5 Times the Love because oh god this is my fave
darkness has a taste to it, musky and heavy on her throat, chewing away at vocal cords and pressing down, crushing her larynx and leaving her incapable of breathing; relishing in it, rajya holds the dark close to her nose, taking in its for- bidden warmth, she doesn’t want it to retract its claws. the sting would come when it did, so she lets it stay, in the pro- cess of its wound. darkness pulls slowly, and she does not accept the bright sun, pressing against open cuts.
however, the sun does not simply press her like a flower, and though she does not find six slits in her side when she wakes, sunshine’s blue eyes, pulling her up and close and she knows why gods come in pairs; he cannot eclipse her, but she cannot darken him. “ there are better places, ” the sun says, “ to take a nap than the ground, y’know. ” his smile greets her, as an old friend
he spun her around, her bare feet cut up by sharp grass blades, and she does not care; his hands are soft upon hers, and both of their arms are bared to each other, a cloak thrown on the ground and him dressed down to sparring clothes, though the gloves are in the same pile as a purple cloak. they dance for no other purpose than to dance, to pull her close and whisper in her ears, sweet no- things of her beauty and grace, and for her to grip against him and murmur her own sweetness into him, letting the words be absorbed.
it’s not a proposal in the traditional sense, but the kiss on his cheek is something like always, chrom’s reciprocation seems to seal the deal.
heavy covers wrap around them both, the sounds of a party dying down wafting up into their room; he has enveloped her in his own darkness, his own light too, and she has shared her share of sec- rets. he kissed her on the nose, and she is not surprised when he whispers in her ears, “ for my lovely wife… ”
she hums in response, and it takes her just a moment to decide; the drop of light from the window takes his face and contorts it to something somehow softer; lips upon lips, and she finally responds, “ to my gorgeous husband. ”
cloak pulled tighter upon her shoulders -- it feels foreign, now, to have the garment so tightly knitted around her. it does nothing for her crying, for her sniffling and dreading, does little to conceal such broken hearted imagery. an arm tugs her closer, his pallid face too close for her liking.
“ you don’t have to do it, you know. ” “ but i do. i really do. ” “ you think you have to, but you have no obligation to die like a martyr. ” “ this has nothing to do with martyrdom. ” “ but doesn’t it? ”
they didn’t speak again until the next morning, when she looked at him with a glare like daggers and her tears cut through him.
she has died and come back and perhaps that is the only miracle they need, but their blessings pile up at their feet; a beautiful daughter with her mother’s wit and bravery, an infant son with all the time to grow into himself, and a home that will never be taken from them ( he promises, this place will always be home; she tells him that promises are unnecessary. )
five times the love, accepting, @acieral