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The stars in Mor Dhona seem to glimmer brighter here - than in Ultima Thule.
The stars on Etherys itself seem a bit more – light.
Whereupon the backdrop of a velvet hued sky, they glimmer against the rays of aetherial light - to hang like diamonds draped upon seas of blue, for where against the Crystal Tower in the distance they'd shimmer with a radiance all their own; one most vivid and brilliant and beautiful, in ways that recalled so much those wonderous dark nights on the First.
For where one might sooner tell her its a silly thing, should she ever come to speak those words aloud. Some might call her ridiculous even, to still consider their own worlds meagre lights with so much ardent wonder and awe, when it was she who'd traversed the most distant of shards and found herself in a space so drowned in colors in multitudes of shades, for where the darkness had felt staggering, and the stars had been close enough for one to touch - and yet despite all that she would see, this would still prove to be the one place she would find herself most tantalized above all.
By the stars that hung high above the reaches of their own painted sky, and nowhere else. By nothing else.
For the stars painted here were those of her home - and there really was nothing else quite like it.
Perhaps indeed, she was really more drunk than she'd thought.
“Winding down for the night already, Nuri?”
A question that draws upon the flicker of long, leporine ears, as the Viera gently turned her head and in the same moment would find herself running just as still, a soft laugh to bubble from her lips as a full comfort would ease from her frame, at the hands that wrapped around her from behind, and moved in tight to hold her close.
She feels the softness of plush lips press against her brow, a faint nuzzle on both their parts accompanied by the softest, happiest sigh – and Nuri knows right then and there, that no matter how far her adventures would ever manage to take her, no matter how beautiful, how gorgeous, how exciting the life –
This. This right here is what she would aim to come home to every single time.
For he, and he alone, would ever be the steady rock that would still the most cloying thoughts otherwise.
“Aren’t we all?” She asks him, as a lone hand reaches up and into the depths of G’raha’s plated hair, to lace into the thin tendrils along his neck and hold him ever close – “I’d presumed things were getting quite slow when Alisaie and Y’shtola had run out of tarts, and Urianger had started spouting out plant poetry. Has Thancred been able to get him off the wine yet? Or off the table, for that matter?”
A low chuckle eased against the violet toned hues of her hair, just enough to make her lone heart tremble and ache in kind, and oh –
This would be what comfort would feel like. This would be how warmth and tenderness would echo along in its full entirety, to be laced against the boundaries of his touch, upon the heady whispers of his voice -
For this was every reason she would have to embrace life, and every tempestuous feeling despite it.
He would make it worth it every single time.
“He hasn’t, actually, and I'm beginning to think Tataru is having a bit too much fun with it. I don’t suppose it’ll be much the same sentiment when something inevitably gets shattered.”
A hint of mischief about his tone, as she feels his lips stretch into a wide smile against her skin, and she feels herself run flustered anew. “I don’t suppose you’d wish to sneak away before it happens? As I'd heard it, there appears to be a pack of adventurers putting together a light show just outside the gates, to welcome in the new year. Would you like to watch?”
Oh? “Would I?" She pipes up at him, "What kind of question is that? As though you’d even have to ask! Come on, come on, before we get stuck with clean up duty!” Vivid and brilliant are her words as she beams at him with a smile so reminiscent of the sun, so blinding as the rays of gold that glimmer against her amber eyes, as she swings herself to her feet and takes him by the hand, and it is all he can do to follow, all he can do to stumble along in her wake; the pair of them acting like a bunch of sneaky miscreants, slipping out amidst the dysfunctional chaos as the rest of the Scions politely feigned ignorance.
For there was much and more than these two could stand to leave them so defenseless and scrambling by. After all they’d given up all these years, after all they’d sacrificed, beyond words, beyond anything –
At the very least, one could hope - they could stand to handle this.
( even if handling a drunk Urianger would perhaps take a village - or twenty )
A concept that did not so much as cross the couples mind as they slipped from the Stones and into the Seventh Heaven, right past the doors and onto the plaza – for where Nuri herself would stop with one lone ear quirked and angled in curiosity, a faint ‘pop’ to resonate just out of earshot, and she doesn’t even need him to tell her where to go. For it is easy enough to follow the trail, upon the sound of laughter and clamoring that echoes from somewhere just outside the gates, upon the feeling of levity and joy that swells upon the mass of kids rushing around in small groups, each one already seeking to run out from the encampment - for where she feels that same flurry of excitement shift to take hold, and she makes every due intention to follow –
But then a slight tug upon her hand eases her short, as her bright gaze swivels back towards her companion, G'raha stilling her to a stop as he smiles, with a faint nudge of his head just off towards the side.
“Follow me instead. I’ve a place for a better view.”
Better? - she wonders, though for all her curiosity she doesn’t ask, as he leads her by the hand and takes her up the southern tower just upon the eastern wall, for where their footsteps are the only sound that resonate against the enclosed dark brick, and after a moment – after both a brief, long spell – they stumble their way out onto the bridge, just in time to catch their first glimpse of the dark toned night –
Only for a myriad of shades to burst across their visions, like flowers blooming across the evening skies.
“Oh – !” As her breath catches, and Nuri's heart stumbles along in full, for where everything seems to still to a short stop as her eyes fixated on the image, before everything doubled up in record, swift toned time –
“Raha, look!" A burst of vivid laughter, a rush of her eyes wild and effervescent, as she takes to the edge of the wall with an echoing shout, and G’raha himself is so much more than content to just follow –
"Oh my goodness, wow, look - this is – !“ Incredible. Amazing. Absolutely dazzling! So many words that she could try to use to describe it, but not one of them seem nearly strong enough to explain how incredibly stunning this is to see it. From this particular view, upon the edge of the sky – against the Tower that spirals high in the distance, as always, beaming so brilliantly refulgent and light –
And maybe, one really could call her crazy, for she was so certain she’d seen this image before. But tell her instead, that it’s just the lights. Tell her it’s the lightning sprites and crystals burning sharp into her eyelids and making this image seem so much more radiant than words could say. For she was so sure she had seen fireworks before, in Ul'dah, in Limsa? Upon Costa Del Sol, most certainly.
But maybe she had never seen them quite -
like this.
Sparkling and glorious all around, and it’s all that Nuri can do not to fall against the bridge wall with a laugh, a sense of seamlessness settling into her bones, a rush of gratitude and sheer blessedness, for on the eve of another year – on the end of the perils of the last –
For all that they were all still recovering and coping and healing, yet it would never be enough pain to steal the joy from these moments. Upon the gratefulness of what it feels like to be alive, and to celebrate it. For all that they’d worked so hard to save this very world from ruin –
And yet this would be enough. This right here –
It was ever so much more than enough.
More than enough to make her breath shudder for reasons she could not name, a glimmer against her eyes, against her lashes, as the weight of the moment presses down against the levity in full.
As her eyes close just for a blink, and against the shimmer of blues and vivid blossoming shades that is her reality, there is... the briefest glimpse instead - of violets, and pinks. Of layered islands, each of completely differing make. A faint scene of nothingness, upon a most endless, desperate abyss.
A shift of a darkened, dead sun. Of crystal bridges and rainbow hued paths. A coldness - unlike any that she'd ever felt before. All of it vivid. All of it stark. Imprinted upon her minds eye. For where as beautiful as the image itself had ever been, in a time when she’d so perilously needed hope, and strength, and warmth, beyond all else –
As Nuri takes in a deep breath, and shudders — and vows -
She swears again, that she would give up everything she'd ever had to ensure she’d never have to see a semblance of that image again.
“Nuri?”
A hand that places itself gently against her shoulder, a touch of comfort that splays itself against her skin, and in that lone movement, she would feel herself come back to life. Come back to a time far beyond her thoughts, as her eyes shift and turn and flutter open,
Only to find herself staring into molten, crimson hues that stared back at her, keeping her – reminding her – that Nuri... he was in fact right there.
As ever. As always.
Even in the times before, from when she’d so much as thought him lost.
But she tries to smile, tries to let it go and bear it, tries to wash it away amidst the darkness, shuttering it into a form for where it would not exist - “Sorry, sorry - I apologize, I’m fine! I just had a thought, real quick, and the sky - it -” she makes to reply, as she looks back up upon the horizon, and tries to gather herself into something good again - and yet in that glimpse upon that image, in that glimpse upon the view, she once again feels all her words running quiet. Feels them all running just a bit still.
Because still - still!
The reminder is yet too much for her to take.
As she hitches a sharp breath and moves to look away, and G’raha does not take to that any more kindly then he does the glimmer of tears against her eyes, even as the fireworks continued blossoming brilliantly overhead, for where the ooh’s and aah’s of the crowd would resonate with a shrill of sound and noise above all –
Yet it appears that the pair themselves would remain locked in a bubble of their own design despite it. So separate from the others, so very far apart –
But still very much present all the same.
Isn't it ironic then, that even like this - they would still be so much changed?
“What’s wrong, Nuri? Talk to me.” His voice that echoes in her ears as soft as a whisper, ever gentle and careful as it’d eased its way against her very heart and soul, to carefully surround her in something exquisitely tempered and warm; no matter that she keeps her eyes shifted away, no matter that she stares too damn hard down unto the brick - to the point that she could see every little crack and line of dust that'd settled upon upon it, every small edge of dirt and moss that’d crawled into the deepest pits – stares so hard into the darkness that it all starts to blur together into something Nuri fears she cannot take.
If not in her head, at least, then most certainly in her damn, blistering heart.
( as she cannot hope to promise that she even knows which one hurts most anymore )
And she remains stiff and stern against the hand that angles against her chin and begs her to manage even a whisper of a peek at him, through the visage of a man whose expression is so crossed in worry, that he would but beg her to ease the strain from her bones and speak – so that she might share it with him, all these things - let him hear it, let him witness it.
Lest it overflow her own fluttering heart in full.
“Nuri.” G'raha says again after a moment, from when he can no longer manage the pretense otherwise, for this strain about her frame is not normal, not okay, and he could not make heads or tails of it for how suddenly it'd started up. Only knew that this display had been designed to bring her just a measure of happiness and joy, the same of which so seamlessly radiated from her what seemed like nearly every single day – and yet still - still -
She does not budge. She does not speak.
She remains silent and quiet and hushed, and if that alone isn't cause enough to worry - then Twelves above -
He doesn't know what is.
“Love.” He says instead again, softly, when it seems calling her name alone doesn't prove to work. “ – please, my love, please look at me.”
Look at him, for just a moment. Look at him, just an ilm.
For it is a request that layers with a semblance of heartache against his voice, so much laced in an emotion that she herself cannot ignore, and it is all she can do not to manage the slightest peek back at him, the slightest shift, and a blink –
And though it be a little glimpse from what he manages to see, it still yet proves to steal the very air from him all the same.
For there is a darkness in her eyes he had not expected to find, brilliant amidst a churning flood of pain, and though his heart itself just about collapses in the sheer, aching weight of it - he finds himself halting. He finds that he knows.
Oh yes, indeed.
He knows that look.
He knows it
far
too
well.
“...you’re remembering it again, aren’t you?”
The softest question, for what would be a most gentle query, yet she flinches back from his words like they were something sharp. Like they were something violent. For where he sees in her eyes the way it culminates, so much of her to be laced with everything so forlorn and lost, desperate and pained and hurting; all this despite how very stunning the very air around her seemed to be –
For where it would be as much yet a still picture, for all that it somehow fails to move her. To be so caught in the past, yet blinded to the present; utterly incapable of looking onwards.
As for which, she has no answer for him.
Nothing she can say at least, that would at all ease the trill of pain that echoes from his own words. Nothing that would make it better, nothing that would make it stop.
For the end of a thousand, thousands worlds had come and gone, and yet here she was, still traumatized from the near end of this one.
— she does not know what to say.
“I’m sorry.” She says, as thought it were at any point her fault. "I'm sorry," she says again, softly against the hand that moves to hold her close, against the still presence that keeps her warm in the unearthly cold, night air. As though any of it was anything she could ever stop herself from feeling - as though she should be stronger, she should be better. For she had been in this spot time and time again, and she has ever surpassed it, has she not? She has ever recovered, hasn't she? The fact that she would find herself so nearly undone by despair now of all times, even when she should find herself alive and safe and here, amongst friends, amongst her family and her companions and her love - and yet still -
Still she would feel a part of her heart linger with the echoing pain of it regardless.
And this wasn’t like her, she wants to think. This wasn’t like her at all.
And yet –
“I’m trying, but – but I just can’t seem to let it go,” she says by way of a hushed whisper, in that cautious, curious way where she sounds like she's struggling so hard just to keep herself afloat -
( even if every part of her seems to quiver perilously along in discomfort )
“And I know –" she continues on, "god knows I know that it’s been a while. Long enough certainly, that I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about this, perhaps not right now, at the very least; for Twelve knows this is the worst time to be remembering it. To even be considering it. And yet I – I just —” a shake of her head, a soft sound of hurt, for where everything echoes with a pain she cannot explain, so incapable to so much as clear the fog from her eyes, even if it weighs on her like everything heavy and desperate and cold – “I just - the sky, Raha. I keep thinking about the sky, and the stars and the colors, and the way it’s so, so bright and endless, and I'm sorry I just – I can’t –”
Her voice settling into something that quivered fractured and broken, and it is upon the rush of that note that everything G'raha has swells to the surface in answer; the hush of his own words as they issued gentle and careful against her arms as he moves to take her close, everything soft and tempered and calm – “No, Nuri - no. Stop right there, you have nothing - nothing - to apologize for, my love.”
Nothing, he says – nothing. For where the words would resonate into the depths of her skull and she would wish to believe it so much the same; yet her heart does not stop its trembling within her chest, frail and delicate and careful and beating with something she cannot name – as though afraid to beat itself too loud, for where the feeling would echo into the lines into her blood, and she could feel it so closely it was a wonder she did not faint –
Yet she closes her eyes and by all that is good in the world, she swears she tries. To focus on the present, to leave behind the past; focuses on the hand that eases against her skin and holds her close, upon the cadence of his voice as he whispers to her, as he gives her comfort in all the ways she could only ever need –
For where it aches in her, like a sore that’s so barely healed, yet waiting to be undone again -
Yet still she would try. She would try!
If not for herself, then for him.
For she wants to be happy again. She wants to be okay!
But her heart hurts still, all one and the same.
Yet his presence is a balm, in all the ways she cannot trust herself to be. For where his very presence lingers and shields her against the worst of it, makes it so she has something else to focus on other then the existential dread that seeks to turn her under -
It reminds her of so many, many things -
But he would remind her of all the better ones.
Like the smell of his hair as she'd curled in close, and she nuzzled herself right against his brow. The whisper of musk and toned spice that settles into her being and eases something warm, every gentle notion as his hands curl around her waist and his mouth eases the sweetest of whispers against her chest - for where it feels good, feels great even - to be with him like this. To just breathe, and settle - and remember him just like this.
Her love. Her heart.
Beating time and time with his.
For there is no better place for her then with him -
right here. Always.
As she closes her eyes and curls that much further into his touch, as it eases against her skin and finally, she can feel some part of her truly begin to ease -
Please, please, please, please, please —
“Breathe, Nuri. Breathe.” He tells her, and it feels like both the easiest, and hardest thing she has ever had to do - “It’s fine – you’re fine. I’m here, and everyone's here - we're all alive. The Source is saved. The battle we've had is done – it’s over, and it’s done, and it's won.”
Done and won. Safe and sound. Everyone that she’s ever cared for is still here, still alive, still with her.
Still with them.
Everything – all of it – is fine. It’s all so very, very much fine.
( and it had been so close to it being everything otherwise )
For if only that could be enough to erase the heartache from her in its entirety - yet she knows beyond words, beyond strength that it takes time. Knows that she would try her best to ease it regardless - does as he'd asked and focuses on it still; breathes it in, breathes it out.
In and out.
In. And out.
Settles in the reality of it, in the victory of everything that she'd once feared would be lost. Tries to rise above it, as she takes note of every singular proof that she was in fact, right here - from the dank smell of the Toll, to its crackling of ever sharp aether; the smell of soot on the horizon, of gunpowder and oncoming rain. The feel of the wind as it courses against her thick, unbound hair -
Upon the touch of his hands against her. Stable and fervent and warm.
Everything that felt familiar. Everything that felt like home.
For where it is so very different from the edge of the universe, where she’d been so alone...
But here she would find a peace
that she had worked so very hard to keep.
As against her heartache, she finds there is just as much a joy. A levity that she clamors for and hopes to relish, to cherish with all her heart as she finally feels her very being shuffle into something soft, and okay…
For where it would linger, of course, a sharp pain for perhaps another day. But at least on this one, she would smile. On this one, she would be grateful. Thankful. Blessed.
No matter that in the recognition that at the end of all things –
She – the Warrior of Light, Warrior of Darkness, slayer of Primals and beasts and Hope Incarnate -
was perhaps - not nearly as infallible as everyone would think.
Still. She would be strong regardless.
As she manages the softest sigh on the edge of a low laugh, as she eases into him with a note that makes his heart swell and ache in just as desperate time, the pair of them so tired and exhausted and almost hopeless — both their expressions lingering something lost — it is still with a note of something vivid that clings to him that makes him take her harder against his chest in full,
Right into his arms for where he holds her, as she squeaks out a stuttered sound, and then after a short moment, just utterly melts into his arms — "Raha -"
“My love —“
Oh!
Oh.
For where she crumbles in his arms upon the strangled sob that leaves her, that makes her a mess upon his frame, and in that lone, desperate cry — he would hold her even tighter —
( for there is something beautiful about his love all the same )
“Oh, Nuri.” He whispers, echoes, pleas - to the floodgates that swell high upon his chest, against the soft line of skin so gentle against her neck - to be so faint against her skin as he'd cradled her, as he'd held her tempered and steady and close, so much that it is all she can do not to focus on him, not to listen to his voice and feel his warmth and recognize that for all that her fears may ever tell her otherwise, she was not in fact alone, as she would never come to be – “My love, my light, my sunshine - it’s okay. I promise you, as I ever have, now and forever and always - it’s okay, my love. It's always, always okay.”
Okay, he says - okay. Like it's really truth. Like it's really fact. Like it's all she can stand to believe it is, as her hand clenches into his clothing tight, a broken sob hitched on a just as broken cry, “Don't - don't you even dare start, my god, Raha - a promise — again, you with all of your damn promises —“
For where he flinches back at her words, but still he perseveres - “I know. Twelve, I know, and I’m so, so sorry,” he tells her, even as she manages a shattered, ruined laugh, for how could he know, how could he understand — for every time that she’s had to lose him, it was only in the depths of a prayer that he would somehow come back. Through sheer force of will or just plain, stupid hope —
Only for him to somehow manage it every single time -
For where there was something very particular you could call that kind of thing. And Nuri's not sure she has it in herself to say it, considering how hypocritical it'd be if she did, knowing what she knew of herself, knowing what she did now. Yet still -
She laughs.
“Apologizing, really? As though you'd have anything you'd need to apologize to me for.” She murmurs to him, on the edge of a most faint, almost pained chuckle, even as she kisses him upon the brow again and snuggles closer into his warmth, utterly most reluctant to leave the close barrier of his arms, as she'd curled herself close enough for her heart to ease, for the comfort of his frame to leave a portion of her heart fluttering upon something light and vivid and brilliant anew – “You’ve never done anything wrong, my love. Nothing that you couldn't help. I’m just – just -“ as she shakes her head, burrows herself closer, begs herself to grant her mind a moment of peace and not think, for as much as that concept might ever hope to even help -
“I’m just having a time right now, I guess. Please don't worry, my heart will ease eventually."
Eventually.
"So you say," he starts, even as he doesn't take a moment to pull himself even an ilm further away, his voice muffled but cautious, worried and guilty all the same. "yet no matter how it might feel that way to you, I cannot help but assume a measure of responsibility regardless. Although I know that I have put you through much and more strain then any one person can hope to handle - numerous times, in fact - the fact that you would still continue to trust in me all the same... enough that you would allow me to do what is best for us, at any given point in time - by the Twelve, Nuri..." he whispers, as he closes his eyes and breathes every word of apology, for all that guilt would flood his heart, in ways he could not begin to explain, "I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry. I do not deserve your forgiveness, nor your understanding - and yet I would ask for it all the same. I'm sorry."
Sorry, he says, and the words themselves would linger with a heartache undone. For all that she can yet recognize it, feel it, and know that he means the words with every onze of his entire being, far more than words could say -
Nuri answers instead with a low hum, a tug upon his braid as she whispers something soft.
“I know you are," she says to him instead, "And I know you mean it in every single way, even before you'd said the actual words already. But I would certainly be lying if I were to say I wasn't just a little bit more sore with you for that, Raha - though I know you don't mean to hurt me. And I'm ever grateful for your attempts to spare me of it. And yet still..." she trails off, sighs against his hair, tries to keep the note of trepidation from her voice, with every whisper of her beating heart otherwise. "Still. You keep cheating death, Raha. You keep sacrificing all that you have to give. What happens next, love - if there isn’t - if there isn't a next time?“
Untold fear to be entrenched in the deepest layers of her voice, a more severe pain and heartache that echoes, upon the dull consideration should a 'what if' scenario ever come to pass -
And yet he would hum for himself the softest tone against her neck, against the smooth lines of her flesh for where he would whisper a promise, the most certain of them all, the most earnest - beyond whatever else his heart could ever say -
For his soul would echo the sentiment regardless.
“Then no matter what comes, no matter what we ever come to face - I would still swear to you, that I would come back to you either way.”
Everyday. Always. In any way that he ever could.
For upon that particular promise, she would never have to doubt.
As her eyes flutter shut at his words, and she feels her entire being run alight in due time at his words, in a rush of the most desperate, frenzied, most complicated ways -
For how could you explain the depths of how his words would take her? Upon the love she'd held for this hopeless, ridiculous, brilliant, gorgeous man -
How could he know how much she would cradle that promise with every whisper of her being? How could he know that it was everything she would ever need to hear and more -
For she would believe in it with all her heart. And know in the depths of it that he would make that promise last.
"I'll hold you to that, then." She says, with yet another tug against his braid, another semblance of her curling close -
All the more so that she could get her fill of him, and then some.
For where he chuckles and nods and she can feel herself swell with everything wonderful and vivid and light - everything that feels like G'raha Tia himself so written across the depths of her soul -
The one thing she would hold ever tight.
"I promise." He says, as he finally makes to gently shift away, if only to look upon the brilliance of her eyes and smile, the light that she'd had now held in them delicate and frail but steady - "You don't have to worry about that. I would ask instead however," he faintly grins, "if you would prefer we make our way back to the Stones already? I hadn't quite realized how this display would bring up such horrid memories for you - but we can celebrate from the depths of our rooms, if you'd much prefer that?"
"Celebrate in the rooms? And with what, exactly?" She laughs, as she shakes her head and she feels herself whisper alive with something real, for what feels like the first time that very evening, "With more wine and the sounds of Estinien grumbling loudly in the background? I'd rather not - let Krile and them handle it for now. Besides, I do so love the night sky." She muses, as she turns her gaze back towards the heavens, and at her side, she laces her fingers into his and holds on tight -
"And I'd much rather greet the new year right here with you."
As he manages a soft inhale at her words, and turns his gaze away if only to hide the slight flush that coats along his cheeks, for where it eases a soft smile against his lips, before with a nod and a squeeze of her hand back, they settle back against the brick wall, and they watch -
In silence. In comfort. In the depths of a promise, laced tight, and held just against their entwined palms. For where she feels it so much easier to watch the horizon burst in a flood of color the longer she's by his side, until all she perceive is not a measure of pain or discomfort or worry, but just the sounds instead of people laughing, smiling, enjoying themselves all alike. The way they should have from the very beginning. For it was this exact happiness that she had worked so hard to protect, and the fact that she would witness it here like this is more of a luxury than she can truly say.
She needs this now, more than ever. She needs it very, very much.
As she shifts to lean herself against G'raha's side and he makes it a point to move himself closer to her frame, scootching tight until they were pressed side to side, and he could wrap his arm around her waist and hold her close, their other hands now intertwined -
Nuri can't help but think, that despite how tired she'd felt from that outpour of emotion, as unfortunate and debilitating as the feeling itself would stand to be - there was a certain catharsis to it that she'd desperately needed, even if it'd chosen to show itself at the worst possible time.
Although perhaps she should be more grateful, she thinks, that it didn't unleash itself when she was back with the others instead; as an exasperated grin stretches across her face at the thought, turning her gaze back down to her hand yet laced against G'raha's own, and feels yet another emotion blossom effervescently along in its place instead -
For it'd seemed his hand had found a new unconscious fixation in the midst of all his watching, and it is all she can do not to tease.
"Sometimes I just don't think you can help yourself, Raha." She laughs softly, in a tone of voice that quickly perks at his ears, and it is his eyes that would find purchase in her gaze, the note of joy to her voice already tugging his own lips into a bright, if not utterly confused grin,
"What do you mean?"
She directs his gaze gently down to her hand, for where his thumb had set a rhythmic pattern against her skin, to trail upon a silver band most familiar, inlaid with a crystalline blue stone -
"Oh! Ah... yes, that." Another flush to creep upon his cheeks, as he stares down at their entwined limbs, but despite his overall bashfulness, he still finds it in himself to grin - "Sorry, perhaps you are right, I suppose I do have an penchant for it with you, apparently, without my even thinking. My apologies," He starts, looking back up at her visage, only to feel his grin spread ever further at seeing her own matching flush - cute.
"Is it uncomfortable for you, when I do that?"
"Hardly," she shakes her head, tries not to fluster as the symbolism of the moment seeks to ease upon her head, "The ring is, of course, the perfect size, so that's not so much the trouble, really and I don't at all mind the touch. I am however, a bit more concerned for you, though." She shifts her gaze back to his and queries, "You only really tend to do that when you're thinking hard on something you wish to say. What's on your mind, my love?"
"My mind?" He asks, as though he has any room to be surprised at this point, even as his gaze turns from her and back to the ring again, his fingers once again having gotten into the rhythm, gentle and seamless and as delicate as he could be - "I - I suppose I do get a bit easy to read in that way, don't I?"
For where Nuri does naught but fervently nod, and he manages a laugh at that, a shake of his head as he brings her lone hand upwards and into his, to entwine their fingers palm to palm, so he might hold tight and close and fervent -
( for where he might serve to gain a measure of courage from this, if he would aim to achieve anything otherwise )
As the promise ring edges a line of mild discomfort into his hand, but he wouldn't consider letting go for the world -
"I - I will admit I was just thinking -" he starts and he ends, with a shuddered breath in the middle, with a stumbled heart, for where he feels her squeeze his hand in response, and from there he strives to continue -
( - on the depths of a shuddering pulse, of which he would struggle to make ease - )
"After everything - everything that's happened recently, after all that's occurred... I'll admit I've just had something on my mind, as of late. More or less - regarding this ring of yours." He nods towards it, shifts his gaze down towards the stone as if he would find the answers he'd needed embedded in its making -
"For when I gave this to you," he continues, "I'd promised you... marriage, Nuri. I had promised you - a life full of love and happiness and warmth, as soon as we got the chance." He whispers, "As soon as things calmed down, and we could have a moment to ourselves. And I was just wondering..." he trails off, as he shrugs his shoulders, hesitates on the words he thinks upon which to use, decides just to go with his heart regardless, "with everything that's happened since, and everything that we went through to get here - the future being as unknown to us as it is, I was wondering - perhaps -" he dithers, cautious and questioning and scared, as his heart beat out of turn in his chest, wondering if now was indeed the right time to say it - if maybe he was in fact going a bit too far, too fast, too soon -
"Perhaps?" She prompts him, though she wonders if she knows what he means to say, even if he doesn't quite outright mention it -
"Perhaps -" His eyes to close, as he manages a heavy exhale on a rush, "Perhaps - if at our wedding, should we plan for it already, would you like to have fireworks maybe, to celebrate it?"
Nuri's breath to still, as the full of her frame runs taut, and it is all G'raha can do in that moment to explain, "I know - I mean, I know it's a silly thing to consider, when we don't even have everything else on the table! But I was just thinking of how beautiful it would be, to see you silhouetted in those lights. They're nothing against you, of course, but they glimmer in your eyes, you know, and I do know how much you love them, so I imagine - it'd be quite a wonder in itself just to watch -"
"Fireworks." She pipes up, over the sound of his frenzied mumbling, for where he stops and stares, and she quirks her head at him and considers, "Fireworks - yes, yes, I think I would actually like them at the wedding, perhaps. And a number of sparklers, maybe - most definitely. For each guest who arrives, so they might shimmer like little stars in the crowd. If there will in fact, be a crowd." Nuri laughs, though its easy to watch her fluster in the very concept of it. "Knowing Tataru, of course, though - I don't think she'd allow us to invite anyone less than the entirety of Eorzea, and then Othard, but I suppose I wouldn't mind so much if everything was bright and pretty when we looked the crowd over. Makes it a bit easier to ignore that everyone is watching us, don't you think?" She asks, even as a light flush overtakes her tanned skin, and he feels himself usher everything soft at the radiance of her smile -
“Yet their lights though would do nothing against the brilliance of your own though.” He tells her, with the most tender look etched across his face, as he watches her stumble and giggle bashfully in the wake of it, as he pulls her hands to his lips and kisses the back of her palm soft, yet tender and careful and romantic, for this is very much a moment that makes every aspect of himself sing -
"Tell me more then about it, would you?" He prompts her further, as he looks into her eyes again, and feels himself caught by the very glimmer of her, to feel himself tempted by the plush line of her lips even as everything about her radiates something inherently bright, for as luminous as she is beneath the blossoming lights up above, it is in her eyes that he would find himself most focused, as incredibly stunning as only she could ever be -
As he raises his other hand to her cheek and runs the back of his fingers gently across her skin - to feel the way she'd shudder beneath the lightest graze of it, soft and lovely, flushed and beautiful and sweet - oh -
She was positively lovely.
"I would have a mind to ask for your dress, specifically." He continues, because that's another thing he can't get off his mind. "Would you prefer it in white? In silk? Would you even prefer a dress at all? Or perhaps something else entirely? I'm quite certain Tataru would make you something gorgeous either way, but to your comfort -" he tells her, as he eases himself close - close enough that he could see the amber light in her eyes positively glisten in joy, so close that he could feel himself just about peak, for how wonderful it was to just look at her, to have this moment with her just like this -
For where the wind would take the most beautiful tendrils of her hair and scatter it in a flurry of violet toned hues, her skin to flush the prettiest shade, lashes thick and fanned and lovely - and oh gods - her lips...
"My dress -" She titters, though he watches with a light against his gaze for how she sneaks every look away, running her tongue against her lower lip as it served to make something frenzied shudder up his spine in response, "I - think, perhaps, I'd quite like something - light, maybe. A bit airy and loose, with flowers embedded in it; flowy and soft, and perhaps a little slit up the leg, if you think - if you think that would suit me?" Her eyes flickering back to him for just a moment, though her breath would still catch as she notes the simmering tone of crimson that'd run alight in his own molten gaze, for where she feels herself react upon everything in turn, so conscious of how close he was against her, so certain that should she lean herself down even just an ilm, she might just be able to run her lips against his own and kiss him. To feel him. To set her mouth desperately against his, and manage for herself a delicate taste - of something rich and luscious and beautiful -
"I think you would suit absolutely anything you wore, my love. Those flowers especially, blooming across your dress - even threaded through your hair, perhaps?" He wonders on, to the vibrant glimmer of her eyes and that little flicker that shifts at her ear, that tells him so much that she likes what he comes to say, "Although..." He trails off, for where a huskier tone runs alight in his voice, and he has it in himself to smile as her breath itself catches -
"I have to say," he whispers, "I'm rather quite a fan of that slit you mentioned... just high enough against your upper thigh, I'd presume?" He queries, as his eyes shifted upon the deepest of reds altogether, as he'd edged himself closer into her touch, for where the sweet scent of plum and iris would tickle headily about his nose, and he would found himself nearly drowned in the very image of her, all gold and purple toned hues, tan skin that his lips would but beg to mark - for where everything would speak of Nuri, and just entirely her - his hands to itch with the desire to drag himself closer against her in a most frenzied kiss, yet there was still a faint delicacy to this that he'd dare not break. A molten tension, and a heat.
A whisper of something, perhaps, that would render them both charmed.
As enchanted as he is by her, as she might be with him.
As her eyes flicker, and he notes her own gaze shifting over to his lips, a rush beneath her breath, against a particularly loud explosion in the sky, but neither of them would manage a glimpse beyond each other otherwise. For there was a sharpened thread enlaced on the very tip of this, between them both - against whatever thoughts and considerations his batch of questions had lead them on, to a path perhaps she had not expected -
But would want ever so much the same.
"...yes." She continues, her words low and short and breathless, as it is all she can do to keep looking at him, upon the beating of her heart as it stumbles and shatters in its wake, beating in fervent time against her chest, until it was all she could hear, all she could recognize - beyond that of his eyes and his very beautiful plush, soft lips - "Yes, I - I think thigh high, although perhaps just a little higher up even. To make it a little easier for you, to remove the garter - and the rest. I want to say it'd be... lovely, but also practical, just enough to wear and move around in, not so constrained... and also - I imagine I could pull it off - although, I wonder - if as beautiful as it'd be by my wearing it, I consider too that it would also look quite lovely even - even -" she slows, with a dash of hesitation again her chest, for where the rush of emotion would linger about the air, and render her back into near, total silence –
"Even... yes?" He prompts, all curious tones and wandering hands, as his fingers take to her hair and shift the wayward strands along to the side, careful as he'd touched her, as though she were fragile - purposefully delicate, though she knew he could touch her harder, cradle her closer - for where this was designed in a way that he would sow within her a frenzy, for even against how shy she might be on all concepts otherwise, she couldn't help but want, but desire more all the same, "Love? What do you wish to say?"
"I -" She stumbles, questions herself again and again and again, even if she doesn't quite feel so much herself when she answers, when she looks into his eyes and finds herself speaking as if entranced - "I mean to say that - perhaps the dress, would look most beautiful on the floor, I think, of the bedroom," she trails off, even as she feels her heart beating wildly out of her, as her heart flutters and her lungs feel fit to burst, "for when - when you take it off of me."
And upon that answer, it feels like everything about them runs alight in flames.
"Oh?" He whispers. "Oh... is that right?" He asks, as his eyes glimmer like something heady and rapturous set between, for where it is all vivid and brilliant and sharp, in the way it would make her very heart burn and yearn and wonder, "Yes... yes, of course, thinking ahead, in that manner already, I - would certainly imagine the same. But on that note, I would ask - did you have anything in mind for that part, specifically?"
Oh Twelve, she'd nearly choked.
"For our wedding night?" Ah - oh, if Nuri could blush any brighter, she'd fear she'd be on fire. But she can't help herself when she looks at him, when she sees how his eyes glow and his smile has tilted into something confident and sexy and good and hot -
Twelve forfend, how it was a wonder this man didn't make her faint at all.
“Uhm, well -" she hesitates, looks away, shakes her head as her heart quivers so much she wonders if she might break - "I imagine I'd want... something like - oh -" Something tender and soft, as his lips ease against the line of her neck, and she cannot help but shudder, and shake - everything fervent and desperate and hungry, as the feeling alone makes her body seem to sing, a portion of herself clenching in response at the lightness of his lips at her skin, at his hands lightly threaded into her hair, tugging her back just enough until she'd arch, on the depths of a cry as she'd let out the softest moan - oh god.
"Yes?"
Yes.
For where her heart beats like a damn drum with a flurry of things she could not even hope to ever say, but G'raha's presence entwined with hers would render that sensation aflush. Sharp, and wonderful, and incendiary -
As he himself would ever be -
As her eyes flicker downwards and into his gaze, and he would smile kindly, lovingly, despite all that he does to her - with as much heat as there was love – his gaze fixated on her, and her alone –
His words to make her tremble, in ways that only he ever could.
“Tell me, Nuri.” He whispers to her, “Tell me, please, for I would hear you say it.” Would hear her tell it, would hear her utter it, with only her words as he licks a sharp line up her neck, so fully into her space that she could feel the very breath of him course against her, as she closed her eyes against the whisper soft brush of his lips as he sucked a mark into her skin, and perhaps right there – as he’d angled himself against her jawline, her mouth, for where she would feel him come so, so close, and would find herself ever attuned to the light and soul and utter warmth of him –
For where she steels herself on the brink of a heady inhale, and feels herself shudder against his touch, this teasing, perfect, glorious man - kind and good and lovely, as his mouth would course something decadent against her own, upon the full of her own lips –
“I want to hear you say it.” He tells her. "I would wish to hear it now."
"If you please."
Polite, and earnest - a plea, and a demand. Against a heat that would render her undone - that would render her his -
She does not have to consider it otherwise.
"I would have you make love to me, G'raha Tia." She tells him, with her eyes closed and her restless breathing both raspy and short - "On that day, I want to feel you take me, hard - love me, and undo me, in every way that you could, until I'm fully and completely yours. I would want -" she stumbles, feels his teeth nip against her lower lip, and starts again, "I want to take all of you, as much as I can have, as much as you can give me. Until I'm drenched and drowned in the full of it - "
'In the glorious full of you,' her heart whispers, for all that her lips themselves cannot ever bring themselves to say -
But perhaps he does not need her to be quite so specific in that way.
Perhaps he knows, and he would aim to please her all the same.
"Is that so?" He asks, delicate against her skin, for where every part of her would stumble and shudder and ache - and oh - "Of course, of course - your wish is my command, my love. But would you mind terribly then," He asks, as he moves himself away, presses his lips close to her hand once more, to the flicker of her eyes as it shifted open, and whispers just softly enough a request designed to make her very heart stop, "If we got some practice in before hand?"
If they got some practice in - oh, Twelve, wicked white, take her. Take her now - for by the gods,
How could she ever bring herself to refuse?
"Please." She says, as though it is the most desperate request she has ever, ever had to make, "please, my love."
"Take me as yours."
The fervency of her answer, against the brilliant smirk of his own in turn - against the heat of the kiss that he presses sharply against her lips, brief and swift and yet tempestuous - and she finds herself awash in hues of crimson and heat and sex, as his tongue coaxes from her her very breath, and she would find herself scrambling and wanton and begging in answer -
"Yes," he growls against her mouth, "Absolutely always yes!"
She did not need to ask.
Did not need to even request it really, as he pulls away with a sharp gasp, takes her firmly by the hand and together they scramble back down from the Tower and run their back out down unto the ground, back out onto the Stones, for where the main hall itself had finally seemed to linger something quiet and hushed and empty, and the pair would sneak their way into their rooms, upon a rush of frenzied movement and flashes of red and purple hues - out onto the corridor, for where his room was closer, where his room was open -
To stumble their way inside, and it is like heat and lust that explodes upon their fingertips, that rushes them both alive and furious in its wake. As his hands shift to undo her clothes cloth by cloth, and hers would scramble against him too - upon his scarf and his shirt and his damn, stupid vest -
"Tataru dresses you in too many layers," She tells him on a heated gasp, only for a squeak to leave her lips, as his teeth set to sucking a mark against her neck -
"I could say the same for you too, my love."
Upon her haori, as he struggles to make sense of the laces and ties that bound her clothes together, upon her boots and her pants and every damnable piece that would keep him from every ilm of her skin, Twelves above -
It was as though the gods would seek to terrorize him like this, they did. Keeping what he wanted so tightly bound, just within his reach, but god help him, how it only made him want her more -
Upon the bed for where he splays her backwards unto the sheets, as his mouth finds purchase on tanned skin for every ilm that would be revealed, of which his mouth could reach - upon her stomach as he rucked her clothes upwards, upon the underside of her breasts for where he laved her - his tongue against the curves of her chest when her shirt finally, finally comes undone - all of it, everything - to be marked by his hands and lips and tongue; delicate and soft as she is upon his mouth, for where she hums a fragrant tone against him and moans, mewls and arches against the mouth that settles against her skin - as his lips would enclose fervently against a stiffened peak, and she would usher something utterly fraught -
"Raha -"
Oh gods!
For where all of it would linger something radiant against the air, for where he barely has the concept of thought to remove his own trappings, as fervent and hungry as he is to sup upon her flesh - for where she tastes like sunshine coursed against the skin, like something heady and fragrant and wonderful - all the desperate sounds she'd made coursing down unto his spine, for where it coiled like something hungry and starved, as he eased his hands against the curves of her frame and touched her, pinched at her peaks and suckled upon her skin - like a feast made for his own taking, all of it made for his own design -
As he feels himself frenzied. As he feels himself run wild. Like a man who'd not had an inkling of air after being drowned for hours, she is every rush of luxury and need that echoes against his soul - and wicked white, Twelves above, how his body begs for her. How he feels himself ache. Like something sharp set upon the lines above his breeches, pulsing so hard, so taut that he feared that he would break -
But gods, how he'd needed more. More that he could sate himself on. More that he could devour.
As he sets himself upon his knees between her legs, and gently takes her to her pants almost carefully -
"Oh my god -" He hears her whisper, something shocked as he manages a shift of his eyes upwards, just enough to see her lashes flicker and tremble and shake - "Raha - no, you're not serious -" She tries to say, even as she seems ready to shudder and clamp her legs back short -
If only his hands had not settled firmly upon her thighs, and his eyes would not glint everything sharp - "Shouldn't I be?" He asks her, his tone lingering something heady and raspy and hushed, as he nips at the edge of her thighs, and she shudders something bright - "I'd said this was practice for the night I'd take you, Nuri. And I plan to be quite serious about it - shouldn't I be?"
Her breath catching in her lungs, as she struggles to find a wisp of an answer in response, but finds everything she has in her running so fitfully short - "I - you don't have to - please -"
Please.
As his eyes close upon the whiff of her heat that laces upon his tongue, that which makes him only hungrier and more feral, desperate and more sharp -
"My love, I don't have to -" He says, as he drops her pantalets to the side, as his hands line against the side of her hips and he hovers, attempting to settle himself as something more frenzied and wanton shifted and clamored along inside him, more fervent than anything he can ever hope to name -
"But I promise you," He tells her, as his breath rushes against the line of her slit, and he feels the way she trembles, and her breathing itself seems to halt, oh - "I promise you though -"
"I really, really want to."
For it was for his pleasure, for his lone selfish desire - for as much as it would make her feel so, so good -
Yet he would find himself hungry for her all.
As his tongue licks a sharp stripe up her dripping slit, and in that lone touch she would arch herself against him and nearly shriek -
But it is nothing compared to what he manages to unleash in record, due time. As his tongue takes to her essence with a fury unbound, and he delves against her like a man thirsting for air - "Oh Twelve, Raha -!" Her voice to echo against the walls of the room as his hands drag her against his lips, and he sates himself on her, and he takes her. With the flicker of his tongue against her slit. With the rush of his breath against her heat. Against her trembling core as her thighs shake upon his head, and he finds himself desperate and fervent and wanting more, more, more -
For where his fingers shift to move against her, and she quivers upon him anew. Twin digits to sink into the heat of her cunt, to curl and to scissor as his tongue edged against her clit in tight, fervent circles -
"Raha, Raha - please -!"
Her voice like sheer decadence as she shuddered against his touch, and gods what it must mean to sink into this feeling, what it must mean to make her yearn - as her hips shifted upon a frenzy of her own design, in attempts to match against his own, but it is all he can do to just relish this. To just taste. To have her melt upon his tongue in hues and shades and everything perfect and wonderful and his, his, his - oh -
And when she comes apart - it is the depth of something he cannot hope to name.
Brilliant and wonderful and lush, as her essence melts against his tongue as she shudders and writhes and howls and breaks - beautiful, and glorious - undone and untamed -
His beloved - his, and no one else's.
Just. Ever.
His.
"Raha -" Oh fuck, she breathes, whispers, pleas; every inhale a coursing breath, broken and unlaced - for where she manages to slip her eyes open bright - and -
Oh fuck.
He. Was not done.
He wasn't done at all.
As she can see it in the depths of his eyes as he moves himself from between her legs, and his mouth suckles around his digits as he stares at her hard, her mouth to run dry and breathless in the wake of it - every part of her trembling and coiling and although she'd just come, although she was certain she'd just come apart -
"On your knees," he tells her, with his mouth raspy and husky and sharp, for where his eyes would glint and glimmer, and there was no doubt this would be a demand otherwise - fuck.
As her eyes flicker, and her breathing stills - "Raha - I -"
"Now, Nuri." He tells her, as he begins to remove his own clothes, and she can feel her blood shudder everything sharp -
"I'd have you come again."
Again, and again, numerous times, in the most undone, most gorgeous of ways. As she feels every semblance of herself focus entirely on him, but she nods her head and turns as he'd said, onto her knees on the bed - for where she stares into the sheets and her hands dig inwards upon which to clench - closing her eyes, praying that her heart as it is does not fail her, even when she hears his breeches drop to the ground, and she feels herself shudder and crave anew -
"Fuck, Raha - please, I - I need - " Her words to shudder to a gasping breath, as a hand laced into her hair again, and just sharply enough, tugged her head back -
Shite.
"Yes?" He asks, as he drags himself against her dripping cunt, the full of him hard and heavy and ready - more than ready, more than hungry - but still he would ease his fingers against the depths of her scalp and oh, how she would purr, all velvet heat and passionate desire, as she'd eased herself against him, but he would still hold himself short -
"You need - what, my love?" He prompts her, with a drag of his hips against her core, with the ease of his lips as he bent down upon her, and kissed upon the edge of her ear in turn -
An action to which she'd shudder, and shake, and beg, yes yes yes -
"Please, Raha - I need you." She whimpers into the sheets, as she eases her legs a little bit wider, pleads for him to take her full - "Inside me, all of you inside - I need you to fill me, I need it inside -"
"Until you're dripping with me, maybe?" He asks, with a slight smirk that she could hear upon his voice, as Nuri clenches at the imagery of it, mewls louder than she can ever say - "Until I've fucked you so full you can barely consider feeling anything otherwise - is that right, my love?"
Oh gods, please -
Tender, so tender are his kisses, even as he says such wicked things to make any woman melt. As he hitches her tight against his hips and he angles himself right her slit, so careful and delicate as his pulsing tip eases against her, and gods how she shudders and whimpers and shakes -
So gloriously. So vividly. That if he sheathed himself against her in full, he'd wonder if he could feel it. The core of her, perched against his cock right there.
He wants to feel it. Wants to relish it. Indulge in every ilm of her reaction, and make her feel it all.
"As you wish, Nuri. All that I have to give - I would give to you." He tells her, a faint nuzzle against her ear, so soft and sweet and pure -
But then he thrusts into her without due warning, right down to the hilt, until she was left shuddering and gasping into the bed, and she would clench around him tight -
Fuck!
"Do try to bear it all, won't you?"
The last of what he says, the last of what she hears, before there is a raging howl from somewhere in her mind, and she's not sure if it's him, she's not sure if it's her, the only thing is sure of is oh my god -
It feels so good.
So good, so perfect, as he thrusts into her with a rhythm she cannot ascertain, but one she attunes to with her very being regardless, as his hips take to a razing tempest upon her and it is all she can do to weather it, the sharpness of his hips against the fullness of his heavy cock, pulsing against her heat with his every shift upon her - rhythmic and deep and heated and good good good -
As she herself so tries to echo his movements and she moves herself just as fervently as he does himself, but she is made restrained by the hand that digs into her hair and eases against her a feeling of something shrill that lines into her blood, as the tightness of his grip drags against her scalp and only further manages to subsume her, against the passion of his thrust as she takes him, against every ilm of pleasure she can have, for where he fucks her and courses against her like something ravaged and enraged, and it is so easy to take him like this, so easy to take her, as her lungs shudder in her chest and she feels her pleasure rise in waves of heat and gorgeous lust, all of it to center against her core and thrum into her being, until all she could focus on was him and his words and his voice and his howls, the feel of him as he plundered her into the bed and made of her a wreck -
Until it centers like the sharpest, pointed tip, right there upon the edge, and she can feel when he himself starts to lose his control, when he himself starts to gasp -
"Raha - Raha, please -" Please, please, please, please, please - she couldn't take much more of this, she thinks, even if she wants to. Even if she wants to take all that he has to give her. Right there for where she would have him fuck right into her being and overwhelm her in full, for where all that he'd had to give she would desire it even more -
But he does not have much left to hold himself down. He does not have much left to keep himself reigned in - unleashed as he is in the depths of this madness, this frenzy, this want - as he bows over her and his other hand sneaks between her legs, to run tight circles against her clit, to where she would feel herself start to break - "Oh gods - !"
"Come for me, Nuri - please, come. Let me feel you, let me have you -" he breathes against her ear, in the most fervent tone, layered in the most desperate want - "Take all I have to give, let me have you in return."
His words, his voice, breathless and loving and desperate - all of it to coil against her, to raze against her body in time. For where he was perfect and good and wonderful, and hers hers hers -
And she would give him all of her -
As she would have him.
"Yours." She whispers, as she eases herself against his lips, and gasps something hopeless in time - "I am always, always yours."
And it is all he needs to come apart in a raze of flurry. In a hue of want and lust embedded in brilliant, beautiful design - against his heart and hers entwined - as their bodies come together, and it is nothing but wonderful, nothing but good, nothing but absolutely wonderfully perfect in every single way -
For at the end of each day, they would have each other.
Always, and forever.
Never to be torn apart.