phantasmagoria
→ ahzek ahriman x summoned being (unnamed, they/them) → 7.1k, 18+ (but sfw), not sure its a tw but warp stuff, slight psychological horror type thing → post-heresy, ahriman summons what he believes is a thrall to answer his questions but can't seem to get rid of them
“No.” His voice is unexpectedly commanding. He’d expected the apparition, thrall, to disappear as soon as his mind disposed of them. Yet he couldn’t deny their existence right there. His fingers clench ever so slightly on the table. “You should not exist.”
“And yet, I do.” Their smile is too bright for him. He can barely look their way as they lean forward, seemingly interested. “You must have recalled me.”
Ahriman nearly chokes on his own words before he can reply. He certainly would not have recalled them, not with their little use to his cause. All he can manage is one word. “No.”
“Yes,” they reiterate, sitting higher on the chair.
He looks down to the parchment once more, seeking solace in its plain words. His eyes flicker to the faintly drawn glyphs in the corner of the page, scribbled in a way that he recognised yet refused. “No.”
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
Ahriman watches the room around him, the runes around him calculated with meticulous precision. His thoughts were frayed with worry that he would fail again, he’d waste his precious time on another disappointment that he couldn’t afford. In his search for answers, for more depth to his understanding, he had tried everything.
Now, he turned to ancient intelligence, desperate for a chance to grasp something beyond his mastery. A carefully constructed web of sigils, ancient glyphs that he had constructed from his knowledge, sat frozen in the air, shimmering in the light of the candles lining the walls. He waits, anticipating a response, an answer to his call through the echoes of darkness.
He can feel the shift in the air as someone answers. He had not been specific. He felt desperate in his efforts to find a solution to his impossible problem. He had summoned so many beings to try and answer his questions that he wasn’t even sure if there was anyone who could help him.
So he’d summoned whatever he could, and this was the first thing that showed up.
A fragile-looking thing. Something he can’t quite describe. Their face looked like something he had seen a thousand times before, yet they were entirely new at the same time. He feels something strange in his chest as he peers over them, observing closely to see if he can recall just why he recognised them.
“Ahzek Ahriman?” They ask, catching him mid-thought.
His gaze averts back to their eyes, his mind settling on a thought that he must have known them because he had seen so many in his time. He chose to ignore the way the shadows around them flickered as if reality itself couldn’t understand. He stands up straighter, looking away before he can get too lost in his thoughts.
“Yes,” he replies, feigning his interest in something to his side. He ponders over his next words for a moment, then turns back to them with an expressionless face. “I am who you serve.”
“Of course, Ahzek,” they reply. His fingers tense at the sound of his name. It was different when spoken alone. Personal. He didn’t like it from the moment the word left their lips. The same lips which curl into a smile at his obvious disgust, and for a moment, it seems the glow of the candles dims. “I already do.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Ahzek?”
“Call me master.” He turns back to his table and rests his palms flat on top. He doubts their use, given their swift response was unusual, to say the least. He watches them only from the corner of his eye, somewhat distracted by the way the pages in his book rustle in an absent wind. “I will dismiss you by morning.”
He expected them to argue, but they only smiled again, hands held together in front of them. “Of course.”
They stand idly waiting for instruction. Ahriman hesitates, just for a moment, as he tries to avert his gaze. They are… different. Not a monstrous creature from the warp, deformed by chaos and corruption seeping through their veins. They have an essence he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Something ethereal. It reminded him of the Angel, beautiful in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend.
But what did Ahriman know of a person’s beauty outside their knowledge?
Each time he looked back, each time he dared to blink, their appearance seemed to change so slightly. The slop of their nose, the pink hue of their lips, the height of their cheekbones. The universe had not yet decided what they should look like, or what they were supposed to be.
“What will master have me do?” They ask, still not approaching him.
He gestures to the chair across from him, focusing on the book laid out in front of him. “Sit.”
“Yes, master.” Their reply is followed by their appearance across from him. Again, Ahriman doesn’t look up. He traces his finger over the passage he is reading, but their voice distracts him. “And… now what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. “Tell me what you know of the Ynnari.”
“Nothing,” they answer, the echoes of a giggle at the tip of their tongue as they shuffle in the chair.
Ahriman did not share their amusement. Another deep breath, not quite a sigh, as both his palms are laid flat on the table. He closes his eyes for a moment, as though managing the feelings they brought him so unexpectedly. “Do not lie to me, thrall.”
“Thrall?” Their amusement only increases. A smile, wide and full of life, is shot back at him. “Are you sure of that, master?”
“Talk.” His command is delivered with an air of ice colder than the depths of Fenris. He wasn’t requesting it, nor demanding it. Their answer was inevitable to him. Another breath, another hopeful moment to deal with them. “Now.”
“The Ynnari are very interesting, aren’t they? Awakening a god, saving an entire race.”
Ahriman hums. He had expected something else, maybe a hint of lost knowledge. He tries to sneak a glance to see if they have the traditional characteristics of an Eldar but he’s unable to even look near them without a suffocating look.
They must have noticed his disinterest as his head started to hang a little, focus shifted to his books again. Their words creep out, like a secret that should never have been shared as if they were standing right beside him. “They can reverse the rubric.”
His head snaps up. “Tell me more.”
“I was merely stating known facts.”
“You find this amusing?” He accuses, more than questions. “I will dismiss you, and you will not see reality again.”
“I’m not lying,” they protest. Ahriman can’t ignore the smirk resting on the corners of their lips. Even as they hold their hands together, almost begging him silently to keep them, they don’t bother offering anything else. “I do sincerely apologise, master. Do banish me, if you must.”
Ahriman doesn’t sigh. He doesn’t even react. It merely takes the thought in his mind to have their presence beside him revoked, and they disappear with little trace. He’d try again tomorrow.
.⋆༺☾༻⋆.
Ahriman’s eyes are focused on a parchment, ripped and covered with dirt that seemed as old as him. He can’t help the sigh that leaves his lip as another question is left unanswered, another riddle hidden within the ancient works that he so desperately tried to understand.
He brings his fingers to the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply as he pinches the skin. There must be another way. There must be something he can do to fully understand…
The sound of humming across from him stops his thoughts. He looks up, glancing through his lashes expecting something far too mundane for his day, but the familiar face of the being across from him, their chin resting on their hands, elbows on the table, is not what he expected to see. They’d somehow made their way to his chambers, were sitting at his table, in his chair. His fury burned within.
Their smile, wide and untamed, jabs him in a way he can’t explain. He places his hands down on the table with a less than impressed expression. “You?”
They hum, nodding swiftly in response. “Hello, master.”
“No.” His voice is unexpectedly commanding. He’d expected the apparition, thrall, to disappear as soon as his mind disposed of them. Yet he couldn’t deny their existence right there. His fingers clench ever so slightly on the table. “You should not exist.”
“And yet, I do.” Their smile is too bright for him. He can barely look their way as they lean forward, seemingly interested. “You must have recalled me.”
Ahriman nearly chokes on his own words before he can reply. He certainly would not have recalled them, not with their little use to his cause. All he can manage is one word. “No.”
“Yes,” they reiterate, sitting higher on the chair.
He looks down to the parchment once more, seeking solace in its plain words. His eyes flicker to the faintly drawn glyphs in the corner of the page, scribbled in a way that he recognised yet refused. “No.”
“Yes!” They exclaim. He blinks as his body jumps from their outburst. As he raises his gaze to meet them one more time, he wonders how someone could have so much joy in a time like this. They lean forward in the chair, as though decreasing the distance between the pair would somehow make it more comfortable. “As my master, you must have summoned me for me to be here.”
Ahriman hums. Their games were not of interest to him if they would not return the favour and answer his questions. “Then I will banish you again.”
“If you must.” They say. Ahriman watches them disappear with his very eyes. A puff of purple and blue dust, almost teasing him, and he thought he could finally return to his work. Just as he starts to roll the parchment back to its original state, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns, eyes widened, a spell on the very tip of his tongue when he sees their smiling, enthusiastic face again. “But are you sure it would work?”
He stares at them for a moment. He isn’t even sure what emotion he feels. Anger? Annoyance? Something so human he can’t even comprehend it?
He shrugs their hand off his shoulder and turns from them completely, walking around the table to escape their presence. “Leave me, daemon.”
“I am no daemon,” they answer, a scoff accompanying their obvious disdain for his words. They follow him, though keep a few steps in his trail. Ahriman thinks about summoning a blade to slit their throat. He stops himself at the last second, though moments later wishes he would have gone through with it. “The Arch-Sorcerer summoned a thrall. How would a daemon have appeared?”
Ahriman seethed. He turned back to them, eyes a burning red like that of his father, and near banished them to the plains of oblivion for testing him. But, again, as they get closer to him, he can’t bring himself to see them end. Perhaps a last mortal inkling of sympathy and kindness remained. Perhaps, something worse.
Their hands are held behind their back as they stop again, not getting too close to him, and tilt their head to the side playfully. “Unless… The Arch-Sorcerer was wrong?”
“Begone,” he tells them. He waves his hand dismissively and walks to his bookshelf against the far wall. He begins picking books out, ones which he thinks may help distract him, but hearing the small patter of their feet makes him sigh once more. “I am busy.”
“You do not wish to know my secrets?” they ask, innocence dripping in each syllable.
Ahriman doesn’t look away from a book on ancient runes. “You have none that entertain me.”
They hum. Ahriman thinks that maybe, with just a few moments of peace, they may have left. He turns to check, and is unsurprised to see them still standing, their silken robes gently flowing in the breeze from his open windows, admiring a shelf containing several different artefacts. They raise their hand to touch one, fingertips flowing over the bright blue glow of a cracked and energetic stone. Though they never touch it, the static line that’s created at their fingertip intrigues Ahriman just long enough for him to hear their words without any doubt.
“Not even one of your brother?”
The book is immediately closed, falling to his side in his hand as he narrows his eyes. They are still more interested in the artefact to spare him a glance.
“Is that a no?” they ask, finally turning to him. They are either oblivious to his obvious irritation or choosing to ignore it for their gain. Either way, Ahriman’s fists ball at his side. They offer another smile before they continue. “Or are you just worried?”
He refuses to answer.
They take a slow, warming step forward to him. “I could tell you many secrets, master.”
Ahriman doesn’t react. His hand reaches for the inferno bolter at his hip, keeping his hand over the hilt. He meets their gaze with blazing eyes. How dare they speak of his brother. How dare they come here and try to encourage him to play their games.
But then again, they dare one more time. “You just have to ask.”
He spares no further chances.
It’s not the bolter he reaches for, but the sheer will of his mind. A curse, words in his mind vanishing them back to wherever they came from. He turns before he has the chance to check it worked. He believes himself stronger than whatever they are, more powerful, not challenged by such a chaotic and pointless shade.
As he finally gets peace, their voice no longer ringing in his ears, he finds himself alone. He replaces the book, he walks to the door, he looms around to see if there is anything to keep his amusement.
For the first time in a very long time, Ahriman did not want to find himself alone.
.⋆༺☾༻⋆.
Ahriman’s finger taps against the table. He’d thought about his work for a while, he had troubled himself with countless hours of questions he wouldn’t find the answers to for some time, and then foolishly let his mind wander for just a moment.
At first, it went back to his brother, the time they had spent together, trained together, and then when his brother had died. He’d thought of his father, the betrayal of the Emperor, his faith in Tzeentch and whatever prevented them from achieving what they wanted.
Then he remembered the thrall he had summoned. Shade. Daemon by many accounts.
He’d not wanted to give into his curiosity, but their words played on his mind. I could tell you many secrets. You just have to ask. He had thought over it a thousand times. They likely had nothing to give him, pointless speckles of information he already knew. Yet, the chance, the small probability that they could know something drew him in.
He never said the words out loud. He didn’t need to. His thoughts lingered on them for far too long. They were not his thrall, no longer a puppet controlled by their master. They were his equal, and his thoughts were enough.
He feels them before he sees them. The faint shimmer in the air as they appear before him, body bending into existence as time itself is fractured for a moment.
Ahriman holds his breath. Their expression is full of anticipation.
“This is a surprise,” they murmur, voice tainted with something unknown. “Did you miss me?”
“Do not talk,” Ahriman replies. His monotonous voice stops their movements, halting them on the tips of their toes. They lower themselves down slowly, allowing him to finish without interruption. “Do… Do not speak for a moment.”
Ahriman watches as they still. Only a nod is given back to him, a silent obey of his command. For once, he is thankful. He looks away momentarily, almost ashamed of his thoughts. His somewhat trembling hand is placed into his lap as he invites them to sit across from him - which they happily oblige to.
“Why did you bring up my brother?” He asks.
“He was a good man who cared for you very much so,” they answer. Their eyes carry a look he cannot distinguish, one of knowing and understanding. Ahriman brushes it aside as another trick of the shade before him, believing himself senseless for bringing them back. Nevertheless, they continue their answer, “such a talented warrior, a gifted leader, taken too early from you to revel in your victories. If your gene-father would have met him, he would have loved him too.”
His heart beats faster in his chest. He had not spoken with many about his brother, he had barely uttered a word in then thousand years about his brother. This is not something anyone would know, not unless they knew him.
“Of course, your father loved you far more than you think. And, I am naturally jealous that your brother spent every day with you,” they continue. Ahriman only pays half attention to the true value of her words. All he understands is that the daemon knew his brother somehow, and the reason for that he did not know. He listens more intently as their voice carries on lingering in the air. “When he spoke with you, you laughed or maybe smiled. But when I spoke to you…”
“You knew him?” Ahriman interrupts, thoughts overwhelming him.
“I knew you both,” they confirm.
“How?”
“From a distance.” They offer sympathy with a solemn smile. Ahriman’s thoughts cloud his judgement, memories of his brother that he had not recalled for some time returning. They lean forward as they speak now. “So often you look to the great ocean for answers. But so little have you ever seen who looks back.”
Ahriman pulls his thoughts from his brother. This was not what he had expected. “And your secret?”
“Oh.” Their brows pull together as they lean on the table. Their hair is tossed back, eyes wandering the room as though they obviously wanted him to be further intrigued. Ahriman saw through it. “I thought you did not care for it.”
“Tell me it.”
His demand falls short of expectations. They smile in response. “It will not entertain.”
“Speak daemon,” he snaps, hands slamming down to the table, breath heavy and nostrils flared, “or so help me, your soulwill be destroyed.”
They don’t answer immediately. Ahriman observes them closely, looking for any signs of lies or treachery, but he can’t find it. They have nothing in terms of emotion for him to read. Even their aura doesn’t shine. He’s close to banishing them again, only until they speak softly, one last time.
“He still calls for you,” they say. Ahriman believes his ears deceive him. They don’t need to lie to him, though. “He walks the plains of oblivion wondering where you may be.”
Ahriman doesn’t answer.
He simply stares at the table ahead of him, noting each mark and stain in the grains of the wood that he can find. Not a thought enters or leaves his mind. His brother. Him. Them. Whatever they are. Whoever they are.
Then, at some point, his eyes drift back to them. Unintentionally, of course, but their eyes were so inviting it was near impossible to resist. Like a moth to a flame, he was dragged right back to them, their shining eyes and enchanting smile.
He begins tapping his finger against the desk, something they picked up on immediately. Reaching over the table, they try to steady his hand by placing their own over the top, but Ahriman is quick to pull it away the moment he feels their… skinon his.
“You should not be here,” Ahriman finally speaks, holding the hand they had touched in his lap.
He momentarily glances at his hand, the same blue and purple shimmer lingering around him. If his mind wasn’t numb, he’d have studied it more, tried to understand.
“Then tell me to leave,” they reply, standing from the chair. They cross their arm over their chest, lips pressed into a line. He could finally see the flittering of a deep red aura around them, almost turning to black closest to their body. They huff without his reply. “Tell me I must go.”
Ahriman should answer.
He really should.
He should tell them to leave and never return so he can begone of these thoughts, feelings, and wonder.
He should feel them rip away from him with the smallest of thoughts from him; their banishment final and absolute. He feels nothing. He hears no answer from the chaos he pulled them from.
His voice betrays him, his thoughts betray him, and his body then follows suit. No words are answered, only the sharing a gaze that he shyly looks away from, his cheeks prickling with heat. He felt his heart pounding a little heavier, his chest tightening and breathing quicker. Another day spent experiencing emotions he hadn’t felt since a long time ago, all because of them.
All of this… worry, anxiety even, over someone who he couldn’t distinguish from a normal thrall.
He almost hates himself for it, more than he already did.
They step around the table carefully. Not a movement was misplaced or a sound made that wasn’t necessary. They looked at him like he was a mouse, small and fragile, so prone to running away.
Even as they speak, their voice is so soft it feels like a fine cashmere. “Should I really go, Ahzek?”
His breath catches in his throat, finger stopping mid-tap. Their use of his name, so simple yet so… different. Ahriman had been called it thousands of times before, much less so now, but it felt different. It felt natural. Like he had heard it said before, like it was wrapped in the comfort of familiarity.
Their hand reaches over to his once more, fingers ghosting over him until they wrap around the edges of his hands. This time he doesn’t panic, he doesn’t pull his hand away. He lets them hold him, even if it is only in a small way, and when he looks into their eyes he feels something more.
“Should I leave once more and spend an eternity searching for you again?” they ask, “should I join your brother in his search for you?”
He sees their truth. He saw the anonymous spectator who stood to the sides when he would train with his brother on Terra before they had ever met their new father. He saw the citizen of Prospero who would wait every time to see his face when he returned from war. He saw the soul in the great ocean that he longed for when he felt truly lonely and desperate.
He saw every version of them.
And he realised that they did not lie.
They had always been connected to him. Always watching, always at a distance to observe him - shadow him, even. He should feel fear, like he did only moments ago, he should feel anger at his privacy being violated by such a being that he should have the power to control.
But he felt none of it.
He felt a bed of roses that he was laid down gently on. He felt a warming hand that meant him no ill. He felt a love that a man like him should never experience.
“Ahzek,” they say again, still so softly he barely catches it. He hesitantly looks up to them, their eyes offering an invitation to so much more. They don’t smile, they don’t do anything, but just the sound of his name is enough. In that moment, he is everything; their entire world, their entire purpose for being. “I do not need to leave.”
He would agree, but his tongue is tied and his mind is empty.
Instead, his silence partially suffices.
They do not move away, nor approach him any further. They do not speak again, nor do they try to hide. They wait for him, to see what he would do, to see how he perceived it all.
Ahriman takes a step towards them. They seem surprised, pleasantly so, intrigued again by his changing attitude. He was surprised himself - though who would ever truly understand his mind? He swallows, hard, breaths deep as he takes a step forward. The hand that rested under theirs is gently taken away, instead following Ahriman’s gaze, reaching gently for the curve of their jaw.
He presses the tips of his fingers to their skin, almost testing to see if they are real. He fully expected his fingers to disappear through them, providing him right about them being an apparition. However, as his fingers graze them, he only feels what seems human, yet looks like a creation even his patron would struggle to comprehend. Purple and blue, flecks of silver and pink, he would think he was going crazy if he couldn’t feel the warmth of human blood beneath his touch.
Ahriman’s touch falters, though their hand on his regenerates some of his confidence. They place their hand on his, fingers laced between his own, just to hold him there a little longer.
Then they step forward. Ahriman doesn’t step back.
He watches. Waits. Anticipates.
They draw so close, their skin radiating against his, their hand entwining with his and taking it from their cheek and down to the side of them. He sees the universe in their eyes, just for a moment, and then feels the explosion of a star as their lips press against his.
He’s frozen, not sure how to move.
They don’t push further.
Just one, simple, soft kiss.
And though they lingered, pulling back with reluctance and hope that maybe he would return the favour, he just can’t.
Ahriman didn’t know this feeling, nor what to do about it.
After a few moments, he finally finds the words. A life dedicated to knowledge and understanding, millennia dedicated to undoing his mistakes and strengthening his brothers, yet he struggled with the very concept of a kiss.
“You should…” Ahriman’s words trail off as he finds himself lost in their eyes once more. He pulls himself away, forcing his gaze towards the floor so he can get his words out. “You should go.”
They don’t argue. They don’t even retaliate with witty words and a sharp tongue. He knows they dither, their presence consuming all his energy the longer they remain.
But then they go, and he’s left to face the reality of his feelings.
.⋆༺☾༻⋆.
The room was icy cold. He’d spent evenings wondering whether he could ever dispel the heat that came from them, his daemon, whatever they were. He’d left every door and window around him open in the hopes it would prove that it was in his head. However, as they stood beside him and watched him with eyes of gold, he had started to doubt that - especially given the burning behind his ribs and flush brought to his cheeks.
“Ahzek,” they whisper, arms wrapping around him. He can feel their head resting on his back as they squeeze him gently. “You look tired.”
They were useful. That’s what he told himself every time he thought of them. A source of knowledge, a means to an end, part of his cause for fixing his problems.
He resists the sigh, still trying to push aside his feelings to assess the truth. It wasn’t working. “I am.”
“Then stop,” they tell him. He feels their hands move to his arms, snaking their way down until their fingers intercepted the book in his hands. He doesn’t fight them, letting them push the book from his hands to the table below. He breathes in deeply as the book hits the table with an audible smack, though their chuckle from behind him brings the slightest hint of a smile to his lips. “Let yourself unwind for just a moment.”
“I must finish my work,” Ahriman replies. He looks over his shoulder, just catching a glimpse of their face.
They make themselves more present by creeping around him, loosely tugging his body so he starts to move away from the table. He can see the look in their eyes again, one of curiosity, intrigue, and exhilaration. He finds his joy, though it’s much harder to express, especially as they take his hand in their own and force him away from his work.
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
He doesn’t argue. He gladly accepts to follow their path as they tug at his hand, offering something different, though inducing the lie he kept telling himself that this was only because they were useful to his quest for knowledge.
He had buried himself in work, but only because he didn’t see another way out.
Every moment they weren’t here he thought of them. Every moment they were here, he wanted them. He called them back each time he didn’t see them around, he whispered to himself the incantation that brought them here in the softest tones to see if they wouldn’t hear his call. They always did. They always came back.
He had stopped summoning them days ago. Or possibly weeks. He had lost track. He expected to see them each morning, he expected to have them around him as he read through books and scrolls, making conversations he knew little of but cared so much about.
They led him to the chaise he had at the corner of the room, far away from the books and important documents, a corner he had not touched in a very long time. He doesn’t protest, though, interested himself to see why they may have brought him over here.
They sit him down at the side where he can rest his arm, though never take a seat with him. Instead, they kneel on the floor in front of him, chest almost touching his knees. He watches, unsure of their intentions and position, but still stays silent.
They lean forward ever so slightly so their chest does touch him, obscured by their fine robes and his thick attire, yet still enough for his body to jolt ever so slightly at the touch. He notices their smirk, the one they try to hide. He shouldn’t care. He should know it was a distraction, a way to manipulate his emotions further, yet he did not pull away. His cheeks feel hot, as does his chest.
They don’t mention it though. Instead, they ask a question he had been asking himself recently. “Why do you keep me?”
Ahriman’s cheeks burn. He surely blushes now, even behind the tan of his skin. His lie is thwarted by his hesitation. “I do not.”
“Your spells are much more convincing than your lies.” Their words are somewhat teasing, but still feel serious. Ahriman knew he was lying, but admitting it to himself meant accepting feelings he didn’t believe could exist for him. He keeps up the lie just a bit longer, even as they catch him directly in the act. “You could ask for me to leave for good, but you never do. You always call me back.”
“You are useful,” Ahriman returns.
“So is a grimoire. Yet you touch us very differently.”
His fingers twitch at their response. Oh, they were very right.
Because he didn’t often touch them.
Rarely, even.
But on the times he did, he would treat them like the most delicate crystal, something he was so afraid to break and never have again.
He thought it was subtle.
He sighs as he replies, trying to find amusement in the hemline of his garments. “You are not even real.”
“Some would say your sorcery is not real.” They reach for his hand, diverting his gaze back to them. He could see the edges of blue sitting in their aura, as though his words truly hurt. He didn’t believe that they would. His chest feels heavy, for longer than he expected. They let it go just as quickly. “It is all in perspective, Ahzek.”
He hums. They are not wrong. “What would you say?”
“That you believe yourself to be a master,” they tell him, “that you will not dismiss me.”
Ahriman’s gaze is stuck on them for a moment. Their effortless posture as they kneel before him, as though made to serve him directly. Well, he did summon them and made them the way he wanted. Though it felt like more.
Sometimes he doesn’t think they breathe. Or blink. Or do anything remotely human. He had dismissed it before but now they kneeled before him, so perfect, it didn’t even feel real.
But then they did breathe, and they did blink, and he’s stuck in his own thoughts again that don’t make sense.
Why didn’t he want to accept that someone may just want him?
Why was it so hard to believe that this being was not a daemon, was not a shade, but someone he was destined to meet who came to him at the right time?
He leans forward, hands on the edge of the chaise. He grips the surface harder than he needs to, controlling his breathing as much as possible as the burning behind his ribs returned.
“Do you want to be dismissed?” He asks, voice barely breaking a murmur.
They tilt their head slightly to the side, eyebrows raised yet pulled together. They lean forward too, bridging the gap between them, as they lean their forearms across his knees. His thighs tense beneath their touch, something even more fascinating to them. The tips of their fingers brush his covered thighs, but never taking it too far.
They make him wait an agonising few moments for their answer, even if it wasn’t surprising.
“Never.”
.⋆༺☾༻⋆.
Ahriman holds the page of a book between his fingers. He’d read the same passage a few times now, the words never quite reaching him, its meaning never being quite clear enough.
He steals glances where they sit across from him as he reaches the final paragraph. He thinks he’s subtle, but when their eyes meet his he realises that maybe he needs to work on his abilities. He had cleared his throat the first time, shuffling in his chair until the moment had passed squarely enough. The second time, he was not so lucky to escape.
“Ahzek.” Their voice breaks the silence as if thousands of voices called for him at once. “There is a question you desire to ask me, but you keep it to yourself.”
He did keep his question.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to know his thoughts. He would have shared if they asked - of course, only if they asked exactly what they needed to in order for him to divulge his deepest and darkest secrets. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the thought of them knowing, it was simply that he didn’t like not understanding it for himself.
It made him more angry than when he didn’t understand how they even came to be.
“Just because I do not speak does not mean I am keeping things from you,” Ahriman replies. He gestures down at the book in his hands and tries with the passage again. “I have much to read.”
They hum. “Much to distract yourself with.”
Ahriman takes a moment. He looks up at them again, their smile so off-putting yet enticing, eyes filled with every colour imaginable, ethereal presence hanging in the air around them. He closes the book, knowing it’s impossible, and sighs deeply.
He silently agrees.
They spare no moment in pouncing on him the moment they can. No book in his hands meant they could hold them, no distractions in his mind meant they could fill it. Perfectly executed. Perfectly played.
They dance around the table, figuratively, tiny steps like that of a ballet dancer, precise and accurate, nothing unplanned. They’d walked that path a thousand times before it felt like, and it was no different this time.
Except for Ahriman and his dastardly feelings.
“Say it,” they murmur, words lingering in the air. Their eyes are intense, falling on a burning red, aura clear of anything he could read. They step closer, resting a hand on his arm as they try to convince him. “Say what you will not allow yourself to think.”
Ahriman can’t do it.
He cannot tell them the words he thought because they made him feel less than what he was. They made him feel worried. They made him feel scared. They made him feel like everything in his life was meaningless until the moment he summoned them. He couldn’t explain it to anyone, let alone himself. He just couldn’t.
So he looks away, ashamed, but their fingers grace his chin to have him look back at them.
“Are you worried?” They ask.
Ahriman doesn’t react.
“Are you scared?”
Ahriman wonders if they read his mind.
“Do you love me, Ahzek?”
Ahriman heart skips a beat.
They must know his mind.
He did not consider just what it would mean to hear that said out loud.
“You do not wish to say?” They ask, letting go of his chin. Their fingers trace so gently over his neck, then his shoulder, before they fully pull away. “Then I will not tell you something in return.”
“Tell me.” Ahriman’s voice sounded desperate. It almost cracked with his quickly when he made the request. Love and knowledge, they were the same to him nonetheless. “Tell me, and I will tell you.”
They show little reaction. “I asked first.”
“Fine.”
Ahriman turns away from them, just for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He had led men to war, he had faced daemons with power beyond his own, and this somehow felt like he was approaching a god in their own realm.
He closes his eyes, taking two deep breaths before he turns back. Their eyes search for his before he can say anything. It almost intimidates him out of speaking.
But the idea of not knowing something was too much.
Especially if it was whether they loved him, too.
His voice is quiet as he stutters over his words. “I… I do.”
“Do what?” They question, a smirk twisting onto the ends of their lips.
Ahriman pauses again.
He could mean it. He could show it.
But to speak something’s name is to bring something far worse into existence.
Every logical part of him said to not admit anything. He cursed himself for acting like he was guilty due to having feelings. He hated what this did to him so easily, when simple words were an honest struggle to him.
He finally says the words when he feels their hands wrap around his. “I do love you.”
“Oh.”
Oh?
He had not anticipated that reaction.
He did not want that reaction.
His hands tense, body stiffening as he feels his own personal defeat. “Tell me something in return, then.”
He couldn’t explain his feelings. He wanted to hear the words back to him, he wanted them to share something he so desperately wanted to hear, and they didn’t give it to him. The anxiety that rippled through him was indescribable.
How was Ahzek Ahriman, the Arch Sorcerer of Tzeentch, worried about whether someone cared for him?
He felt small. Worthless. Like his life depended on their affection.
He felt judged in the eyes of god, just until the blue and purple shimmer of the air returned, their eyes changed to a baby pink hue, and the smile returned to their lips.
His heart is practically beating out his chest as he waits for those words he was so desperate for.
“I have loved you for an eternity,” they tell him. Spoken like a god to their servants. An honour, devotion even. Ahriman’s heart swells, though his mind screams, even as they whisper more sweet words to him, “And now you love me too.”
His world, just for a moment, feels complete.
The rubric is forgotten. How he wished to return to Prospero, his hatred of his cousins, even the doubts at the back of his mind when he saw his legion - all gone in an instant.
A momentary respite that he would chase for the rest of his time breathing.
Sealed, quietly, without any hesitation, as his hands find their waist and pull them to him, his lips pressed to theirs as the room falls silent. All of his mistakes, all of his worries, any moments of insecurity all melt away with just one more kiss. It was not like before, even if he felt magic fluttering between their every touch. He felt… more.
Their hand moves to the back of his neck to stop him from pulling away. He’s not sure where his own hands roam, somewhere they had not been before, but not somewhere new. But the moment air replaces their touch, the moment falling to an end, the silence no longer exists, and he remembers everything.
But throne he would do anything to feel that again.
“You wish for us to exist together?” they ask, quiet voice reaching him with specs of curiosity. Their hand is still at the back of his neck, gently rolling the tip of their finger in small circles. They step closer, and Ahriman holds on tighter. “You wish… to be mine?”
An answer is at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t wish to say it. The moment he spoke it, it became the truth, a fact he could no longer deny. “I do.”
“Then say it.”
“I…” He pauses. An unexpected hesitation. A moment where it feels like, somewhere within the depths of his mind, someone pulls him back. A god he devoted himself to already, one that had started to fade and had only just found out. He signs his life away so easily. He itches to feel love one more time.
He knew, deep within his mind, that this was not the love he wanted. It was submission. It was accession. He knew not to speak the words they wanted, yet he could not remember ever saying them, only hearing out loud the irreversible confession. “I am yours.”
He blinks, the air feeling heavy. His admission, irrevocable beyond all reason, was made. Where he had felt uneasiness twisting through his veins, he was surrounded by truth. The invisible vines tighten around his wrists, his chest, even his throat. They had always been there, waiting. It was never a choice he was making, never a surrender to forces he could not control.
He had always belonged to them.
Hadn’t he?
They smile. Not happiness. Not joy. It was not something a mortal could form. He sees the darkness of their aura and plays it off as their aura. Their hand falls from his neck, down to his chest, but pull away so easily.
It wasn’t a smile; it was something older than language, even older than time. His thought tells him to resist but vanishes before he can do anything more, leaving him alone with the maniacal sneer of a dying god that finally found a follower.
“Ahzek,” they mouth, so sweetly, “you were always mine.”
He felt the weight of the tether beginning to form, a quiet, unspoken vow that he did not want to fight. His fingers twitched, instinct wanting him to break free, but he did not move. He did not want to move. He no longer felt alone. He no longer felt free.
He felt like he had heard it before. The same voice, the same words, the same confession. A half-formed memory in the depths of his memory. They offer nothing more. “You were simply waiting to remember.”
.⋆༺☾༻⋆.
a/n: thanks for reading!! sat on this one for a while as I wasn't sure i got ahriman's character right. hopefully this can still be treated as a somewhat reader insert lmao
