweeping motion that encompasses the whole of the area. "The King of Ruin built this place for his foreign queen...he kept it filled with familiar creatures from her homeland, to remind her of the place she had loved so dearly. They bored me all, I admit," his smile takes on a bit of a sharp edge now, and I would almost swear I can see something stirring in the depths of his eyes, but it's indistinct enough I can't honestly be sure if I'm only imagining it. "This fine specimen, on the other hand, is simply...divine--" another gesture, bringing my attention to something I had somehow> managed not to notice even the slightest bit, a glistening barrier containing what looks to be naught but a wicked coil of sharp scales and pure malice, the very sight of it eliciting a cold shudder that very nearly manages to dampen the searing heat pulsing through every last ilm of me. "Your fates are entwined, are they not, eikon-slayer? This dragon, this...embodiment of unbridled despair, born of a desperate man's burning hatred for the Empire...how raw the raging tempest that churns within its breast. No myth made manifest, this, but...a being of pure violence. Just like me...and like you, at the very heart."
I want to shake my head, to become angry and shout at him how wrong he is, yet...in the very depths of my mind, I can't help but consider he may actually be right.
"Mayhap you are the true architect of our design. You who fought the very soul of vengeance to the edge and watched him fall - you who let slip the Allagan hound to drive this eikon into my arms!" Zenos' laugh holds cold cruelty, as is to be expected, yet underneath it is something strangely warm to my ears, and his gaze is bright with emotion only just restrained when he looks me in the eye once more. "Oh...my. Have I said too much? Forgive me, this...sensation is wholly unfamiliar to me. I know not how you have done it, but you have awakened something that has long lain dormant within me...for doing what none before you ever has, my dear Warrior, I really must reward you. Come here; I believe we were in the middle of something, were we not?"
I have enough control of myself now to hesitate, but that also means that when I do finally step closer, it is entirely of my own volition, and the mixture of disappointment and longing that swells in me is almost intolerable. "What," I manage finally, even if it's little more than a rasp, the metallic taste lingering in my mouth growing stronger again when I swallow hard to try and wet my throat. "What exactly is it you plan to do to me?"
Zenos smiles again, all razor edges and biting teeth, and extends his hand to me. "Nothing more than you desire."
That answers nothing, I shout inwardly, but it does - it answers everything, and the guilt that rises in me at that realisation is what spurs me to place my shaking hand in his.
"How alike we are, Warrior of Light. Possessed of the same abilities...the same power. I sensed it in you from the time you first stood before me, defiant and proud despite your sickening, pitiful weakness. Yet all this time, you knew precisely nothing of your true potential, or from whence it comes." Drawing me against his armoured front almost tenderly, Zenos strokes my hair as if to soothe before pressing a finger beneath my chin, lifting my eyes to his once more. "Do not look so confused - I speak of the Echo, of course. A manifestation of boundless ability, one that renders its bearer immune to eikonic influence...or perhaps one could say it merely makes their own influence the stronger, to the same ends. Yet that is but one inconsequential piece of the entire puzzle."
Letting his hand drop, he stoops so that his face is near to mine, close enough that I feel his breath hot on my lips as he stares me right in the eyes, and there is that strange feeling again that something is awakening in the depths of his gaze. "It is through van Baelsar's most thorough reports that endless possibilities have become known to me. One can use this power to bend those without it to their will, to see their deepest secrets - to bind them to its user, whether they be human, beast, or even eikon. Hence the necessary research was brought to my attention," he raises his hand once more, settles it against my cheek, and the warmth of his bare skin surprises me as I hadn't even noticed him removing its shielding armour. "It was those reports that led to the very genesis of the Resonant, those implanted with shards of the Echo...and to so much more. Have you never wondered what it is that sets mankind apart from the lesser - from the beasts that snap and snarl at any who venture too near, the thralls who no longer have a mind worthy of calling their own, their pitiful ilk?"
"No," I manage to breathe out, though I'll never know how, because I feel as if I'm drowning and it isn't even an unpleasant sensation. "I never have."
"Only mankind," Zenos continues, stroking my cheek delicately with his thumb, and there is definitely something in his eyes now that I cannot identify, "has the wisdom and the clarity to embrace violence for its own sake. Only mankind fights for the very joy of it, as opposed to the howling mongrels who fight simply because their sorry instincts tell them to do so. Why is that? - because we who are born into this merciless, meaningless world have but a single candle of life to burn, and must find joy wherever we can." He bends his head further, and for a dizzying moment I find myself all but certain our lips will meet, but instead he rests his forehead against mine so that I see nothing but the pristine blue of his eyes. "I know you understand this, my dear Warrior. You and I...we are one and the same, after all. And that is why I wish to keep you, the only one I have ever met who understands me." His other hand, similarly bare as the first, settles at the other side of my face, and his voice drops to a low, sinful whisper that I do not so much hear as feel. "Together, we could while away the quiet hours, as friend and confidant...if only you will accept me, Y'senia."
The sound of my name on his lips awakens something within me, a consuming desperation, and I don't even think - I act, pushing myself closer, throwing my arms about his neck with heedless abandon and giving him my answer in a single helpless gasp.
"I will - I will accept you."
He smiles and kisses me then, sharp and devouring, and my entire body comes alive with a depth of sensation I have never before known.
Utterly lost before I can even comprehend it, I hardly notice when he lifts me as if I weigh no more than a feather, and it's not until I am on my back amidst the flowers that I'm the least bit aware he has even moved to lay me down, panting harshly and blinking up at him - his body looms over mine now, surrounded by a halation of brilliance from the sunlight it blocks out, and I can't help but dimly think that like this, he may perhaps be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. "I - please," I gasp out, not even honestly sure what I am about to say, "do not - tease me, I...I can't possibly..." but embarrassment takes me then, most infuriatingly, and I trail off into a breathless whine, making to turn my eyes away but finding my efforts stymied by the deceptively gentle way he seizes hold of my chin. "I - I..."
"Be not ashamed," Zenos murmurs, soft and almost hypnotic, the faintest of light sparking in his eyes. "Speak plainly; how am I to know what you wish otherwise?"
"I..." Slowly, shakily, I take a breath and obediently attempt to force down the tightness that chokes my voice to nothing, using that barely-noticeable glimmer as something to focus on that isn’t overwhelming shame. "I want - to feel you...I want you to feel me, and the - the pleasure I can give you...no teasing, no hesitation, simply...our bodies as one..." forced to pause there again, the desire burning through me so strong that I can briefly make no sound in the face of it, I wet my lips with a trembling flicker of tongue and tangle my fingers into the sun-bright spill of hair over his shoulders. “Please. Let me...let me feel you. Let me join with you..."
Zenos looks utterly delighted, the strange light in his eyes growing stronger, and traces my lips gently with a finger as if he can't quite believe those words came from me (which, somewhat embarrassingly, I understand; I can't really believe I just said them either.) "My, you can be most delightfully honest, I see...I am impressed. Very well - for that alone, I will give you what it is you want," he murmurs, and then he's raising his body away from mine (much to my chagrined disappointment) to begin removing his armour with an unhurried ease, one which I cannot help but envy as I sit dizzily up and begin tugging at my clothes with clumsy hands. "And so eager, too - you truly grow more and more irresistible with each passing moment. At this rate I may simply have to keep you forever." --a frightening concept, to be sure, but even that can't dampen the heat raging within me, and all I can do is shyly duck my head just a little, biting my lip to hold back a small whimper that nonetheless escapes once he's free of his armour; beneath is nothing but a thin singlet and smallclothes, probably the very least he needs to shield his skin from the bite of unyielding metal and certainly not enough to leave anything to the imagination, and I'm certain I must be staring but there isn't a damned thing I can (or want to, if I am honest) do about it. "Oh, do not stare at me so, like a ravenous beast. If you wish to devour me - then what is it that stops you?"
"I...that was not my intent," I say weakly, but even I don't entirely believe my own self, and my traitorous hands are already reaching for him by the time I've said that much, the heat within me burning all the more strongly when he kneels before me in a mischievous show of obedience - one I know better than to truly take at face value, and I don't want to anyway, the thought of him submitting to me ringing a bit sour in the back of my mind. "You...you said it yourself. We are one and the same; we stand as equals. If there's to be any devouring, then - we must devour each other," and it's honestly surprising how his eyes go just the very smallest bit wide, my words clearly unexpected. "Would that...not please you? To lose yourself in me, all sense of self - while I lose my own self in you, and there is no longer prince, no longer warrior, but simply us. A freedom, of sorts..." my voice breaks just a little, at the distant shame of voicing one of my most secret wants, but I valiantly pretend that didn't happen as I carry on, nervously settling a hand against the marks left on his neck from my earlier biting. "I would...give you that freedom for a time, if you would have it. A respite, if only small...and I would have it from you, in return."
His eyelids flutter the slightest bit, as if trying not to close, and Zenos says nothing for a long moment, instead placing a hand over mine as he studies my face; perhaps trying to ascertain if I speak truth, I think, and I feel a wrenching surge of pity for him. Royalty he may be, Garlemald's heir, yet I have never gotten the impression he cares for the politics or the position, instead viewing them as a heavy weight upon his shoulders - a feeling I know in my own way, burdened as I am with the responsibilities of a Warrior of Light, the tasks I must carry out no matter how much they wear at me. One and the same, indeed-- and the thought brings a wretched, miserable amusement, one I push quickly aside. "A respite," I instead repeat, more strongly, and when his fingers twitch against mine, I feel a slow relief beginning to kindle within me, the unconscious reaction telling me everything I need to know. "Will you not have it...have me, Zenos?"
"I--" he begins, clearly not intending to have spoken from the way surprise flashes across his face, but nonetheless he goes on. "My name. Say it again."
So that's the way of it, I realise, and I find myself smiling, leaning up so our mouths are mere ilms apart, my voice no more than a heartfelt breath on his faintly-parted lips. "Zenos..."
He trembles briefly, yet violently, as if he doesn't know how to react to that single word from my lips (a thought which, the instant I have it, I promptly push away, because it may well be true and that pains me deeply) - but it is only the slightest of moments before that flash of vulnerability is gone, his arms abruptly around me and his mouth descending on mine in a kiss the likes of which I have never experienced before, sharp and biting and coaxing out a feral instinct in me that I would never have imagined even existed before this day; I don't even realise for a time that I am clinging to him in desperation, digging frantic nails into his back in what I can only assume is an attempt to pull myself closer still even though there is no 'closer' to go, and when I do realise it's only because he's reluctantly parting from me to remove that last damnable layer of cloth that rests between us, preventing us from truly becoming one. "Lay back," he hisses roughly, an order I obey immediately, and that brings a sharp smile to his lips that only grows when I at last see him truly bare before me, my eyes widening to the point I'm sure I must look absolutely comical. "Why, whatever is the matter? Do not tell me you have never lain with another before. I would never have thought the Warrior of Light herself to be as a chaste maiden, blushing and virginal."
I would be insulted, really, but that would take far more effort than I'm willing to put forth right now. "Of course I am no innocent," I manage instead, swallowing hard to hold back a faint whine when his smile seems to grow even more sharp edges, "but I - you are rather...that is..." my voice fails me there, and I can only let my eyes flicker lamely downward, hoping he knows what exactly I mean, because I'm not certain I could manage to say it if I had to. "I was, ah...surprised. That's all..."
"Ah," he says, and the smirk his smile has become is entirely not reassuring. "I see now. Any former partners were far less impressive, were they?"
"...Mayhap so," I admit in a reluctant mutter, my cheeks flaring brilliantly red, a fact I try valiantly to ignore. "Are you certain this is--"
One eyebrow arches, almost tauntingly, as he finishes the sentence for me before I have a chance. "Possible? I have the utmost confidence in such...and I find it almost insulting that you would not. But then again, you are rather like me; unsatisfied with words, you prefer actions, something tangible to seize on as proof of things. Therefore," he sets himself over me even as he speaks, close enough I can feel the heat that radiates from him, that the spill of hair over his shoulders falls against my own in a silken caress, and all of a sudden it is all I can do not to seize hold of him and kiss him desperately. "I shall give you that proof. It is what you want, is it not?"
I can't speak for a long moment, feeling as if I am drowning in his eyes, in the depths of his brilliant stare - and brilliant it is, his eyes alight with something I would swear is aetheric in nature despite knowing his heritage. (Surely it can't be...but though the very idea ought to be laughable, I cannot simply discard it so easily, though I try.) "...It is," I answer finally, a quiet breath, and when he shifts so his body covers mine more completely, I feel my pulse beginning to quicken in anticipation. "I ask only that - at the first, pray be a bit gentle with me. It would not do for my screams to bring anyone running..." trying to make a joke of it, I give a wry smile, inhaling slowly as he rests his hands on my thighs and pushes them apart. "Besides, it will...give you the chance to enjoy the moment of our joining...before we lose ourselves..."
"It will," he agrees easily enough, but the sharpness to his expression is not reassuring, and it is all I can do not to tense up in nervousness, a feeling not exactly assuaged when he abruptly sits back and reaches for me, pulling me into his lap. "Mayhap you will appreciate this idea, then - I would see you fill yourself with me. Allow me to watch every moment as you take me within you...as gentle as you prefer. You find this an acceptable compromise, I expect?"
The shiver that goes up my spine at the mere thought is forceful enough to take my breath away, and I'm certain the sound I just made is not something that would ever be heard in polite company, but I'm too far gone to be embarrassed - I want this too much, and if anything, the thought of letting him watch as he enters me is only making me even hotter, even more desperate. "Yes," I gasp out, hardly even a word, "gods, yes--" and he doesn't even have time to smirk at my reaction before I'm reaching down, curling fingers round his thick shaft to hold him in place (and gods, it is massive, sending a nervous thrill through me) as I shakily shift into position, inhaling slowly when I feel the first hint of pressure against me. It's now or never; I can either back off, which I have no intentions of doing, or I can press on, cross that line that I can never step back over and love every minute of it--
The choice is obvious, really.
One more breath, steadying myself - and slowly, gently, I ease myself down, letting out a guttural groan at the burning stretch as he slides into me.
"Oh," Zenos breathes, a sound of pure transcendent awe, as his hands immediately go to my hips to hold on tight, and something about his reaction dimly strikes me as passing strange; for all his earlier dominance, for how he turned me into a mewling heap of naught but pure need with his words and actions, the way he is acting now makes it almost seem like he had no idea of how it would be to at last be one with me, and the thought is almost enough to make me want to laugh. Surely that cannot be the case, there's absolutely no way the crown bloody prince of Garlemald can possibly be a virgin - but damn it all, I just can't dismiss the possibility, and I must be giving him a rather interesting look from the way he speaks up in a breathless huff. "Do not tell me...you are having second thoughts after coming this far...?"
"No," I assure him quickly, giving my head a hard shake and letting out a surprised whine when he shifts against me, even that small movement bringing a wave of searing pleasure. "That isn't it at all - I only..." a slight pause, trying to think of how to say this diplomatically, which would be difficult even if he were not buried to the hilt inside me and has become almost impossible because of the fact he is. "I-I would almost think...that you have never lain with another. But I'm certain...that is not the case at all, so...pray forgive me any insult..."
Zenos pauses, looks at me most intently even despite his eyes being hazed over with lust, and I honestly don't know how to parse that expression - or his brief silence. "Oh? And why are you so certain?"
"I - well, you are..." I trail off, blinking slowly, because he can't possibly be making the implication that I wasn't wrong, can he? "...Would the prince of a nation...not have countless prospects to enjoy?" (A safe enough question, I hope; I don't have the coherency to soften the language any more, and this is not exactly the safest position to be in should he take offence.)
"Prospects," Zenos says, ending on a disgusted, breathy sigh, mouth twisting just a little. "But only that...I have no interest in sharing myself with mewling sycophants and crude boors, to become naught but a notch on some braggart's bedpost or a symbol of status not actually earned. You are the first I have ever wished to claim - and I expect you understand how much of an honour it is. You are not unintelligent, after all--" and the compliment, so unexpected, makes me blush so hard I'm certain my cheeks must actually be afire, my face instinctively burying into his shoulder and earning what sounds suspiciously like a stifled chuckle. "Come now, this is no time for embarrassment. It would be most unlike you not to finish what you have begun...and truly, we have only just begun. Or are you so overwhelmed you simply cannot bear to continue? Would you be so unkind as to disappoint me like that?"
I know he's only teasing, but the thought is sour in my mind, and I'm certain I must look unrepentantly sulky as I raise my head to look him in the eye, countering with a question of my own. "You would make me think I have rendered you helpless by merit of merely having you inside of me? Is that it?"
He blinks once, a slow shuttering of dark lashes, and then he is laughing - outright laughing, a sound of sheer jubilance, holding none of the anger of his earlier mirth. "Oh, you are perfect--" and then he's tangling his fingers into my hair, pulling me in for a biting kiss to silence his laughter against my lips, and any sour feelings are quickly gone to nothingness as I lose myself in the heat of his mouth against mine, the feel of him atop me as he lays me back once more and proceeds to drive me completely out of my mind, movements so smooth and practiced that I would never believe his inexperience if he hadn't admitted it straight to my face. (Even then it's so hard to believe, and it is not as if I don't know how to tell if someone is telling untruths about who they've been with; having had both greatly experienced and completely virginal lovers in the past, even if it is embarrassing to so much as think about, I have become at least a bit knowledgeable about intimacy and its tells.) It almost feels as if we were somehow meant to do this, none of the pain or even discomfort I'd expected on seeing him bared to me for the first time having manifested - but that thought is coming perhaps a bit too close to things I don't think I should be dwelling on and so I push it away, instead letting myself revel in the pure ecstacy.
I will not last, I'm sure, and yet, I don't care one bit.
"If I had imagined," Zenos pants out at my ear, and I can't stop the shivery whine that escapes me at the feel of his hot breath, "you would feel so exquisite, I would have done this so much sooner--" a thought that stirs up even more excitement in me, somehow, and I let my head fall back against the ground in delight, a gasping cry escaping me when he takes advantage of this to latch onto my now-exposed neck with a fierce bite; returning the earlier favour, I suppose, but it's simply too overwhelming for me to dwell on the thought for long, my fingertips pressing into his back and my lips forming incoherent words and noises that only grow more frantic the closer he drives me to my inevitable release. It won't be long now, I'm sure to lose control soon and I desperately want to take him over that metaphorical edge with me - and no sooner has the thought crossed my mind than I'm shifting my hands, replacing the pressure of fingers with the points of my nails and dragging them sharply along his back, and the way he arches and lets out an ecstatic groan that seems to come from the deepest depths of his chest is more than enough reason to keep going. (Never mind that I'm likely leaving some rather angry welts all up and down his back now - the thought that even when they are later hidden, the sting of them will linger and remind him what we've done, is so viscerally wonderful that I very nearly come right then and there, only a supreme effort of willpower holding me back.)
"Yes - harder, do it again--" his voice is a bare hiss against my neck, more felt than heard, and I'm more than happy to comply, digging my nails in hard until they bite through skin and flesh alike, until the wetness against my fingers betrays the blood that wells up in their wake.
The noise he makes is indescribable; his teeth sink sharp into my neck, and I'm so far gone even the pain feels good, my body arching straight off the ground and a wild cry bursting from my lips as I come, so forcefully my vision is drowned in a sea of white light.
It is not long at all - or so I would assume, as it's very difficult to tell the passage of time when I can't think in the least - before he follows me into release, because when I'm coherent enough that the world around me is no longer a formless blur, he's settled himself unmoving atop me (carefully, so carefully, not daring to rest his entire weight against me) and is licking trails of blood from my neck, the ministrations making me tremble vaguely now that I can consciously realise just how sensitive I still am from all of that. "Oh," I manage to breathe at last, with another, sharper shiver when he nips at my neck again before lifting his head to look at me, and the way he's gazing at me is so surprisingly soft that I almost feel like I ought to be embarrassed. "Are you...nn...absolutely certain...you have not done that before?"
He snorts a laugh, clearly surprising himself from how awkward his expression briefly turns, and shakes his head. "Absolutely certain. I would almost think you wish to imagine me with others--" he smirks as he says it, and now I can feel my own expression going hazily sour, the knowledge that he was aiming for exactly that reaction not proving the least bit helpful in staving it off. "Come now, do not frown at me so. Jealousy does not become you in the slightest - as I have told you, none other has ever awakened the feelings within me that you have. I had long ceased to hope that any man existed who could possibly make me feel something, anything, but anger and boredom...and yet..." trailing off, he sighs softly, brings a hand up to cup my cheek and simply looks at me for a long moment, as if too afraid to spoil the moment further. "...I know not what to do with myself, now. Having realised what I cannot have, what I will be forced to consign to the hands of another...it is...a most bitter feeling."
I know I shouldn't feel like my heart is breaking at that, but I do, the pain nearly too much to bear for a long moment, rendering me unable to do anything but lean into his touch and breathe until I don't think I'm going to start crying. "You could have it," I finally start, quiet, unsure, "if - if only you did not stand against us--" but we both know that's hardly possible, even if he is the prince of all Garlemald, or perhaps because he is. "...I don't want it to simply end here either. If only we didn't have to be enemies - even if it meant sneaking about, never letting ourselves be seen, be known - even that much would be better than never being able to lay with you again. And you - you deserve better than what you have had until now," the words burst from me in an impassioned cry, one I hadn't meant to voice but certainly can't take back now. "No one deserves an existence void of affection, of friends, of love - no matter who they are! You are no exception..."
Looking like he isn't exactly sure what to make of my outburst, Zenos simply just looks at me for a long moment, blinking slowly as he absently strokes his fingers along my cheek. "Love, you say," he murmurs finally, the word seeming thick and almost foreign on his tongue, as if he's never so much as spoken it before - which may well be true. "I would have you tell me something. What then, to you, is 'love'?"
"What...? Well..." Not expecting the question, I fumble, forced to mull it over for several long moments before I can answer and desperately hoping I don't sound foolish. "Love is...it's warm, first of all. A warmth that sparks in the depths of your heart, that cannot be extinguished by even the most bitter cold...it's being content to simply spend time with someone, words and actions purely unnecessary...it's when you can't bear to see someone hurting, when you would do anything to take the pain, just so they no longer have to bear it themselves. It's understanding someone beyond words or conscious thought. It's feeling like you've known them forever, even if it's only fair recent you met. It's...wanting to spend eternity at their side," and here I can't help but choke up a little, taking a deep breath. "P-pray forgive me. I seem to be a bit too...overwhelmed to speak of this properly right now. My apologies..."
"None necessary," Zenos murmurs, strokes my cheek once more and then lets his hand fall away, lifting himself off of me with obvious reluctance, the both of us making a small sound when he pulls out of me. "I did not intend to ask such a difficult question of you. You have my thanks, nonetheless, for answering it despite that." Fetching his underthings, he pauses a moment before putting them back on, turning his head to look at me again as I sit slowly up. "...Your words have given me much to consider. To that end, I would put an idea to you."
Unable to deny curiosity, I tilt my head even as I reach for my smallclothes. "An idea?"
"The eikon," Zenos says bluntly. "Think you that you still have the ability, after all of that, to destroy it?"
My eyes widen, and I find myself turning to look at the confined eikon, taking a slow breath. Certainly he can't mean... "Right now?" I question incredulously, and when he inclines his head slightly in agreement, the surprise only grows, followed by determination that kindles hot within me. "...It would not be the absolute worst time I have faced an exceptionally powerful foe, I must admit. It would be risky, but...yes. I think myself able."
Zenos smiles at that, gentle and a little wistful, and nods again. "Then I would have you do exactly that. Destroy it - I will not stand in your way."
Even as hazy as my mind still is, the enormity of his veiled meaning strikes me immediately, and I can't stop my eyes from welling up with overwhelmed tears.
"Your words, as I said, have given me much to consider. Mayhap I should be thanking you - it is a certainty that I would never have walked this path of my own avail." Now fully armoured again, Zenos tosses his hair back, shrugs to settle his breastplate more comfortably and retrieves his weapon, head lifting to gaze up at the eikon with an unreadable stare. "...Truth be told, I now allow this as it makes no difference whether you slay it or let it live. If you had disappointed me, however..." Trailing off, he makes a low sound, almost a wry chuckle, and shakes his head. "Nay, let us not speak of that. It is no use dwelling on what could have been, when it never came to pass. Instead--" shifting his grip on the katana's hilt, he glances back at me, and when he sees me once more clothed and on my feet, he looks satisfied. "Instead, I would have you entertain me once more. To see you bring your true strength to bear, now that I have the opportunity to watch you from a neutral perspective...the very thought excites me. Do make it good, hm?"
I can't keep a slight bitter sadness from my smile, though I do try, but if he notices, he says nothing. "I feel I should be insulted that you think I would do aught else."
"I expected no less," Zenos says lightly, and with a single swift movement, the barrier is severed.
Two things happen at that instant: the eikon awakens, uncurling its scaly body with a great roar, and I am immediately filled with the gnawing horror that something is very, very wrong.
#final fantasy xiv#nsfw#character: zenos yae galvus#character: warrior of light#pairing: zenos x female wol#warning: blood#warning: biting
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Eye For an Eye
Title: Eye For an Eye Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Pairing: Thancred/female Warrior of Light Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: It’s never a good idea to let one's guard down.
"No...not after everything," Fordola pants out angrily, her eyes brilliant with the rage that's practically radiating off of her, dragging herself to her feet and raising her blade once more with trembling arms. "I cannot lose...I will not!"
Looking far less than impressed, Lyse squares her shoulders and stares Fordola down, almost as if taunting her to keep trying. "Oh, but you will - without your tricks, you're nothing," she counters, her fingers curling slightly like she's dying to punch Fordola across the room, and I'm silently a little impressed by her restraint when she doesn't. "Conrad, Meffrid, your own comrades...I should kill you here and now for what you did! But," she balls her hands into tight fists, then takes a deep breath and forces them to unclench, though the cold fury in her voice lessens not a whit. "There's no place for that kind of justice here. Not in my Ala Mhigo."
A strange sound escapes Fordola, some mixture of a disbelieving snort and a sarcastic laugh, and she takes a step forward, though the effort of moving sends her to one knee again from pure exhaustion. "Oh, how very bloody noble of you," she sneers, raises her head to glare daggers at Lyse, lips twitching like she's trying very hard not to spit on the floor at our feet out of pure disdain. "You'll pardon me my sins, will you? After you and your 'freedom fighters' come and tear down everything we've worked so hard to build? We were fighting for our people's freedom!" Struggling upright once more, she inhales deeply, giving her head a hard shake in yet another futile attempt to fight off the lingering effects of the aetheric siphon. "Not that I'd expect you to understand that--"
"You're slaves to a tyrant," Lyse interrupts stiffly, turns her back to Fordola, clearly fighting the urge to punch her again. "There's no freedom in that."
Fordola's eyes widen, then narrow, and I don't even realise she's about to move until she does, somehow finding the strength to leap forward and aim her blade at Lyse's back.
I don't think - I can't, I just react, a cry of alarm escaping me as I throw myself between them, never mind the several ilms of cold, battle-scarred steel now coming directly at my face too quickly for me to raise my own weapon and deflect it. "Lyse--"
White-hot agony takes me the next moment as the blade bites into my flesh, and my cry this time is wordless, underscored by Lyse's shocked scream.
I can't rightly even guess what happens then; the next thing I know with any semblance of coherency is warm, strong arms holding me, the dizzying tingle of healing magic washing over me, and it's so hard to open my eyes but I struggle to do it nonetheless, blurred vision slowly coming into just enough semblance of focus on one side to make out Thancred and Alphinaud's panicked expressions overhead. (That explains it then - Thancred must have caught me when I fell, and Alphinaud has been working on - how bad is it, anyway, I can't seem to raise my hand to feel for myself--) "Ow," I manage, hardly more than a raspy breath, but it's worth the effort to see the relief that floods their faces. "That was...not the smartest thing...I've ever done."
"Not even close," Thancred agrees a little tightly, but I know him well enough to know he isn't actually angry, and the way he brushes my cheek with a shaking hand would prove it even if I did think otherwise. "Gods above, Y'senia, I thought the worst when she struck you - <em>please</em> refrain from giving all the rest of us heart attacks, won't you?"
"But...Lyse--" I struggle to sit upright, or to at least turn my head, but I'm far too weak for the former and Thancred's fingers clasp my chin tightly enough to prevent the latter, and I give up without bothering to protest because even that much effort has my head spinning violently. "Is...is she..."
Thancred nods, briefly turns his own head, presumably glancing in Lyse's direction. "She is unharmed - thanks to you, I must grudgingly admit - but you, on the other hand..." his fingers release my chin, trace slowly up my cheek to free a large section of hair from where it's apparently stuck to my skin, and the faint disquiet in the back of my mind is growing slowly louder as the strands come loose. "I expect you've come to realise that faces make terrible shields and won't be doing that again. Now. How many fingers am I holding up - without turning your head?"
"Er," I say unthinkingly, because if I'm perfectly honest, I had no idea he was holding any fingers up at all - and that disquiet's now becoming a clamour of alarm, the world feeling as if it's just fallen out from underneath me and Thancred's arms are now the only thing keeping me from plummeting into nothingness along with it. "This is...a trick question, right?"
Alphinaud stifles a despairing sound, and I promptly wish I hadn't asked.
Thancred curses quietly, pushes me abruptly into Alphinaud's arms (surprising the both of us, from the way Alphinaud tenses even as he takes hold of me) and reaches up behind his head; I can't even honestly tell what he's doing at first, a little too disoriented from the sudden movement and from trying to come to terms with everything, and it's not until a length of cloth still warm with lingering body heat wraps across the injured side of my face that his intentions come clear. "This will have to do for the moment," he says, pushes my hair aside so the bandana lies flat and ties the ends firmly off, tilting my chin up again to look intently at me for a long moment before nodding slowly once. "We can't rule out the possibility that it's simply too dark in here, or that your vision might return once you get moving and your aether stabilises again - and it can't hurt anything, at the very least, to keep it covered until we know for sure whether you can tolerate brighter light or not. Do you think you can stand?"
"...I don't really have much of a choice, do I?" Forcing the slightest of humourless smiles, I take a deep breath and valiantly fight back the dizziness, managing to reach up enough to grip at his forearms tightly and using that support to stagger to my feet - it's infuriating, really, how weak I feel, and I'm determined not to look any more so than I absolutely have to, even if it means I fall flat on my face for about a week and a half once we're to safety. "I'll be fine. Krile - see to Krile. Then we can get out of here."
He looks like he wants to protest, but at a pointed look from Thancred, Alphinaud glances briefly downward before nodding reluctantly, turning to head for the capsules further in. "...Very well. Just don't push yourself."
"You seem to assume I would let her, even if she tried," Thancred retorts after Alphinaud's retreating back, and I can't hold back a breathy snort, never mind that my head spins again at even that much and I'm forced to tighten my grip in order to even stay on my feet. This is completely ridiculous, I can't understand why I'm still so off balance - and I don't even get very much time to dwell on that bit of annoyance before there's an arm round my shoulders and another beneath my legs and I'm being most unceremoniously lifted, letting out an indignant squawk at the suddenness of it, starting to draw breath to protest but letting the words die unspoken on my lips when he looks down at me with an uncharacteristic seriousness. "I do not want to hear a single word of argument out of you. Let me do this."
"I," I start, then let my head settle against his shoulder obediently, any urge to resist well and truly gone at that expression. "...This is embarrassing, you know."
"That only means you're still here to be embarrassed at it." Thancred hesitates for a moment, looking like he's trying to decide what to say, and after a glance around that I'd almost swear is downright nervous, he looks down at my face again and exhales slowly, shakily, letting his voice drop to a near-inaudible volume. "...Do you have any idea how much you scared all of us? When I saw you fall, when I saw the blood - I was certain we were - certain I was going to lose you. In all my life, I cannot remember ever being so terrified..." he closes his eyes tightly, bows his head a little, and I'm almost certain I can feel my heart shattering into a thousand little guilty pieces as I bring a shaking hand up to cup his cheek as best I can. "If you ever do something that utterly reckless again, Senia, I - I haven't the slightest clue what I'll do, but rest assured, it will not be pretty."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my throat tight, because really, what else can I say when he's being so open, so vulnerable, even calling me by the familiar form of my name that he's only ever spoken before in the midst of passion? "I-I only..."
"...I know. I know. I'm not...angry with you." Taking a deep breath, Thancred opens his eyes again, the corner of his mouth tugging briefly into what might have wanted to be a wry smile someday. "As much as I might like to be, that's hardly what either one of us needs right now."
I make a sound that's somewhere in between a laugh and a sob, press my hand to his cheek a little more firmly for a moment and then let it drop, deciding a subject change is probably in order. "...Lyse is all right, you said?"
"Not a scratch on her," Thancred nods, clearly just as willing to drop the uncomfortable subject as I am, which is frankly relieving. "In retrospect, I suppose it might be a bit amusing that the very instant you hit the ground, she drop-kicked Fordola across the room. Honestly, that might be the fastest I have ever seen her move in all the time we've been working together, and I have certainly seen - no, never mind that. She would be furious with me were I to start regaling you with tales of the past--"
"I can hear you, you know," Lyse's unamused voice comes from across the room, and it's all I can do not to start laughing.
"You see why I prefer to keep my mouth shut," Thancred says in a stage whisper, his own expression settling into genuine amusement, and I do snort helpless laughter at that, feeling a little more at ease now. "There, that's much better - looking so serious does not suit you in the least. You seem more alert as well, so I can only assume the effects of the aetheric disturbance have well and truly worn off. I still have no intentions of putting you down, however, no matter how much you might attempt to protest."
"You're lucky I'm too tired to protest." I do mean it as a joke, but it's also not untrue, my head settling back against his shoulder as Alphinaud rejoins us, holding protectively tight to a very dazed-looking Krile. "What of Fordola? What do you intend to do with her?"
"I'm taking her back with us," Lyse responds, followed by a grunt of effort that is presumably her hauling a most recalcitrant Fordola upright. "Alive. She's going to answer for what she's done, once her head stops ringing from making friends with my boot."
Fordola snorts, and though she sounds disoriented - presumably from the aforementioned drop-kicking - her voice is still surprisingly steady. "Listen to you, talking like you've already won. Zenos is going to tear you apart. He commands a power echoing that of the eikons - a power even you cannot stand against."
I don't even have to look to know Lyse is frowning; it's echoed in her tone. "What are you talking about?"
"The hunt, you stupid cow - I'm talking about the hunt!" Fordola barks a laugh, sharp and bitter. "He said you'd come, and here you are, his willing prey. You and your friends are dead - just like mine. And all our misery, all our sacrifice...it was all for naught!"
"No," Lyse tells her firmly, voice steely and cold. "You're going to live long enough to see us win our freedom. I promise you that."
"May I live a thousand years," Fordola mutters, with a pained groan as Lyse manhandles her into my field of vision, just close enough that I can see she's glaring daggers at me like she's upset I didn't have the decency to give up and die.
Thancred sighs, shakes his head, and then he's turning to head for the exit, cradling me tighter to his chest as if to protect me from the ferocity of that glare. "Interrogations can wait until we reach safety. Let us be off."
"Can't we knock her out first?" Alphinaud asks dryly, and when Lyse mutters something that I'd swear was "do not tempt me", I'm forced to bury my face into Thancred's shoulder to stifle my laughter.
#final fantasy xiv#sfw#character: thancred waters#character: warrior of light#character: lyse hext#character: alphinaud leveilleur#character: fordola rem lupis#pairing: thancred x female wol#warning: none
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On Return
Title: On Return Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Pairing: Thancred/female Warrior of Light Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Things are over with in Doma, but it's never truly quite that simple.
Embarrassing as it is, I don't manage to stop crying completely until our vessel has nearly reached Eorzea.
It's Lyse who ventures below deck to inform me land has been sighted, and this time I'm simply too worn out to even try and send her away like I've been doing to everyone the entire voyage, instead turning my face away so she won't see my still-wet cheeks and giving her only the slightest of nods to confirm I've heard her - nearly there, after all, is not actually there, and until the ship has docked and I can set foot on the Limsan pier again, I don't intend to move even an ilm from the seclusion of the cabin I've been given. It isn't worth trying to stave off the inevitable sympathy and consolation from all the others, and that being combined with a most uncharacteristic touch of seasickness besides, venturing out is absolutely not something I am inclined at all to do. (It's ridiculous, really - a Warrior of Light, the vaunted hero of Eorzea, slayer of primals, stealer of pants - where did that one come from, anyway, Hancock never did tell me where he'd heard that, and I certainly do not recall stealing any pants in my time, unless those imperial uniforms count - in any case, for me to be affected so is simply--)
"...You can see him again, you know," Lyse says softly, breaking me out of my thoughts, and I don't even notice she's drawn near until her hand touches my shoulder with gentle sympathy. "Thancred, I mean. I'm sure he'll be glad to see you."
I flinch a little, unconsciously, my ears flattening, and duck my head a little more in guilty indignance; thankfully, she doesn't seem to take offence, because I certainly don't intend any even if I am in a sour mood. "...I can't possibly face him like this," I say petulantly, without really meaning to, but well...there it is, and I can't very well unsay it. "We're meant to return heroes, proud and strong, heads held high - not...mewling kits merely laid low with fear and grief. I can't face him, or anyone like this, Lyse...let me be for just a little while longer. Please."
She studies me, frowns a little and lets her hand drop, but instead of turning about to leave like I expected her to, she instead sits herself right down next to me and waits for me to give her an incredulous look before she speaks again, hands coming up to hold to my face so I can't turn my eyes away again. "Listen to me, Y'senia, just for a moment. From the time we first met, I've had the privilege of watching you grow, watching you change - from that frightened and wary woman who didn't truly know what friendship was, into someone who's learnt to finally open her heart to others and give them everything she herself never had before. But you didn't do it alone, you know, and being alone now isn't going to help anything. You're always sharing everyone else's sorrow so they can bear it...but by the same token, you need to let us share yours as well. I know you understand that..." she trails off, lets out a soft sigh and lowers her eyes, giving the slightest of headshakes and a wry smile. "No, this just sounds silly, doesn't it? I only wanted to reassure you like you're always doing for all of us, but those sorts of words sound far less ostentatious when they come from your mouth. I'm sorry...please don't laugh at me?"
Feeling a bit sick with guilt now, which is entirely unpleasant on top of the seasickness, I take a few deep breaths before I even attempt to say anything, finally bringing a hand up to briefly touch one of hers in apology. "No, I...there's nothing to laugh over. You're entirely right, I just..." another wave of tears threatens to well up, and I let my eyes close firmly to stave them off, not protesting when she puts her arms gently round my shoulders in an attempt to comfort me. "...It's at times like this that I feel I haven’t really changed. That I'm still that selfsame child, the one who doesn't know how to open up to others and is too frightened besides. Every time I lose someone I've come to think of as an ally, a friend...that child wakes within me once again and makes me feel as if it's all been for naught. It's humiliating, to be so helpless again even after everything we've overcome." Another deep breath, and the urge to cry is at last beginning to fade, which does make me feel a little bit relieved. "...I'm sorry, Lyse; I'll be all right. You shouldn't have had to see me like this...but I am grateful. That you care, I mean. You and everyone..."
"And we always will," Lyse reassures me, strokes a hand briefly over my hair before letting me go with a sympathetic smile. "So please try and cheer up a little, all right?"
It doesn't seem like such a tall order any more, my jumbled emotions finally settling, and I manage a teary little smile of my own. "Will you knock me unconscious if I don't?"
"Don't tempt me," she says mock-severely, folds her arms as if offended. "Besides, Thancred would be furious."
That gets an unexpected snort of a laugh out of me, and my ears flatten forward in sheepish embarrassment. "Yes, I suppose he'd rather do it himself - ow, ow, be gentle, won't you, my head is killing me--"
"That's what you get," Lyse sniffs, but she does stop rubbing her knuckles forcefully into the top of my head and let me go anyway.
The ship is not long after that in reaching Limsa, and stepping out onto the salt-crusted wood of the pier is such a relieving feeling that I nearly swoon, only the fact that I'm more in control of my own emotional state and do not wish to further embarrass myself keeping me from doing just that; there's no time to be foolish anyway, as we promptly make for the airship landing and the final stage of our journey to check in on things, and my entire being seems to be awash in excited impatience by the time we get there, the feeling so all-consuming that I'm hardly paying attention to anything around me. We're one step closer to being able to simply relax, to go about our normal duties, one step closer to me at last being able to--
A familiar voice sounds behind us - Merlwyb's voice - but apart from one ear twitching back enough to halfheartedly listen, I pay it hardly any heed until the conversation cuts into my reverie enough to chill me to the bone.
What? Krile...taken prisoner?
...I really can't be appreciative that the feel of my stomach seemingly dropping right into my feet is no different on land than it is at sea, even if I have become accustomed to forcing away the queasy sensation it brings.
Everyone's words are becoming a blur again, though out of alarm rather than merely being lost in my own thoughts, and quite frankly I don't have the energy to concentrate enough to make out everything that's being said, instead just letting it all wash over me and my ears try to pick out the most important bits all on their own - and of course, traitorous thing that my mind is, the one thing it fixates on is the mention of a very certain person who is, at the moment, apparently at Castrum Oriens to do some looking into the matter. That's where I need to be, then-- and the very instant that thought crosses my mind, I'm already turning, reaching out to the surrounding aether, trying to pretend my heart isn't pounding like it's trying to beat its way free of my chest. There's no time to waste, I can't simply fool around, it's better just to go straight there.
"Y'senia," Alphinaud exclaims, reaches to seize hold of my arm as if to stop me, but I evade him easily, helped in part by the fact that Alisaie promptly pulls him bodily away by the shoulders before he can actually touch me. "What are you - after everything you've just been through, you can't risk--"
"Let her go," Alisaie says firmly, and though worry is clear in her eyes when I look back at her in surprise, she gives me a quick nod that tells me to hurry. "Surely you can't think her incapable of reaching for an aetheryte, even if she is exhausted?"
Thank you, I try to convey to her with a tilt of my head and a faint, humourless smile, and the sound of the two of them arguing fades away in the all-consuming swirl of aether that envelops me.
I do stumble once my feet touch the ground again, dizziness briefly welling within me, but it's simple enough to push the feeling away and I manage to straighten once I've caught my breath, looking around with a raw desperation that I'm certain must betray the clamouring panic within me. Surely he can't have left already, he must still be here, I can't be too late - and it's only a few moments before I confirm that I am in time, a surge of relief hazing my mind when I spot the familiar figure standing several yalms away, and the suddenness with which I break out into a clumsy run surprises even me. Gods above, for me to be excited right now when it's clear everything's going to hell is almost disappointing, but even so--
"Thancred!" I raise my voice before I can continue that line of thought, hoarse and breathless, and I'm reaching out to him even as he turns with surprise in his eyes. "Thancred--"
When he sees me, he smiles, and even as tinged with concern for current affairs as it is, that expression might be the best thing I've seen in a long while.
"Gods," I gasp out, half laugh and half sob, and then I'm close enough to throw myself into his waiting arms, burying my face into his shoulder and breathing in the familiar scent of him, the feel of his tight embrace immediately quieting the last threads of helpless sorrow that had been lingering within me. "I was afraid I might have missed you..."
"It was only fair recent I arrived here myself," Thancred admits, presses his cheek briefly into my hair and then turns me loose, though he's obviously just as reluctant to do so as I am to let go of him; nonetheless, I do, taking just enough of a step back to look up at his face and somewhat shyly returning the smile he's still giving me. "You look utterly exhausted, Y'senia - have you been overdoing it again? We really ought to have a chat about that at some point."
One ear flattens sheepishly, but I manage to keep from looking any more scolded than that, head turning a little at the familiar sound and sensation of manipulated aether nearby - the others have arrived, which means Merlwyb must have finished briefing them and sent them on their way to join me. "Never mind that, for the moment. We've heard the news..."
"In broad strokes," Alisaie says as the others join us, and thank the gods, not a one of them comments on the fact that perhaps I'm standing a bit - alright, far closer to Thancred than is strictly necessary right now. "From Admiral Bloefhiswyn. What happened?"
Thancred goes serious, turns to face everyone more completely, exhaling a sigh. "Krile and a squadron of Resistance fighters were escorting Y'shtola and several other wounded to the Rising Stones for further treatment," he begins, and though I want so badly to reach out and take his hand when he rests it on the hilt of one of his blades in a nervous motion, I refrain. "Unfortunately, they were ambushed by imperial forces along the way. Arenvald and his men fought valiantly, but in the chaos--"
"I will make no excuses," interrupts Arenvald from where he's stood nearby, and I startle briefly; I hadn't honestly even noticed he was there as well, so relieved was I to see Thancred again. "We failed to protect her."
Alisaie shakes her head, looking sympathetic. "Do not be so hard on yourself. You protected Y'shtola and the others, did you not?" she reassures Arenvald, folding her arms, a hand going to her chin in a posture of deep attentiveness. "Tell us about the attack."
Arenvald nods, heaving a deep sigh of his own, shoulders slumping a little. "It was the Skulls. They knew a path across the Wall we hadn't found. We thought we were safe once we reached the Black Shroud, but we weren't expecting an ambush..." He shakes his head, looking most disappointed in himself, a feeling I can sympathise greatly with. "During the fighting, I caught a glimpse of their leader's memories. It was all planned."
"The advantage of having a Walker in the field," Alphinaud muses, his gaze flicking between Arenvald and me as he speaks.
"I'm not as strong in the Echo as Y'senia is, of course. Half the time, it's enough to knock me on my arse, like I've taken a dose of concentrated aether..." Arenvald barks a bitter laugh, lets his shoulders lift a bit in a what-can-you-do shrug.
Lyse nods slowly, her arms folded, fingers tapping idly. "So you walked in Fordola's memories. What did you see?"
Arenvald is silent for a moment, his eyes going distant, recalling the vision he'd seen. "A woman promised the world - education, training, citizenship - all that and more if she but sold her soul. A traitor to her people, a pretender to her masters..." his mouth twists briefly, a sour expression, but it is soon gone to deadly seriousness again. "...It was Zenos himself that gave the order. Told her to return with Krile Baldesion - alive."
Thancred nods once, thumb rubbing over the hilt of his blade now, an agitated motion. "Our agents have been monitoring imperial communications since the attack, but we have yet to intercept any transmissions making reference to Krile or her current whereabouts."
"If their orders were to bring Krile back alive, we can save her if we move quickly enough." Alphinaud's expression has firmed; he's now wearing the look that always makes Alisaie look at him like she doesn't want to know what sort of plan he's come up with this time. (Which is precisely what she's doing, and I almost want to laugh at the normalcy of that.) "You were already thinking that yourself, were you not?"
"As you say, time is of the essence," Thancred agrees, and this time when his hand twitches in agitation, I can't resist reaching out to rest my own over it for the briefest of moments - a motion that, thankfully, everyone else pretends not to have noticed. "Which is why I intend to slip past enemy lines and see what information I can uncover on my own. In the meantime, it is up to you and our allies to command the imperials' attention. Lots of shouting and explosions and so forth. Keep them distracted, and I will find her."
I open my mouth to offer protest, but Alphinaud, as if to stop me, speaks again before I can do any more than draw breath. "Very well. I wish I could do more to aid you, but I understand."
"Commander Kemp is on his way to the castrum as we speak for a meeting with General Aldynn. If you hurry," Thancred says, already turning to leave, "you could find him on the road, and discuss the situation beforehand. Make haste - the sooner this situation is dealt with, the better it will be for all of us."
"Thancred," I burst out, before anyone can stop me from speaking again, and damn what anyone else thinks, I'm reaching out to him in desperation. "Wait--"
He hesitates midstep, pauses and turns just enough to look at me. "What is it?"
"...Please...come here for a moment," I murmur, a little nervously, taking a step forward - part of me is thoroughly mortified at what I'm about to do, but the rest of me is filled with utter panic at the thought of something happening to him, and I know I won't ever forgive myself if I don't take this chance, no matter how embarrassing it is. "I swear I won't keep you long."
Sizing me up for a moment, Thancred finally gives the faintest hint of a wry smile, moves close enough to take me by the shoulders and look down at me with warm eyes. "I will come back to you," he promises, just loud enough for me to hear and no one else, and I somehow manage to be a little surprised at the way my heart seems to skip a beat at those words. "You can be sure of it. So...be strong, Y'senia. Hold fast, and wait for me."
"I will," I respond, a bare whisper, and then I'm arching up onto my toes, my hands clenching tight into the front of his shirt for support as I press my lips to his.
He tenses in surprise, a brief stillness, but then he's kissing me back and his arms are wrapping tight about me and gods, if only this moment could last forever - but it inevitably has to end, and when it does I don't even have to look to know the same embarrassment is flooding the both of us, but it's so rare to see him flustered that I can't help but smile even through the chagrin. "Well, that aside," he says, clears his throat roughly and doesn't quite meet my eyes (or anyone else's), stepping away and once more turning to leave. "Best of luck. Hopefully none of us will need it."
"Be careful," I say quietly, taking a deep breath, and watch him until he's out of sight beyond the walls of the castrum, only then turning to see the others looking at me with varying levels of surprise on their faces. "...What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
None of them speaks for a long moment, until Lyse breaks the heavy silence with a giggle, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. "Well, this is just the first time you two have - you know, in front of everyone..."
"You make it sound as if I've done something wrong," I say defensively, ears flattening back just a little, tail twitching in vexation. "That's not what you're thinking, right?"
"No, of course not--" Lyse puts her hands up in a placating gesture, but the way she's smiling makes it clear she knows I'm not genuinely angry with her. "Honestly, I'm just glad you feel like you don't have to keep it a secret any more - that you two are together. Of course, we all knew anyway, but that's beside the point..."
Alisaie nods, and gods above, she's got that same self-satisfied little smile as Lyse does. "Really, if it were any more obvious...even my brother can see you two are head over heels for one another."
"I beg your pardon," Alphinaud protests, putting his hands on his hips. "I am not oblivious, and for the record, I've known for ages--"
I stare between them for a moment longer, then let my head drop into my hands, shoulders shaking a little with embarrassed laughter.
I suppose they're right, though. It isn't a secret how much I care for Thancred, and how much he cares for me, and it shouldn't be treated like one.
Maybe once all this is over with, I'll tell him exactly that.
#final fantasy xiv#sfw#character: thancred waters#character: warrior of light#pairing: thancred x female wol#warning: none
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The Night Before
Title: The Night Before Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Pairing: Thancred/female Warrior of Light Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: The assault on Doma Castle is coming much too soon, and Y’senia can't help but be concerned.
By the time I manage to escape Hien and Gosetsu's insistence that I drink with them, I am a bit too far into my cups to be wholly comfortable, and yet I cannot quite see this as a dilemma just now.
My head spins a little as I step out into the main chamber, the aetheryte towering high above our heads sending eerie lights and shifting shadows playing across the walls, and I decide it prudent to try and clear out some of the mental fog before I even attempt to sleep, quickly making my way outside with a hissed curse at the chill breeze that sweeps past me strongly enough to set every last hair on my tail on end; I am grateful for it at the same time, though, the drunken haze receding in its wake, and I feel almost revitalised by the time I've sat myself down on the closest bit of stone that will hold me, tilting my head back to stare up at the stars glimmering above. (This is familiar, at least, and comforting. Many were the times I did this same thing in Eorzea, when the morrow was to bring naught but strife and uncertainty, and the stars here in Yanxia are no different than the ones I remember there - and it makes me wonder, might any of the companions we've left behind be gazing at these selfsame stars, wondering, thinking?--)
--Lyse's words come back to me unbidden then, as a whisper in my ear, and I start from my reverie with a tiny shake of my head, feeling my cheeks burn despite the nighttime chill.
"Remember what it is you fight for, Y'senia - what it is you can't possibly lose for. There's no harm in wanting a little reassurance while you can still have it."
Was that a hint, I wonder - a way of suggesting to me that perhaps I ought to have that reassurance?
Even so, I feel like I oughtn't give in to even a small moment of weakness, but nonetheless, I find myself reaching to my linkpearl before the embarrassment can become overpowering enough to still my trembling hands.
A few moments of silence, and then, blessedly familiar in my ear - "Y'senia? Is aught amiss?"
The relief that washes through me is nearly palpable, warm and soothing, the nervous tension in my shoulders seeping away quickly enough that I am almost dizzied by it. "No," I respond, soft, barely more than a whisper, and somehow, I'm a little surprised to find myself smiling as broadly as I suddenly am. "I only - wanted to hear your voice, for a little while. I'm sorry if I'm interrupting anything."
"Not a single thing," Thancred reassures me, and I can imagine him sitting forward to stare keenly at me, almost as clearly as if he's in front of me right now to do exactly that. "I take it you're to be setting out come the morn? Alphinaud has kept us appraised of his plans - I admit to a bit of concern, if I'm perfectly honest, yet still I have every faith in you. If anyone can make this work, who else would it be but our own Warrior of Light? Although," he pauses, and I'm not certain how I can almost hear his gaze sharpening, but somehow I do. "That's precisely what you're worrying about, isn't it?"
It isn't worth trying to lie; I can never lie to him, whether face to face or at a distance. "…Yes," I say finally, forced to swallow hard before I can go on, trying to ignore the sudden lump in my throat. "I suppose I feel as if I'm drowning…although perhaps that isn't the best term for it, now--" a sound escapes me, half laugh and half unexpected sob, and I bury my face in my free hand, fighting tears and cursing myself for not having protested more firmly when drinks were offered. "I - I'm sorry, I - it's so hard, trying to do all of this without having you with me," and I can't even manage to feel shame at what I've just so freely admitted, because it's all aimed towards the fact I'm so close to crying. "Gods above, Thancred, I miss you - what I wouldn't give to get away for a little while, just to see you again…"
"You could, just for the night," he points out, sounding entirely too reasonable - and maybe just a little wistful too, making my heart ache a little. "I very much doubt anyone would begrudge you that."
"I would. Because I wouldn't want to come back." I hadn't meant to admit that so plainly either, but there it is, and I can at least rest assured he won't judge me for laying myself so bare before him. "I'm…scared, Thancred. I have no intentions of dying tomorrow, not least because I can't simply leave you and everyone else alone, but--" this time it is an outright sob that escapes me, and I find myself too tired to fight the tears, merely letting them begin to fall. "I don't want to be strong tonight. I want…I want you to hold me, and to protect me, and let me be weak. So I can shoulder everyone else's weakness tomorrow…without feeling as if I might simply break under my own."
Thancred is silent for a long moment, only his soft breaths in my ear reassuring me that the connection between our linkpearls remains. "Would that I could," he responds finally, sounding just a bit guilty, but it's quickly gone - so quickly I wonder if I might have imagined it. "But never mind that. Have you been drinking? Such blatant honesty is…a bit unlike you."
"It wasn't my idea," I manage a bit of a petulant tone, and when I realise what he's doing by playing on my emotions like that, it makes me genuinely smile, even through the tears. "You Twelve-damned bastard, I ought to be offended at your insinuations."
"Perhaps you ought to, yes. But save the offence for when you can deliver it in person." His warm laughter fills my ears, soothing both my temper and my raw nerves, and I soon find myself able to sit upright and dry my face, the sadness easing. "You will prevail, Y'senia - I know you will, and I will be here to receive you when you return successful. Now get some rest, won't you? You're going to need it."
"I know," I agree, letting out a body-shaking sigh that trails into a yawn, my ears flattening and my cheeks burning fiercely. "…Just one more thing, before I go. I - thank you so much, Thancred. For putting up with me tonight, I mean."
"Putting up with you? My dear Y'senia, you insult me," Thancred exclaims with mock indignance, and I can just imagine him folding his arms. "You make it sound as if I do this out of a sense of duty, not one of affection. Let me assure you, it is most certainly the latter--"
Warm all over at those words, I wrap my arms tightly round myself with a smile, as if trying to hold the sentiment to me. "So you admit it, then--"
He takes a surprised breath, lets it out on an embarrassed huff. "Not another word out of you. Go rest, before I find some way of making you do just that."
"All right, all right." I'm beaming now, but I can't even bring myself to be ashamed of how happy his words have just made me. "I'm sorry for teasing you. Good night, Thancred - we'll speak again after everything is done. I promise."
"I'll hold you to that," he murmurs, the faintest of smiles evident in his voice. "Rest well, Y'senia. Good night."
I nod, never mind he can't see it, as the connection terminates and I lower my hand to my side once more. I will…thank you.
When I sleep, it's with an ease I've not known since leaving Eorzea - one that leaves me ready to fight, and to win, so I may return home.
#final fantasy xiv#sfw#character: thancred waters#character: warrior of light#pairing: thancred x female wol#warning: none
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Sea Pancakes
Title: Sea Pancakes Pairing: Dante/female reader insert Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: You and Dante are having a day out at your favorite aquarium.
(Request fic for @copper-wasp.)
"Dante! Dante, look," you say in excitement, tugging on his hand a little to pull him through the throng of people milling about, your other hand lifted to point at the large tank in front of you. "Aren't they adorable? I just love them so much - little sea pancakes! So cute!"
"Sea pancakes," Dante echoes with amusement clear on his face, watching the manta rays as they undulate through the water, unbothered by all the eyes currently staring at them. "I can honestly say that's one I've never heard before. Where's the butter and syrup, then?--" and he can only laugh when you jab your elbow into his side, pretending greatest indignance even though you're smiling. "Honestly, babe, I have no idea where you get some of these things from. First there was - what was it, catweasels, then - bork floofs, caution noodles--"
"Danger noodles," you correct him, letting go of him to plant both hands on your hips, putting on a most pouty look. "Get it right."
"Right, right, danger noodles. And now, sea pancakes. Sometimes I really wonder about you," he teases, pats you gently on the head, letting out a snort of laughter when you pretend anger and swat his hand away. "Gotta admit, though, life with you is definitely never boring, and I'm glad for that. Gives me something to look forward to when I'm not out kicking some demon ass. That's something I can never say just how much I appreciate..." looking a little embarrassed, he trails off, takes a slow breath and smiles a little when you reach for his hand again, gripping it tightly as if to reassure. "You might be a goofball who's constantly making me wonder what the hell my life has become, but I'm glad for it. Don't ever stop being you."
You can feel yourself blushing, but you ignore it, just taking hold of his other hand too and tipping your head up to stare seriously at him. "I could say the same for you. I'd be pretty unhappy if you stopped being yourself."
"I know a lot of people who'd say otherwise," Dante deadpans, taking it as his due when you step pointedly on his foot, but he's soon deadly serious again, giving your hands a squeeze. "Thank you, ____. Really - thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," you insist, tugging on his hands a little to urge him to lean down, and when he obliges you, you're stretching up onto your toes to kiss him gently, fleetingly, a delicate brush of your lips over his with just enough pressure to feel the slightest scrape of stubble against your skin. "Just keep being yourself, okay? That's all I want - it's all I need. Just you, being the same old flirty, demon-bashing, pizza-loving Dante I fell in love with in the first place. You can do that for me, right?"
He nods once, pulls you in closer for another kiss, and you don't resist, letting his lips and his embrace tell you so much more than words could ever do.
Of course I can. For you - only for you.
And that's something you can definitely live with.
#devil may cry#sfw#character: dante#character: reader insert#pairing: dante x female reader#warning: none
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Capernoited
Title: Capernoited Pairing: Nero/female reader insert Rating: R Warnings: Implied Devil Trigger sex Summary: It seems like devils can get drunk on affection, and it’s adorable.
(Request fic for @silversapphyre. I may or may not have borrowed her reader insert character from her Shorty Series for this. Go read that series, darn it.)
Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy.
"'s warm," murmurs the sleepy-faced, happily limp heap of devil currently purring in your lap, his head snuggled into your thighs carefully so as not to poke you with his facial spikes, lips twitching just a little in an utterly blissful grin as your hands card through his hair over and over again. "Feels nice. Don't stop."
"I'm not planning on it," you promise him, shifting one hand to lightly scratch around his curled horns, and when he whines and shoves his head into the touch, you can't help but smile - you're sure you'll never understand how he can be so adorable like this, considering he must be damn near six and a half feet of pure fury and power all wrapped up in a nigh-invincible shell, but you're also honored that he's allowing you to see him in such a vulnerable state. (It must take so much for him to do that, considering everything he's been through - it's almost enough to make you want to cry every time you think about it, and so you quickly push the thoughts away.) "You know, I'd almost swear you were drunk right now if I didn't know any better. It's cute," the teasing words slip out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks heating, but he doesn't seem to notice and that alone is enough to help soothe the embarrassment, to help you go on as if you didn't even say that. "It feels that good, huh?"
"Mmhmmmm." It's not so much an answer, really, more of a pleased hum, and Nero squirms a little when you get both hands into the affectionate scratching, nails playing over his scalp at the base of each horn in a lazy pattern that has him pushing into your hands like a particularly demanding cat. "Better'n chocolate. Almos' better'n sex. Wan' you t'do it forever." He punctuates that with what sounds like it was meant to be a small laugh, but as mixed with his purring as it is, it's more downright adorable than anything and you're almost sure you're going to melt from the cuteness, wishing you had both another set of hands and a camera near enough to capture this moment forever. "Y're so - so good to me, y'know. 'm glad f'r it...glad f'r you, love y'so much..." he trails off into an outright whine, your surprise at the words causing you to scratch at his scalp harder than you meant to, but before you can do more than dimly wonder if you might have hurt him, he's wriggling in delight and giving you the most blissed-out look you've ever seen on his face without him having an orgasm first. "Jus' - like that, mmm, yes, yessss..." another sharp wriggle when you obediently do it again, and then he's twisting out of your lap in a surge of motion, somehow managing to scramble over you and pin you to the couch before you can even fully parse that he's doing it, his body covering yours and his eyes alight with a deeply affectionate amusement as he looks down at you from all of maybe a scant handful of centimeters away. "Fuckin' magic hands, I swear to god--"
"Nero," you start, blinking wide-eyed as you scramble to piece together exactly what just happened, but then his hips roll against yours teasingly and you can feel the plating that shields his crotch parting to let his cock free, and you're immediately blushing so hard you're almost certain you might catch fire. "Did I just...find your on switch or something?"
"Something like that," he agrees, rests his forehead gently against yours for a moment, the hazy slurring tone conspicuously gone from his voice now in favor of a soft concern. "...You don't mind?"
You blink a few more times, then smile, letting yourself relax under him and bringing your hands up to thread into his hair once more, fingers settling against his horns. "I don't mind," you reassure him, and when he shifts against you once more, you match the motion with a slow lift of your own hips, need sparking within you when his now fully exposed cock rubs against you, almost burning hot even through the layers of clothing keeping you from direct contact. "But can you try not to rip my pants off this time? Seams are a pain to try and fix."
"No promises," he purrs, lifts his head to look into your eyes again, and that impish excitement in his gaze makes you smile so much you can't even pretend to be mad.
#devil may cry#nsfw#character: nero#character: reader insert#pairing: nero x female reader#warning: devil trigger sex
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Cataglottism
Title: Cataglottism Pairing: V/gender neutral reader insert Rating: PG Warnings: Mild swearing Summary: V always has trouble reconciling your fragility with your strength.
(Request fic for @furyeclipse.)
Cataglottism - Kissing with tongue.
V is by now used to the myriad noises you make doing the most mundane things, the huffs of effort and the purse-lipped grumbles whenever you move in specific ways, and he’s mostly learnt to tune them out, recognizing them subconsciously as something not to be overly concerned about - you’re a grown adult, after all, and you wouldn’t have made it this many years without developing your own coping methods, an exercise in near futility that he can appreciate the sheer effort of thanks to his own experiences. You’re strong, not just physically but mentally as well, and he’s more often than not found himself thinking he could take a few lessons from you, to emulate your grit and determination and sheer dogged persistence (though maybe with less cursing; you’re not really known for censoring yourself), though he never says it out loud to your face because he knows you don’t see it the way he does. You just see it as life, as a plain old everyday thing, and no amount of convincing will get you to see it as anywhere near extraordinary–
An almighty crashing thud sounds, followed by your voice; “I swear I didn’t break anything! On me or the table!”
–Well, maybe you’re right that it isn’t, on occasion.
He sighs, puts his book down and trudges down the hall to see just what it is you’ve done this time, finding you in your room and halfway wedged underneath your bedside table, apparently trying to retrieve whatever it is you’d managed to knock down with such utter force - and he can’t help but look baffled when you extricate yourself with nothing more than a stack of ragged notebooks in your hands, nearly dropping them again with a squawk when you sit upright to discover him there. “Told you I didn’t break anything–” you huff, shove the notebooks into his hand when he reaches out as if to help you up and clamber to your feet unassisted, dusting cobwebs from your shirt and grimacing a little when they stick to your fingers. “I just knocked those down trying to grab one. Why’s the one I want always on the bottom - anyway,” you grin a little now, sheepishly, take the notebooks from him and set them down, folding your hands behind your back and looking up at him in a pose of cheeky satisfaction, the one that always gets his hackles up a little in a pleasant way. (Especially when you’re half undressed, shirt and underwear all you’ve got on in preparation for bed, and gods that is appealing.) “Thanks, though. For making sure I hadn’t irreparably mangled myself. Y'know, amputated something at the neck, or - something like that.”
“You make it sound as though you have more than one thing,” V responds dryly, “to…amputate at the neck, as you put it.”
You quirk an eyebrow, doing your best to look innocent even as you tease him. “You mean I don’t?”
“Mm…no. I only see the one.” He reaches out, wraps a hand round the back of said neck, tugging you a little bit closer as if to investigate and of course you don’t resist him - you never do. “One set of shoulders, perfectly color matched to the neck they’re attached to, assuming my eyes don’t fail me. Or do they?”
“Even if they did, you’d probably just have been blinded by the fact I almost glow in the dark.” You shrug, nonchalant about your own ghastly pale complexion, never mind that you know anyone who doesn’t know you well would consider you to look downright sickly. “And hey, if I actually did, that’d be kinda neat - I wouldn’t need a flashlight or a nightlight, could just be my own light source - don’t laugh at me! It would be handy,” you’re now pretending to bristle defensively, even though you’re grinning at the snort of laughter he couldn’t quite stifle. “If you’re gonna laugh, do something better with that mouth, huh?”
He hums amusement, leans in a little, wetting his lips in a way blatantly meant to draw your eye. “I could say the same to you. Wouldn’t you much rather do something other than flailing metaphorically at me?”
“Bastard,” you accuse him in a hiss, but you’re stretching up to meet him, your arms wrapping about his shoulders as his lips touch yours, demanding you open up for him with an immediate swipe of tongue that you naturally don’t even consider disobeying.
Your mouth is hot, a little bitter; you taste of exhaustion and pills, a sobering reminder that you’re not nearly as invincible as you try to play yourself off as, and he finds himself holding you tighter, pulling you closer, wrapping you in arms that try to shield you from the cruelties of the world and your own existence - there may not be much of anything he can do to mitigate the pain and fatigue that comes with just making it through your daily life, but he knows he can at least be a distraction for a little while, and he also knows that’s something you do genuinely appreciate so he’s more than happy to do it, coaxing your tongue into eager movement against and around his own and feeling you melt into him more and more with each passing second. Honestly, at times like this he thinks he understands what exactly it is you feel, wanting to forget your own mortality, your own weakness - and right now, he wants to forget it too, to drive out that bitterness on your tongue and replace it with the much more pleasant taste of him.
He’s not going to leave you be until he’s done that, even if it’s just for a small, ephemeral while.
“Lay down,” he breathes, parting from you just enough to speak, and it’s all he can do to keep going and not just lose himself in you when you groan in soft frustration, the tip of your tongue poking out to chase his own, a thin string of saliva glistening in the air between them for the single instant before it breaks. “Clothes off. The faster you do it, the sooner I kiss you again–”
“You and your goddamn hard bargains.” But you aren’t disobeying in the least, nearly throwing yourself onto the bed and eeling out of your clothes almost impossibly quickly, reaching for him with shaky hands as he also strips and settles close. “Now kiss me, you jerk, and don’t you dare stop.”
“Anything for you,” he promises, and means it, as he once more captures your mouth, plundering it with his greedy tongue in a promise of things to come.
By the time he’s done with you, he can’t taste the pills any more; all he can taste is you, the best drug of all.
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Strikhedonia
Title: Strikhedonia Fandom: Devil May Cry Character: Vergil Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: Vergil doesn’t take kindly to having his sleep interrupted.
(Request fic for anonymous.)
Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say "to hell with it".
It is entirely too early, even by Vergil’s standards, when the phone rings.
He comes awake with an indignant snort, a hand lifting to rub tiredly at his face, and turns his head enough to eye the clock on the bedside table, grimacing at the unsympathetic numbers telling him just how early it actually is - memory has not been kind to him lately, keeping him awake till all hours and turning what sleep he does get into an agonising tarantella of pain and fear, and it’s just another kick in the pants that something like this should happen when he’s finally managed to descend into proper restfulness. He is absolutely not getting out of bed to answer that, he thinks; someone else can damn well do it, can’t they?
…Well, now that he thinks about it, that question doesn’t actually have such an easy answer, because he is in a bed in the spare room at Devil May Cry and the only other person there is his brother and Dante is very prone to sleeping through just about anything, and the incessant ringing is proving (much to his annoyance) that Dante is in fact doing just that.
How does he even have a business, he thinks acerbically, rubs his face again, balefully eyes the creaky wood floor like he’s debating whether to actually put his feet on it and attempt to get up. How does he even survive like this.
(They are carefully not questions, because he doesn’t actually want to know the answers.)
Then, blessedly, the ringing ceases, and Vergil lets himself slide back down to a prone position, tugging the blankets round himself in an exhausted cocoon and burying his face into the pillow, quickly sagging into the worn mattress like he’s been deflated. Finally, an intelligent caller, one that hangs up to try again later once it becomes clear no one’s picking up, one that--
It rings again, and this time he curses; turns his head to glare at the clock, then at the closed door that is blocking absolutely none of that shrill jangling sound, then grabs the pillow out from under his head and puts it on top instead, pressing it down over one ear and burying the other into the mattress in an attempt to get a little peace and quiet.
I am not answering that. To hell with it. It’s his own fault if he misses something - I am not my brother’s keeper.
It’s not perfect, but like this he’s at least able to muffle the sound, and the tired spike of vindictive pleasure that comes with deciding he’s not going to play this little game is enough to help him at least relax a bit.
And he smiles to himself when heavy footfalls and the sound of his brother’s tired swearing finally pass his room to silence the ringing beast, letting him doze off once more.
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Cheiloproclitic
Title: Cheiloproclitic Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: V/gender neutral reader insert Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: You've always been interested in V's lips.
(Request fic for @virberos.)
Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someone’s lips.
No matter how hard you try, you just can't stop staring.
It's been this way since you met V. The first thing you noticed was his eyes (so green, so beautiful), then you looked down a little and saw those irresistible lips, and much to your own consternation, you were immediately lost. It doesn't matter whether he's talking, whether he's silent, moving or still, awake or asleep (and you will never, ever admit you've watched him when he's taken the time to steal a few short naps in between jobs) - his lips are unfairly attractive, and dammit they're right there, and it's not the worst thing you could be staring at.
Or so you keep telling yourself, anyway, and it's not wrong, is it?
You exhale a quiet sigh, lean forward and prop your elbows on the table, resting your chin on your hands, a position that at least lets you pretend you're looking off into the distance and not at him as he turns the pages of his book. (It seems to fool everyone else whenever you do it, at least, and that's all you want, even if the two of you are alone right now and there's no one to potentially call you out on where you're actually looking.) He's reciting silently to himself again, a habit you've noticed he has whenever the atmosphere's grown peaceful and quiet, and you feel like you're being lulled into a trance as you watch him form voiceless words, the occasional flicker of tongue making his lips gleam attractively under the fluorescent lights and stirring an aching urge in the back of your mind. If only you could just - get closer, touch his lips, taste them, if only if only if only--
You aren't expecting him to actually say anything out loud, and when he does, lifting his head to slant you a sideways glance, it makes you jump in surprise. "My eyes," it's smooth, low, and full of a warm amusement that is the only reason you don't immediately turn a shade of red not found in nature and try to hide under the table, "are up here, you know. Don't think I haven't noticed you staring."
Now you're blushing, so brilliantly you can feel the heat creeping up your ears and down your neck, and you really mean to give a <i>proper</i> response but all you can do is stammer. "I-I - er--"
"I suppose it can't be helped." The book snaps shut and V heaves a theatrical sigh, straightening from where he's leant against the small stove, turning to face you fully, and gods above the smirk on those delicious lips of his is completely unfair. "It is only natural for someone to be curious about something they haven't ever had a chance to experience before. Perhaps if you were allowed to satisfy your curiosity..." he takes a step closer, then another, and another, and that's enough to close the distance between you, his hands planting firmly on the table for balance as he leans down to look into your eyes. "That would help, would it not?"
(He's so close, damn it, so close, those lips are right there and oh gods how are you supposed to resist that--)
"Very well," he says with another exaggerated sigh, breath warm on your lips, and lifts a hand, tipping your face up just a little with a fingertip under your chin. "Go on, then."
His lips meet yours almost before he's finished speaking, and all you can think is that all of the silent admiration has been entirely worth it.
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Serving The King
Title: Serving The King Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Urizen/reader insert Rating: M Warnings: Demon sex, tentacles, unconventional demonic genitals (the reader demon has both sets of bits, okay, geez) Summary: You serve Urizen faithfully in all he does; your obedience has not gone unnoticed - and will not go unrewarded.
"The deed is done, my lord," you murmur, head bowed in deference as you kneel before the demon king's throne.
Impassive as ever, Urizen stares down in utter silence, and it is all you can do not to squirm as you await an answer that isn't coming; just as you're beginning to seriously wonder if you have displeased him somehow, though, he finally inclines his head in what seems to be the barest hint of a nod and shifts, his elbow settling on one twisted branch of an armrest, propping his head on a heavily armoured fist to eye you in a manner you secretly find almost amusingly casual. "So it is," he intones flatly, a low rumble that seems to shake the room and sends a frisson of nervous excitement through you, the reaction nearly manifesting itself as a trembling of your shoulders before you can get it under control. "Admirable - both in speed and in technique. Perhaps you will serve me far better than the last pitiful few to disgrace my realm--" and you do tremble at that, at what might be a compliment freely given by the ruthless demon, at the implication that he was watching you as you carried out the task he had assigned you, but he seems not to notice how you shake and instead continues on. "Yes, your power may be exactly the means to the end I desire. For that," he sits up straight, gaze sharpening, and you feel as if you are pinned to the spot beneath nascent emerald eyes, your body instinctively flattening submissively to the gnarled roots beneath you. "It would only be proper to grant you a reward."
The very thought makes you shiver, makes you bite your lip, your claws digging briefly into stone-like bark before you can stop yourself reacting, and you're half hoping that he reads it as fear rather than excitement should he notice it. "A reward, my lord?" you breathe, and thankfully, your voice is steady. "You are truly magnanimous. I thank you for your benevolence."
"Do not misunderstand me," Urizen says, the words ending in something nearly a snort, and the very ground suddenly seems to quake around you, sprouting thick and flexible branches that curl round your limbs and lift you, pulling you high into the air so you are held uncomfortably spread-eagled directly before the intensity of his stare. "This is no benevolence, little peon. This is for the benefit of my own self, the fulfillment of my own plans. You are but a sapling, a mere sprout - and I, the tree that shall spread my roots through the pitiful mortal world to rebuild it anew in my own image." One of the branches pushes itself rudely beneath your chin, forces your head up though you're trying valiantly to tuck it down against your chest in nervous embarrassment, and his piercing eyes seeming to bore straight through you is not helping you relax in the least. "There can be worth in even the smallest of seeds; that worth is why I allow you to stand at my side, to continue existing. But should that worth disappear..." the branch scrapes along the underside of your chin, snaking loosely about your neck, and though it's hard to tell through the twisted armour that shields his face, you're almost certain he's smirking in what looks suspiciously like amusement. "It would be in your best interests to assure it remains, if you wish to cling to your pitiful shreds of life."
Though you can't bow your head to look respectful, you can still turn your eyes downward a little and let the tension out of your body, and you do exactly that, trying to make a show of reverence as you sag in the unrelenting hold of the Qliphoth's branches. "My worth is yours," you whisper, and this time you don't even honestly care that your voice quavers. "My power is yours. Use me as you will, my lord."
The sound that rumbles through Urizen is amused, the demonic analogue of laughter, and as inextricably linked to the Qliphoth as he is, it sends a shudder of vibration through the entire room (to say nothing of the thrill it sends through you.) "So eager...so shamefully eager," he makes the sound again, raises a hand and flicks it in a lazy gesture, the branches that hold you responding immediately to bring you closer - close enough he can reach out, settle the point of a claw against your cheek and study you in distant fascination. "You are a most intriguing puzzle, tenacious little worm. Perhaps you will be useful for entertainment as well." The claw presses into your flesh, a little pinprick of hot pain that makes you inhale sharply, and you'd almost swear you can pick up the tiniest hint of a sweetly beguiling scent, but it's impossible to focus on that when your mind is clouding over and your entire body has grown shamefully warm, the thickly armoured plating that shields your more sensitive parts beginning to shift and retract instinctively - at any other time, you might find your reaction downright embarrassing, but right now even that is pleasant for some reason, and you don't feel like it requires deep thought at the moment, Urizen's voice sending you into a dizzied haze. "Yes...entertainment, and...perhaps more."
You would normally question what exactly was meant by 'more', but you're finding that rather difficult when eager tendrils are slithering forth from gaps in Urizen's root armour, the Qliphoth's eerie lighting glinting off the sheen of dark, metallic-smelling sap that coats them, any coherent feelings save for sheer want seeming to simply fade into nothing.
"That mouth of yours," Urizen continues, a low, self-satisfied growl, and brushes a tendril against your lips, "has been so obedient - and I trust it will remain so now. Open it--" and he's definitely smirking when you do so without question, the tendril immediately plunging inside, leaving thick, sticky smears along your lips and tongue and muffling your instinctive moan as the tang of copper fills your senses. (This sap must be born from the very lifeblood that pulses through the Qliphoth, you realise - and it is very nearly overwhelming that Urizen finds you worthy enough to share something so precious with you.) "Truly, you are depraved, nothing but a lowly, desperate minx. To be so excited about something like this..." More tendrils are creeping along your body now, leaving sap in their wake that seems to scorch you pleasantly to the bone, and you hardly even feel the heat between your legs growing to match it until slick fluid dampens your inner thighs, your protective plating fully retracted now and leaving you completely exposed to the demon king's whims. "I could destroy you here and now, my vile lamb...and you would not only accept it, you would beg for it. Your devotion is admirable, and I must reward it."
Yes, you think, wriggling in the branches' grip, please-- and as if they can hear and respond to your thoughts, the tendrils shiver with a low humming sound, the one in your mouth emitting a brief gush of sap as a second one finds your hot, pulsating entrance, plunging deep inside of you; the sensation of being so suddenly invaded is almost electric, making your back arch and a muffled cry splutter forth from your throat, and you nearly swear you hear a smug rumble of a laugh deep in Urizen's chest. "Utterly depraved, indeed," he almost purrs, low and resonant, and the slightest flick of his fingers has your living restraints shifting immediately, flipping you about so he has a most perfect view of the rough tendril buried deep within your quivering walls, of the mixture of sap and arousal that leaks from you with even the slightest unconscious movement you make. "Even for a demon, you are thoroughly shameful...and you seem so very unbothered by this fact. I am impressed, little sapling - I wonder just how far you are willing to go."
You can't answer, of course, not with your mouth full and more of that thick sap filling you both above and below, but you can make sounds and so you do, letting out a muffled whine and arching in your bonds in what you hope is an obvious invitation to find out; it seems to work, anyway, because a third tendril is soon darting between your spread legs to probe at your rear entrance and a fourth wraps itself round the thick shaft that protrudes from above your drenched cunt, and you're immediately keening out shrill pleasure at the overwhelming sensation of having both sets of sexual organs stimulated at once. Truly Urizen is most magnanimous, you think, to please you so thoroughly - and then those tendrils are moving, fucking your holes in deep alternating strokes and rippling along your needy erection, and you can't even think anymore, writhing in your bonds as you cry out as best you can with your mouth so thoroughly occupied. You're far from what anyone would consider innocent, but never in your entire life have you felt anything so intense, so utterly consuming to the extent that all of your common sense simply flies right out the figurative window...and if you could think, you'd be demanding more of it, but instead all you can do is let the ecstacy sweep across every nerve and build to a fever pitch within you. You won't last like this, you're sure of it even if you don't know it coherently, and you - you--
--then the tendrils shift, twisting and curling within you and tightening around you, and your last remaining bit of self-control simply shatters away, your body nearly spasming in its bonds as orgasm relentlessly and unexpectedly takes you.
"No shame," Urizen says in a low, breathy hiss, "none whatsoever--" and then the tendrils are pulling free, leaving you gasping as sap streams from your orifices and your cock throbs heavy and helpless against your belly, sufficiently distracted as to not realise the branches are maneuvering you still closer until they let go, sharp claws taking hold of your body instead in a tight and possessive grasp that makes you shiver. Surely what you're hoping for can't possibly be - but slitting your eyes open and peering hazily down reveals something you'd never in your wildest dreams thought you might see, gnarled roots shuddering and parting to expose a frankly enormous shaft that pulses visibly with desire, and you can't even manage to be the slightest bit embarrassed about the desperate crooning noise that escapes you. "Keeping you may very well be worth my while," he continues, manhandling you into position in his lap even as he speaks, and though he makes no audible sound when your sap-smeared flesh comes into contact with the very tip of him, you can feel the ripple of sensation that goes through his body and you're privately proud of that. "Now tell me, little sapling. Tell me what it is you want."
"You, my lord," you pant, unsure where you're finding the coherency to speak but certainly not complaining. "I want to feel you inside me. I want you to drive me out of my mind as you use me for your pleasure. I want you to claim me, to make me yours - please, my lord, oh, please..."
"Shameful whelp," Urizen growls, almost sounding oddly affectionate, but you can't dwell on that for too long when he's pulling you down onto him and the splitting pleasure-pain immediately drowns out any other feeling.
Ruthless as befits a demon lord, he manipulates your body like a mere rag doll, moving you up and down on his cock with absolutely no regard for whether you feel agony or bliss - and truth be told, you aren't entirely sure which it is either, but you certainly don't want it to ever stop, gripping helplessly at the thick roots wound about his arms with enough force for your claws to puncture the stone-like bark that covers them and not even trying to hold back your shrill cries. It's like nothing you've ever felt before, utterly indescribable, and you feel you're losing yourself more and more each time he bottoms out within you, the sap that remains clinging to your inner walls emitting utterly lewd squelching noises with every movement that only arouse you further. (You dimly think you must be the luckiest demon in existence, in the history of ever - the thought is almost as overwhelming as the sensations, and you're not sure which is making you feel the most right now, but you also aren't too fussed with trying to figure it out.) You'd almost believe at this point that you're no longer your own entity, that you're literally becoming one with him the longer he's inside of you and the fiercer his movements become, and perhaps the idea should be alarming but right now it's just about the best thing you've ever thought of; it isn't even about the power or the status, but the possibility of being able to feel like this forever, to become nothing but a being of pure hedonism and delight at the whims of your lord--
(Some very distant part of your mind is telling you that you ought to be ashamed of yourself, but you're very determinedly not listening to it.)
"You really are," Urizen hisses, panting a little now as more quivering tendrils tighten round you in proof that he's enjoying every moment of this as well, "completely shameful--" and at any other time you might feel you're being scolded, but right now even that is just adding another layer of pleasure to everything you're already feeling and your only response is more helpless crooning, clutching at his arms like a drowning man to a lifeline as his movements become somehow rougher, his hips now lifting to meet yours every time he pulls you down again; the rough bark covering his body is scraping relentlessly at your thighs and drawing blood and even that feels good, everything so overwhelming that you're feeling absolutely no pain any more, instead luxuriating in it as it brings you closer and closer to what's shaping up to be an utterly devastating release. (Perhaps, though you don't even honestly dare to hope it consciously, your climax will be the catalyst for Urizen's own - it might be selfish of you, but oh, how much you want it deep in your heart--) "Why are you still holding so stubbornly to that pitiful modicum of control? You wanted this," a thin, sap-slick tendril curls about your cock, rippling and pulsing along the length of it in an erratic pattern that gives away the demon king's own comparative lack of control. "So show me just how much you wanted it. How much you do want it - want me."
Something about the words, so plainly spoken, is raw and electric on the edges of your frayed restraint, and the last of it simply shatters away - there is no way you can even hope to disobey him now, and when his low snarl of "Now come for me, little sapling--" reaches your ears, you do exactly that with a keening wail that echoes to the very depths of the Qliphoth.
"Yes," Urizen groans, a most self-satisfied noise that sounds like the quaking of branches in a storm, "so perfect--" one more sharp thrust, two more, and his voice picks up into an unearthly roar, claws puncturing deep into the flesh of your hips as he pulls you forcibly down onto him one last time; the aching stretch as he finally seats himself to the root within you is enough to send you straight into another release and the rush of heat that surges into you triggers a third right on its heels, mouth open wide in a silent scream and eyes rolled back so far that if you were coherent, you might think you ought to be seeing the inside of your skull. It's so much more powerful than you'd hoped, than you'd imagined - and you can only give in to the brilliant haze that claims you, your entire being, your entire world nothing but a roiling tempest of overwhelming, painful bliss.
You don't know how much time passes - a few seconds? Minutes? Longer still? - before he is shifting your barely-conscious form, lifting you free of him, and you snap back to semi-coherency with a rasping moan, turning hazy eyes downward to see the flood of thick saplike fluid that pours from you - even that is strangely erotic, and sheer exhaustion is the only reason your body doesn't respond with another surge of arousal. "Thank you, my lord," you manage, remembering your manners now that you can think again, and it's all you can do not to wince at how your voice feels like sandpaper to your abused throat. "You are...most munificent...to give me so much pleasure. I only hope...I was able to satisfy you just as thoroughly...?"
Urizen doesn't answer at first, simply sizes you up with an unreadable expression as branches curl round your limbs, placing you back on the ground where you promptly sit down very hard, your rear landing with a soft splat in the mess of come that has puddled beneath you. "Such feigned selflessness does not become you," he says finally, and you'd almost swear he might be smirking. "Yet I will indulge you and play your feeble game, little sapling. Such satisfaction as you have given me," he flicks a finger, and a branch lifts your head so your eyes meet his, insistent pressure beneath your chin preventing you from looking away. "Is truly rare. You have impressed me - and for that alone, I intend to keep you. Just see that you do not disappoint me; it would be almost a pity to have to end such a promising existence."
Heat floods to your cheeks, and you're genuinely surprised; after all of that, you can still manage to blush at the sentiment in Urizen's words? "I will not disappoint you," you say as strongly as you can, pushing the warm embarrassment aside in favor of what you hope is at least a somewhat neutral expression, taking a deep breath and willing your legs to behave long enough to pull yourself pridefully to your feet. "You have all of me, my lord. My power, my obedience - my everything, for as long as you wish it. You need only say the word, give the order, and I will carry it out." And you genuinely mean every word, knowing the honour you are being granted, knowing what it is you have got yourself into and not minding it a single whit. "I swear to it."
He sizes you up, silent and impassive, finally waves his hand dismissively and settles back into his usual ponderous slouch. "I have a task you may perform once you are rested, then. One that must not be allowed to fail. Remember the oath you have sworn, and carry out your duty to the fullest - not that I need remind you," low amusement rumbles through him, through the Qliphoth itself, the faintest of quivers. "Now, listen closely."
"Yes, my lord," you say, bowing your head in deference and focusing your ears intently on the words he next gives you.
#devil may cry#nsfw#character: urizen#character: reader insert#pairing: urizen x reader#warning: demon sex#warning: tentacles
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May I Have This Dance
Title: May I Have This Dance Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Dante/female reader insert Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: You can’t dance. Dante doesn’t mind.
(Request fic for @dragonesszena.)
"What," you say with a soft laugh as you step into Dante's office, putting your hands on your hips and eyeing him with amusement, "are you doing?"
"Mm?" Dante turns his head to look over from where he's stood on a chair, a hammer in one hand and a few nails in the other, and a grin comes to his face when he sees you. "Ah, you know, little bit of this, little bit of that--" he shrugs, turns back to the wall, squinting critically as if he's trying to visualise the best way to finish his task before just shrugging again and setting another nail against the splintered paneling, driving it in with a few firm blows. "And a little bit of moving things around so demon carcasses aren't almost falling on my head every time someone slams the door, you know how it goes. Wasn't expecting you this early, though. Something up?"
"No, I just had some unexpected free time." You shrug a little yourself, taking a seat on the couch to watch him, your head tilting briefly as you realise the old jukebox is clicking and whirring in the corner, crackly notes floating through the air. (It's been a while since you've come in to music playing; it's proof that Dante must really be in a good mood, and that's something you're delighted to see.) "Which one is it this time? The Empusa? You really need to quit throwing darts at it, you're destroying its integrity. No wonder it keeps falling on you."
Dante feigns a pouty look, turns his head to pout at you like he can't believe you'd say such a thing to him, never mind the fact that his expression is full of clear amusement. "You wound me, ____. I am highly offended by your implications--" but he's laughing now, boots thumping noisily on the floor as he hops down off the chair, setting the hammer and nails aside on his desk for the moment. "Nah, you're right, makes a terrible dartboard. Too old and dried out. It's only fun when you can pop ‘em - vicious cleanup, though." Turning to eye the jukebox, he folds his arms, hums a thoughtful sound and moves to prod at it, cutting off the current song in mid-note and changing it to something more bouncy, full of jazzy strains that lilt through the air. "In any case, I'm about ready for a break - been putting new holes in the walls all morning. So," apparently satisfied with the song, he turns his attention back to you, "tell me something. How do you feel about dancing?"
"That's an awfully open-ended question," you say dryly, leaning back and letting your arms drape over the back of the couch, eyeing him with mock suspicion. "I don't care if other people do it around me, I have no weird religious hangups about it, and I swear I have two left feet so I don't do it, but if none of that is the answer you expected, you're gonna have to stop being cryptic and just tell me what you're getting at. I'm not a mind reader - and let's be honest, you probably wouldn't want me reading yours even if I was."
A snort of a laugh escapes Dante, never mind he's pretending to look offended again, taking a few steps closer and planting his hands on his hips. "Probably not," he says, and he looks pleased when you bite back a snorted laugh of your own, holding eye contact with you for just a moment longer than is strictly necessary, faintly smirking when you narrow your eyes just noticeably and let yourself settle into a purposely over-comfortable sprawl that is absolutely not one single bit intimidated. "Alright, lemme rephrase that. You ever danced with the devil? And if not," now it's definitely a smirk, and he sketches a bow, offering you his hand with a great sweeping flourish. "You want to?"
"I just told you I can't dance." You narrow your eyes more, stare at his hand like you're considering biting it, but he looks so unconsciously eager when you lift your head to make eye contact again that you can't keep up the aloof act, shaking your head and letting a small smile come to your lips, lifting your hand to place it delicately in his. "But I guess I can't refuse such a generous offer, can I?"
"Nope," he agrees, grinning now as he tugs you to your feet, pulling you close to him and settling his other hand on your waist, as easily and confidently as if it belongs there. "Don't you worry about a thing, babe. Just follow my lead, and you'll be fine."
"You and 'fine' are on entirely opposite ends of the dictionary--" you cut off with a squeak of indignant surprise when he's suddenly urging you into motion, never mind your clumsy stumbles and faltering feet, only his supportive hands keeping you from falling flat on your face. "I-I'm not kidding, you know! I really don't know what I'm doing, can't we start out slower - you're gonna make me sprain an ankle at this rate and then I'm gonna be pissed, I don't have all the magic woo-woo insta-healing powers you do - are you even listening to me?--"
"Course I'm listening." Dante smiles down at you, easy and sympathetic, giving your waist a little reassuring squeeze and pretending for your sake that he doesn't notice how you're blushing. "Look. You're making this harder than it has to be. You trust me, right?"
"You don't want me to answer that--" your hand tightens on his as you nearly trip again, mouth setting into an indignant pout. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be letting you do this."
"That's all you need to do," he says, still smiling, bringing the both of you to a halt and just looking down at you for a moment. "Trust me. I'm not gonna let you get hurt. Just close your eyes and follow my lead - I promise, you'll be fine."
"I've heard that one before," you mutter, but after a moment, you take a slow, deep breath, try to will the tension out of your shoulders, and tightly close your eyes.
It's still awkward, even like this, and you're still desperately hoping you don't end up twisting or spraining something, but it is easier - not looking at what you're doing lets you focus more on what Dante's doing, lets you feel how he's guiding you to move, and while you're certain you'll never be more than perhaps vaguely passable at this, it's beginning to feel less arcane and more actually doable. (It helps that he's very easy to follow; you may not be skilled, or even capable, at dancing, but you do know a partner with a firm leading arm and easily comprehensible body language can take even the most subpar dance up a few notches, and he fits those requirements to a T.) Honestly, it's even beginning to approach something you might call genuinely fun by now, and you don't even realise you've started smiling until you hear him muffling an adoring chuckle, snapping you out of the half-trance you've settled into, your cheeks flaring brilliantly red when you open your eyes again and see him watching your face. "Stop staring at me," is the first thing you can manage to say, and it comes out a little sharper than maybe you would have liked, but his affectionate expression never falters and so you don't let yourself spiral into needless apology. "I swear you just like to embarrass me."
"Only cause you're so cute when you blush," Dante shrugs, lets his feet and yours come to a stop and lets go of your hand to reach up instead, tracing light fingers along the heated pink splashed across your cheeks. "Even cuter when you're enjoying yourself, though. Sure looked like you were having fun, even if you say you can't dance."
"I can't," you retort petulantly, but you're leaning your head into his touch, so any attempts at acting genuinely angry are not even close to successful. "Maybe I just like being close to you--" and the instant the words leave your mouth, you're going bright red all the way up your ears, not having meant to be quite so blatantly honest, but it's too late to take it back now and so you just turn your eyes away in mortification. Why does your traitor mouth always do this sort of thing at the worst moments, you wonder? "I, um - look, forget I said that."
He studies you for a moment, sympathetically amused, tightens his grip on your waist when you try to pull away and turns your face back towards his. "Hey, c'mon, that's nothing to be embarrassed about. All you had to do," he lets his hand drop from grasping your chin, settles it on your waist as well and pulls your body flush against his, "was say something, yeah? I'm sure as hell not gonna say no to such a tempting possibility." His chuckle, low and resonant, is more easily felt by your proximity to him than it is heard, and it makes you feel both hot and shivery in equal measure, sparking off a low burn of pleased curiosity along your every nerve. "So if that's what you really want..."
You swallow hard, nodding just a little, not quite trusting your voice but trying it anyway. "Yeah," you manage, and thank whatever deity might be watching over you, the words don't come out shaky. "Just - let's stay just like this for a little while...okay?"
"You got it," Dante agrees, quiet and affectionate, a hand coming up to rest gently against the back of your head as if to cradle you against him. "As long as you want."
Still blushing brilliantly, you press your cheek to his chest and close your eyes, just nodding again and letting the strong, steady pulse of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothe your jangled nerves, drowning out everything else around you.
Maybe if this is what it leads to, you think, you might just let him try to teach you to dance again sometime.
#devil may cry#sfw#character: dante#character: reader insert#pairing: dante x female reader#warning: none
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Flowers
Title: Flowers Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil, Nero’s mother Rating: PG Warnings: Mention of death Summary: It’s funny how quickly life can go from joy to despair.
"In the language of flowers," she told him, settling the slender stem into a buttonhole and meeting his eyes, "the orchid can represent several things. But of them all, there are two in particular that I think I should speak of. One is strength--" she paused, hummed gentle amusement, and lowered her eyes, gazing for a moment at scarlet petals before drawing breath to go on. "And the other..."
He waited, watched her; when she closed her eyes and didn't continue, he covered her hand gently with his and prompted her with a bare breath. "The other?"
Still another hesitation, as she turned her hand beneath his, linking their fingers, holding on tight. "Do you remember," she began at length, just as quiet as he, shaking her head when he gave her a faintly puzzled frown at the apparent non-sequitur. "What I told you when you first began to court me? The night you found me alone, in the gardens--" a brief, pained tension in her shoulders now, one she was clearly doing her best to suppress.
Memory prickled at the back of his mind, a bitter pain that made him unconsciously clasp her hand tight. "Your lost child," he responded, forced away the guilt that sat heavy on his tongue at speaking the words aloud and went on. "Your condition...yes, I remember. But why do you ask, so suddenly?"
Again, her reply skirted the subject; again, the incline of her head indicated he should hold any protest. "I have been reliving their words these past weeks - the ones that told me with such certainty that any further effort should be worthless. Reliving them over and over again, a hellish symphony without end in the depths of my heart. And yet--" now she raised her eyes to his once more, took a slow breath. "Yet, they have ceased to pain me. They have ceased to hold meaning any longer. Do you know why that is?"
He opened his mouth, started to say he did not know, and then found himself unable to speak when the realisation dawned on him.
"Fertility - that is the second meaning," she said finally, adjusted the flower in his buttonhole once more and smiled, soft, uncertain. "I - we are..."
He gave her no chance to continue; he swept her up in his arms and kissed her, held her tight, felt joyful tears dampening his cheeks as well as her own.
Nine months later, he felt he knew perfection when he held his son for the first time.
A month after that, holding the lifeless body of the woman who had borne his child at what proved to be the cost of her own life, perfection became despair.
It was raining as he left the city he'd almost felt could become his home, the son he loved so deeply he knew he could not stay, the life he had nearly had; and the colors of the setting sun rippled indistinctly through the puddles that dotted the ground.
When he turned back to look for the final time, he thought in his grief that the reflections looked like nothing so much as an unearthly apparition of scarlet flowers.
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Intersect - Chapter 15
Title: Intersect (Chapter 15) Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Dante/Nero Rating: M Chapter Warnings: Spardacest, crude language Chapter Summary: It's been a long week of waiting, and Nero's not sure he can take any more.
"Nero," Kyrie says gently, reaching across the table to put her hand on his arm, expression soft and sympathetic. "Just remember...he promised he'd come back."
Nero only nods vaguely, hardly seeming to even hear her, picking absentmindedly at his mostly-uneaten dinner which has long since grown cold and pretending not to notice the concern in her face. It's been a week now, he thinks; a week with no contact from Dante, not even the slightest hint of whether he might be okay, and perhaps he's just being overly sensitive about the whole thing but he just can't stop worrying. (It absolutely doesn't help that he can't ever recall Dante having been AWOL on a job like this since they've known each other, and he just can't manage to push that particular gnawing anxiety out of the way.) Surely there would have been something by now, a phonecall, a letter, just...anything?
He groans, shoves his plate aside and rubs his face, giving a wan apologetic smile when Kyrie squeezes his arm, unspoken questions in her eyes. "I'll eat it later," he says, puts his hand over hers for just a moment and then gets up, chair legs scraping noisily on the linoleum. "I'm sorry. I just - I'm gonna go see if I can help Nico with anything, alright? I need to work right now...try and get my mind off how stupid I'm being."
Kyrie purses her lips, looks like she wants to protest, but instead she just rises too, circling round the table to where she can put her arms soothingly around him. "You're not being stupid," she tells him, rests her head briefly against his shoulder when he slips a tired arm around her waist. "It's okay, Nero. I understand. You can't help worrying about the people you love - I feel the same way whenever you're not here. But I always believe you'll come back, just like you need to believe he will." Raising her head, she looks him in the eye, gives him a reassuring smile and puts a hand up to cup his cheek when he blushes faintly. "Go ahead, I'll put your dinner in the fridge for later. Just don't push yourself, please."
"I won't," Nero promises quietly, gives her a grateful squeeze, pressing his lips briefly to her forehead in unspoken thanks. "You wouldn't let me anyway, even if I tried."
"Of course I wouldn't," she agrees, her smile a little more amused now as she turns him loose. "Don't let Nico blow anything up this time, okay?"
He can't help a snort of laughter at that - the first time he's laughed, felt like laughing, in a week now, and it brings a little relief - and nods, turning to go. "I'll try, anyway."
A half hour later, he's managed to lose himself acceptably well in helping Nico with some fixing up on the RV; she'd picked up on his somber mood almost instantly and taken it upon herself to crack bad jokes and tell stories to distract him, and she's still doing it now, though she's muffled enough with having half her upper body shoved under the dashboard that it's a bit of a struggle to make out her words. "--So I'm tellin' the guy I can't get hold of the parts, right," he thinks she's saying, given the context of the current story, "and he's just not takin' no for an answer, tries to pull that whole 'I demand compensation for my wasted time' shit all the self-absorbed morons like to try. Hey, hand me the wire cutter, would you--" a hand emerges, fingers waggling in his direction, and then retreats again when he obediently slaps the requested tool into her palm, words now punctuated by sharp clipping sounds. "Thanks. Where was I - right, then the douchebag gets all up in my face and tells me he's got some parts I can grab, like he expects me to bend over and take it just cause I can't get what I'd need to actually fix his shitty gun. So I threw a wrench at his sorry head and told him I was damn sure he had nothing worth grabbing, since he was asking for compensation--" and she's radiating smug, wriggling back out of the compartment with the most self-satisfied grin he's ever seen on her face. "Worked, too. Jackass slunk out of there, lookin' like someone just ran over his cat, and never came back. My finest moment, I'm pretty sure."
Nero snorts quietly, gives a brief headshake and takes the wire cutter when she hands it back, tossing it haphazardly into the toolbox from whence it came. "Sometimes I wonder how anyone puts up with you," he teases halfheartedly, turning his head so he can ignore the shrewd and observant look she's giving him, instead focusing on the mess of old and empty bottles against the wall that he's been meaning to take care of but never got around to. "On second thought, never mind. I don't wanna know. The answer probably involves hazardous fumes, more alcohol than I've ever seen in my life, and enough dead bodies to keep three morgues in business for half the year, and I'd like to keep some plausible deniability for the inevitable questioning." He finally looks at her again, cracks a faint but genuine smile when she snorts a laugh in the way she does when she's pretending to be insulted, and gets to his feet, automatically wiping his hands off on the hem of his shirt even though he hasn't been doing anything messy. "I'm gonna head in and catch a shower, alright? Try not to electrocute yourself or cut off any limbs."
"No promises," Nico says blithely, slams the removed panel back into place and swings herself down to the creeper seat she's left waiting, on her back and rolling underneath the RV with a practised ease that always makes Nero wonder how she does it so quickly. "Wait, before you go anywhere. Hop in and see if the radio turns on. Should be fine, but I'd rather find out if it's dead now instead of the next time we hit the road--" she's audibly making a face at the thought, not that Nero can blame her. "Keys are in the cupholder."
"You're trusting me with the keys?" Nero asks mock-skeptically, even as he hefts himself up into the driver's seat and reaches for Nico's overloaded keyring, silently praying the engine turns over without another burst of sparks like the last time; thankfully, it roars safely to life on the first turn of the key, and he's reaching for the radio dial when the inbuilt phone unexpectedly rings.
Autopilot takes over; he grabs the receiver, brings it to his ear, his voice taking on the light and casually inflected tone he reserves for not alienating potential customers. "Devil May Cry."
"Hey, I like the sound of that, kid. Nice and professional," says the cheerful voice on the other end of the line, and he freezes, nearly drops the phone. "You been plotting to take over my business while I'm away, or does the 'I'm only putting up with you for the money' tone come to you naturally?"
He swallows hard, opens and closes his mouth a few times in an attempt to get his voice to work, and when he finally manages, it's a strangled gasp. "Dante?"
Dante chuckles, and yeah, that's definitely him, even distorted over the degrading lines of what sounds like it must be the world's oldest pay phone, from the tinny quality to the sound. "Who the hell else would it be? No, don't answer that. Sorry if I caught you at a bad time, but d'you think you could make it out to the wharf?"
Instead of answering, Nero - rather embarrassingly - bursts into tears.
It takes him a bit to calm down, by which point Nico's extracted herself from underneath the RV, grabbed the phone out of his unresisting hand and is enjoying herself entirely too much slinging a volley of scathing insults at Dante for making him cry, and he knows he should probably try to deescalate this situation but he's too afraid he'll just embarrass himself even more, instead just wiping his eyes roughly dry on his sleeve and taking deep breaths until he thinks he can speak again. "Gimme that," he says finally, reaches for the phone and manages to be a little surprised when Nico surrenders it mostly without complaint, putting it to his ear again to hear Dante's stifled laughter on the other end. Of course he'd be enjoying the situation too, of course he would-- "The wharf," he says over the laughter, not so much a question as a confirmation, swipes his sleeve over his face again and tries to pretend he sounds a lot less pitiful than he does. "You planning on coming back with us, or what? Kyrie would probably put you up for the night if you asked her real nice."
"I won't say I didn't consider it," Dante admits, and he doesn't sound the least bit ashamed for it. "But I was more thinking you might want to spend a night with me, instead of the other way around. Unless you think you can be quiet enough that the kids won't--"
"Alright, I get it," Nero interrupts quickly, and he's sure he has to be turning several shades of red that definitely aren't found in nature, elbowing Nico away when she tries to lean in close enough to eavesdrop. "Fine, I'll be there in twenty minutes. You're gonna have to put on your big boy pants and entertain yourself till I get there, though."
"Aw, and here I thought you wanted me to take off the big boy pants," Dante counters, putting on his best petulant tone. "Mixed messages, kid. You gotta quit sending 'em."
"Just shut the fuck up, sit down and wait for me." Nero huffs, slams the receiver back down onto its base, but he's grinning, feeling suddenly light in a way he hasn't done since their last night together.
It takes all his willpower, and even some he didn't honestly know he had, not to tackle Dante the instant their eyes meet, but somehow he manages to hold himself back until they've reached their usual room at the motel and the door's shut behind them; the instant he hears the lock click into place, though, he just gives up, gives in, seizes hold of Dante's shoulders and slams him back against the wall and then their mouths are meeting and it's the best thing he's ever felt in his life. All the worry, all the sadness, the fear - it's all melting away, the gnawing emptiness he's felt for a damned week now finally starting to fade, and he's not even aware he's crying again until he has to pull back to get his breath, genuinely confused for just a moment as to why his cheeks are wet and he can taste salt at the corners of his lips. "I," he starts, swipes halfheartedly at the tears, "you--" and he realises he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, what he wants to say, so he just takes as deep a breath he can and holds it for a second, willing himself to calm. "You - really came back."
"Yeah," Dante says, smiles sympathetically and brings a hand up to cup Nero's cheek, thumb gently rubbing across his cheekbone in a soothing motion. "Told you I'd be back, didn't I?" --but there's no animosity in it, nothing even teasing, just a quiet and apologetic seriousness that says he's not making light of the situation at all. "...I'm sorry it took so long. You can smack me if you want - y'know, if that makes you feel better. Hell, I'd smack me, too."
Nero hiccups a noise that's some mixture of laugh and sob, leans into the reassuring hand and takes a couple more deep breaths, welcoming the warmth that's filling him just by being in proximity to Dante once more. "Don't ever worry me like that again," he says, his voice thankfully steady, closes his eyes for a moment and then looks up again, a genuine smile starting to tug at his mouth. "What took you so long to come back anyway? I was starting to think you fell into some kind of hellhole or something--" and he immediately regrets saying that, because it's actually a possibility, and the way Dante's expression goes faintly sheepish makes him want to beat his head into the nearest wall a few times. (He settles for thunking his forehead hard against Dante's shoulder; it's bound to hurt less than a wall.) "Never mind. I'm sorry I asked."
"Not as sorry as I was to live it," Dante says dryly, but he's smiling again, running a hand through Nero's hair, lingering there for a moment in a way that says he's missed giving all those affectionate little touches just as much as Nero's missed receiving them. "Look, I'll tell you all about the whole gig later, but I think we've got something far more important to focus on right now. You clearly missed me--" he interrupts himself with a chuckle, because that's about the most obvious thing that could have come out of his mouth right now. "And I know I sure as hell missed you, so why don't we get started on making up for that? Sound like a plan?"
"Yeah - yeah," Nero agrees quickly, takes a deep breath and gives one last swipe at his cheeks even though they're now dry, as if making damn sure he's stopped crying and doesn't look nearly such a mess any more. "Sounds great. You have no idea how fucking much I want you right now."
Dante grins at that, looks Nero up and down, as if sizing him up. "I think I can guess," he responds, and then he's stepping away from the wall, pressing against Nero forcefully enough to make him back up, not stopping until they've reached the bed and those storm-blue eyes are glinting bright with aggravated want. "But if it's all the same to you, I think I'd prefer knowing to guessing. So...how about we get all these pesky clothes off and you show me what you mean? Always been more of a hands-on guy, y'know."
"Not going to ask what you like having your hands on," Nero mutters, but the way he half-smirks proves he isn't actually as annoyed as he's pretending, as does the way he immediately lifts his hands to begin stripping as Dante steps back enough to do the same.
It doesn't take long at all before they're both nude, and the very instant the last piece of clothing hits the floor, Nero's wrapping his arms tight around Dante and making to fall back to the bed, kissing Dante hard to swallow a breath of laughter as he willingly lets himself be pulled down too. Gods above, it feels so good, like it's been months instead of just a week, like he'd somehow managed to forget just how it felt to hold and to be held like this - and he doesn't need to be a mind reader to know Dante feels the same way, from all those possessive little touches and the biting kisses currently being pressed all over his jaw and neck, driving him absolutely wild in a way he hasn't felt since they'd first met. (Something about that strikes him as oddly funny, in its way, but he's not going to think too hard about that when there's better things to do.) "Dante," he breathes, tips his head back and lets out a little whine when Dante's teeth close ever so gently over his throat, just firm enough to send desperate sparks skittering down his spine from the feel of it. "I - please, don't tease me, I-I want you so much..."
"Thought you'd never ask," Dante says, low and rough and trailing off into a shuddery chuckle, and he clearly doesn't want to pull back from Nero even for a moment but he reluctantly does so anyway, reaching for his discarded coat and rummaging in the pockets for the ever-present lube. "I was thinking of you the whole time, you know. Thinking of how upset you'd be if I got my ass kicked down there--" he nudges Nero's legs apart a little more with his knee as he's slicking his fingers, pressing two unceremoniously into him and watching him intently as he arches with a pleased curse. "Turned out alright in the end, though - got a nice new weapon out of it too," and his fingers curl, sharp insistent pressure against Nero's prostate, making him squirm and rock his hips frantically, trying to fuck himself on the stretching fingers. "Remind me to show you when we're done, yeah?"
"You assume," Nero pants out, low and shuddery, whining as those fingers withdraw, "that I'm gonna remember to remind you--"
"Point," Dante agrees with a half-smirk, shivering absently at the feel of the chilly gel on his cock as he slicks himself, eyelids briefly fluttering with pleasure. "Not the point you wanna be thinking of right now, either, right?"
"Damn right," Nero says in a shuddering hiss, spreads his legs, looking at Dante with beseeching eyes and taking a quick breath as possessive hands clamp onto his hips. "Come on, you bastard, I've been fucking dreaming about this for a week now and I swear I'm gonna cry if I don't get you in me in the next five seconds--"
Dante's only answer is a not-quite-human sound of amusement, and he doesn't hesitate any longer, burying himself in Nero's welcoming heat with a single swift thrust.
"Fuck, Dante--" Eyes wide, pupils blown large with desperate need, Nero wraps his legs tight around Dante's waist and clings to him, heels pressing into the small of his back, letting out a guttural groan when he doesn't hesitate to immediately begin moving with harsh jarring thrusts. "Yes, fuck, just like that, don't - you dare stop--" and then he gives up on trying to speak altogether, buries his face into Dante's neck to muffle the wild sounds he's making, biting down hard just to make Dante snarl in the way that always makes him want to lose control and pushing frantically up against the vicious movements. Yes, this is perfect, exactly what he's wanted, what he's needed - and there's a part of him that's just so smug about the obvious fact Dante's been craving this just as much, a warm thrum of amusement underneath everything else, and somehow that's just making it all so much better that he just can't hold back (even if he wanted to, which he definitely does not.) "I - god, Dante, please - please don't stop, don't ever stop, feels - so good - I, I'm gonna..." he breaks off with a thin and most embarrassed whine, digs his nails into Dante's back just below his shoulderblades and drags them down, fighting to keep just enough coherency to finish his thought before he utterly loses it. "Please, Dante, I - make me come for you..."
Dante groans sharply, manages a tight nod, arching into the scrape of Nero's nails against his skin and tilting his head just a little so their foreheads are resting together, panting breaths coming in short sharp bursts that wash hot across Nero's trembling lips. "Like I'd...do anything else," he says, half-teasing, a breathless growl nearly below the edge of hearing that trails off into a possessive noise, rumbling low in his chest almost like a second heartbeat. "You look - so damn good - when you lose it for me - let it go, yeah? Let it all go--" he growls again, wordless this time, snaps his hips sharply forward in a jarring thrust that's perfectly timed to meet the next frantic buck Nero makes against him. "Let me feel you - let me see you - fuck, you're so gorgeous like this - I love you - so much--"
Nero sucks in a startled breath, lets out a whimper that was meant to be a reply, but another of those vicious thrusts and Dante's mouth abruptly claiming his in a deep biting kiss is more than enough to distract him from any attempts at forming words, and he just doesn't have the mind to protest even if he wanted to - so instead he gives in, rakes his nails sharply up Dante's back and lets that hot, needy mouth swallow down the guttural sound he makes as he comes, trembling at the near identical sound torn from Dante's throat as he follows only a few moments later.
This is perfect, he finds himself thinking with the last shreds of coherent focus he has - the most perfect thing he's ever felt in his life, and it's almost enough to bring him to tears yet again, breaking the kiss and burying his face into Dante's neck, clinging like he never wants to let go.
"Shit," Dante breathes out, voice low and shuddery, "that was - shit--" and he's laughing in sharp huffs of breath, overwhelmed, only just retaining enough control to settle gently against Nero instead of simply just flopping down on top of him, bringing a hand up to tangle into his hair downright possessively and ghosting little kisses against the top of his head as the both of them slowly calm. "Never felt anything like that in my life...damn, you're amazing," he finally goes on after catching his breath, huffs another laugh when Nero makes an embarrassed noise and nips at him, taking the not-really-punishment as his due. "Maybe I need to go away more often...if coming back is gonna be this good."
"Don't even think about it," Nero says petulantly, still a little breathless, nips at him again and looks up to give him a most unamused stare. "I seriously thought something bad had happened to you. Not letting you do that again." --but he can't even stay pretend-angry when Dante's looking at him like that, so soft and affectionate, and his own expression slowly relaxes, an almost nervous smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "...Seriously. Don't do that again. I don't think I'd be able to take it."
"I didn't mean to," Dante says reasonably, runs a gentle hand through his hair, smiling when he leans into it with the faintest hint of a blush. "But hey, if bitching about it makes you feel better, then bitch away."
"Bitching? Oh, you want bitching? You ain't seen nothin' yet." Nero puts on an exaggerated frown, narrows his eyes a little, but he's obviously trying not to grin and it's not working, and when Dante starts laughing he can't help but join in, feeling the last of that little knot of cold, worried tension finally just dissolving away. "You know, you're the most infuriating, cocky, careless, devil-may-care bastard I've ever had the fucking misfortune to meet in my life--"
"I know. But you love me anyway, right?" Dante grins, amusement practically dancing in his eyes, his other hand coming up to thread into Nero's hair as well.
Nero promptly reddens, right up to the tips of his ears, opens his mouth for an embarrassed protest, but--
"...Yeah. Yeah, I do. More than anything," is what he says instead, and when Dante's expression softens and he leans in for a kiss, that makes all the embarrassment completely worth it.
When their lips part, he bring his own hands up, settles them a little shyly against Dante's cheeks to cup his face, and whispers.
"...Welcome home, Dante."
Dante nods slowly once, closes his eyes, and now it's finally his turn for tears to well up, those words touching something deep in his soul that he hadn't even honestly known was hurting. "Yeah," he says, takes a shaky breath, swallows slightly, fighting back the growing lump in his throat long enough to keep speaking. "Yeah, I...I'm home."
Nero smiles, simply holds him, closing his own eyes and slowly, slowly relaxing.
#devil may cry#nsfw#character: dante#character: nero#character: kyrie#character: nico#pairing: dante x nero#warning: spardacest#warning: crude language
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Relax
Title: Relax Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Nero/female reader insert Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: It’s been a hard day at work, and Nero just wants to help you relax.
(Gift fic for @sakkajagga, who is awesome and totally deserves all the sweet fluffy spice. <3)
"Hey, welcome home," Nero calls when he hears the front door open, and he's smiling when you enter the living room, rising from the couch to wrap you in a warmly soothing hug. "You look pretty tired. Rough day, huh?"
You sigh heavily, let yourself slump briefly against his chest and bury your face into his shoulder, just breathing in the scent of him with a slow nod. "Exhausting," you admit, your next sigh a little more contented when one of his hands shifts to rub soothingly at the small of your back, some of the tension that's plagued you through the day beginning to finally ease. "My boss is ridiculous, I'm pretty sure a few of my coworkers have it in for me, and if I didn't need this job so much, I'd be out the door in a heartbeat. At this point--" you wrinkle your nose a little, petulantly, and finally look up at him; he's looking at you with a worried gentleness, like the most important thing he could possibly be doing right now is listening to you, and you almost forget where you've left off because you're practically melting from how appreciated that makes you feel. "I'd actually rather have a job like yours. At least that's actually exciting, not just...a predictable pain."
"There's something to be said for predictability," Nero shrugs, smiling when you wrinkle your nose again to show your opinion of that and running a hand through your hair. "I'd much rather have you where you're not at risk of getting yourself killed, anyway. Life would be pretty boring without you, demons or no demons."
"I don't know--" you roll your eyes, looking purposely put out just to make him laugh, because the sound of it always makes you smile, and it doesn't fail this time either. "If Francis in accounting doesn't quit ticking off the HR lady, there's definitely going to be bloodshed, and my department's literally right between both of theirs. Collateral damage."
Nero frowns, purposely overdramatic, but it turns back into a smile when you let out a laugh of your own, giving one last soothing rub to your back before he reluctantly turns you loose enough to take a step back. "Can't have that," he says, settling an arm round your waist and taking a step towards the hall, guiding you with him and looking pleased when you agreeably follow. "Unfortunately, I don't think anyone besides you would appreciate me bashing their heads together till they realise they're being stupid, so how about I just help you forget about it for a little while instead? I got something while I was out that I think you'll like."
"No, I beg to differ. Everyone would appreciate it," you say, laughing again at the mental image. "But, I'm listening."
He grins, stops in front of the bathroom door and squeezes your waist gently before letting go. "You go ahead and have your shower, alright? I'll meet you in the bedroom."
******
You're not sure what you're expecting when you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, after showering off the day's stresses, but what you find definitely defies any expectations you might have had. Somehow Nero's managed to take your boring, utilitarian bedroom, with its dull walls in perpetual need of painting, its worn and rough carpet, and its general air of mere functionality, and turn it all into something strangely inviting via the addition of strategically placed candles, fresh clean sheets, and a still-steaming cup of your very favorite tea on the bedside table - you can hardly believe this is the same room you left this morning, honestly, even when you've taken a few steps inside and looked slowly around, and you don't even realise he's slipped up behind you until his hands settle on your waist, startling you into an embarrassed squeak as you quickly turn your head to look at him. "Nero, this--" you realise as you say it, though, that you're not quite sure how to continue, and so you just give him a sheepish smile for a moment before going on. "You really did this just for me?"
"Of course," he shrugs as if it's nothing special, just an everyday occurrence, smiling when you blush and duck your head because his sweet, affectionate expression is doing things to your hormones that you're pretty sure ought to be, if not illegal, at least somewhat frowned upon. "But this isn't the entire surprise. Take off the towel--" he grins outright when your blush deepens, "and go lay down on the bed. On your stomach. I promise you'll like what's next."
You're pretty sure you'll like anything that involves you and him being in the same room with at least one of you naked, but you don't say that; you just nod, take a slightly shy breath and move to obey, trying not to blush any harder at the fact you can feel him looking you over once you've shed the towel. "This isn't just an excuse to ogle me, is it?"
He gasps dramatically, and you don't even have to look to know he's put the back of his hand to his forehead, theatrically pretending to swoon. "Your accusations wound me, ____." --but then he's laughing, soft and gentle, when you do look at him, the sound of your name on his lips always enough to draw your attention no matter what you're doing. "I don't need excuses. If I want to ogle you, I'll just tell you."
"You would." You eye him with feigned suspicion for a moment before settling back down, a nervous flutter in the pit of your stomach. "Am I going to be the only one naked here, or are you going to undress?"
"Just wait," he says soothingly, pats a hand against your back as he leans over to fetch something from next to the teacup, not letting you see what it is. "This might be a little cold, so brace yourself."
"What will--" you begin, but then something slick and somewhat chilly is pouring onto your skin and you squeak, unable to help but squirm a little. "N-Nero, what are you..."
His hands are on your back to spread the thin oil before you've even gotten the entire sentence out, soothing away the chill, and he even sounds like he's smiling. "You trying to tell me you don't want a massage?"
"No, I..." trailing off, you turn your head just a little at the familiar smell of patchouli now reaching your nose, the full impact of the situation beginning to sink in. Nero, the amazingly thoughtful, adoring and kind man that he is, has taken the time to gather so many of your favorite things, so many of the things you like, just to soothe away the stress from what isn't even an unusual workday - and you honestly can't remember the last time you felt so noticed or appreciated, your eyes actually tearing up a little. When is the last time someone treated you so well, you wonder, and then you push the thought away, because his hands are gently working the knots of tension out of your muscles and it's so hard to think like that. "You're so good to me," you say instead, quiet, almost sleepy, and you can't stop smiling.
"Should I not be?" he teases you lightly, not expecting an answer, just working steadily at each and every last knot he finds until you're little more than a melty heap beneath his fingers, and he can't help an affectionate laugh when he finally pulls away and you make a noise of utmost disappointment. "I'm not done, you know. Turn over--" and he can't keep from leaning close to gently kiss you when you obey, his hands settling on your front to presumably continue the massage - though it's hard for you to believe that's the only intent he has when he seems to be making some kind of mental map of your reactions, watching you closely as you shiver when his hands skim across your breasts, as you arch when he slides his fingers feather-light down your stomach, and he smirks when you can't stop a stuttered little gasp as he continues down and kneads at your thighs. "Something wrong? You're squirming," he murmurs, low and sensual, mischief clear in his expression as his voice alone sends another shiver through you. "You want me to stop?"
"No," you manage fiercely, hands coming up to grab at his arms when he makes like he's going to pull away, and you'd almost be a little mad at him but for the fact his face says he wouldn't actually dare. "W-was this your plan all along? To get me worked up--" you're forced to pause then, his fingers skimming along your thighs in a way that briefly makes you forget how to speak. "Or is it just a bonus?"
"A little from column A, a little from column B," he admits, having the good grace to at least look a bit sheepish, tracing his fingertips in far enough that he can feel the heat that radiates from you as you instinctively part your legs for him. "You know you can tell me to stop at any time, right?"
You nod, grip tighter at his arms, a stuttering gasp escaping you when he stills his hands just mere centimeters from actually touching you where you want it most. "Please," you breathe out, and you can't even manage to be embarrassed at how lost you already sound. "Don't stop."
He smiles, nods once, and finally, finally, his fingers brush over your slick folds and the sensation that goes through you is nearly electric.
"Nero," you gasp out, lifting your hips just a little, and thankfully, he takes pity on you, parting your folds so he can press gentle fingers into you; you already feel like you're melting just from that and the feeling only gets stronger when he leans down and kisses you deeply, swallowing the helpless moan you let out as his fingers move deep within you, slow and leisurely thrusts that do little to satiate your desire and only inflame it instead. Damn him for teasing you, damn him for making it feel so good - you can't even think, you just want, and your attempts to tell him as much are fruitless, only coming out as desperate little cries and whines instead of the words you're trying to shape.
He knows you, though, and he knows your reactions, so he stills his hand, lets his lips part from yours and whispers, low breathy words that send shivers of desire up and down your spine. "Can't take it anymore?"
You shake your head, cling to him a little tighter, panting till you can get the breath back to say anything. "Need you," you manage, strangled and desperate, lifting your hips shakily in what you hope is an inviting manner. "Nero, please..."
"It's alright--" he kisses you again, quick and gentle, and pulls back, working at his belt. "You can have me. As much as you want - as long as you want."
That's possibly the best thing he's ever said to you, and you feel your cheeks flush with anticipation, curling your hands tight into the sheets as he sheds clothing and reaches for the drawer of the bedside table. It's so hard not to just reach out and touch him, to lay here and wait patiently - but at the same time it's worth watching him, the flex of muscle in his arm as he carefully rolls on the condom he's retrieved from the drawer, the way his throat works as he swallows down a faint sound from the halfhearted stroke that goes along with that motion, and by the time he turns to you again you're damn certain you've never wanted anything more than you want him at this moment. "Please," you say again, parting your legs and reaching out to pull him closer, and he acquiesces immediately, his body covering yours.
You feel the tip of him slide against your opening just a little, hot and hard and ready, and you whine, arching a little to try and get him in you; he puts his hands on your waist, though, and gently pins you to the bed, meeting your eyes with the corner of his mouth quirked into a half-smile. "Patience, ____," he whispers, rolls his hips just the slightest bit so he rubs teasingly against you once more, a pleased shiver going through him when your hands come up to clutch at his arms and your nails dig in. "Let me take it slow just for now, alright? Don't want this to end before it even really gets started," he trails off into a small nervous laugh, and the sudden realisation that he's being driven just as wild as you makes you feel warm all over, your body obediently relaxing back into the mattress in understanding.
He smiles softly, grateful, kisses you again and finally lets himself slide into your welcoming heat - slowly, so slowly, the both of you panting a little by the time he's fully sheathed in you, and you already feel like every little moment of teasing frustration has been entirely worth it.
"I love you, Nero," you breathe, hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, and he groans and kisses you as he begins to move within you.
It doesn't stay slow for long; the both of you, by now, are just too desperate and want too much, and soon Nero's picking up the pace, panting out breathless little noises against your lips that you're answering with needy moans, your legs wrapped tight round his waist so you can push yourself up to meet his firm thrusts. He always feels so good inside you, filling you up to the extent it's nearly too much, and yet somehow it seems so much more intense this time - you aren't going to last, you know, and you can't even manage to be embarrassed, just clenching your hands into his hair and matching his every movement like you're trying to fuck yourself on him, chasing the promise of sweet release that comes closer and closer with each passing moment. "Don't...don't stop," you moan out, softly shaky, and you're pleased to see him shiver all over at your tone, turning your head just a little so you're moaning the next words right against his ear. "Please - you're gonna - make me..."
He groans sharply, turns his head too and catches your lips in a sharp kiss before you can finish the sentence, a shudder running through his hips that betrays he's far closer to losing it than he wants to admit. "Don't hold back," he manages when his lips part from yours, low and breathless, and his next thrust is fierce enough it seems to send a shockwave of pure delight through the very core of you. "Come for me, ____. Let me see it--"
You can't resist that - you don't want to resist it, and so you don't, welcoming the feeling of blissful warmth as it spreads over you, clenching tight around him and crying out his name in your release.
"That's it," Nero breathes, a tight whisper like it's all he can do to make his voice work, "that's it, I - god--" and then he's breaking off into a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in you, and you think he's gasping out your name like a mantra but it's hard to tell when he has his face shoved into your neck, letting your possessive hands hold him there as he shudders blissfully through the forceful orgasm your own has driven him into. At moments like this you can understand why he likes seeing you come undone so much; you like seeing him the same way, after all, so unguarded and soft and genuine - it only makes you love him that much more, in ways you just can't express but you're going to try anyway, petting his hair with shaky hands and pressing little kisses over every bit of him you can reach and he's returning the favour, his lips deliciously hot against your shoulders and your neck and, eventually, your own mouth when he works his way back up there to kiss you directly.
You're smiling when your lips part, and so is he, and you just look at one another for a long moment, basking in the afterglow, feeling loved.
"So," he says finally, takes a deep breath, lets it out again as he strokes your cheek with a sated hand and looks like he could drown in the loving gaze you're giving him. "Feel better now?"
You nod, lean your head into his gentle touch, eyelids fluttering a little when his thumb rubs gently across your cheekbone. "Much better," you agree, finally unwinding your legs from round his waist and stretching them slowly out, even the slow burn of exertion feeling so good right now. "How do you always know exactly what I need to relax?"
He shrugs a little, cups your face in both hands, running his thumbs along both cheeks just to watch you nearly melt into the affectionate touch. "Maybe I just love you that much," he says, and he sounds like he means it.
You smile, close your eyes, and put your arms around him. "...I love you too, you sappy idiot."
#devil may cry#nsfw#character: nero#character: reader insert#pairing: nero x female reader#warning: none
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Intersect - Chapter 14
Title: Intersect (Chapter 14) Fandom: Devil May Cry Pairing: Dante/Nero Rating: M Chapter Warnings: Spardacest, crude language, alcohol Chapter Summary: Dante's got a big job coming up, and Nero can't stop worrying.
"...Tomorrow morning," Dante says quietly, looking into his glass so he doesn't have to look Nero in the eye, gently sloshing the remains of his drink back and forth. "That's when I'm going."
Nero doesn't say anything for a long moment - just considers that, staring into his own drink, turning Dante's words over and over in his head. He's well aware the life of a Devil Hunter isn't all fun and games, and it's inevitable that occasionally a huge job will come down the pipeline, but even so... "Makes sense, I guess," he says, trying not to let it come out as flat as it wants to, lifting the glass to his lips and draining it before he goes on. "...Look, I - I'm not gonna say I'm not upset about this. You know me better than that. But I also know I can't stop you, and even if I could, I shouldn't...not when there's lives at stake. I just--" he considers, eyes his glass as if he's irritated it hasn't refilled itself, and swipes Dante's from his hand instead, finishing off what remains there too and setting it down. "I swear to god, you had better come back safe. Otherwise I'm gonna find a way to bring you back, and then I'm gonna kill you myself."
"I'd let you," Dante responds dryly, sits forward to reach for the bottle of whiskey, eyeing it like he can't believe they've finished most of it off between just the two of them before shrugging and refilling both glasses partway. "I'd take you with me if I could - you know that. But it's just too dangerous," he trails into a sigh, takes a long drink, relishing the smooth burn of the alcohol as it goes down. "Damn it, I was never good at this kind of thing. Just think about it this way. I'm not saying goodbye, Nero - got every intention of coming back. So, uh--" another pause, another drink, his free hand coming up to rub at the side of his neck. "Wait for me, yeah?"
"Yeah," Nero says, quiet, swallowing hard to try and get the sudden lump out of his throat, and he's not even bothering to pretend his eyes aren't welling up just a little. "I - yeah."
Dante curses under his breath, puts his glass down, leaning forward to wrap an arm around Nero's shoulders and tug him closer. "Shit - c'mere - it's alright, it's gonna be alright--" but perhaps tellingly, he's not telling Nero not to cry, just wrapping him in a tight embrace and simply holding him, running a slightly clumsy hand through his hair as he near-silently gets the tears out of his system. "I'm coming back - I promise. No way in hell would I leave you alone. Besides, knowing I've got you to come back to means I gotta be that much more careful, right?" --and he finds himself blinking back the faintest hint of gathering tears, takes a deep breath and forces a grin that's only a shadow of his usual warmth and joviality. "You know what, I think that's enough drinking for the both of us. How about we go have a shower and try to sober up a little?"
"Don't want a shower," Nero mutters into his shoulder, takes a deep breath of his own and looks up, swiping his hand over his eyes. "Rather have you."
Pausing for a moment, just looking at him, Dante finally nods and cracks a genuine smile. "I think that can be arranged."
Not five minutes later they're in the bedroom, Nero's fingers tangled desperately into Dante's hair and Dante's teeth catching at his lower lip in a needy biting kiss, and somehow they're managing to shed clothing without having to detach from each other too much and then Nero's flat on his back on the bed, still gripping at Dante's hair and keening out helpless sounds as unexpectedly sharp teeth latch onto his neck. This isn't the first time they've just gone at one another as if they couldn't possibly wait another moment, but this time - it feels different, more urgent somehow, and soon he's only just holding himself back from outright writhing in need, panting and whimpering and wrapping his legs about Dante's waist in a fumbling, clumsy effort to pull him closer. "Come on," he gasps out, and it's really a wonder his voice is as steady as it is. "I need you, Dante. Stop - nn - fucking teasing me, and just do me already..."
"Patience," Dante manages, a low, strained growl, "is a virtue--" but he's not actually protesting, nor is he hesitating, the ever-present lube soon in his hand so he can get himself slick, knowing from experience that Nero can easily take him without being opened first - and to be fair, he doesn't want to wait in the least either, so he isn't about to argue. "Legs up," he goes on, helps Nero's legs up over his shoulders and lines himself up, taking just a brief second to admire the sight beneath him (Nero so flushed, so disheveled, hard as nails and dripping precome onto his stomach and so open for him, ready for the taking) before he rocks forward and buries himself to the hilt, his shuddering groan harmonising perfectly with Nero's choked gasping cry. "Shit, you're always - so damned tight like this," he breathes out, manages to get a hand up to cup Nero's cheek, gently urging him to turn his head a little so their eyes meet. "You're good, yeah?"
"Yeah - yeah," Nero's voice is hardly audible, a low, shuddery moan, and he arches the best he can, crossing his ankles behind Dante's neck. "Fuck me."
Dante takes a breath, slow and steadying, nods once since he can't answer verbally in the face of how nice that is, and pulls back for the first thrust.
That's all it takes for everything to come undone, all control promptly thrown to the figurative winds, and Nero's soon clinging to Dante as tightly as he can (never mind the awkwardness of their position) and crying out in helpless bliss as he's pounded into the bed, knowing he's still going to be feeling this in the morning but not minding that thought even a bit. It's what he wants, what he needs, to be feeling Dante driving mercilessly into him over and over again every time he even so much as moves a little too suddenly, and he's hardly even aware he's crying a little again as he clutches at Dante's arms, feels trembling hands grip tighter at his legs as their eyes meet in mutual understanding of what they just can't voice. (Not that they would need to, but still, the thought is there--) It's overwhelming him, flooding him with feelings he just isn't quite sure how to handle and he doesn't even try, just reaches up and tangles his fingers into Dante's hair and pulls him down into a kiss, panting against his lips helplessly. "Don't...stop...want to feel you forever..."
"I know," Dante responds, a bare breath of a groan, nips at his lip sharply and then arches over him to look him in the eye again, fingers digging into his thighs, feeling muscles bunched tight beneath the desperate touch. "I want it too..."
(Honestly, Nero's pretty sure that's the sweetest thing Dante's ever said, and it makes him smile, a wavery and helpless expression.)
"But I guess...we'll just have to be satisfied - with what we've got--" Dante cuts himself off with another groan, another deep, hard thrust, and Nero's more than happy to take the unspoken invitation to stop talking in favor of letting shrill desperate sounds tumble out of him, feeling the knot of hot tension deep within him drawing tighter and tighter until it's ready to simply just snap. Dante's right, they have to be satisfied with this, it's all they have - and that thought just pushes him to somehow hold onto Dante even more strongly, clawing at him in desperation as if to pull him closer even though there is no more closer to go, shuddering and gasping as he's relentlessly pushed towards that edge of inevitability, unable to even think about resisting it even if he wanted to. It's all so much, too much, and he's going to lose control and he knows it, he wants it, craves it--
"Dante - I - fuck, please, I'm - gonna--" he manages, digs claws pulsing bright with sheer need into Dante's arm, his whole body shuddering at the resonant groan the sharp sting elicits. "Please, please--"
"Let it - go," Dante gasps out, looking down at him now with eyes lit by brilliant hellfire, demonic suns that seem to burn straight through him, as if to tear away that shameful humanity that's still trying to hold him back. "Want to - see you - love it, fuck, love you--"
Nero's eyes widen just a little, and he sobs once from pure overwhelming emotion, letting himself drown in that hell-bright stare as he simply shatters, sweet release sweeping over him to the tune of a fragile and adoring cry.
Dante's not far behind, of course, shuddering to a halt with gasps and growls and little breathless curses that don't sound like any language Nero's ever heard before, and then somehow his legs are down without him even noticing and Dante's all but collapsing on top of him, tangling around him and pressing affectionate openmouthed kisses all over his neck and jaw and lips as the two of them try to catch their breath and calm down. His head's spinning, his thighs burn and ache from being held tense like that for so long, he's a mess of sweat and come and tears and gods above it's damn near the best he's ever felt in his life - he inhales slow and deep, feels the dull burn in his chest left from his earlier stuttered gasps, and lets the air out again, pushing his face into Dante's neck once the man lifts his head enough to make it feasible. "Fuck," he says, and it's quiet, mindblown, full of all the things he just doesn't have the mind to say.
"Yeah," Dante agrees with a near-silent chuckle, brings a hand up to curl protectively around his head, clearly just as unwilling to let go of him as he's unwilling to pull away. "Couldn't agree more."
"...Too much effort, right?" Nero smiles, and it's genuine; though the sadness and fear hasn't eased, it's under control now, easier to push away. "Hey...can we stay like this tonight? I mean - exactly like this. Don't move," he clarifies, brings a leg up around Dante's waist briefly, but then lowers it again with a faint groan when that makes a particularly tense muscle twinge. "I just - I want to feel you until you have to leave. I'm sorry, it's kinda stupid..."
Dante makes a soothing sound, a demonic purr that rumbles in his chest and throat, and holds him tighter. "It's not stupid," he reassures, and when he says it like that, Nero finds, surprisingly, that he can believe it. "Don't worry. I'm not moving even one inch. Promise."
"...Thank you," Nero murmurs, presses his face a little closer to Dante's neck, close enough to feel the strong steady pulse under his cheek. "Love you, Dante."
"I know," Dante nods, ghosts a kiss across his hair. "Love you too. And I promise you I'll come back...so just wait for me."
"I will," Nero breathes, and his smile doesn't fade even as he begins drifting into sleep, Dante not far behind.
#devil may cry#nsfw#character: dante#character: nero#pairing: dante x nero#warning: spardacest#warning: crude language#warning: alcohol
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Not Today
Title: Not Today Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil, female reader insert Rating: G Warnings: None Summary: It's not every day a son of Sparda stumbles into your personal slice of hell, and you're not about to let him be killed there.
This, you think as you stare at the sight before you, was not at all what you were expecting to find today.
It is rare for anyone to wander into your territory, and for it to be a half-human at that…if not for the obvious seriousness of the situation, you might laugh at the sheer audacity, and you're sorely tempted anyway. Something holds you back, however, something you can't quite put your finger on, and instead you step closer, circle the fallen man at a safe distance (as badly wounded as he is, he must have some skill to make it here), and size him up as best you can. Even obviously worn down and injured, he radiates a most intriguing sense of power, one that draws you a few steps closer once you're reasonably certain he's not a threat - and then a few more, and more, because he's not moving though you can sense he's still alive, and then you're crouching at his side so you can get a good look at him. He's not unattractive, by demonic standards (and you know enough of humans to know he must be devastatingly good-looking to them), and after weighing your options, you decide it's probably safe enough to get a better look and reach out, clasping his blood-smeared chin in your fingers to turn his head.
He groans at your touch, weak and exhausted; his eyelids flutter, pale lashes parting just enough to reveal slivers of icy blue, and it's all you can do not to react because suddenly you understand how this pitiful being has made it here.
Son of Sparda, your instincts are hissing, power surging beneath your skin, lighting your eyes with unholy fire. Strong. Worthy.
You are beginning to consider speaking to him when a raucous din approaches, tearing your attention away, and the last pieces of the puzzle fall into place when you raise your eyes to see the surging mass of demons making its way towards you.
These are not your demons - they are not of your territory. They must have chased him here, and--
He cannot defend himself, and the both of you know it, resignation very clear in his face before his eyelids fall closed again, before he lets unconsciousness claim him once more to stave off the pain of what he clearly assumes is his fate.
You don't have a weapon on you capable of dealing with so many demons, but even so, you are not going to let that happen.
One more glance over the man's body turns up a detail you hadn't noticed before, the sheath of a sword peering out from beneath his tattered coat, and you're snatching it up before you can even think about it, feeling it hum and pulsate in your hand at the feel of your own demonic energy like it's begging for your aid. (Perhaps it is - it feels like a very powerful Devil Arm in its own right, but one that knows itself useless without a master, and you can sense a furious grief that can only be caused by the thought of the son of Sparda perishing here at your feet.) "Lend me your power," you breathe, grasp the hilt with your right hand and slide into a stance that comes to you with fluid ease, closing your eyes for just a moment with a deep breath. "And I'll lend you mine."
Blue lightning crackles round the hilt; curious energy pricks at the corners of your mind now, a not-quite-voice that you can hardly comprehend. --you - demoness - save - help him? - protect--
"Yes," you agree, open your eyes, loosen the sword from its sheath with a flick of your thumb. "With your help."
--help--
Power floods you, and you leap forward, the demon blade's edge seeming to sing as it rends the very air.
The son of Sparda will not die here today - neither you nor the Yamato will allow it.
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